[Alleyway, NYC] What's Up Danger?

Damian does not let the odd stance- lack of stance?- distract him. He has heard tales of what Spiders are capable of. It is impossible to move through New York without hearing them. However, he also knows that this is not Spider-Man. This is Ghost-Spider, and he knows far less about her.

There is a tiny, sick little part of him that begs to underestimate Ghost. A voice that sounds too much like Shiva shuts that down instantly. The boy jumps up and back, feet landing on the seat of the chair he had used. He slides back, tipping the chair and kicking it out and across the floor at Ghost in the hopes of tipping her over. Damian is still testing, waiting to see just how dangerous this fight could potentially be for him. Was she very fast? Made of metal? Did her hands ooze acid? There are too many variables.

His success lies in letting her over-extend or trip up.

He tips his head up as she sticks to the ceiling and a little feral smirk slides into place.

"More like a hazard," he is quick to retort with something dangerously close to the border of entertained laughter.

Damian watches her launch towards him and he knows he cannot let this hit land. Neither his stomach nor his shoulders could bear the weight of such a strike. His only options are to dodge or try to redirect her momentum. Is he fast enough?

The only warning she gets is that he hunkers down a little more into his stance. He plans to catch hold of her legs and swing with her movement, turning on his heels to toss her sideways into the legs of the table next to him.

He releases as soon as she hits the table, both a bit surprised and a tinged concerned. That ends as she rolls and springs up like a pale jack-in-the-box. A quick assessment tells him that that had not been a hard enough hit.

This may get rough.

"I doubt you've fought many guys like me, شبح."

Damian doesn't get the chance to keep retorting as she starts in with quick jabs. It takes all his focus to dodge the first one, realizing just how quick she is and he brings his arm up to block the second. Pain spikes up his forearm and Renegade hisses.

"Your style is weird. One minute, you're a dancer. Next, you fight like you were in the military." The words come out in a soft huff as Damiain slides further back, leading Gwen towards the living room area of the flat. He does his best not to let her hit him again while also not over-exerting his new stitches. This is quickly becoming less about who wins and more about figuring out what her weaknesses are. Does she have a temper when pushed? "Who taught you?"

Renegade's mind reels, taking in all this new information and his mouth opens to reply in kind. It would be so easy to be completely honest with her, to just let someone- anyone- on the inside. Barbara has Johnny and who knows how many others. Isn't Damian allowed to have someone?

But...is Ghost his someone?

His eyes narrow as she goes in for another kick and he takes a second to breathe. Both his arms ache from blocking punches and he knows he can't afford another one. Why is he trying so hard to avoid and win? This isn't about winning.

Why can't he just have fun?

"Interesting story, but I have you beat, Gwen."

Damian shifts, times it, and leaps forward. He tries to flip over Gwen's crouched form in a completely unneeded and showy move. If he succeeds, his feet hardly make a sound as they land and he turns, spinning on the ball of his foot to swing a kick at her back.

"I was raised by assassins."

Damian is surprised that the kick lands and more surprised when Gwen pulls her head away from the dent she left in the plaster. Any doubt that he had of her durability slips away like water down a drain. In its absence is the thought that she just may be playing with him, testing him in the way he had thought to test her.

Gwen seems to bounce back quickly and her words send a spike of pride through his chest. She thinks he's cool. People had told him all his life he was special, but when he joined the bats, they were quick to correct that. Ghost telling him that he's something places one of the bricks back onto the walls of his pride.

There is a lopsided smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. It is enough that he almost misses the kick she aims for his head and Renegade wonders if he should suggest some tips. As it stands, his mind commands his legs to drop and his arms to raise seconds too late.

He takes the brunt of the attack across his forearms and he tumbles backward, head over heels. The shattered remains of the kitchen table catch the boy, slowing his roll to a stop and his head smacks on the wood. Pain across his shoulders renews and his stitching protests to the abuse.

"Okay, شبح. You win this one," Renegade groans, not bothering to open his eyes at first. It is the truest sign of faith he has given her. Somehow, she keeps earning them. "All those high kicks might not work against fast enough opponents. Try aiming for joints."

As if to demonstrate, one of his hands reaches up to tap the inside of both shoulders and then to his knees. He takes a deep breath and sighs through his nose before saying, "...I'm Damian."

"My teacher makes sure I hit joints when we fight since I am smaller. It is always important to know how to fight when you have nothing left."

He steps over to where the chair lies, stepping on a leg to encourage it to tip up and into his waiting hand. Once it is rightened, he gingerly sits down and leans back. Damian holds his breath as Gwen removes her mask, something spiking through his chest that is not quite pain—anxiety, maybe.

"Pleasure to meet you too, Gwen." His voice is a little hollow as he swallows. One hand comes up, fingertips brushing the edge of his domino and even digging under it an inch. Gwen could be his person. It would be so easy.

'Unmasking risks the family. It's not just about you. It is about them.'

Renegade shakes away the memory of Red Robin's words, his hand smoothing down his domino. His eyebrows pull together and his mouth downturns. Regret reads so easily on someone who does not know how to hide it.

"I may not be part of their family anymore, but my identity is closely tied to them. I...I am sorry, Gwen. I can't." Damian looks down and lifts his shirt to check on the stitching. The bandage is still neat and clean.

"It's held together really well. You did a fantastic job," his tone tries to shift to joking. "And don't worry about these. My teacher can heal. She uses that as a reason to beat me until I'm broken. A few stitches breaking won't put me down."

He glances up at Gwen from under his curls, "Were you serious about teaming up?"

"No one is getting that information out of me," Damian vows and there is a weight to it. He is a keeper of many secret identities. Gwen's will not make the fact a burden.

"Training is something worth taking seriously. My teacher does not beat me for the fun of it. Ours is a dangerous life," he explains with no real passion on either scale. This is just another fact about life. It is not something he can change.

Renegade is happy to let the subject drop, watching Gwen as she smiles. He decides that he likes the color palette of her eyes, hair, and skin. The boy tips his head to match hers, feeling regretful that he will never be able to do a face study.

"That is a promise I can make, شبح. I will see about making more safe houses like this one in the event something happens again."

Renegade leans forward with the smallest smile, offering his hand out to her for a handshake.

"Partners, then."