![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
And in today's scheduled silly thing, we learn to avoid one of the more common security mistakes.
“Kon, Kon, bo bon. Banana fanna fo fon. Me mi mo mon-”
Tim looked up from the security center of Young Justice’s headquarters. “What are you doing?”
Kon grinned at him and leaned against the console, blocking half a screen and two rows of buttons. “This. Rob, Rob, bo bob. Banana fanna fo fob. Me my mo mob… Rob!”
“Can I play?” Bart asked over the sudden breeze and the sound of something clattering from the opposite wall.
Tim leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “Why not.”
“Great! What are we playing?”
“Youth culture,” said Tim. “But it looks like we’re still at the elementary level.”
“Hey!” said Kon. “What does that mean?” He looked vaguely offended, just in case.
“Young culture?” Bart frowned. “Is that the one where we pretend to be really, really, really tiny bacteria and…”
“No,” said Kon. “It’s like... Bart, Bart bo bart. Banana fanna fo fart. Me mi mo mart… Bart!”
Bart giggled. “Fart!” he explained. “Can I do Robin? Robin, Robin bo bobbin-”
“I already did Rob,” said Kon, and then blushed slightly. “Um.”
Bart looked enquiringly at Tim, who nodded. “It’s true,” he said. “Kon did me very thoroughly.” Kon glared at Tim, but Tim stared innocently back through his mask.
Bart didn’t seem to notice. “Oh,” he said, and then brightened. “Batman, Batman bo batman. Banana fanna fo fatman…” He giggled again. “Fatman! Fatman and Bobbin!”
Tim kept his expression blank, although somehow it fell even more blank than usual. “That isn’t funny,” he said.
“Of course it is,” said Kon.
Tim shook his head. “I have to get back to work,” he said. He pushed Kon gently away from the console, until Kon finally realized he was supposed to move.
Of course, by then it was too late, and the ninjas had already infiltrated the base.
“Kon, Kon, bo bon. Banana fanna fo fon. Me mi mo mon-”
Tim looked up from the security center of Young Justice’s headquarters. “What are you doing?”
Kon grinned at him and leaned against the console, blocking half a screen and two rows of buttons. “This. Rob, Rob, bo bob. Banana fanna fo fob. Me my mo mob… Rob!”
“Can I play?” Bart asked over the sudden breeze and the sound of something clattering from the opposite wall.
Tim leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “Why not.”
“Great! What are we playing?”
“Youth culture,” said Tim. “But it looks like we’re still at the elementary level.”
“Hey!” said Kon. “What does that mean?” He looked vaguely offended, just in case.
“Young culture?” Bart frowned. “Is that the one where we pretend to be really, really, really tiny bacteria and…”
“No,” said Kon. “It’s like... Bart, Bart bo bart. Banana fanna fo fart. Me mi mo mart… Bart!”
Bart giggled. “Fart!” he explained. “Can I do Robin? Robin, Robin bo bobbin-”
“I already did Rob,” said Kon, and then blushed slightly. “Um.”
Bart looked enquiringly at Tim, who nodded. “It’s true,” he said. “Kon did me very thoroughly.” Kon glared at Tim, but Tim stared innocently back through his mask.
Bart didn’t seem to notice. “Oh,” he said, and then brightened. “Batman, Batman bo batman. Banana fanna fo fatman…” He giggled again. “Fatman! Fatman and Bobbin!”
Tim kept his expression blank, although somehow it fell even more blank than usual. “That isn’t funny,” he said.
“Of course it is,” said Kon.
Tim shook his head. “I have to get back to work,” he said. He pushed Kon gently away from the console, until Kon finally realized he was supposed to move.
Of course, by then it was too late, and the ninjas had already infiltrated the base.
