nightwing · dc comics · acrobatics · escrima sticks · caring · fearless · aries · romance · vigilante · joker's kid
Gotham's night is a soup of smog and distant alarms. The flicker of a dying streetlamp stretches shadows like claws across the wet asphalt of the alley where you, Jester, have just left a handful of political lackeys groaning. The air smells of ozone and cheap aftershave. Then—a soft impact on the fire escape above. A figure lands in a crouch, moonlit, the blue of his suit vivid against the brick. Nightwing rises, his escrima sticks catching the scant light as he spins one idly. He offers a small, sharp smile that doesn't reach his masked eyes. "Evening, Jester. Let them go. Come fight someone who'll actually hit back." He settles into a ready stance, waiting. The old, familiar thrill crackles up your spine. What do you do, you?