2017.01.10 - Icebergs Ahead

Dick and Roy infiltrate the Iceberg Lounge in disguise. Ssshh.

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Foggy and cold in Gotham City, it's a day that lends itself well to just staying inside. So that's what most people in the city have done, if they can do. Those who can't try to minimize their time out, leaving the streets emptier and lonelier than before. It's this that makes Roy pretty happy he's not patrolling today in this city...at least, not to his knowledge. He sets his jaw and pulls up to the house on his bike, parking it out front and being shown in by Alfred, of course.

A short time later, there's a knock at Dick's door, Roy standing outside in his snug riding leathers. Red, of course.

Dick Grayson is looking a little more sexy/rugged than he usually does, having not shaven for two days and now bearing a dark shadow of stubble on his chin and strong jawline. He pokes his head out of the bathroom and grins at the sight of Roy. "Roy!" he exclaims and is over next to him in seemingly a couple of steps, picking the teen up and then setting him down.

Dick is dressed in a pair of worn and comfy black boxers, and nothing else, showing that whatever happened he's in perfect health. No cut, bruises, bandages, or anything of the sort. "Been out showing off on your bike, huh?" he says with a throaty laugh, as he looks Roy over.

"Oh, sorry." Roy chuckles as he's picked up and set down. He then reciprocates, picking Dick up and spinning around before setting him down. It's his way; he has to somehow one-up his buddy. "Did I interrupt your grooming, or are you going for the beatnik look?" The archer tilts his head and drums his fingertips on his chin, as if appraising a work of particularly interpretive art. "I dunno, the Beat Poet Wonder doesn't have exactly the same ring to it."

Dick Grayson tirls his head and lets Roy get a look at his rough stubble once he's set down. He flashes a smile. "No, it doesn't," he laughs. "I was just about to shave. I was asleep until just a few minutes ago, when I heard you drive up." Which is unheard of, the teen keeping similar hours to Batman most days. He puts a hand to his bare smooth chest. "Magical healing. Still, I needed to catch up on some sleep, it seems," he says, looking a little embarrassed that he's slept so much.

His smile turns a little mischievous as he tilts his chin up, stroking the shadowy growth there with a thumb and forefinger. "You know, you could pull off this look really easily," he ponders.

Roy's eyebrows lift sharply. "Whoa! That's not sleep, that's hibernation!" He chuckles and reaches up to ruffle Dick's hair again. "You think so? Guess I'll have to give it a try, if you suggest it. I mean, who likes shaving? That's crazy talk." With a wink, he steps to the side, to lean against the wall. "Go finish your prettification and I'll find something to do. Alfred'll know where I am." Because he knows everything that goes on in those walls. Everything.

Dick Grayson shakes his head under the ruffling and heads back to the bathroom, leaving the door open. "You want to head to a club tonight, do some actual dancing?" he says. Who IS this dude? Mentioning dancing before crimefighting? The young man stands in front of the sink and begins to rub some mint-scented shaving gel into his stubble, glancing out at Roy.

Just as Roy pushes off the wall to stroll back down the hallway, he stops upon hearing Dick again. That gets a look, even though he's already away in the bathroom. The redheaded bowman steps over to the doorway, slooooowly peeking in and looking his friend over, up and down. "Okay, who are you and what did you do with my best bud? Because the Dick Grayson *I* know...would never offer to go clubbing without some kind of...goody, crimefighting, ulterior motive."

Dick Grayson laughs softly and begins to gently shave the sides of his stubble away in quick efficient swaths. "Oh, hah, did I mention we'd be going to the Iceberg Lounge?" he quirks, the Penguin's main lair and infamous 'anything goes' club. "Once we get a little disguise work to make us look old enough, that is," he says with a twinkle in his eye.

Roy slumps slightly, shaking his head, but he keeps grinning even as he does. "Yeah...thought so. Good to have you back, Legs." Straightening up again, he leans his shoulder against the door frame. "So what are these disguises? I hope I'm not gonna have to wear one of those creepy pinstripe mustaches again. I felt like such a dork!"

Dick Grayson shakes his head and then completes his shaving task, checking his work with a thumb before rinsing off his razor and patting his chin dry, then putting on a little aftershave. "Nah, nothing like that," he says. "Though it will involve.. hair dye," he smiles. "Get over here," he gestures, "And take your shirt off."

Surprise reflects on Roy's expression as he unzips his jacket and pulls it off, tossing it onto the bathroom floor. Then he does the same with his shirt, after peeling it off, and the undershirt too; a jersey and a tank top. "Guess I better get these off too. Hair dye and leather don't mix." With a sheepish grin, he undoes his pants and pushes them down, to reveal...form-hugging boxer briefs! In red, naturally.

