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Damian had no idea how he had ended up here. (Honestly!) He felt like his toes were about to fall off from the freezing cold. The ice skates Richard had hired for him were exceptionally uncomfortable, unlike anything else he'd ever been forced to wear by his Gothamite family. (Yes, not even as uncomfortable as the itchy knitwear Alfred gave him each year around the holidays. Though they got less itchy each year.)
But alas, he would not complain aloud. Not when his older brother had gone all the trouble to take him here. And if he was being honest, he was enjoying ice skating a lot. And other than his feet, and his nose maybe, he was not that cold. He was wearing gloves, a scarf, and a hat. (By force. Alfred.)
Actually, now that he was thinking about Alfred, it was all starting to come back a bit. How he'd ended up here, that is.
It had something to do with dinner. Stephanie, Timothy (Tim?), and Cassandra had been talking about winter activities. When they got to discussing who the best ice skater was, Damian had stupidly intermingled.
I've never been ice skating, but if I had I'd definitely be the best.
Everyone had fallen silent, and immediately Damian realized his grave mistake. You've never ice-skated before? Never? several people exclaimed at once. Incredulity was written on their faces.
Somehow, Richard had heard everything from his room upstairs. (He'd still been showering when dinner was ready and had told everyone to start without him.) With a towel on his wet hair, he came jumping (read: flying) down the stairs acrobat-style.
Dami! I'm taking you ice skating this evening!
Damian had been about to decline when he realized that it'd be a great opportunity to practice for the race his siblings had been talking about.
So that's how he'd ended up here.
‘‘Here you are Baby Bird, I've been searching the whole rink for you!’’ His oldest brother came up to him from beside the rink, carrying two steaming mugs. ‘‘Here's your hot chocolate to warm up. You'll need it if you want to beat me in a race.’’
Damian sat down at a nearby table. -Tt- ‘‘You will regret that, Dick.’’
The brother in question grinned at the use of his preferred name. ‘‘Alright, bring it on! After I drink my hot cocoa, of course.’’
Damian hummed, already having emptied half of his mug. ‘‘Last one on the ice is a loser. Oh wait, you already are one,’’ he finished smugly as he put down his now empty mug on the table and started tightening his laces. (Or rather, the laces of the ice skates his brother had hired for him.)
‘‘Oh just you wait you little-’’ Dick tried to scream after his younger brother. Alas, he was already on the ice and out of earshot.
‘‘He's gonna regret every single word,’’ the former muttered to himself while drinking the last of his cocoa and trying not to smile.