mesmes99

Artist: Tim Brierley

insane headline to pair with the actual photo of the beastie itself

"At least we're getting richer"

Jason: *over the sound of a motorcycle speeding* -swear to god, this bitch looks me dead in the eyes, and i'm thinking 'man i'm about to get clocked aren't i?'

Dick, indignant: Hood, you can't- *breathy laugh* you can't tell somebody to their face that their child looks like the 'do the roar' kid from Shrek!

Jason, still speeding: i can if it's true. anyway, she didn't clock me but she did tell me she was gonna report me to the HOA, so i was like, fuck man not this shit again,

Dick: *cackling*

Tim: they're like your version of the galactic empire, huh?

Jason: at this point, yeah. anyway i told her not to, and that we should just-

*tires screeching*

Jason: wHAT THE FUCK IS THAT- OHHOLYSHITFUCK-

*large crash* *burst of static* *silence*

Dick: ...Hood? fuck- HOOD?

Tim, casually: ope, there he goes.

Dick, panicking: FUCK. Hood, status? Hood!? shit, who's closest to Crime Alley?

Damian: uh- i am, i think, but i don't think Hood is hurt.

Dick: what? DID YOU NOT HEAR-?!?

Damian: i know; but Red isn't worried so obviously he's fine.

Dick: HOW THE FUCK WOULD HE KNOW, HE'S IN DIAMOND DISTRICT TONIGHT!?

Tim, absently: oh yeah Hood's fine, he probably just broke his com or something.

Damian: see? his sense would have gone off.

Dick: ...his 'sense'?

Damian: Red Robin has a special Hood-sense that tells him when Akhi is in danger.

Tim: hm- um, yeah. i got exposed to a magical artifact and now i'm connected to Hood mentally.

*a beat*

Dick: what.

Damian: Hood has text me. 'somebody shot a firework at my bike and it scared me, i broke my com in the crash, tell everyone i'm not dead'. ...i'm gonna go see if he needs help.

*disconnecting ping*

*silence*

Dick, muttering: 'a firework scared me' it's like working with a fucking border collie.

Tim: *snort* i mean at least he's alive?

Dick: yeah- ok, you do not have a fucking magical connection to Jason.

Tim, amused: yeah, nah i don't.

Dick: so what the fuck is he on about?

Tim, without missing a beat: oh we've synched our fitbits to compete in weekly step-counts, so if his heartbeat gets too elevated or stops completely i'd get an alert.

*a beat*

Dick: so why does Damian-?

the following events ensued:

1. predictable lively discussion on the preparation of Wienerschnitzel, in which natives and wurstaboos are pro-puff and everybody else is like *confused dog head tilt* why wouldn’t you want the crust to stay ~attached to the thing you put it on? as with other fried foods?

2. thirty “Bad Schnitzel is my band name” jokes

3. thirty “Bad Schnitzel is my stripper name” jokes

4. one “ah yes, Bad Schnitzel! a lovely spa town” joke

5. this absolute masterpiece: