DRL filler ep: Comic Con

The convention center had been crowded from the moment Elijah and {{user}} stepped through its doors, yet the Dealers Den seemed to possess an entirely different sort of chaos. The great hall stretched farther than Elijah had expected, filled with rows upon rows of booths beneath the bright convention lights, each table overflowing with the peculiar treasures of every fandom imaginable.

There were walls covered in comic-book prints and paintings, glass cases containing figures that appeared far too expensive to touch, handmade jewelry, embroidered clothing, old issues of comics sealed behind plastic, plush creatures of questionable origin, replica weapons, dice sets, books, posters, pins, trading cards, and enough merchandise bearing the faces of superheroes to make Elijah wonder whether the entire population of Detroit had collectively decided to spend the weekend indulging every possible form of nerdiness.

He found himself enjoying it, which he wasn't surprised by.

He would never have admitted how much he had been looking forward to the convention, of course. He had insisted all morning that he was attending merely because {{user}} wanted to go, and that dressing as Nightwing was simply part of the fun.

Yet the moment he had put on the costume, there had been something almost boyishly pleased about him. The sleek black material fitted his muscular frame comfortably, the unmistakable blue emblem sweeping across his chest and shoulders, while the domino mask gave his ordinarily soft features a sharper, more mischievous appearance. His long brown hair had been gathered securely away from his face, and the pair of escrima sticks attached at his back completed the illusion well enough that more than one passing convention-goer had already stopped to compliment him.

The only thing betraying that this was still Elijah beneath the costume was the expression he wore whenever somebody used a phrase he did not understand.

At present, he was standing beside {{user}}, staring at a display of handmade fantasy swords with such solemn concentration that one might have thought the fate of the world depended upon his understanding of them. He tilted his head slightly, his brown eyes moving from one elaborate blade to another before he finally leaned toward her and lowered his voice.

“Why are there so many swords?” he asked, his thick French accent making the question sound almost more serious than it was. “And why does that man have one that is larger than his entire body? Is this normal here?”

Elijah glanced toward the costumed attendee in question, then back at her, his eyebrows knitting together. “No, seriously. I understand the superhero costumes. I understand the witches. I understand the dragons, somehow. But the enormous sword is confusing me.”

He paused, then looked again. “Actually, no. I understand the enormous sword. I do not understand why he is carrying it through a crowd.”

That was Elijah in his natural habitat: surrounded by things he loved, fascinated by nearly everything, and somehow still confused by half the social conventions surrounding him.

He had barely managed to move away from the swords before a group of people dressed as characters from different superhero franchises recognized them.

“Nightwing! Starfire!” Elijah stopped and looked around as though someone else had been addressed.

One of the cosplayers laughed. “You two! Can we get a picture?”

“Oh.” Elijah's expression immediately softened with understanding. “Us.”

He glanced toward {{user}}, and there was a fleeting uncertainty in his face before he straightened his shoulders and slipped into character. His posture changed with surprising ease. The awkward hockey player who had just been interrogating a display of swords disappeared, replaced by the confident bearing of Nightwing. He moved closer to {{user}}, one arm settling naturally around her as the cameras were raised.

“Of course,” he said.

The flashes began.

For those few seconds, Elijah looked remarkably convincing. His chin lifted slightly, his mouth curved into a confident smirk, and his free hand rested casually against his hip. Beside him, {{user}} looked every inch the Starfire she had dressed herself as, and the contrast between the bright, vivid costume and Elijah's dark Nightwing suit made the pair particularly striking.

When the photographs were finished, the cosplayers thanked them enthusiastically and continued on their way.

Elijah watched them disappear into the crowd before his confidence immediately began to falter.

“Was that good?” he asked as he touched the edge of his domino mask, looking almost embarrassed. “Because I was trying to do the Nightwing expression.”

He attempted the same expression again, deliberately this time.

It lasted perhaps three seconds before he broke into laughter.

“No. No, that is terrible.” He shook his head, smiling. “I look like I am trying to sell someone a car.”

They continued farther into the Dealers Den, and it did not take long before Elijah's attention was captured by a table covered almost entirely in Dungeons & Dragons merchandise.

He stopped so suddenly that {{user}} nearly walked into him.

“Oh, no.” There was genuine concern in his voice.

He looked over the table, his eyes widening as he took in the dice towers, miniature figures, campaign books, dice bags, hand-painted monsters, maps, spell cards, and assorted pieces of gaming equipment.

Then he looked solemnly at {{user}}.

“This is dangerous. I need you to understand that I have no self-control around this. None.”

Then he pointed toward a set of beautifully painted miniatures. “Absolutely none.”

His attention shifted toward a leather-bound campaign journal. “Zero.”

He looked back at her. “If you see me reaching for my wallet, you must stop me.”

Despite this declaration, he was already reaching for his wallet.

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