Gotham: Clocktower, Rooftop
         The rooftop here is flat and level. There are four foot high walls that
run almost the whole length of all four sides. In the one side, where the wall
does not run all the way around is the outer walls of the room that houses the
old clock. Standing there one has a good view of the city, and the streets below.
In the center of the roof, is a wide band of skylights. Looking into them, one
can see a gym and pool below. Across the way from the skylights is another small
enclosed room. This holds the elevator that allows access back into the building.

Robin
        Red, green, yellow - and black. The youngster called Robin is dressed in
the bright primary colors of childhood optimism, draped over with the dark mantle
of Gotham City. Three inches over five feet, his hundred and forty pound frame is
slim and athletic - a gymnast's build with the muscle for getting out of the
scrapes in which a young crimefighter finds himself.
        Robin's face is round, his chin more square these days but not a jaw.  
His nose has formed hard edges but he will probably have those boyish looks well
through adulthood. Ghostly opaque eyes are set in his dark emerald mask.  
Robin's hair is black, cut in a trendy mop that passes for locks or spikes
depending on how much product he's put in it.
        Robin's costume is a protective molded unitard of scarlet. This tunic is
sleeveless and ends in matching trunks. On the left breast is a black oval
bearing a metallic gold 'R' insignia. Beneath his bodysuit, a similar material of
green covers Robin's legs and upper arms. From his knees to his feet run black
leather boots with a split between the large and second toes. Robin's hands are
sheathed in thick emerald gloves which, like his short sleeves, contain ribbed
pouches. Around his waist is buckled a gold segmented belt with more
compartments.
        A black leather cape with a stiff ring collar flows from Robin's
shoulders, hanging like wings to his mid-calf. The underside is lined in yellow.
        Black, red, green and yellow. This Robin is cloaked to hunt the night,
but he's still the bright bird of Spring. Even in Gotham City, robins bring hope.

Impulse
        The superfast Teenage Tornado - Impulse, in the flesh. Standing (except
he never stands still) at a rather beanpoley 5'11", Bart doesn't exactly cut a
very imposing figure, but that's not generally a problem. He doesn't aim to
scare. In fact, his unruly mop of slightly wavy brown hair and equally striking
costume are far more likely to cheer someone up than inspire terror in the hearts
of evildoers.
        Clear, vaguely amused amber eyes are shielded by a pair of goggles, which
are part of the half-cowl that covers his head (and lets his hair do what it
will). Also on his mask, over his ears, are golden mercury-wings, which double as
radio receivers.
        The boy's lanky form is clad in a very loud lycra costume - which tears
instead of runs. So it really isn't lycra. It's probably that funky 30th century
'unstable molecule' stuff, that the Legion's uniforms are made of. At any rate,
it's sort of an off-white color, with a jagged red stripe down the center, which
ends at his boots. Said boots are also red, as are his biker gloves and mask; the
boots and gloves are fastened with buckles.

Black Canary
        The 5'6" female poised within your sight is unmistakeably unusual. Her
proportionately curved figure is encased in a legless navy bodysuit, the material
pliable enough to accomodate the flex of muscle and bone as she moves.  A dark
gray swathe of kevlar bisects the front and extends to back blending seamlessly
with the spandex. Gold gleams from small strips on her forearms--matching the
protective plates on either side of her ribcage and the trim on her navy boots
which stop just shy to the knee. A gilt belt with a stylized canary emblazoned on
the center circular clasp dangles loosely on her hips. Dark gloves complete the
faintly military ensemble.
        A long mane of light gold hair tumbles past her shoulders, framing
undeniably pretty features: high cheekbones, a small slightly upturned nose and
lush red lips. Ebony brows arch over wide blue eyes accentuated by a fringe of
dark lashes (perhaps an intimation that the lady is not a natural blond).  
Regardless, there is a classic Americana bombshell quality about this woman that
is reinforced by her graceful gait and ready smile.

It's like a bat outta hell! Well, okay, Impulse is probably the absolute *least*
batlike thing in Gotham at the moment, but you work with what you've got. He gets
to the rooftop in question first, taking the easy route - that's right, up the
wall. When you get there, he's already hard at work being a wiseacre, buffing his
nails on his chest and leaning against one of the low walls.

With a silken hiss and a metallic *chnk*, an ebony grapple line claws the rooftop
edge. Robin soon follows as it hydraulically reels itself in. The Batman's
sidekick isn't any more bat-like than Impulse, but he's more Gothic, at least in
this setting. He leaps over the rail and stands up as his cloak settles around
him. "Do you have to get -everywhere- first?" he asks his fleet friend. Looking
at the giant clock face, he adds. "Be careful what you say, by the way. The
person who lives here has the place bugged. Dinah knows this, but anything you
don't wantto go past her, talk around."