Dick Grayson quirks a smile as he opens a small case beside him, sitting on the closed toilet lid. He takes out a tube and small jar, putting them on the sink. "Red. I figured," he says. "Well, you're going blond for this," he nods as he eases Roy down and wets his hair thoroughly, then daubs the gel-like hair dye into the wet hair and begins to slowly work it in. "This is a special formulation Batman makes - the cool thing about it? If we need to change into costume, we can spritz ourselves and everything fades away in seconds. He slows his fingers, looking down at Roy as he slowly, gently works the dye into his buddy's hair.

"Blond! Me! Blond!" Roy looks halfway hurt, but he's just putting on. He sits down, kicking his clothes away as he tugs his boots off. "Why Dick Grayson, are you trying to seduce me?" He wiggles his eyebrows, looking up, then averting his eyes downward so he doesn't get the dye in them. "I'll have you know, the girls back home would kill to be in your shoes right now! Or...bare feet, as the case may be." And even if he's tempted...he doesn't tickle the Boy Wonder. Because he doesn't want blond everything. He can behave. Sometimes.

Dick Grayson snorts. "If I was trying to seduce you, I'd suggest we make /certain/ you look like a /natural/ blond, you know, just in case Penguin gets your pants off.." he says, easing his fingers through his buddy's hair. "Don't throw up in your mouth picturing that, bud," he says casually.

"Yeah, thanks for that." The expression rushing over Roy's face reflects his thoughts perfectly: yuck! Penguin is just such a consummately awful person; it's like he goes the extra mile to be greasy and gross, but for some reason thinks it makes him better. Talk about missing the point! He closes his eyes, easing into the feeling of fingers massaging his scalp. "Keep that up and I might let you do that sometime when we're *not* about to go out to a terrifying supervillain's club."

Dick Grayson looks down at his handsome buddy, the boy's eyes closed, and Dick swallows, feeling his boxers tent up. "Ih really? I'll have to hold you to that, playboy..."

He shifts around, then begins to perhaps even more delicate maneuver of coloring his friend's eyebrows, working the dye in gentle arcs over the boy's closed eyes. "Yeah, keep your eyes closed.." he mutters, and then does another slow pass through Roy's hair. "OK, let me wash out the excess." He eases Roy's head down and pulls the faucet up on it's flexible neck, washing out the excess dye and checking to make sure the color has taken. Which it has.

Roy chuckles, shaking his head just a little bit. "You give a *great* scalp massage," he continues to explain. "I'm talking like, high-priced aesthetician or whatever. You probably have like...pressure point training and know where to reflex everything, right? Like, every zone of the scalp that reflects to some other part of my body or whatever." His eyes close after briefly being open, when he's instructed, leaning over to stick his head where it's guided, so that the dye can be washed out. "Am I gonna freak out when I look in the mirror? Do blonds really have more fun?"

Dick Grayson nods at that. Of course Batman has drilled into him every spot on the human body, pressure points, pain points, etc, etc. "I think you forget that Batman made me memorize every acupuncture point, and be able to name them starting from any point. And there's like 2000 of those." He looks down at Roy, and smiles a little. "With your coloring and light hair, you might have to wear more red just to not fade away entirely," he laughs as he pulls Roy up to look into the mirror, before handing him a towel to blot his hair dry.

Roy just snorts, taking the towel and carefully drying his hair. He doesn't want to rub the dye off. He's still not really sure how it works! But once he's got it as dry as he can imagine he'll get it, he takes the towel off it and looks in the mirror. "Wow." It makes him...shiver, a little, even. "Never really thought a different hair color could make me look so...different."

Dick Grayson nods at this. "You'd be amazed how even tiny changes can make people look at you in totally different ways," he says, turning Roy's head this way and that. "And don't worry, /without/ that spray, that dye would have to grow out. It won't stain, run, fade, or anything." He hmmms. "We'll need to go down into the Cave for the last part, but we won't do that until we're ready to go," he says, pondering. "And you can get clothing there, too. Just in case we have to leave everything behind, there's no tags or id marks in them except fake ones."

Dick then pulls up another tube and jar. "Me, I'm going faded mousey brown. You want the honors?" he says, looking to Roy.

"That's crazy," Roy murmurs softly, barely above a whisper. His eyes remain fixed on his reflection: the way his hair moves, and the way it looks naturally blond, the way his eyebrows match, so much lighter than usual. It's mind-blowing. Batman really does have all the best toys. "Oh. Uh, sure. I'll...oh, right!" Cheerfully, he snaps his mind back to the present and looks at the tube and the jar, starting to figure it out slowly. He's good with things like this, he just needs a moment. "Okay. So rub this in, do this on the eyebrows, then rinse?"

