𝕊𝕆𝕃𝕀𝕍𝔸𝔾𝔸ℕ𝕋║[ᴅ. ᴡᴀʏɴᴇ]

ᴠᴇʀɪꜱɪᴍɪʟɪᴛᴜᴅᴇ

"What is 'yeet'?"

Vin was looking over a hand-drawn study guide of key phrases and references that, according to Al and Darlene, he has to know to be a functioning, grungy teenage troll to society. If one couldn't tell, he was having a difficult time.

Damian wasn't doing much better.

The young Wayne was sitting on the floor on a comfy pillow. Tyrone had just taught him what 'crisscross applesauce' was and insisted he try it. Damian permitted the ridiculous notion and sat on the Paw Patrol-themed pillow, keeping his proper, linear posture.

"This modified language of yours is nonsensical. What exactly is, 'That's straight-up poggers, bottom'?" Damian's gruff voice was laced with bewilderment as his green eyes narrowed at the laminated paper.

"'It's Britney, bitch'?" Vin raised a brow.

"Since when is the definition of life 'a sexually transmitted, terminal disease'?"

"And why is thick spelled with two c's and no k?"

"Furries...?"

"What has this guy Rick Astley done to garner such a reaction from billions of people?" Vin asked exasperatedly. The confusion muddling his brain grew foggier with every word he read.

"More than half of these sources allude to chronic depression," Damian observed.

Vin scratched his neck, "I've been Catholic since birth under my nonna's slipper, and I've never heard of whoever Stanley Hudson is being our lord and savior."

"Alright, alright," Audrey held her hands up. "It's a lot to take in, I know. You two are sheltered, and it's gonna take a while to help you wooden Pinincchios into real boys."

Damian and Vin shared a look.

Al looped their arms around them, tugging them in close. "We'll help you both on your road to corruption! It'll be a story for the ages, and- wow, you both smell really good, like charcoal shampoo and Old Spice-" Before Al could take another whiff of the two rich boys, they were promptly dragged away by Daisuke.

"Anyway," Tyrone smoothly ignored Al's weird scent kink. "Last meet-up, we discussed plans to attend a pride event down in the East End. It's obviously not in the best part of the city, and, well..." The seemingly outspoken boy appeared to hesitate.

"What is it?" Vin's eyes narrowed marginally—a catch. There was always a catch.

"The venue is Grand Avenue. Maroni owns it." The afro-headed boy shrugged.

Vin unwound his tense shoulders and shook his head absently, "Nah. Cobblepot owns it now. He wanted the club on the corner of the main strip, Dang-Good Donuts, the Black Canary Club. It's been notably profitable lately. Maroni got him back with his recent takeover of the Calamity Club in the heart of the Diamond District."

"It makes sense; the C.C. is fairly distant from his main digs on the Tricorner." He said without thinking, flicking through a few information papers. He froze. The turf war had only been last night, and no simple kid would be so knowledgeable of the endless juggling, trading, and threat/torture/extortion/murder-based acquisition of crime-oriented territories.

Luckily, Tyrone only scoffed, "Really says something if the Penguin will support the LGBT+ community before the big companies will."

Damian crossed his arms, his brows flat. "Wayne Enterprises offers abundant aid to minorities and support-based groups."

"And your dad is so real for that." Tyrone nodded sagely.

"Now that I think about it, the vigilantes of Gotham have always been advocates." Darlene brushed her thin fingers against her chin. "There was the time when Batman beat those two guys who were about to kill that 60-year-old homosexual man."