by Michele | Sep 28, 2017 | Chronicles
Dinah: All in all? That could have gone better.
Mission accomplished, though. I’d made myself a nuisance, and a sizable one at that, hopefully for long enough to get the job done. I hadn’t exactly gotten a precise timeline for how long I had to keep Superman’s attention pointed at me instead of anywhere else, so hopefully Tim’s friend had skedaddled and gotten on with what she needed to do. I’d anticipated getting back a bit later than I have, but I also figured I’d be taking conventional travel back to Gotham. Or alternately doing a little swimming and then calling for a ride, depending upon how things played out. Getting flown without an aircraft? Not actually something I’d care to repeat anytime all that soon. Maybe because I wasn’t entirely sure the guy wasn’t just going to drop me. Sure, he’d been trying to act good but it could have been just that. An act.
My jacket was still at the nightclub, and along with it everything else like my phone. It meant I didn’t really have any means of radioing in, or calling to let my roommate know that I was okay and I’d done what he’d asked. It also means that once I’ve been dropped off at the harbor? I’ve got a bit of a walk ahead of me. I don’t mind, lets me clear my head and work off the steam I’d build up in Metropolis. Gotham would probably be about the worst place to have to do a walk of shame, but there’s not one ounce of that in me, nor a reason to be ashamed. Plus I actually almost feel sorry for someone that sees this particular skimpy dressed blonde and thinks she’s going to be easy pickins. But being confident in your skills, knowing you’re more than a match for pretty much anything the street has to serve up, doesn’t mean you can be careless either.
The alleys, and back ways are more natural and normal to me than sidewalks at this point. It’s that proclivity that actually nets me a bit of a detour. A detour that sends me up a fire escape, and into the shadows where I can watch unobserved. You see. Normally there’s only really one reaction when you see a crime in progress, or just know there’s about to be one. We’re vigilantes. We do certain things a certain way. But I’m without my gear. More importantly, without the coat of makeup I wear to alter my features to the point of barely recognizable. It’s also not just anybody going into that Public House. It’s the Joker and his Loon Squad. I don’t need to be a tactical whiz kid to know how this is going to go. Even before the screaming and yelling starts.
Do I feel even a little bad about not interfering? No. I know exactly the sort of people that are inside that building. Most days it’d maybe be me kicking the everliving shit out of them. It’s the second party that has my attention and concern. Cocking my blonde head to the side, it doesn’t take me more than a moment to pick what I’m looking for out of the night sky. Once you know they’re there, it’s easy to spot Red Robin’s drones. Well. Guess that means he knows I’m back. Leaning against the railing more as a perch than a real hiding spot, I’m debating going into the building anyway. Just in case he’d needed help. The slow count that I’d begun in my head isn’t finished by the time I see one party…and then the other emerge. I don’t know, honestly, if I’m more relieved, or grumpy. That throttling can wait until another night though. Not that I couldn’t do it in my boots and mini skirt.
Kicking a leg over that railing again, I drop down to the concrete, bending my knees to absorb the impact as I bring my hand up to my cheek like I’m holding something in place.
“Kssssssht. Red Robin, are you aware that Red Hood seems to be making nice with the Joker-over. Kssssht.”
It’s that kind of night, isn’t it? I’m going to keep amusing myself by talking in my imaginary walkytalky the whole way back I think. Because Gotham and Crazy go hand in hand, and I think it’s really damn funny. It’s that or humming to myself.
“Kssssht. On my way in. Also your friend wasn’t very nice to me. Over. KSsssht.”
Tim: To say that I had been worried about Dinah is an understatement. We had done our homework. She had studied up on the target. When I asked Dinah to do a favor for me, I didn’t intend to send her in blind. So I opened the toolbox. Gave her every scrap of information on Conner Luthor that I’d put together, at Bruce’s direction, over the last two years. She went in armed to the teeth with enough tactical knowledge, that I was positive she would survive. Almost sure. Well, it was more like playing the odds. They were in her favor, because the deck -and- Dinah were stacked against the subject of her wiles.