Smirking slightly, Bart crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows. "Well, if you
*really* want me to, I can, y'know, slow down on my way up walls and fall to a
certain, bloody doom..." He shakes his arms out, then clasps his hands behind his
back and shifts his weight to the balls of his feet. "And, gotcha. Hullo, person
who's got this place bugged."

Robin makes a face that's half a smirk and half an exasperated look. "Of course
not, but you could climb a rope or take an elevator when we're not in a melee."  
He goes to the corner of the roof and puts a foot on it, crouching down like a
vigilant gargoyle - albiet without the demonic profile of his mentor. In fact,
Robin looks more like Rodan's Thinker than some baroque ghoul. "Hopefully no
trouble will take us away from here before Canary arrives."

A low melodic voice issues from the darkness. "Please, give me some credit. I'm
not one to arrive late, even fashionably." The owner of that call steps forward,
her footsteps quiet as she emerges into the light. The Black Canary places a hand
on her hip and slants a look at the two superheroes. Though clad in her standard
navy and gold uniform, there's something faintly rebellious about the way her
hair spills down and her belt hangs loose that gives a distinctly un-Gotham feel.
Red lips curve in a smile. "If it's trouble you want, I can dish it."

Impulse completely fails to comment on that last line. He *does* have *some*
dignity left, see. Maybe he's not even thinking it. Oh, fine, he's probably not
thinking it, but lordy, what a line. "Nah," he says cheerfully, tilting his head
back slightly. "Hi, Dinah. We came because..." the kid pauses, and frowns.  He
glances at Robin, "You tell her."

Dinah Lance arches a dark brow and directs a highly amused stare towards Robin.  
"Let me guess. You're just happy to see me?"

Robin turns away from looking at the streets. Walking over to the other two
figures he gives Impulse a look that despite the mask is nothing more than one
teen wondering what his friend is talking about. "Tell her what?" Looking at
Dinah, he adds, "Well, yeah, I'm glad to see you, Canary. Especially since it's
not busting Markovia drug lords head or with the rest of the Justice League
looking at you like you were a Marti-er crazy for talking to us." A decidely
ungrim smile spreads across the brightly colored youth's face. "But Impulse
called this meeting. I think."

The petite blonde considers both youths carefully, then gives a knowing
"Ahhh...". She ambles in a slow circle around the two, standing directly behind
Impulse. "I think I understand. You're young. Had a few battles under your belt.
And in the downtime, you're looking for some action. An element of danger." She
reaches out to place the tip of her index finger on Impulse's mid-back. "You
wanted to say hello. But really, you're restless. Am I right?"

Eyes widening, Bart freezes for a second, then cranes his neck to look at Dinah.
"Um! Well, I, uh...I just wanted to see, y'know, how you're doing. You
disappeared awful fast last time I saw you, and..." He pauses. "And, well, yeah."
His look is now decidedly sheepish, and he looks at Robin from the corner of his
eye. "You're gonna kill me, aren't you?"

Black Canary's hand splays slightly, absently massaging the constantly quivering
muscles of Impulses back in a soothing motion while she makes a sympathetic
soothing noise.

Robin casually looks at the sky. Rubbing the underside of his neck with his right
hand, he makes a shrugging gesture with his left. "Nah." he says. Backing up he
sits and the incline of a skylight , planting the solrs of his feet and folding
his arms over his drawn up knees.

Gently, Canary brings her other hand up to Impulse's shoulder, giving him an
oddly inappropriate but very thorough and calming backrub. A low chuckle issues
from her throat. "I don't mind. I was there once myself. Actually, I had a really
good teacher. I don't know if you remember Wildcat, but he taught me a lot of
things. Can you guess the first lesson, Bart?" Her right hand works up to knead
the tender young lad's neck.

Robin thinks . o O (Disappeared fast when? At he magic show, or when the JLA
brought Secret to us? Heh, I wonder if Barbara is watching this live.)

Completely, entirely, totally ill at ease, and extrordinarily tense, Impulse does
*not* move. Not a muscle, not an inch. He's clearly at a total loss as to what,
exactly, to make of this. "Er...sure, Dinah, he kept a lid on us Titans for
awhile," the kid says in a wavering monotone, flinching slightly as she starts to
work his neck. . o O (My *GOD*. Must...not...open...mouth!) He fails to heed his
own advice, and hazards a guess. "But, ah, no...what was the first lesson?"

"Oh." From behind, she adroitly moves her leg in a smooth and /slow/ motion,
while attempting to snake her arm around Impulse's throat: should she succeed
with the element of suprise, the net effect would be to drop the lad to the
tarpaper. "Never let ANYBODY get too close."

