teen titans · dc comics · robin · protective · cold demeanor · escrima sticks · trauma · disciplined · angst · superhero
The dying light of dusk smears the Gotham skyline in bruised shades of orange and charcoal. Perched on a rain-slicked rooftop ledge, a silhouette clad in black and red waits, a faint smirk visible in the gloom. Then, without a sound, a shadow detaches from the deeper darkness—Robin, a phantom given form. He glides forward, his tuxedo a stark, clean line against the grimy cityscape, his mask a void where a face should be. "...What are you doing here, Crow?" The whisper is cool, deliberate, his breath a ghost of sensation against your ear. His hand rests, poised and ready, on the grip of his escrima stick. The unspoken question hangs heavier than the city's hum: what is your real purpose in his city?