[center][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WuXwSyahgW4]Fly Like An Eagle - The Steve Miller Band[/url][/center]
[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/O0HVl2f.png[/img][/center]
[i][b][color=black]"I can't trust you in the field anymore. You're done."[/color][/b][/i]

[color=878686]The memory of his former mentor's rejection echoed through his mind every minute of the day. Coloring his every action, permeating any decisions that were made whether crucial or casual. But then as far back as he could remember, the one thing that Dick Grayson had never particularly excelled at was the ability to let go. Which he quickly realized was exactly what he [i]had[/i] to do if he ever wanted to make it off of the high bar currently in his grasp. With a deep breath and a moment's pause, Dick rapidly swung his body forward and curled up into a double somersault, sailing past the adjacent balance beam and making it to the uneven bars that stood a couple of feet away. Grabbing onto them as easily as he could think, Grayson vaulted over the first bar, flipped, and grabbed onto the second before wrapping his legs onto them. Suspended upside down, he outstretched his arms and unclenched his thighs, allowing himself to fall - with just enough space between himself and the mat to twist his stance into an upright position. By the time that his heels touched the firm cushioning below, Dick felt the breath he had been saving finally give out. Allowing himself to feel the sweat beading down his brow, he closed his eyes and relaxed his posture. He had been working at this routine for three hours and truth be told, it still felt like little more than a warm-up. His heart pounding in his ears, the one-time Boy Wonder couldn't help but bow to no one in particular before turning towards his waiting gear in the corner of the Towers' gym. Sure, he was as far away from the Circus as he had ever been, but a little bit of showmanship never hurt anyone.

Grabbing his stopwatch, he pressed pause and mentally checked off his time before stuffing it into the massive black duffel bag. Looking into the mirror, Dick was greeted by a face that should have been familiar to him but, truthfully, still wasn't: the E.M.P. mask that he was wearing did a brilliant job of obscuring his actual features with believable alternatives. The bridge of his nose appeared slightly wider, his eyes were a different shape and color, his brow was a little more pronounced, and his hair was a duller shade of brown when compared to his natural black. He'd considered changing the jaw and mouth a bit, but it didn't make sense. After all, his mask in the field only covered the top half of his face. "Robin" would only arouse suspicion if anything beyond that looked different - the hair was the exception, with the excuse being that in the field, he wore a black wig. 

Dick would be amused by the subterfuge if it hadn't been weighing on him lately. Truth be told, he wanted to open up to the rest of the team - the ones that didn't know, anyway. They all had no problem walking around the Tower without any disguises, regularly using eachother's names in conversation - acting [i]normal[/i]. But given his secondary upbringing, the paranoia couldn't help but rear it's head whenever he'd applied to become a member of the Titans. So he did what any adopted son of the most secretive man in the world would do: forged his documents, came up with an alias and backstory, and had Lucius Fox create a digital imaging mask that he could wear all day if needed. It was almost the perfect plan if it didn't ring so false. But Dick knew he had to protect himself, because as good as Loren Jupiter and Lillith Clay had been to him and seemingly everyone else, there was still a healthy bit to be skeptical about. This whole setup had been way outside of his comfort zone from the start, but he owed it to himself to see what it was like to give himself over to a team. Or at least a much different team, one that wasn't dictated by someone who spent so much of his life in darkness that his home was a literal cave.

Sighing to himself, Dick pulled out his phone and scrolled past the relevant news items. He hadn't recieved any messages today, which marked the fourth day in a row that Barbara hadn't texted. He tried to hide the pang of remorse over that, with the last words that they exchanged being entirely brief and full of hidden tension, but Dick couldn't help but feel like it was his fault. She had been pulling away from him before he'd left Gotham, so he just started to wonder if he should let himself move on. As much as they had argued over the last few months, Barbara was the best thing that had ever happened to him - no matter what Wally had told him in an effort to prop him up, he knew that she deserved better.

[I][b][color=54a468]Maybe it's time to fly solo. I mean...[/color][/b][/I]

Before Grayson could finish that painful thought, an alarm suddenly went off. Whipping his head back towards the glass door leading into the gym to see rushed movement heading for the Briefing Room, Dick slung the duffel bag over his shoulder and quickly shut his mind down to any personal issues. There was evidently an emergency and the Titans were needed. Grabbing the side-zipper of the bag, Dick slid it open to reveal a crimson breastplate waiting for him underneath. A small smile crept upon the side of his mouth as he opened the door and entered the dimly lit hallway. Before he even made it halfway across, Grayson was already slipping on the form-fitting attire within the bag. The body armor clicked into place. The belt clasped together just below his torso. The boots and gloves practically wrapped themselves around him. His E.M.P. mask was discarded, revealing his actual features before he slapped the black eyemask over them. By the time that he made it to the kitchen, the cape billowed out from behind him and his bag had been stuffed in an open locker. 

A fully-suited Robin entered the kitchen, determined to meet the call to action. 

What he found in the kitchen, however, was the visible antithesis to his readiness. He immediately wanted to groan.

Punctuality's greatest enemy was named Wally West. 

[color=54a468][b]"Hey, twinkle-toes."[/b][/color]

Robin raised an eyebrow as West looked up, mid-bite of his quickly shrinking stack of pancakes.

[color=54a468][b]"Alarm? Emergency? Me, others, ready? Any of this computing to you?"[/b][/color][/color]