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One minute waking up on Barbara's couch, the next -- flash bang -- in New York? And not only New York, but an abandoned New York that looks like Poison Ivy's just had a party?

Okay ... well, I've probably dealt with weirder.

Dick lifts a hand to scrub his head, shaking sleep out of his eyes, and sets about finding several things. First, food. It'd be a damn crime if there were no Big Belly Burgers left at the end of the world. Then a place to finish his nap. Then maybe someone who can tell him what's going on.

But really, really, first food.

The boy has his priorities right.

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He might actually find the someone before he finds the food. You see, in the next window he passes, a man is standing, watching Dick rather soberly.

Mort keep an eye out for newcomers. Never know when one might come in handy.

By this point Dick is absent-mindedly somersaulting from parking meter to parking meter along the road. The person in the mirror gets a quick glance, and then a doubletake.

There are people here after all?

He hops off the parking meter and stands in front of the window, regarding the other man silently, and then raises one eyebrow.

The man appears, to all appearences, to be standing on the other side of the window. He seems solid, and the only indication he's not is the fact that his voice comes through it without any issues. "Good day."

"I haven't decided on that yet." Dick offers him a hand, and then remembers there's glass in the way and turns it into a head-scratch move. "But it's warm out. What's going on here?"

"The end of the world." Mort gestures over Dicks shoulder, his face a mask of emotionlessness. "More or less. And, to be more specific, the end of this world."

"... well, I always do like a holiday," Dick remarks, frowning.

"How do you know?"

The edges of his mouth turn upwards slightly, in amusement. "One of those perks of godhood."

"Godhood."

Dick isn't entirely suspicious, but he isn't entirely accepting, either. He's met a handful of gods during his time with the Titans, and they don't tend to look like Mort.

Then again, who's going to anger a potential god at the end of the world?

"Pleasure to meet you, then."

Mort nods his head at the Titan. "And you are...?" He gets glimpses, but it's more polite to let mortals tell you themselves.

"Dick Grayson." Since he's out of costume and without anything that might actually be useful, he's Dick. "What should I call you?"

"I am Mort." Not entirely impressive, but it works. His eyes flash silver for a moment, and he tilts his head to the side. "Oh, my. You are a marvel, aren't you?" So many fateful people in this world.

Dick raises an eyebrow at the man in the window, doubtfully.

"I am?"

"You have a bright future ahead of you.Or perhaps only an interesting one. The two are sometimes synonimous." Mort turns to the side, stepping out of his window to the next one down to get a different view of the man before him.

"Flying through the air with the greatest of ease."

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Chandra is... well, he's somewhere.

Dar, on the other hand, is foraging.

She sees Dick and immediately backs up a step and opens her hands by her sides. From a distance, he almost looks a little...

...no, that's just the paranoia talking. She relaxes, grins, and waves.

"Hello there."

She gets a grin and a wave back, and he approaches cheerfully, stance open and body language unaggressive.

"Any idea what's going on here? I sure as hell don't have one."

She scratches the back of her head and shrugs openly.

"Not a fucking--'scuse-me-- clue," she admits in a soft, cheerful English accent. "After we fought off the triffids we've been scrounging for what we can get, hoping to find a car that works well enough to take us out of the city, and maybe some gas if we're lucky; the place seems to be damn-'scuse-me short on both."

Yes, Darla excuses herself after profanity. It's a thing.

"Wait up."

Fingers are held out, and Dick ticks these things off.

"Triffids?"

Okay, he got to one tick without a question.

She nods firmly. "Triffids. In Central bloody Park."

Okay, the accent may be English, but the tone is that of an aggrieved New Yorker. Triffids do not belong in Central Park, dammit!

Dick looks like a completely innocent bystander, but he's noticing.

"Triffids," he repeats, without the disbelief this time -- just a sigh. "Damn. Okay, moving on: "Scrounging? There's nobody else?"

"Chandra and I have seen one-- well, two other people since we got here, and if we never run into him-- them again, I will be absolutely bloody-'scuse-me ecstatic. Other than that? Empty streets from here to everywhere."

"That's not wonderful."

Dick frowns, but he might as well be talking about the weather for all the upset in his voice.

"Still -- there's food? And what were these other guys like?"

She snorts. "A friend of mine who came here with us decided he'd like to rip my head off. In a very literal sense. I got away, and the next thing I knew there were two of him. I got away again, but it was strange. Everything in this place is strange. My house isn't even here."

Slight shrug.

"As for food, we manage."

"... Okay, head-ripping-off people."

They are on Dick's list of People To Avoid!

"How do we make sure we avoid them, and get to some place we can make safe?"

It's we now! If people are trying to rip off her head, she gets stuck being a 'we' with Dick. It is a thing. Sorry.

She looks him over once, categorizes him as Not Likely To Be Criminally Insane, and nods.

"I'll take you back to where I'm staying for now with Chandra. As for avoiding them-- if I hear him coming I'll let you know."

Where by hear she means sense with biokinesis, but she's not quite ready to bring that up until it becomes obvious on its own.

And because context is wonderful and shiny: "Chandra's another friend, of the non-head-ripping-off variety."

"Definitely my favourite kind," Dick agrees, glancing at her thoughtfully. "Sorry, I haven't even introduced myself yet. I'm Dick, Dick Grayson."

Handshake?