(Snaking her arm from behind around Impulse's throat, Canary hauls back while
kicking the lad's legs out from beneath him. With a sharp twist of her body, she
attempts to slam him to the tarpaper rooftop, relying solely on the element of
suprise and proximity. Should she succeed her body will pinion his.)

Holy Moses! Never say you can't surprise a speedster - they're generally only
sickeningly fast from the neck down. Bart is *flattened* - which is totally not a
comment on Dinah's weight - and the wind is knocked out of him with a muffled
*whoof*. Instantly after hitting the tar (well, not instantly, it still takes a
stunned half-second for what happened to register), the kid ghosts and rolls away
from Dinah, curling up and coughing. "*Sprock*!" he curses, gasping.

Canary rolls from the empty space and lays back on the rooftop, hands hooked
behind her neck casually. "She gazes over at the two. "Never trust a woman. As
Rudyard Kipling once said, we're by far the more deadly of the species."  
Seemingly vulnerable now, she lifts a brow. "Do you have a suitable rely, Robin?"

Robin winces, bringing his forarm reflexively up in front of his face, like a
witness to a car accident. Having learned the First Lesson both in the gym and
the hard way, he saw that coming. "Nope, you've about covered it." he says,
before leaning both elbows on his legs and putting his chin his hands. "Unless
you want to add the 'hell hath no fury' bit. Although I missed the scorning
somewhere."

Black Canary props herself up on one elbow, a smile tugging her mouth. "You show
your mentor's caution. So, is your next move to wait for aggression, or for your
teammate to make the decision for you?"

Lying on his back, now, staring at the sky and breathing heavily, Impulse coughs
once more for good measure. "*My* next move is fast," he mutters. Then
wordlessly, he blurs; wordlessly, he makes tracks behind Dinah and attempts to
wrench one arm behind her back and hold the other tightly at the elbow - right,
only putting enough pressure on so it doesn't hurt *much*. If, that is, it works
at all.

Dinah rolls slightly, firmly in Impulse's grip, her face staring at gravel while
Impulse straddles above her. "Yup. Send in the teammates first. That's Batman's
style." As an afterthought, she adds, "Good move Bart. You've left me only one
move." She curls her left hamstring and brings her leg up, the sole of her boot
squarely between his legs. "How fast ARE you? I'll wager a broken arm on it."

"Oh jesus," Bart grimaces, and immediately lets go, backing away. As soon as he's
a good seven, eight feet away from Canary, he crosses his arms and gets this look
to him like his best friend stole his lunch money and called his mom a ho. "Okay,
Dinah, I give up."

Black Canary rolls swiftly on her back, then rises to her feet. "I am not even a
fraction of what you'd have to encounter,and you two know that. Who'se training
your team right now?"

Impulse frowns. "If I were fighting someone I wanted to hurt, Dinah, I would hurt
them." He glances at Robin, shutting up. He's good at explaining.

Robin stands and jumps backeard to the skylight apex. A second higher leap ropels
him to a backeard sommersault away from the sparring duo to the roof edge. As he
spinds through the air, Robin's arms cross his torso. When he lands, there's a
bola in his right hand and some red and yellow ball in his left. "I don't know
exactly what's going on here, but I'm not biting. I was trying really hard not to
get all Batmanish tonight. This is all the sourpuss you're gettin' outta me. It's
a drag, if you wantto know the truth."

Black Canary lifts her chin, moving back. "Yeah well--sometimes it HAS to be.  
The real truth? All of us would like a world without crime where there wasn't a
need for heroes. We'd all be professional wrestlers, or entertainers. So, who is
currently mentoring you? I'd like a word with them. They're not doing ENOUGH.
You--both of you--and everyone on your team, has the advantage. You're all
smarter, faster, and stronger than your predecessors. In time you'll put us all
to shame. If you spend one minute bored? It's a waste."

Looking vaguely relieved that Robin's made as much sense out of this as he has,
Impulse drops his arms to his sides. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he says a tad smugly,
"That's why we're TMS. Tomorrow's Magnificent Seven." He pauses and reaches up to
rub his nose. Doesn't look very magnificent. A little embarrassed, maybe. "And,
uh, no one's mentoring us." Then he leaps to the defense, "But did anyone mentor
the Teen Titans? /No/..."

Black Canary's jaw drops dumbfoundedly, as she looks to Robin for confirmation.  
"The Justice League hasn't assigned a mentor? Don't get me wrong: I know you to
be capable. You each have adequate training apart. But as a TEAM?"

