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"D…W…there we go. Ah, I see you're finally back, Richard. Where have you been? It's a pity you didn't get to witness me topping my previous best performance in Cheese Viking. Now my initials dominate the entire first page of the high score list."
"I went to get popcorn. The aroma had literally been gnawing at my stomach since we came in. Here, try some—I asked for the vegan option made with butter-infused coconut oil."
"Since when have you acquired a liking for popcorn?"
"It's always been one of my favorite treats. Hmm, they do manage to replicate the butter flav—"
"How come I wasn't aware of this until now?"
"I guess the topic of popcorn just doesn't come up often in our daily conversation."
"True. And this very fact is what I find curious. We snack together semi-regularly, yet not once have you revealed your penchant for popcorn. Based on the selection of refreshment Alfred prepares, one would assume nobody in the household cares for popcorn at all."
"Well, you see, it isn't me who shuns popcorn."
"It's Father then. But why on earth would you go out of your way to accommodate his preference in snacks that may be served individually? I fail to fathom the logic preventing you from having some popcorn even if he doesn't desire any."
"He also detests the smell of popcorn."
"…And they say I'm spoiled!"
"Damian, there is a legit reason behind your father's aversion to popcorn."
"Do enlighten me."
"I noticed how Bruce avoided popcorn shortly after moving into the manor. Every time I turned to Alfred for an explanation, he would masterfully change the subject. I finally connected the dots when I heard Batman babble about Zorro and popcorn while under the influence of Scarecrow's fear gas. Young Bruce had popcorn the night he and his parents went to see The Mask of Zorro. His mind thus forever associates popcorn with his most tragic and traumatic experience. Alfred evaded my question because he didn't want me to feel guilty about having unwittingly reminded Bruce of that fateful night with my snack choice. Never have I had or even mentioned popcorn in your father's presence since."
"Richard, in case Father didn't offer you adequate thanks, let me express my appreciation for your consideration."
"Took him some time, but he did once he realized I refrained from popcorn in order to not upset him. In his own gruff yet endearing way."
"When your facial muscles recover from the sheer exertion of smiling like that, I expect to know what makes you love popcorn."
"To me, popcorn goes hand in hand with the thrilling anticipation before soaring under the big top. Flying trapeze acts usually take place toward the end of a show. At Haly's, there were long hours between my dinner—the cook tent served dinner for the entire circus in the late afternoon—and the opening of the Flying Graysons' performance. More often than not, I'd become hungry again waiting for our cue to enter the ring. To appease my stomach, my dad would get me a little something from the candy butcher's stand. Usually popcorn, since it's light and took longer to eat than most snacks. Sometimes we'd play silly little games using popcorn kernels, such as seeing who could juggle more at once, like this—Drat. I'm rusty."
"Tell me more about your father."
"John Fredrick Grayson was born in the winter quarters of Haly's Circus to a pair of former aerialists turned aerial directors. The art of flying trapeze, due to its difficulty and strictly merit-based, non-gimmicky nature, carries a lot of respect in the circus backyard. As a result, flyers and catchers tend to assume a somewhat unapproachable air. However, my dad was having none of that 'tanbark royalty' aloofness. From roustabouts to ringmasters to rhinos, he was friends with all, and was universally liked by everyone who crossed paths with him."
"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."
"Yours truly endeavors to uphold the tradition of the famous Grayson Gregariousness the best he can. Now, back to my dad: growing up, he dreamed about being the first one ever to catch 'the quad'—quadruple somersault, an accomplishment sought after by generations of daring young men and young women on the flying trapeze. Despite my dad's aptitude and drive, he encountered a bottleneck when attempting to advance from the triple-and-a-half to his goal. To succeed, he had to further improve his techniques, but for a long, long time he couldn't figure out how exactly. In the end, he set off for France, the birthplace of the flying trapeze, in search of inspirations."
"I foresee what happened next."
"But not the details."
"No."
