[center][b][h1][color=gold]R O B I N[/color][/h1][/b][b]Richard "Dick" Grayson[/b], 11-12 (b. March 20, 1956)
[b][sub]Vigilante based in Gotham City, New Jersey[/sub][/b]
[color=gray][sub]Part Time since Summer Vacation 1967[/sub][/color]

[img]https://i.imgur.com/M2qHUmP.png[/img][/center]
[INDENT][h3]Character Concept[/h3][hr]
[color=999999]A year ago, Dick Grayson was at the lowest point anyone could find themselves.

This is the story you know, of a circus kid whose parents are murdered as part of an organized crime shake-down. Keeping that intact, Dick will be entering the story at the end of his first year as Robin. The goal is an approach to storytelling that builds in elements of both [i]Detective Comics[/i] and [i]Streets of Gotham[/i] -- the focus of which will examine race and class divisions in Gotham and Bludhaven in a variety of crime and "slice of life" stories centered around drugs, poverty, crime, and race relations. He'll also be showcasing the transition from childhood to adolescence as his outlook on truth, justice, and the American way evolves through the story and events. In this, Alfred will be a foil to him (representing the Greatest Generation).[/color][/indent]

[center][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=66VnOdk6oto[/youtube][/center]
[indent][color=999999]The idea here is to be raw with the story. Dick is still close in time to his childhood trauma. This is a child whose very notion of stability has been shattered and now he finds himself drawn into Batman's war of vengeance. The key takeaway here is that Dick is an Olympic-level acrobat and gymnast. What he's not is leet, a ninja, or a leet ninja. He's awkward, impulsive, and has no idea what he's actually doing. But he's figuring it out (not really). This is Robin starting out, still sheltered by the shadow of the Bat, but braving the notion of independence.

Storyline pitches of note:

[list][*]The CIA project [url=https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Project_MKUltra]MK Ultra[/url] will feature heavily in the overall story.
[*]Hopefully cross-pollinate stories/posts with Batman, even if just for slice-of-life moments at Wayne Manor.
[*]Hopefully cross-pollinate stories/posts with Batgirl to help vary the outside influences on Dick.
[*]Hopefully make a connection with Impulse, to create room for non Bat-Fam story threads/angles.
[*]Ideally, write with someone I haven't written with before.
[/list]
[/color]
[h3]Key Notes[/h3][hr]
[color=999999]The Earth-1 version of the [i]Flying Graysons[/i] and Haly's Circus are intact.

The events of [url=https://dc.fandom.com/wiki/Robin:_Year_One][i]Robin: Year One[/i][/url] (the Mad Hatter arc) are assumed to have taken place in the winter of 1967, just before this RPG opens, and will be referenced in flashback.

Dick is only Robin "part time." That is, [b]non school nights[/b] or only so long as he keeps his grades up and does his homework. He's still a pre-teen child, so overnight stakeout operations aren't for him (unless he's had a nap beforehand), so his vigilantism is tempered by the social and physical limitations of being a child.

[b][u]Characters of Note[/u][/b]

[b]Sergeant Renee Montoya[/b]
The daughter of immigrants from Santo Domingo, Renee is one of only a few women on the Gotham City Police, and assigned to juvenile and domestic crimes. She's been advocating for assignment to Major Crimes, but thus far has been told to leave the real police work for men to handle. As a minority, and a woman, she's frequently spoken for and her contributions marginalized. As she's noticed cases that the predominantly white detectives are letting slip, typically involving subjects of low class, she's begun to take up the cause of the down trodden and the forgotten.

[b]Mitchell Mayo (Condiment King)[/b]
The (self-proclaimed) archnemesis of the Boy Wonder.

[b]Lucas Fox[/b]
One of Lucius Fox's three children. He and his siblings are the only black children attending Brentwood Academy, where Dick is starting school. As the outsider and the new kid, they make a connection, which defies the understood social norm and exposes Dick to the notion of systematic racism.

[b]Alfred Pennyworth[/b]
[i]Shared with [@Master Bruce].[/i] Dick's other surrogate parent, as Bruce tends to be a largely absent foster father. He serves as the primary foil for Dick, who discusses what he's learned (as he's learned/perceived it) and finds his notions challenged by Alfred's different generational outlook.