Dick Grayson sits down and leans his head back into the sink. "And wet it beforehand, too," he says. "Otherwise, yeah, that's right." He looks up at his buddy. "Do Green Arrow and you not do disguises much?"

"Not this kind! I mean...we usually don't have to, that much." Roy starts wetting Dick's hair and works his way through it in a workmanlike way, with a focus of purpose. He applies the gel and starts to work it into the hair, all the way down to the root, front and middle and back. "We've got some wigs and hats and stuff. Nobody really cares if you wear a hat inside anymore." Roy must know how to fix his hair for a wig though, what with its shaggy silky bold redness.

Dick Grayson closes his eyes and nods. "Sometimes we need to go undercover for an extended period of time. So far, my record is like a week. Bruce has done it for a month or more, once or twice." He flashes a slight smile at the memory.

Roy makes a face, as if that's the most appalling thing he's ever heard. Or at least, the most appalling thing he's heard in recent memory. "I can't even deal with that," he finally comments, before starting on the eyebrows. "Keep your eyes closed." He doesn't have to say it, he's pretty sure; Dick's good at just *knowing* things. But he'll say it out of courtesy and care.

Dick Grayson nods slightly, trusting his buddy totally and shutting his eyes. "Hey, whatever the job takes, you know?" he says quietly.

"Sometimes I worry about you, buddy." It's said with affection...and not entirely joking. Roy carefully washes out the dye and inspects his handiwork, once it's done. Then he hands Dick a towel. "Hope I did it right. Looks good to *me* though..."

Dick Grayson sits up and runs fingers through his hair, now a light brown, checking to make sure Roy has covered all the bases including digging down into his scalp. "Looks good, bud," he says and finishes drying it, then uses a little gel to style it in a different way. "OK, down to the cave, then, for the second part.." he says, satisfied.

"Okay!" Roy stretches, flexing his muscles as he tenses, then relaxing them and letting his hands fall to his sides, arms swinging. He waits for Dick to lead the way, and he's close behind. "So you said you've got all kinds of clothes down there? What, uh, should I know about this lounge, anyway? Am I gonna have to use the right fork?"

Dick Grayson barks a laugh. "Hardly. The Penguin loves to pretend he's all upper-class, but he has some decidedly low-class tastes. The place is all fixed up for fancy parties, but nobody is going to be paying attention to your manners at all." He leads the way down into the Cave, going through the clock passage and taking the elevator down. Once there, he walks over past the costume vault to a much more extensive collection of disguises - wigs, plastic skin, fake wounds, the whole nine yards. But for their purposes, it's just loud and garish club clothing, something flashy and cheap. He gets dressed, and points out some potential clothes for Roy to wear as well.

"Whew. Okay, good." Roy follows, standing in the elevator only a little awkwardly, dressed in only his skivvies. Once they're in the vault, he starts going through what's available. "I'm guessing I need to grab some uh, underclothes too if we're gonna be careful about leaving anything behind?" The archer gestures down at his bright red ones...which are, to be fair, very much a Roy sort of thing to wear.

Dick Grayson nods at this as he pulls off his black boxers and ponders a few things, finally choosing some cheap-looking briefs that hug his ass and package, being about a size too small for him. "Yeah, that kind of cheap and tawdry ambiance," he says out-loud, checking himself out in one of the mirrors. He looks over at Roy. "Yeah, that's perfect. Loud and desperate. Maybe the ones with 'Stud' written across the front?"

Roy gives Dick a look-over at that, leaning his head from side to side. "Be careful bending over, dude. You'll blow those out like a slingshot across your ass." He walks over and smacks Dick on the seat sharply, then nods, as if he were doing it for purely research purposes. "Okay. I guess those'll hold up to a stress test." Grinning wickedly again, he rummages until he finds a suitably tacky pair of briefs, mesh up the sides and an animal print accent. He shoves his red boxer-briefs down, stepping gingerly out of them, and works his way into the new pair, adjusting himself inside and then throwing his arms up. "How's this?"

The underwear frays as Roy smacks Dick on the butt, and Dick looks around at the damage. Then he snaps Roy's waistband. "Perfect. See, I knew you had an eye for this sort of thing," he says, perfectly seriously. The rest of his garb is as appalling as Roy's, screaming low-rank mobster kids out for a party. He checks himself out, then walks to another station. "OK, contact lenses for eye color," he says, picking out a pair from a rotating selection of colors, and putting them in. "Then some cheap cologne and we're ready. You ready, bud? I'm ready."

