Deal. Chinese Fireball. They'll think it means Mother, and Father will overcompensate accordingly.

[ Never let it be said that Damian doesn't make sure he gets what he feels is owed to him: namely, his father's attention in the interpersonal conflict against Talia.

Divorce is exploitable, and that's the only good thing about it. ]

No funny business with the blood, either. Grandfather will know.

[ Ra's always knows. He's tetchy over anyone messing with the al Ghul bloodline; there are curses upon curses layered on it.

He breathes in hard through his nose, mouth crooking to the side in determination as he compels his shaky legs to stomp their way closer to the thing, skirting around the edges of the circle to stand next to Constantine, look beneath the hood.

His fist clenches. The robin darts in. Both patronus and boy coordinate to deliver a resounding punch -- a first! -- to the thing, drawing a pissed off screech from it. The shock of contact alone steals his own breath away, has him reeling back to bump against John's legs, but his grin is toothy nevertheless, bristling with pride in victory. ]

Note that one for the history books, Constantine.