Once the reports from Gotham had come in? I’d feared the worst, for about an hour. In that second hour, I’d begun to formulate multiple plans. From extraction, in case of capture, to vengeance in case of the worst. Not one of those plans, sadly, had involved ‘Pick me up at the Harbor.’ Whatever happened. However it came to be that Dinah was dropped off at the Harbor by the very person she was sent to distract? That’s a story I’m interested in. All I really know is that if the seismic activity in Metropolis was anything bad, she wouldn’t be walking back like she seems to be doing once my pretty little birds actually zero in on her.
Drones. They’ve been circulating around the City for weeks now. A contingency plan that Bruce and I had conceived a couple of years ago. We just never put it in to action, because Bruce thought it violated all sorts of privacy ethics. I’d agreed at the time, but re-thought my position after he was gone. Not because I thought we were wrong originally, but because I needed something to help me find the culprit. As time marched on and I became desperate for answers, I’d turned to the little drone army. Eyes in the Sky, that could help me a little more to be ‘Everywhere, all at once.’ These days, Dinah rarely sees me without a computer going. Constantly sifting through the drones information. Even though there’s very likely an app for that.
“Ugh. We spent millions of Wayne R&D budget dollars on those drones. They simply don’t do static.”
Oh, I’m not talking to Dinah. You see the little drones aren’t equipped with the ability for two-way communication. Although, in retrospect, that might actually be worthy of an upgrade. Instead I’m talking mostly to myself. Stephanie certainly has no idea what I’m babbling about. She hasn’t a clue that I’m listening to my little birds, whom are spying upon Dinah and Damien (not to mention the rest of the Bat-family and any criminal they can find). Now that I think about it though, I’m glad that I can’t communicate directly with Dinah right now. It saves me from having to answer Dinah directly. I’ll worry about that later, when I’m not demonstrating the basics of how to throw a punch.
By way of first letting Stephanie try one of her own, blocking it and then showing her how to do it for real. Over and over, until she manages to do one without locking her wrist. I’ve got some hope for Steph, actually. It’s only taken her the entire night ( of which she has been thrown, punch, kicked, tripped and choked more times than I think I want to admit ) to figure out finally how to throw right hook. Without breaking her own hand, wrist, fingers, or potentially just hitting herself. ( That only happened once, but it now lives on for ever by way of the screens that replay the video every few minutes. On a loop. )
“Take a break. We’re about to have company. The kind of company that might take offense to the fact you’re still not moving your feet the way I told you to four hours ago.”
Dinah: It could have taken longer to get there, but you get to know the shortcuts like the back of your own hand when you spend enough time making use of them to cut off criminals and lowlifes. It’s likely even faster when you use one of those computerized maps like Tim enjoys so much, but it’s cheating and I just don’t like them. Computers are his thing. A memory like a steel trap is mine. I probably should just go back to Pretty Bird’s. At this point in the night, the place will be full and loud and no one is going to notice me going up to my apartment over the bar’s second floor. Except I’m willing to bet what little money I have that it’s not where my partner in ‘crime’ is, and that he’s instead holed up in his little cave. I’m sorry. Roost.
There’s letting yourself in to a secret lair, and then there’s knowing you’re being let in and if you weren’t invited there was probably some elaborately abrupt defense mechanism that would have knocked you on your ass. By the time I waltz in, whistling like I’d been doing since I got bored of my staticy one sided conversation, I’m pretty happy to finally have arrived. Times like that makes you really appreciate your motorcycle for getting around Gotham. I really don’t know how those dummies who do it on foot manage, sometimes.
“Luuuuuucy, I’m home!”
The sashay is only partly for his benefit, the truth is it’s just kind of how I walk and being out at night only makes it worse. Habit. Part of the persona that’s really more me than Dinah Lance is at this point. There comes a point in a life like this where your secret identity is more like the costume than the name you picked out for yourself in the night. Being away for a few years hadn’t changed that, but then, the Canary hadn’t stopped stepping out just because she stepped out of Gotham. It, the strutting, comes to an abrupt halt when I see we’re not actually alone though. The purple clad girl’s slumped against one of the walls like she’s concerned at any moment someone’s going to make her get up again. It doesn’t take that practiced of an eye to figure out what they’ve been doing, and it’s got a lot more to do with punching than it does with anything naughty. Still. Can’t help the teasing. It’s my nature.