"Interested?"
"Yes."
"One winter morning, at the Cirque d'Hiver in Paris, my dad met a fellow aerialist named Mary Lloyd. From their chat, he learned she was supposed to try out several new flying tricks, but her catcher had called in sick earlier. My dad volunteered to catch her without hesitation. Mary, my future mom, over-rotated as she threw a double-double. Her forehead smashed into my dad's nose, almost knocking him out. My mom was as mortified as my dad was…ecstatic. He grinned from ear to ear, not caring a fig about the blood coming from his nostrils that was dyeing his teeth red. He just had an epiphany—he found out the key to the lifting power he needed. The secret lay in the same factors causing my mom's over-rotation: a starting point way higher than the usual pedestal-board level and a curved crane bar that allowed more force in the flyer's swing. As soon as his nosebleed stopped, my dad put his freshly developed theory to the test and proved it correct. According to my mom, 'that crazy, brilliant Yankee so utterly dedicated to his craft' captured her heart then and there."
"Utterly dedicated indeed."
"So much so he turned up at the gym for his calisthenics routine on the morning of his own wedding! Later that day, during the post-ceremony celebration, my parents performed their trademark tricks in full wedding attire. Granted, a handful of others have managed to catch the quad following my dad's suit, but John Grayson remains until this day the only man to have done so clad in swallowtails."
"Given the recent turn of events, it's now entirely feasible for you to reprise his feat, the 'during the post-ceremony celebration' part included."
"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted in the slightest to do so in tribute to my parents. Still, your father and I both prefer to keep things simple and low-key. Neither quadruple somersault on the flying trapeze nor swallowtail coat counts as either, I'm afraid."
"I respect your decision even though I lament the missed opportunity."
"Thank you, Little D. Come to think of it, sneaking down to the cave during the reception to perform a quad there shouldn't be too hard. It'd be quite inhospitable for the newlyweds to leave their guests alone, however—"
"Father can stay upstairs. I'll catch you. I know I'm unusually small in stature as a catcher, but I'll do more than nicely after receiving training from you. 'You're never too young for the trapeze'—those are your own words."
"Not my own, actually. My dad used to say that as he glided back and forth in the air carrying me in a baby sling."
"Richard…"
"Yes?"
"...As the grandson of the highly estimable Dr. Thomas Wayne and Ra's al-Ghul, at times I catch myself wishing I could have a grandfather who's not so grand but, well, cool. And it has just dawned on me that...that I really do—if I may consider your father as my grandfather."
"Of course you can, Damian. I'm sure my dad would be glad to consider you his grandson."
"You have my utmost gratitude, Richard—or shall I say, Father."
"Don't you think 'Father' is a bit too formal for my image? Seriously though, I wouldn't mind at all if you continue to call me 'Richard.'"
"It means a great deal to me to be able to address you in a way reflecting the special place you hold in my life. I purpose 'Dad' as a middle-ground option."
"Damian, I am truly flattered and deeply, deeply honored."
"Dad, I'd like to be properly introduced to Grandfather John and Grandmother Mary sometime before you officially become my father, if that's fine by you."
"Let's visit them after tonight's patrol. Their corner of the cemetery looks most beautiful at the crack of dawn, when early-rise robins begin to sing their first song."
"What should I do in preparation?"
"Ask Alfred to lay out your best suit and a pair of wholecut oxfords. Nah, I was kidding. Relax. You're far from a stranger. They've heard a lot about you—from both me and your father. The only thing we need to do beforehand is to pick up some long-stemmed roses."
"Crimson or white?"
"Multi-colored. In memory of the colorful lives your Grayson grandparents led."
"Unorthodox, yet very befitting. I approve of it. Following the visit, we shall have popcorn for before-bed snack. I find myself beginning to develop a taste for these burst grains of maize."
"As long as you don't let slip our popcorn run in front of your father."
"I promise, Dad."
"Deal, kiddo."