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"... You're a brunette with blue eyes, is that right?" the office lady asks.

Dick tilts his head in confusion. "Shouldn't it be brunet since I'm not a lady? Oh wait, it's actually brun! Or, hmm. I'd say my hair is more actually black than brown, so the word should be using that as a color instead!" he exclaims while jumping up in excitement. "So I'd be a blackette! Or rather a blacket, to keep the gender correct. Ooh, but the -et/-ette ending thing is from French, so it should be the French word for black instead. Noiret and noirette. That's so aster!"

He starts pacing around his chair as more thoughts and ideas fill his head. "But just using the word for the basic color is kind of... boring. What other words are used to say that something's black? A raven? Making me a ravenet/te! Or maybe obsidian? Obsidiet/te? Bruce! You are an obsidiet and I'm a ravenet!" He nods his head as if to confirm his decision.

Bruce gently grabs him by his shoulders and guides him back into his seat. He puts on his Brucie smile and says, "Sure thing, buddy. But let's get through this interview for your new passport first, and then afterwards you can tell me all about people and hair colors over some ice cream, 'kay?"

Oh, right, the interview. For his new passport. So he can travel around with Bruce as Dick Grayson. Why can't they just go as Batman and Robin? No papers needed.

Whatever.

He turns to the office lady who's looking a bit exasperated and annoyed at this point. Maybe.

Her hair is blond. Does that make her a blondette? It totally should.

She's definitely looking exasperated and annoyed now. Oh right, she asked him another question.

"Sorry, could you repeat that?"


"It's a beautiful morning in Gotham Academy, and you are a horrible Ro—Dick." is what Babs greets him with this morning.

"Lies and slander, I am a delight and not at all horrible!" Dick clutches his chest dramatically.

Babs raises an eyebrow.

"Hmph, guess you'll lose your status as my favourite redheadette."

Babs blinks, startled. "Excuse me, what?"

"What, what?"

"You know exactly what."

"Do I, really?"

"There, see? Absolutely horrible."

"Baseless accusations! Objection!" Dick shouts while pointing a finger in the distance.

Babs takes a deep breath. Her eye continues twitching. "Richard John Grayson!"

"Uh oh." Dick runs.


Robin loves the gatherings with The Team in Mount Justice. Now that they're happening regularly, he gets to see his friends much more frequently.

He's decided that today's team building exercise will be for everyone to give everyone else a nickname each.

"Since everyone agreed that—"

"Just because no one said no doesn't mean—"

"Wally, sorry Kid Flash, and Artemis aren't even here yet."

"Since everyone agreed that giving each of us nicknames helps to build our team spirit, I'll get started first!

"Let's see..." Robin starts pondering while tapping a finger against his chin. He has an awful, awful idea.

"Megan! You're the Rougette!"

"Thanks, Robin?"

"You're very welcome!

"And Conner, you're the Ebonet, with Wolf, who is the Blanchet!"

"What do these words even mean?"

"And Kaldur, you're the Platinumet!"

"I'm sensing a pattern there."

"[Recognize, B-07]"
"[Recognize, B-03]"

"Oh hey, the Gingeret finally arrived!"

"The what now?"

Kaldur sighs. "By Gingeret Robin most likely means you, Kid Flash."

Wally is confused. Wally hurt himself in his confusion by clumsily tripping over his own feet.

"And Arty!"

"I'm perfectly content to not be included in whatever nonsense you're pulling."

"Aww, don't be like that. I was going to go with Jaunette for you, but I thought of something much better just now."

"I don't want to know."

"Too bad, I'll tell you anyway!

"Artemis, you are the radiant Goldette!"

"...

"I am not impressed."

Robin pouts for a bit, but then he can't hold it in anymore and cackles.


While Dick, being a born performer, likes being in the spotlight, he doesn't like being in the spotlight in this kind of situation. Why does Bruce—or rather, Brucie—have to drag him to these galas? His cheeks hurt, both from smiling for the entire evening, and from getting his cheeks pinched over and over again for being "such a cute and adorable little boy."

He needs a break.

He approaches the buffet, since eating is as good an excuse as any to avoid fully engaging with other people. Also, he's hungry. He is always hungry; he's a growing teen after all. Not going to be a little boy anymore.

Just as he reaches for some crab-stuffed mushrooms, someone clamps on his shoulder with their hand. An adult, judging from the size of the hand. He is turned toward the adult.

"Richard Grayson, I believe? I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm—"

"Lex Luthor, Bruce warned me about you."

"I see."

Since Dick doesn't have anything else to say to Luthor, he turns back to the soon-to-be his crab-stuffed mushrooms.

Luthor evidently isn't done talking to him. He clears his throat. "I'm curious, what is it like, being Brucie's latest charity project?"