“Sheesh, I’m gone five minutes… what is it with you and blondes?”
Tim: The ‘Roost’ (it’s not a cave, damnit), happens to be buried beneath an old Warehouse. Owned by a subsidiary of a subsidiary, of another subdiary’s subsidiary. Once upon a time it was an R&D dump for retired equipment that Bruce either upgraded or did away with. Sometime later, it saw a little used as a backup point to house the Jet, Boat and Mobile. I’ve taken it over as a remote base, because the Clocktower is likely too busy and the Cave just seems… Empty without him there.
Ordinarily the place is little more than it’s original intent; a hidden safe house. Tonight though it’s playing host to Stephanie Brown. Recently it’s seen a bit of a make-over. I’ve been updating the place. While Bruce and Alfred created the place, I’m not sure anyone outside of them and I knew it was here. At least, until I let Dinah in. Then later Damien, so that I could get him outfitted in something that wouldn’t land him on the News as a masse murderer the first time someone with a smartphone got him on camera. Tonight? Well, tonight I put some of the out-dated training tools stored here to work. Much to Stephanie’s chagrin.
“It’s a lot like pok-e-mon, gotta catch’em all,” comes a tongue in cheek reply to Dinah’s teasing, “This is the one I asked you about. The one who is going to get herself or someone else killed if you don’t help her.”
Now that’s an introduction. It also happens to be a means to an end. Swerving Dinah a little off course, so that she doesn’t immediately go in to the litany of discussions we need to have. I need a minute, no more than that, to take stock of her. She looks alright. Better than alright, honestly. Which means that she’s not physically hurt. I have to be honest, with myself mainly, I’m having to stop myself from hugging her. Part of me also wants to apologize. Whether for what ever happened or asking her to go in the first place. Instead of doing that, I give her something that she will actually appreciate far more than a teenage boy’s hug or apologies.
“Wonder Woman made it to Fawcett City, she was able to make contact -and- she somehow managed to stumble upon a bank robbery / hostage situation. Whatever you did with Superman, you did it pretty well. I’d say mission accomplished, but.. um… you got a ride home from your target. I’m not the expert of course, but is that how this sort of thing is supposed to go?”
Dinah: And it also happens to be conveniently close to my Grandparent’s bar, which became my bar when my Grandfather passed. Managed by old family friends, and left to their care. I hadn’t known what to do with the place, and it made me a little sad honestly. It proved convenient enough to come back to though, a place that I could crash anytime I was in the city. That just hadn’t happened until Bruce had died, and Helena had called. Maybe it wouldn’t have for a while still if things had been different. Coincidence on the location? Maybe. But having met Batman I kind of doubt that.
“Hey! I am… not..!”
I don’t need to see be able to see all of the girl’s face to make out the expression she’s got under that half mask, the hood of her cloak is pushed back away from decidedly disheveled and sweaty blonde head. She’d probably be a whole lot cooler and more comfortable for practice if she took it and the mask off, but I’m actually assigning her micro-props even as I judge her on nearly everything else that I can see. If you’re going to insist on wearing something out on the street? You have to be able to fight and move in it. To know what you’re doing enough to not get fouled. Take my high heeled boots. They could be a liability, but I’ve practiced in them enough to make them more a weapon than something to trip me up. I should probably be a little annoyed that she’s here, and that I’ve walked in very much in Full Dinah Face. I have to assume, however, that if Tim thought she was a risk for tattling? She wouldn’t be here in the first place.
And if she does? Well. I know where he sleeps. Leaning over, hands on hips puts me pretty close to nose to nose with Red Robin’s stray.
“Well, hey kiddo. I’m Black Canary. I suggest you eat your Wheaties every morning, because I’m going to kick your ass. And then kick it while you’re down, because if I don’t do it, someone out there will. Difference is, strong chance I won’t make you dead. No one out there’s going to do you the same favor.”