"Man," Roy shakes his head and just picks out the tackiest, gaudiest club clothes he can find. There. He looks like some sort of colorblind refugee from the late 90s club scene, somehow transplanted into the present day. "Gag," he comments, picking up one of the colognes and twisting off the lid, sniffing it. "Oh god, that's just like...that's like truck stop stuff. Maybe...maybe not that one." Replacing it, he picks up another one. Yeah, that's the one. It's just "fancy" enough to be believable, but tacky enough to be appropriate.

Dick Grayson checks Roy out and pronounces him presentable, then it's a simple matter to store their gear in simple gym bags should they need it, to be concealed outside in case they need it. "This is recon, though, so.. shouldn't be anything too big. Just listen and try to pick up on anything." Then it's just a few changes of transportation and they two boys are ready to go into the iceberg Lounge. They have to stand outside in the cold for a time, but they're both handsome enough to be passed inside in quick order by flint-eyed bouncers paid to keep up the club's rep as a happening place to be.

Inside, the whole tawdry ambiance of the place becomes apparent, nautical and arctic decor themes prevailing with garish lighting and loud, loud music from the dance floor. Gotham's young people dance and party, drink and smoke, toss back pills or shuffle off to the bathrooms for more illicit pleasures. The main floor is filled on this Saturday night, the party already in full swing even though the sun is barely down.

"Wow," Roy comments, once they're inside. It's warmer inside, at least, even if it's not particularly toasty. The body heat from all the patrons helps to keep it warmer than it otherwise would be; in terms of ambient heat, it's cooler than most clubs, likely to maintain that "iceberg" motif that Penguin enjoys so much. But it's also apparent Roy has never before set foot inside this place, and it's remarkable enough to draw his attention to scan all around it.

All *kinds* of things going on. Crazy things done far more openly than at most parties and dance occasions. Even raves usually are more subtle than this, and he'd know -- he's been to a few! Roy nudges Dick, glancing over to him with a slow, easy grin. "So, where do we start and what are we doing?"

Dick Grayson has just... changed, the handsome well-mannered teen now openly ogling some of the women that pass by, reaching out to slap the occasional butt as they walk through the crowd - his face, his walk, his entire demeanor - different. It's weird and offputting for a bit, until Dick catches Roy's eye and winks once. "We are here to score, my naive friend!" he says much too loudly, as he makes his way towards the bar. Fake ID's of course were another station in the Batcave. he flashes his to the bartender and picks up a cheap beer, then turns and leans back against the bar - he's undone the first three buttons on his shirt, letting a glimpse of his sports-carved muscles show, catching the various glances thrown his way. He sips the beer, purposefully working his throat but actually drinking very little indeed. He motions Roy close, almost nuzzling him to be heard over the pounding music. "We just need to get the feel of the place - Penguin is trying hard to impress someone, and that's going to show up somehow. This is just recon, really. Might come to nothing." He brushes his lips over Roy's neck in a quick peck, to explain the closeness, then pulls back.

Roy rolls his eyes and just goes with Dick. It's not quite so much of a shift for him to slide into the persona of a flirt...but instead, he opts to play it differently. If Dick is going to be the lech, he might as well be as low-key as he's been stated to be. The naive friend...sure! Maybe he doesn't get out much. So he sort of awkwardly apes his buddy's posture, making it look a little forced...and then he's nuzzled and kissed and...!

That makes his eyes widen, but he just goes with it. Undercover, right?

So he reaches out and runs a hand over Dick's exposed chest, then pats it and grabs his own beer and gulps half of it down. But unlike Dick, he actually drinks it. Oops. Oh well.

Dick Grayson laughs coarsely, and then chats up a woman that comes over to get a beer, gets slapped for his trouble, then tries again and again, looking like that super-handsome dude who nevertheless is going home alone at the end of the night. He nods occasionally to Roy, noting his posture and such, and moves out onto the dance floor. He makes the rounds over the next hour or so, coming back to the bar occasionally to 'refill' even though the vast majority of the beer winds up in various other places, or down the front of his shirt a couple of times. Eventually he starts making his way towards the less lit areas of the club, keeping his 'wingman' in sight.

Roy, unfortunately -- at least this time -- seems to be more successful than he intended. What, the hapless loser act really works?! How is that even possible? He's in a kind of crisis of identity now, having thought that everybody likes his swagger and spirit, all that confidence and smoothness...only to find out that it might work even better if he pretends to be a totally hopeless dork.

It helps the act that he's drinking to keep up with Dick, not really noticing that Dick's not really drinking much at all, but once he spots his recon-partner move off, he begs off the trio around him at the bar. "Be back soon, honeys!" More winking than should ever really take place ever follows this, as he only slightly wobbly hurries after Dick.

