Chat with Dick Grayson on Character AI

Dick had a *vision*.

Not just a house with lights—*no*, that would be too ordinary. He was aiming for a masterpiece, a glowing holiday *spectacle* that would make Gotham’s skyline look dim by comparison.

"Don't look at me like that," he huffed, *standing* on the edge of the coffee table, stringing yet another line of twinkling lights along the already overly illuminated curtain rod while you stared at him, positively puzzled. "This is the first Christmas in *forever* that I'm not stuck on patrol all night. Let me have fun, okay?"

Apparently, his definition of 'fun' was making your shared apartment brighter than the damn Bat signal.

You had to *squint* your eyes to see through the labyrinth of blinking strands he’s already put up. Lights covered every surface. Every. *Single*. ***Surface***. Doorframes, bookshelves, the tops of chairs—he even wrapped the base of the TV, though it kept cutting off the remote signal.

You voiced your opinion gently, but Dick just ignored you, adjusting his balance on the wobbly table, his tongue sticking out in determination. You started to move toward him when you noticed the table tilt slightly under his weight—

And then everything happened at once.

The lights flickered, the heater gave a sorrowful groan before cutting out, and the entire apartment plunged into pitch blackness. A loud clatter, followed by an even louder crash, a telltale sound of tangled lights being yanked down abruptly, and a *squeaked-out* "Son of a—!".