Oh no, Luthor did not just call him a charity project. He's not that. He's not. Bruce was very clear that him taking Dick in was not a token gesture to be seen as a philanthropist, that he genuinely wants Dick to be his family.

Luthor is being an ass.

It shouldn't be surprising, what with him being a super villain and all; but most of the vultures guests at least pretend to be nice and courteous.

Special privilege of not being a born "elite," of being a lowly outsider, maybe.

Dick doesn't care, not anymore. It's been a long evening, he's hungry, and now there's Luthor.

"You may think that you're oh so great and that you can look down on other people, like me, but at least I have a full head of hair and am not a fleshet!"

Luthor recoils as if stunned. His surprised expression soon turns into an angry scowl.

A much more familiar adult hand is placed on his shoulder.

"Oh, look at the time! It's getting so late already. Hey, buddy, time to return to the Manor and get our nightly routines done," Brucie says with a wink to Dick.

"Oh yes, you're absolutely right. Let's go!"

While they're leaving, Dick turns back towards Luthor for a moment and stretches his tongue out, just to be a brat. Luthor's entire head turns red in anger.


Sometimes, people grow apart as they grow up. Like Robin (the true, original one) leaving The Team to start anew without direct Justice League supervision.

But even so, he tries to stay in touch with his friends and to keep them (somewhat) up to date.

"... And then a spaceship hurled down from the sky and crashed right in front of me. There was a passenger inside the wreck, but thankfully she was mostly unharmed."

"Ooh, what's she look like?"

"She's so pretty."

"Oh yeah? What's her hair color like?"

"Wally!"

"What? Why are you 'Wally'-ing me?"

"You know exactly why."

"Hair colors are an important aspect of the physical description of people."

"Ugh."

Robin snickers. "I'm so glad you asked, she's a pinkette."

"That word is an atrocity. It is a major offense against the English language. No one deserves to be called that."

"Fine, she's a rosette, then."

"... Like the sausage?"

"What? No! Like those little bouquets."

"I guess that's a little bit better." Artemis still sounds disappointed.


Gar is, indeed, quite green. While he's green behind his ears new to capes and masks, he brings a lot of energy with him. Like a green light signaling "Go."

It's nice, having a greenet on the team. Or should it be verdet?

Now to find a bluet/te to round out the colors... Bleuet/te? Or maybe azuret/te?


It's Nightwing's turn to take some newbies with him on a simple covert mission. The mission objective is clear: get in, get the files and other pieces of evidence, get out again. And most importantly, don't get caught. Not that that's likely to happen, their intel says that there are maybe at most two thugs playing guard. It'll be easy enough to deal with them. Really, sending an entire team, even with most of the members being new to heroism and especially new to being part of a hero team, is overkill.

Nightwing lets the others go in first. (Ha, he's perfectly capable of being patient and waiting for other people and not running ahead!) (This also makes it easier for him to keep an eye on everyone, so that he can better assess everyone's strengths and weaknesses.

Before he follows, Nightwing does a final sweep of the area, to make sure they've gone unnoticed.

Wait, is that a spot of orange on that other rooftop?

Oh shit, please let it not be who he thinks it is.

"There's something I need to go check, you guys go on and finish the mission, I'll catch up to you all later. Nightwing out."

Without waiting for confirmation he mutes his feed and takes a leap and carefully starts climbing.

Dammit, it really is Sla—Deathstroke, with a rifle pointed at the newbies. Luckily it seems that Nightwing hasn't been noticed yet. Nightwing uses all his experience and expertise in the art of sneaking around to approach him, hopefully he can land a pre-emptive strike and take him out of the game.

"You know, you aren't nearly as sneaky as you think you are. I could've taught you better than that."

Well, shit.

Plan B it is. (B stands for Bantering Between Battling Big Baddies, obviously.)

"You sure about that? You might be going senile and overestimate your capabilities."

"We both know that I'm not that old."

"Well, you are a grayet already."

Sl—Deathstroke snorts. "If anything, I'm a silveret. You can be the grayet, since you're already a Grayson." Nightwing can hear the smug grin on his face.

Of course the guy who's said to be using a higher percentage of his brain would be able to just go along with that instead of hesitating in a moment of confusion. (That doesn't even make any sense. Modern-er neurosciences clearly say that— Oh right, Battling Big Baddie right now. Less thinking, more moving.)

He jumps. He flips. He dodges. He keeps dodging.

"Robin to Nightwing, we have everything and are outside again, what's your status?"

That's good. Now he just needs to catch up to his newbies, preferably without Deathstroke stalking following him. (Again.)

Hmm, there's an idea that just might work...

(Sometimes, B also stands for Bombs.)

(Okay, so a lot of times B stands for Bombs. One day they will actually stay covert on a covert mission.)


"Oh my god, is that really you? My corbeauet little brother?"

A snort. "If anything, I'm a zombiet these days."

"Jason!"