Robin says "Alright. That's IT!" He puts the items back in his utility belt and
gets out his cable launcher. "Don't give us that 'Justice league assigned a
mentor' crap. Like Impulse says, no one assigned one to the Titans whewn they
were our age. Younger even." He points at Dinah. "And when you and Aquaman, and
the Green Lanern that came before this one, and Barry Allen - yeah I know his
name - formed the Lague did the JSA give *you guys* a group mentor. You're second
generation just like us Dinah. Don't be our chaperone be our friend. And ask Blue
Devil about our teamwork."

Impulse's face is set - the look is back, the slightly puzzled, slightly hurt,
fairly annoyed one like before. He hugs his arms to his stomach, hunching his
shoulders forward a bit and frowning. "And it's really *not* cool to judge our
work as a team from what you've seen here tonight; like I said, if I had to hurt
you, I would. But why would I want to hurt you?" He looks at Robin, brow
furrowing, then back at Dinah. "Can't you trust us?"

Black Canary steps toe to toe with Robin, and barks back "First lesson for you,
punk: know your role, and change your tone. You think because you know my history
you've walked a mile in my shoes? History lesson: we messed up. BADLY.  The JSA
/did/ step in, too late, and as a result we had a narrowly avoided mess. Every
success accredited to teh JLA has been due to luck." She steps back and folds her
arms, snorting. "I'm not a member right now. Know why? Because I don't believe in
that system. But what I DO believe in is legacy and history.  Sure, each of you
has a proud tradition, and you work well together. Well DUH.  You wouldn't be a
team if you didn't. My concern is that you don't have the WISDOM or experience to
know when to pull back." She extends a gloved index finger "And Robin, if you
were MY teammate? I'd slap you silly for not backing me up in a combat situation.
For all your tactical, you need to clock that ego of yours at the door."

Black Canary slants a look at Impulse. "Ask me that in ten years."

Robin fires his cable launcher into the urban canyon. Calmly, and quiwetly "We
don't like the JLA system either that's why we get annoyed when they treat us
like kids. I'll gladly take my punk ego and go home, I'm tired of this sort of
posturing. I didn't 'back Impulse up' because I thought we were coming to hang
out, not have a fight. Why yoiu're getting all Aquaman on us , I have no idea.  
You didn't pull that when we were fighting the Markovians. Can I go now, or do I
have to just leave like you and the JLA did after you dissed us when Secret
showed up?" The whole speech is flatly modulated, with a cracking voice in spots.
You'd think Robin was gonna cry.

Black Canary stares at Robin. "Do you consciously imitate everything he does, or
do you actually have an independant thought? Some battles aren't fought with
fists, and you can't run away from them."

Black Canary sighs and rakes a hand through her hair. "If you want me to be soft,
I can do that. For some reason, i thought you two could take an opinion.  Much
better than my peers."

Impulse finally looks totally shocked. "Dinah, do *not* pick on him. That's what
you're doing. Do you realize that?" He steps up to her, slightly taller, and tugs
his mask off. She has no mask, then neither does he. His eyes are wide, and you
can clearly see /exactly/ how angry he is, and just /how/ taken aback. "Do you
understand that you're bullying? That you have *no* room to lecture us like we're
a couple of idiot neophytes? You were *gone* for a couple years. Do *you* know
what's been up with us? Do you know *our* story?" He sets his jaw again, face
darkening, shock wearing away, and looks at Robin. "Let's just dust. C'mon."

Robin says "Sure." He jumps off the roof and swings away.

Black Canary pauses, then says forcefully, "NO!" "NO, and that's my problem.  
You CAN'T just dust. Do I know you? NO. Do I recognize the patterns of behavior?
YES. So what if I'm speaking my mind? Isn't that what you came for?  An element
of danger? A few words later, you can't TAKE it? God...how disappointing. How
mind-numbingly chicly JLA." Black Canary closes her eyes and shakes her head.

Stopping at the edge of the roof, looking down, Bart appears preoccupied. Maybe
he's wondering how exactly to get down. He looks up at Dinah, eyes distant.  
"You lost," he says terribly quietly. "An element of danger? Adrenaline? Kicks?  
Sure. Finding out exactly how poorly we're regarded, how little we're trusted, by
the person we trusted most? Nope, sorry." He pauses, glancing at the door.  
"Now, you're welcome to get in touch with us when you're ready to treat us like
human beings. Until then..." Bart just shakes his head, face deadly serious. He
blurs, and disappears.

Black Canary folds her arms over her chest and sighs. "Someday I'll ask how that
could be. I admire them. I do. I just hate their set-up and the people who mold
them. I just wanted an alternative." She turns and kicks a pebble, heading back
to the shadows and the Gotham night.

[OOC] Cow and Chicken shout "END!"