"Dick," he corrected, absently, his mind trying to race, and then he realized how that sounded and flushed. "... I mean, Dick Grayson. Richard... is not a name many people use. Just Dick."

He buried his face in both hands for a moment, the papers dropped in his lap, a part of his mind noting the comment about the accent and curious about it, but it was.

"I don't know, Hartley. This feels like. Making one step forward and sinking five feet deeper into a gray whirlwind of confusion. What am I even doing here, if I'm from Gotham?"

But the name did help. It just did. He permitted himself a moment, then sighed, plucking out the receipt from his lap and showing it. His voice was just a tad... duller. He was disappointed at himself. Having different sets of ID papers was not legal, was it?

"Is this hotel nearby? Maybe I'm staying there."