Grey blue eyes, which are about all you can really make out of her face go wide in surprise, and it’s a little comical because she looks like she’s trying to decide if I’m kidding, and maybe Tim had told her before basically the same thing but she thought he was kidding, too. Nope. Not kidding. Not joking. There’s not much of a better motivator than pain. When you’ve got a younger pupil, sure you do things a little differently. Their bodies are still growing and muscle memory is an easier thing. Ted Grant didn’t start out beating me bloody when I was six years old. That waited until I was a teenager, should have known better, and had to get the lessons the hard way. It’s definitely not going to feel like it, but she wants to do this? I’m doing her a favor doing it my way.
The shock is short lived, before a gloved hand is lifted in an A-OK symbol and a chipper voice makes me snort. Well. At least she’s got that going for.
“Sure, no problem, breakfast’s my favorite. Breakfast four meals a day…”
Straightening upright again, ignoring the show I might have just been giving and frankly not really caring. I might be wearing not much but I wear even less a normal night. And I kick people in the face while doing it. I don’t plan on kicking anyone in the head right now. Certainly not Tim, anyway, who I’ve turned on a bootheel to face and approach, leaving his still winded sparring partner in the corner. For her sake? I hope they’d been going at it for hours or I really might accidentally end up killing her.
“I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.” Waggling my eyebrows demonstratively, and rather suggestively. “Which he was all over and then refused. He then proceeded to try to save me from my life of mediocrity, threatened me with N.O.W.H.E.R.E., had a bit of a fit after I yelled at him for it, then we made very nice and brought me home. I’ve got some additional notes for your little fun files.”
My tone is sing song in relating the bare bones of the evening. I’m all for him interpreting and guessing a little. I might spell it out more, or maybe tease more, if we didn’t have extra company but either way I’m entirely cheery about it as I move to commandeer a seat and kick my feet up on the closest flat surface.
“The suit? Records everything. Also he recovers from double ruptured eardrums disturbingly fast. And while he was with me he was not in Fawcett City, and paying direct attention to me and nothing else, so I’d say that was mission accomplished indeed. You’re welllllllcome.”
“….heh, I love that song.”
“Right? Me, too kid.”
Tim: It’s all too easy to figure out why Stephanie is here. Other than the fact that she needs the help. I mean it, she really needs the help. Like more than anyone I’ve ever met, that wasn’t a toddler. In fact she happens to be a lot like a toddler. Helpless. Drooling. Flailing around blindly. Not really accomplishing anything. But being very fulfilled not to have died while doing it. Yeah, that’s about how I summarize my meetings with her so far.
She also serves as a bit of a distraction. I could have sent her home when I heard the comments about Damien on the drones, but I didn’t. Because this very much keeps the things Dinah verbally abuses me about to a minimum. For now, at least. I’m a little thankful, honestly, once I see her eyes waggle. Offer he couldn’t refuse? But he did? Or he didn’t? What does it even mean?! He ‘report’ about the mission is little more than gibberish, honestly. I’m about to tell her so too, when I pick up something of even more importance.
“You ruptured his eardrums. Dinah, I thought we agreed you weren’t going to beat up Superman unless you had no other choice?” Now it’s my hands on that are on my hips, my tone that takes a bit of a lecturing one and also happens to project just a little more so that Stephanie can hear what I’ve just said. “Okay. Actually, I’m going to assume you didn’t pick a fight with a Superman. Instead, I’m going to focus on … you know what? I’m completely confused. He tried to save you. Then he threatened you. Then he saved you. All the while he refused your overture. Until you made nice, excuse me.. very nice.. and he brought you home?”
“It’s times like these, that I understand why you drink. None of that mad…. holdup… did you say his suit records everything? Or were you telling Stephanie that mine does? Because if it’s the latter, you should know it does actually. If it’s the former? Then it means he’s being monitored.”
Dinah: “I didn’t beat up Superman. Sheesh.”
The scoff in my tone says it would be very hard for Tim to have said anything more ridiculous than what just came out of his mouth. And the way I absently bounce one booted foot, and check under my nearly non-existent fingernails could almost say that I’m playing coy, or even a little shy about what I’ve done except two of us in this room know I’ve got little to no shame, and if I’ve actually done something? I’m just going to own up to it, because I don’t act on something unless it’s really what I felt I needed to do in the moment.
“It’s not like I capitalized on him being down on the floor with his ears bleeding to inflict more damage. I bolted. Or I would have, except he threatened to bring the building down on everyone’s heads unless I came back.”