[b][u]Notable Events and Lore[/u][/b]
[list]
[*]1964 (age 8): Begins appearing in bit acts with Haly's Circus (juggling, tumbling, etc)
[*]1965 (age 9): Begins taking part in the Flying Grayson's act, coming to media attention and creating controversy over child labor in circuses. 
[*]1966 (age 10): The Flying Graysons are killed during a performance in Gotham City. Bruce Wayne fosters the orphaned Dick.
[*]1967 (age 11): Independently solves the abduction of young girls and takes down the Mad Hatter while Bruce Wayne is indisposed during a Wayne Foundation charity event aboard a yacht.[/list]

[b][u]Story Arcs[/u][/b]
The concept that I have for Dick will be told through a series of three vignettes intended to allow for cross-over and collaboration or weaving into other's posts or stories, before launching into a more linear story that will serve as the summation of Dick's development to that point.

[b][i]Streets of Gotham: Mary Jane's Last Dance[/i][/b]
[indent]When a black-latina teen vanishes from off the streets of the Narrows, no one even seems to notice. Originally thought to be connected to the Mad Hatter abductions (Robin: Year One), Dick continues his investigation when the girl isn't among the Mad Hatter's victims, revealing that there may be one or more unreported murders. And Dick may be in way over his head...[/indent]

[b][i]Streets of Gotham: People Are Strange[/i][/b]
[indent]An intentionally lighthearted take to break up the story themes. Dick tries to have the life of a normal kid his age, when Gotham is attacked by none other than... [i]the Condiment King?[/i] Is this guy for real?[/indent]

[b][i]Streets of Gotham: Ballad of Fallen Angels[/i][/b]
[indent]A boy Dick's age lies dying of a drug overdose in an alleyway in Gotham City. But what drug was he using? And how does a kid that age come by such a cocktail? The more Dick pulls the string, the more it looks like someone is experimenting on the homeless, the lost, and the invisible members of society.[/indent]

[b][i]Robin: As Tears Go By[/i][/b]
[indent]Dick Grayson's first (unsanctioned) solo outing, as his investigation into the earlier incidents all point to the same orphanage in Bludhaven. What he finds there will forever change his view of truth, justice, and the American way. But first, he'll need to find a ride...[/indent][/color][/indent]

[h3]References / Sample Post[/h3][hr]
[hider][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/baAgPvi.png[/img]
“As Tears Go By” [color=gold]•[/color] Part 1
[color=crimson]Wednesday, September 15, 1966[/color][/center]
[color=gold][i]The ground is forty feet below me.

There’s no net.

Nothing holding me up. I let go of the flying trapeze and, for a moment, I’m flying. I can hear the gasps, the collective holding of breath, and even a few shrieks rise from below. I’m starting to fall, but I’m not afraid. I just stretch out my arms, and I know she’ll be there to catch me. Because she’s always there. Because she always does.

The gasps echo, louder this time, as we both go sailing through the air. Me, dangling in mid-air, and my mother holding onto my arms with her legs hooked around the trapeze bar.

Then she lets go.

The screams pierce the air. I shut out the audience - the blur of faces and lights - as I tuck into a ball and flip through the air. Once. Twice. What they don’t see is my father, standing on the platform. He let the trapeze bar go right as I finished the first rotation. Coming out of the second, I plane my body out. My hands open wide, the trapeze bar smacking right against the palms. Holding fast, I sail through the air. Dismount, tuck into a backflip, and make the landing on the platform.

The cheers break out, even as my mother is following suit, until all three of us are standing on the platform together. The applause grows in intensity as she dismounts and joins us, then transforms into a standing ovation as we take a bow.[/i][/color]

“The fearless Flying Graysons! Let’s have a great Gotham round of applause for ten year old [b]Dicky Grayson[/b]. The youngest acrobat performing today!”

[color=gold][i]I step back, and soon I’m the only one standing on the platform. The performance goes into the second act and I’ve got the best seat in the house.

Stepping back from the platform, I put my back against the tent pole and slide down. The strength seems to go out of my legs and I’m starting to realize that my arms are numb. My heart is pounding in my chest and I’m still trying to catch my breath. Below, it probably feels a little cool inside the tent. Up here, with all the lights, it feels like it’s a hundred degrees. 

There’s a strange [b]twang[/b] overhead. I look up, but it’s just the tension wires. In between the platforms, mom and dad are really putting on a show. I know every move. I know each routine. But it’s still incredible to witness. It takes my breath away, and I get to see this every day. The audience below? Amazed would be an understatement. I wish that I could be out there with them, but I’m still too little. Mom and dad are worried that I’ll get tired. Tired during practice is one thing. We have nets and safety harnesses while we learn a new routine. It gives us that little extra security to push ourselves to the limit to figure out what works and what doesn’t. Which, in my case, usually doesn’t. I hit the net four or five or even a dozen times some days. 

But that’s practice, and this isn’t. So I come in at the start of the performance for the first act, then I’m sidelined for the second, and come back toward the end of the third. But I don’t really have any stunts after the first act.