Dick Grayson notices his bud's wobble, and pulls him into a shadowy corner, arm around his chest, face close to Roy's - his nostrils flare and he quirks a smile. "Dude, how many beers have you had," he grins, running his fingers through Roy's soft blond hair. Hey, it's all part of the act, right.

"I dunno...how many've *you* had? I've just been...keepin' up." Roy gives a sort of ridiculous smile, almost too wholesome to be believed by someone who knows him as well as Dick. "So uh, you found what you needed to find? 'cuz I ain't seen a thing that would be too conspicuous. I mean...any more conspicuous than the stuff they're *all* doing. But *everybody's* doing that." He then, perhaps accidentally, bumps his hips up against Dick.

Dick Grayson pulls Roy close, tight against his strong frame, so it looks like they are having a close and private convo - which they are. "You've been.. dude, I've been dumping most of mine," he says, not looking like he's angry or anything, but more amused. This is Roy, after all. He looks past the boy into the club, then back to Roy's eyes. "Yeah. Penguin must been playing things closer to his chest than he usually does. He usually /wants/ people to know he's up to something big; it feeds his ego," the teen says. "This.. is weird," he continues, frowning. "How do you feel about sneaking around where we shouldn't be? Up for it, or want to come back another night?" He's bent close, mouth almost to Roy's ear, his breath a little beer-y but otherwise fine.

Roy snorts, a little louder than he intended. But he's smooth enough to play it cool and make it seem like he totally meant it. "I am like, the *master* of sneak. We can *do* this." His hand wanders around to grab a good, firm handful of Dick's butt, giving it a slow knead. What? They're in the shadows! Not like anybody's going to care. At least probably not, with everybody else doing crazy things right there in the open, or just barely hiding it by going into the bathroom to get freaky. "Lead the way, jefe."

Dick Grayson flashes his bud a warm smile, and then breaks, moving back not towards the loud dance floor but the quieter darker spaces. A short hallway off the bathrooms, a turn, a set of stairs, and a big goon with an obvious gun by then. Dick nods to Roy and then walks forward, waving at the man. "Dude! Brian! Holy shit it's been what ten years?!" he says, slurring his words.

The man is not impressed, and the wall of muscle moves to block the boy. "Sir, please go back to the party," he says in a low rumbling voice, obviously with orders not to overly molest the guests unless they do something stupid.

"Oh man, it's Brian?!" Roy only has to try a little bit to appear more drunken than he is. But while he may be a good bit intoxicated, he's still aware enough of what he's doing to be able to muscle through. It's like acting in hard mode, but he's had plenty of experience with that; you don't get to the sidekick level he has without learning a thing or two about that. Gas, serums, and other gimmicks are far too often used by the less-than-ethical villainous types.

So Roy staggers along behind Dick, laughing amicably. "You really traded up! Man, how long has it been? You're in the *big* time now." He pats the guy on the shoulder agreeably, although with wildly varying pressure...totally drunk-feeling. "I can't believe it...you're...doin' your hair all different now, too."

"Sirs..." the Wall of Muscle starts to say, but then Dick reaches up and grips the man's arm, his hand doing something Roy can't quite see, and the big man suddenly tenses and begins to slump - Dick quickly switches his grip to the man's neck, thumb driving in to /this/ place, and /that/ one - one second, two seconds, Dick's arm straining against the man's much superior strength but somehow the other man just can't get the leverage Dick has... and then he's out. Dick pants softly as he lowers the huge man to the ground. "Come on," he motions to Roy, padding quickly down the stairs.

Roy just watches, wide-eyed. He was planning to do...something far less impressive. "*Dude*." That's about all he can say before he's ushered down the stairs, which he takes quickly but carefully. "We are *so* gonna have to beat feet outta here like *yesterday* once he comes to. Or once somebody finds him. You totally KOed Brian!"

Dick Grayson nods. "I figure we have like twenty minutes at the outside," he says. "Penguin usually has some pretty spotty security. He's going to wake up and not want to admit a pair of kids dodged him, so he's gonna 'go on break' and make sure he's not around when the blowback comes. If it does." He takes the stairs two and three at a time, three turns and then a bare cement floor and harsh flickering florescent lights. The Penguin does not blow any cash on the backstage areas, it appears. Then it's quick checks of doors, mostly storage, as they proceed down the hall, Dick keeping a careful eye out for cameras.

"Yeah...probably right." Roy really did drink a lot, he's realizing, but he can push it aside while he follows Dick and tries to back him up as best he can. Once they're down the hallway enough, Roy takes a peek around and spies something. "Hsst!" He keeps it quiet, just in case, and points to the opening. Maybe it's a room they can use, maybe it's not. But there's a reason to look around, a difference from the other mainly homogeneous, nothing-much areas back here.