“What the fuu..”
“Right? I know. And I didn’t feel like I had any other choice. It was go along with what he wanted, or incoming NOWHERE in three minutes. So I acted. I wasn’t going to divulge your little secrets until at least our third date but if that’s what you want we can just all play Truth or Dare right now.”
I’m all over the place, and it’s entirely by design. Mostly because there’s a third set of ears here, or I would have told him that I’d assaulted Conner Luthor, not Superman, just for a little more background to the actual story. Or I might have spelled out further how I’d gotten Superman’s attention in the first place, and how there was an open ended offer for shenanigans that definitely shouldn’t take place when you know that under the suit? The other person’s in high school. Which he still made very clear he wouldn’t be necessarily opposed to at a later date.
“But yes. Bingo. The latter. He pegged me as a meta, but not a recognizable one with their database. He was trying to offer to help put me in touch with someone who could train me …haha right?… and then he was trying to connect my band to his family to protect me… all in all, that intel you gave me kind of left me woefully unprepared for the guy that I actually ran into. Well. Up until the death threats.”
“…I thought Superman was the good guy…”
Dropping my feet to the floor, I lean forward. Propping elbows on my knees to look up at him with a degree of actual seriousness, I start ticking off talking points on my fingers.
“Suit monitors everything, unless he’s up in the stratosphere. And either that girlfriend of yours has Supes wrapped around her pinkie finger so tight that he’s acting against his nature for her…”
“..there’s a girlfriend? Er. Just. Asking. For a friend.”
“… or you’ve pretty seriously misjudged your buddy. Maybe both. I wasn’t actually settled on which option I was going with before he brought me back here to keep me away from the incoming Big Brother Swarm.”
Tim: “My intel is good,” there’s a quick response if ever there was one, without an ounce of offended tone. “He’s self-centered, even self-absorbed. Little or no emotional attachment to the concepts of right or wrong. He acts without thinking, normally, then deals with the consequences by daring someone to put a stop to him.”
Truth be told? I’m torn. It makes sense that Conner’s dedication to Cassandra Sandsmark would play out in to a desire to please her. However I’m a little surprised that someone like Dinah couldn’t persuade him to do something that he would surely be able to get away with. Either she didn’t try very hard or he was a little more dedicated than I’ve given him credit for… or he’s working an angle. Maybe he thought that by rescuing someone, like Dinah, he’d earn some sort of reward. From Luthor or Cassie or both. That sounds more like the Boy that I know. It also fits perfectly in to the mold that I want to cast him in. Which makes me feel just a little bad about it, maybe I’ve not given the guy a fair…
Oh. There it is. Death threats. Right, bringing the whole place down unless she doesn’t run away. That sounds like the guy I’d gone to school with for a couple of years. “Mm. Alright. I’m seeing the pattern here. You made contact. His suit records it. Now he knows that they know. Which means he either had to help you or let you get scooped up. He didn’t have any way to know that Wonder Woman was out of town yet, at that point. So he assumes that she would find out. You put him in to a position where he had to act in a manner fitting to Wonder Woman’s vision of him.”
“It makes sense, but if there’s even a chance that Wonder Woman has succeeded in curbing him?” It doesn’t take an expert detective to see that what I’m about to say takes some work, apparently it tastes bitter. “Then we need to find a way to cement that.”
In that moment I was talking out loud, but not really talking to either of them. This was something that hadn’t truly ever crossed my mind. I thought the super boy was just about as irredeemable as possible. My only hope had been to somehow break the control over him that N.O.W.H.E.R.E. had. Maybe even neutralize that control Luthor had, so that it would in turn take away tools at the disposal of a superman. I hadn’t even really considered that it might be plausible to save the actual Boy himself. If Dinah had seen the things I’ve seen, I’m sure she’d think the same thing.
“He’s dating Wonder Woman,” growled over at Stephanie, on my approach to Dinah so as to put a fingertip upon the tip of a bouncing boot. “You’re good at this. Reading people. Plus, you’ve had time to think about it on the way home. Was my intel bad, outdated or does the girl have her hooks in him deep enough to make a difference if push came to shove?”