The sound again. Louder, the cable and support structure giving a [b]snap-CLAP[/b] of protest that echoed like a roll of thunder. I heard it. I bet the audience below heard it.

My parents heard it.

They’ve paused their routine, missing the jump. They’re lower than they should be. From this vantage point, I can see that the trapeze is sagging. My dad’s looking up at the cables. My mom’s looking at me. I can see her face.

I can see her fear.

“Mom?”

The cable snaps before I can even get back to my feet. [b]“DAD!”[/b] I see them drop, and lunge forward. I collapse onto the platform, peering over the ledge and I see everything.

I see the end of the world.[/i][/color]

[center][color=black]+ - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - +[/color]
[color=lime]Preset Day[/color]
[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ECqL51SRUk]Post Theme[/url][/center]
A layer of chalk dust seemed to permeate through the room.

A clock on the wall ticked away the seconds, dragging out the hours through a litany of minutes that seemed to subsume an eternity between which the hands made only the most subtle of motions around the white face that was etched with stark, black numerals.

Brentwood Academy was a private school out on Gotham’s west side. A rival to the prestigious Gotham Academy boarding school, Brentwood was known for a number of its alumni getting into Yale -- as opposed to Gotham Academy’s reputation for sending alumni to Harvard. 

The world’s youngest aerial acrobat wasn’t dressed in tights anymore. The end of the school day emerging with a well-rumpled shirt coming loose from where it had been tucked into short pants. A heather gray, scratchy, woolen sweater vest was the only thing keeping the uniform relatively together. The dark mass of hair was askew, giving the youth the appearance of having just woken up from sleeping in his clothes.  

Tossing a few books into a narrow locked, the disheveled youth plucked out a history text before swinging the locker shut. Hooking the lock into place, and then snapping it up into position, the boy dropped the text into a worn, leather satchel. The overlapping flap was monogrammed with an ‘W.’ It was an heirloom piece, passed down through the generations of a family that wasn’t his own.

Three lockers down, another boy had his head concealed behind the open locker door. Faded, buffed out scratches in the front of the locker were still readable, despite attempts at covering up the jagged, racial scrawl. It was the locker of the one black kid in all of Brentwood, and about the only one who’d give Dick the time of day.

It gave the self-described ‘cool kids’ options. They could never decide whether they favored dubbing him ‘circus freak’ or ‘nigger lover.’ So, it broke up the routine a little bit. Encouraged a little bit of variety in an otherwise mundane bit of bullying.

Luke Fox was his same age. His old man worked for Mister Wayne, so they’d met through some Wayne Enterprises corporate social whatchamacallit. Picnic. Bunch of fake smiles. That sort of gig. They actually had a lot in common. They were both used to being the ‘outsider’ where ever they went.

Luke’s dad spoke to him about turning the other cheek, of the good word of non-violence preached by people like Martin Luther King, Jr, or of not stooping to the level of people’s prejudices. 

The circus hadn’t been any of that. It was rough, and it required a certain roughness to survive in that kind of competitive, constantly moving, constantly changing environment. As a result, Dick had learned that when life pushed you... you pushed back. His first day at Brentwood, he’d wound up in detention and the other kid had wound up in the nurse’s office. It had cemented his reputation as the ‘circus freak’ around the school.

Suffice to say, it wasn’t certain yet just whether Luke was a good influence on Dick or if Dick was a bad influence on Luke. People were quick to talk, in roving packs of idiots who had advantages in numbers, but they’d back off pushing Luke around after Dick had come around. For now, anyway. But it was a respite they both enjoyed, however fleeting.

Dick got the feeling Luke hadn’t had a real friend before, in the school at least. None of his ‘white friends’ ever wanted to come around the house, or have Luke over to theirs. And Dick hadn’t really, either. He’d met plenty of people. Shit, he’d met a [b]ton[/b] of people. In Las Vegas. In Atlantic City. In New York. But he’d never stayed in one place more than a single month out of the year. So, it was strange to still be in Gotham. To have a routine. To be going to the same school, day after day, seeing the same faces, and putting up with the same crap from the same cats.

“Ready, Dick?”

As he swung the locker closed, the afro headed youth turned to look up at the other boy. If there was one place the both of them had had enough of by that point, it was Brentwood Academy. 

The two headed from the lockers toward where the bicycles were stacked up against the side of the school. Dick was supposed to sleep over at the Fox’s tonight.

It was a welcome change from another night living in someone else’s home, when they weren’t even there. Just Alfred. Another evening with a stranger whose sole purpose was to remind Dick that he wasn’t ‘Bruce.’

Whatever that meant.[/hider]