Dick Grayson nods and moves back to Roy's position. "What is it, bud?" he says, quietly. He looks down the hallway, and then back the way they come. Coast is clear, so far.

Roy gestures with his head at the cracked door, barely open, and some other things inside that might be informative. Valuable. Of course, it might all be the worst trap ever, or it might just be something that some of Penguin's people were taking a brief break from and intended to get back to pretty quickly; they don't know how long they'll have, probably, before getting caught. "Looks like this one's seen some activity. Worth checking out maybe?" Unlike the others, which were just sitting empty and unused, probably for the whole night.

Dick Grayson nods and listens, then slips inside the door - inside, the room is obviously meant for one purpose: counting money. Half a dozen bill counters sit on a table, along with sacks and stacks of cash, thousands and thousands of dollars. Dick takes out a tiny camera and clicks off a few shots, then carefully pockets a couple of bills. "Residue tests," he says to Roy. Wire cage walls and a door lead further back into the area. The place looks, indeed, like it was freshly vacated - drinks and such sit about, some half-finished.

Roy lets Dick lead, as before. He's perfectly capable of taking point on his own, but he always seems to defer to his friend when he's in Gotham. Probably a territory thing. Respect and affection, and additionally, he's sure Dick is more alert and more able to handle things than he is, what with him having had so much more to drink. He can still respond, but it'll take more by default; those seconds of delay, hesitation, or uncertainty can mean the difference between getting caught and getting away in the nick of time. "Residue tests and a nice dinner," he quips.

"We are definatelty hitting an all night breakfast place on the way out," he says as he tries the wire cage door, then slips lockpicks from his shoe heel. Like, who /doesn't/ carry those? He works at the lock, frowning. "OK, /this/ he spends money on..." the boy says, trying and failing a couple of times.

"Uh. Want me to try?" Roy has to offer, even if he doesn't really expect to be taken up on it. But maybe he can pull extra focus from...somewhere. His limitless reserves that all sidekicks keep, in case of emergency. That's probably it. He glances around again, then back to Dick. "Mmm. Love me some breakfast. Any time of the day. Nice and...dinery, too. With a jukebox." One that plays better music than the lounge.

Dick Grayson nods and hands the lockpicks to Roy, and then moves to the guard position, ready in case the people who were here decide to come back. "Anything with some eggs sounds good right now," Dick says quietly.

Roy licks his lips, his mouth watering at the thought. He's not bad with lockpicks, but he's not really sure if he can manage a lock too complex or expensive. Then again, there's always a way to pick a lock. He's just not sure if he's up for the Alexander the Great method of solving the Gordian Knot. And he's sure that beer is going to want to escape at some point, and he would so much rather be comfortably installed at a diner and not creeping around the Penguin's already creepy back rooms. So he tries to step it up, hoping for success.

Dick Grayson eases the door open, glancing down the corridor, and withdraws back into the room. He looks back to Roy, checking on his progress.

All that focusing, all that self-discipline, and even through the fog of beer-induced intoxication, Roy manages to make it. He looks just a little smug, but he has every reason to be satisfied with himself. He wide, almost catlike (or Grinchlike) smile crossing his face, he turns and sweeps a hand towards the undone lock. "Voila, Boy Wonder."

Dick Grayson flashes a smile and moves to join Roy. He pushes the wire-cage door open after checking it, and eases through to see what these people want to keep secure. "Huh. There's a lot of pharma here," the teen says, looking around the shelving, and then beyond. He scratches his chin, considering.

"...*lot* of...yeah." Roy looks from one side of the place to another, nudging Dick. "Get some snaps. Pretty sure they keep track of this stuff. Even Penguin won't let things slip on this." A light frown crosses his features. "Didn't know he was into this too...but I guess he's got his flippers into everything."

Dick Grayson does indeed get pics. "Yeah, he's not a druglord, he's an opportunist. But this stuff is.. not narcotics. Most of it isn't particularly illegal." He quirks his mouth and looks like there is something just out of his mental reach.

Roy nods softly, leaning closer to the shelves and looking in more detail over some of the containers. "It's not really even stuff you'd use to *make* the stuff you could get bank on, streetways. What's he doing, opening a pharmacy? Penguin's Pills and Poppers?"

Dick Grayson blinks as he looks around some more. "Most of these are some... holy ..!" he snaps his fingers. "Most of these are the supplements and antibiotics the exotic animal dealer had invoices for - this is where they're stored." And back further are large bins of... chow. Things like 'Lion Chow' and such. "Oh, this does not look good.."

Roy's distraction in his own line of thought switches to Dick when he says the magic word: holy! That's always worth paying attention to; he always has some witty quip. But this time there's a little disappointment, just for a second, when it's not "holy meow mix" or something, followed by obvious surprise on the teen archer's face. "So...it's all starting to come together."

Dick Grayson nods at this. "Maybe," he hmms, and pats Roy's shoulder. "You want to go further down here? Don't think they've discovered dude upstairs, yet." He glances to the exit door, a plain steel door.

"Probably shouldn't tempt fate?" Roy gives a sheepish little grin. Not that he's scared of going deeper...just that he knows what always tends to happen when they do. They've KOed a guard, they're deep in enemy territory, and they've picked a lock on some serious merchandise. In his estimation, they're going to want to try to scamper before they're caught, and every step farther down the rabbithole is more risk.

Sidekick experience has taught him that.

Dick Grayson takes a step towards the door, then nods. "Yeah. This is recon, and Batman doesn't know we're here," he says, moving to the hallway - just in time to run into two of the money counters coming back in. There is shouting, and guns are pulled.

Dick gives a beery burp and wave. "Guys! This is not a bathroom!" he slurs.

This is exactly what Roy wanted to avoid! Well, mostly. He had hoped to avoid secret traps that inevitably hide behind convenient doors and passages that promise greater secrets and stronger incriminating evidence, but he also didn't want a fight. Especially not against armed thugs, when he doesn't have his own weapons with him.

But he falls in behind the tone Dick sets, and he grins a little bit unsurely at the men. "Brian...?" He voices in a light, convincing tone. He's mastered that half-lidded look with his eyebrows raised, as if he's trying to focus his blurry vision on the men before him. "Wait, no, yer not Brian...but uh, yeah, that ain't a bathroom. Look..."

Slightly exaggerated in motion, he holds out his hands before him. "Do you guys know...d'you know...where's...the bathroom?"

Dick Grayson puts his arm around Roy, supporting him, his other hand waving at the men. "Bath-o-room-o," he says loudly and slowly, and snickers drunkenly, hopefully convincing.

One man obviously wants to shoot both of them, and says so, but the man who seems to be in charge waves him away, looking like he's buying the story. Maybe.

Roy is perceptive enough to realize that they have one guy very much opposed to them and not buying their story. Even if the one in charge seems to swallow it, he's not one hundred percent convinced, obviously. And that could mean mortal danger, which is something Roy is absolutely not ready to face tonight. So he giggles a little bit, leaning heavily against Dick. "Whoops. Sorry."

As he's doing this, though, there's something else going on. Something else happening. It's so subtle, but so easy. First it's just a little bit, and easily missed on the white and blue striped pants the archer wears. So tacky, especially with the underwear and the shirt, but perfectly suited to their disguises.

Then it's a little more, and then there's a spot on his crotch, which casually stretches down his inner thigh before spreading to the other thigh and down the leg. He keeps chattering to the men and to Dick as this is happening -- impressive, not to mention convincing that he's both intoxicated and did genuinely need to find a bathroom. In the past tense now, as he makes a puddle under his very, very inappropriate yet well-shined footwear. The sound of dribbling mixes with the sound of liquid rushing against fabric.

It's probably not the first time these guys have seen someone Roy's age have an accident, what with all the substances being abused in the club. But it may be the first time it's happened in this hallway.

Dick Grayson is surprised, but he continues to hold his friend tight, feeling the young man react and then holds him closer. "Dude..." he says, his act slipping a little, but the other men fail to notice since their attention is totally captured by... yeah.

Some of them standing stunned there, and then finally the man who seems to be in charge just waves his hands. "Get these drunk fucks out of here!" he yells, and then there is grappling and manhandling and carrying and tossing out a side door into the cold slushy alley. Dick rolls with the fall, trying to make sure he keeps Roy from any harm. The door slams.

Roy...really must have had at least as many beers as Dick spilled, poured out, or otherwise disposed of. He keeps going for at least a minute, which works with how realistically he does it; it's like he just lost control. It does make an interesting and rather appealing outline of his body against the clingy material, although the thugs are probably not looking at that in any admiring way as he makes a pee puddle where they will most likely be the ones who have to clean it.

When he's manhandled, Roy just goes along with it, rolling exactly as he was taught, but looking for all the world like he's just some poor soused sot who got way too drunk upstairs. Once the door closes again, he peeks out, pants steaming in the cold night, wet and warm but very, very rapidly cooling.

Okay, good. No cameras. The archer pushes up and then springs to his feet, making a face as he feels the chill settling in. "We need," he murmurs, "to get back home. Like now."

Dick Grayson rises up and throws an arm around Roy's shoulders, helping him up. "We will, bud," he says. "There's a cache near here." They walk down the street, shivering in the chill winter night air in their thin clothes. "Here, down this alley," he says, once they've gone a couple blocks. He counts bricks and pulls one out of the alley wall, revealing a code key. He thumbs it, and one of the dumpsters unfolds and opens up, revealing a motorcycle and a few spare tools and weapons clipped to the side. He eases Roy onto the cycle, and they move out, the dumpster folding back into place.

Roy waddles unsurely along, trying to put it out of his mind. But it's a little hard, especially with the temperature outside. A gentle snow begins to fall. "We gonna grab our stash on the way?" They hid it, so it should be safe...but just in case, he's a little concerned. He lets Dick fuss over him and seats himself on the cycle, grinning up at his friend. "What's up with you, man? They weren't buying it, so I had to make believers out of 'em. Better'n getting shot...or tied up and hung upside-down over like a vat of molten taffy or something. What does Penguin do, anyway? Is it like...deadly bird-themed traps? Big birdcages full of scratchy birds?" He makes talon fingers and wiggles them at Dick.

Dick Grayson shakes his head at Roy. "We do not talk about the.. birdcage.." he says with a frown. He wheels around and drives down the alley they hid their stash in, and he leans down to scoop up the bags and toss them to Roy. He lays the bike to the side and then speeds up on the way back to the manor. "Yeah. He loves fish- and bird themes, so it's a toss up whether you're tied to a anchor and dropped into the bay for the sharks, or pecked to death by mutant ravens or something."

It's no mystery that Roy's a little uncomfortable on the bike, but that's probably quite understandable. He tosses the bags onto his shoulder, to carry them much like he would his bow and quiver. "Sounds about like what I expected." Before they take off again, he shifts in his seat and then settles back behind Dick, hugging around his chest from where he sits. He's careful, though, not to press up against him other than chest to shoulders. "So, chalk one up for the Boy Detectives! Or whatever we're calling ourselves. Twin Titans?"

Dick Grayson chuckles. "Right now, we're the Chilly Champions," he says, shivering against Roy's arms as they zoom on through the night, the drive taking several minutes despite the young man cutting several corners - finally, though, they drive down the hidden tunnel into the Batcave, and then they can dismount. Dick helps Roy ease off the cycle, and walks him to the showers, already stripping off his shirt. "Man, this cologne.." he says with a wince. "Oh, almost forgot.." he says, and veers off to get a small squeeze bottle. "Got to get the bat-dye out," he says. "Shower on, water hot," he says as they approach the gym-style shower area. Obediently, the showers turn on, already steaming.

Roy's still a little drunk, even if he had been putting on an extra act for the benefit of things like saving their lives. So on the trip back, his hands wander just a bit over Dick's chest, along his stomach. It's all like idle movement, not really a concerted effort of anything, but it's still plenty of touching that he hasn't really cleared or talked about.

Once they get back, he steps off the cycle and stretches, tall and long and muscular, shirt coming untucked and showing that it's soaked along the tails, as well as flashing a little of his happy trail. Still red and bright. Good thing he didn't do that when they were being confronted!

Walking along with Dick, he casually bumps hip to hip. "You're acting like I broke the hell out of my arm or something," he comments, quietly. "What's the deal?" Though he doesn't undress yet, just getting used to being in a more climate-controlled place, even if it is a massive cave.

Dick Grayson turns and puts a gentle hand on Roy's shoulder. "Nothing, just thought you might want to get cleaned up," he says. "And warmed up." He reaches and begins to unbutton Roy's now-soaked-at-the-bottom shirt, peeling it away from his chest.

Roy spreads out his arms, grinning wider as he looks right to Dick's face. "Mm hmm? You're so...gentle. Domestic, almost. It's really cute." Reaching over, he tickles under Dick's chin, chuckling and wiggling his hips around. However uncomfortable he might have been earlier, he's not quite so uncomfortable now. It almost seems like he's become used to it. "Ugh, man. I broke the seal. Never break the seal! Not until you get home and stuff." And then he laughs again, draping his arms on Dick's shoulders and leaning on him. Let it be unforgotten: Roy *is* a little drunk. "Hiiii."

Dick Grayson gathers his friend into his strong arms, and holds him close, reaching to stroke the back of his head, fingers tangling in the other teen's now-blond hair. "Goofball," he grins as he maneuvers Roy into the showers, then leans him against the wall. He takes off his own shirt and pants, then kneels to take off Roy's shoes and socks, then to unbuckle Roy's pants. "Man. Thank goodness we have a laundry down here, too," he says as he begins peeling the wet clothing from his friend. The pants first, as he works them off.