That other gloved hand rises in a silent signal to Stepahnie not to make a joke, yet. “Oh and uh, slightly more pressing question. If all of this went sideways, does that mean you’re on the database now? Do we need to get you out of the Country? And, yes. She babbles like that, non-stop, but she’s actually got something. Maybe intuition, maybe luck. Either way, she’s going to get herself or someone else killed working it through.”
“She’s also got a family history, like the rest of us,” lowering my voice to a mere stage-whisper. “Spoiler alert, Canary, her father’s on page three of her file. You might want to skip ahead.”
Dinah: “I don’t doubt that it was. I just think you may have undersold slightly the kind of influence a good woman can have on a royal douchebag if he actually cares what she thinks. Or at least that you didn’t translate that knowledge into concrete words in your files there.”
Really. I need to meet this girl at some point just so that I can truly understand what she’s working with. Maybe it’s the whole literal goddess part, because blonde with a body I’ve already got down. Sass, attitude, check. Not because I want to compete with her, I don’t need to compete with anyone. It’s curiosity more than anything, because I really don’t doubt Tim’s observations. Even factoring his own feelings in, he’s perceptive enough to be able to set things like that aside for the facts of a matter. But I won’t lie, the way he growls at the girl that’s looking like she’s at least recovered some oxygen enough to sit up a little more straight and gather her feet under her in a cross legged position I almostlaugh at him. Almost. My foot kicks a little bit harder under the tip of his finger just to make it bounce once before I subside, and there’s a muffled little mutter from across the room.
“…is he talking in third person now or…oh Superman. Yeah. No. My friend was talking about….nevermind.”
But as to his question about Conner Luthor, our current Superman, and his motivations?
“Look, I may not know him like you do, but I do know bullshit when I hear it, and he seemed pretty legitimately angry because trying to do something her way, and help someone, was backfiring pretty spectacularly on him. And putting her in danger. I think he actually wants to try to believe her way works. Do I think he’s there yet? No. But I’m pretty sure he’s going to do whatever the Hell he has to in order to keep her safe. Even if it doesn’t make her happy. Red, it may have been legitimately the only time I have ever felt bad about screaming in someone’s ear. Especially … er… point blank. I think not disappointing her a real motivator for him. Which works for us, unless keeping Wonder Woman safe is ever going to require working in opposition to us.”
I also legitimately don’t want to make Tim feel bad. Correction. Worse than he probably already feels about having to say out loud he needs to make sure the First Hottest Blonde’s relationship with his psuedo-best friend stays happy, healthy and lasting. But from my run ins with Superman? I think I can pretty safely say Wonder Woman is the only reason we’re not seeing a whole different sort of monster in that Cape right now. You don’t need to see Stephanie’s mouth under that mask to know she was about to say something and is only held off by Red Robin’s hand. But only for a few moments. Long enough for him to finish anyway.
“…She she or she me? I’m so confused…are you complimenting me or insulting me? Or she? Wait. Who’s file? My file?! I should get to see my file! Why do you have a file?!”
At this point, Spoiler’s getting up and with much less wobble in her legs than I might have expected. She is blonde and she is a girl though. Chances are Boy Wonder may have been taking it easy on her like I’m not going to. Maybe that’s why I got recruited for the Fledgling Vigilante Reformation Club. I still more or less ignore her though, to answer the actual important question in what he’d said.
“Yes, but I led him to believe I had a super minor whistling louder than average power with little or no training. The volume part he doesn’t believe, but the no training part he may have. He seemed to think he could handle it by checking up on me. Which means we can plan on a visit in the future…sometime. Might I suggest that by then you cook up one of your little doohickies to block out his suit? I think it’d go a long way for everyone’s interests. Either I can give it to him, or you get it to his girl to pass along.”
What else was there that I’d deemed in my own personal debriefing as I walked across Gotham as important, in between inappropriate ‘radio’ transmissions to his drones?
“Oh. When I told him I’d be safe here, there was a very obvious and clear lightbulb moment and gears turning in that dense skull.” Not even being rude. It is incredibly dense. “He knows he wasn’t supposed to come to Gotham, and now an undocumented Meta thought she was going to be safe from NOWHERE there. I am betting he put two and two together, but he got six instead of four.”
Tim: Ugh. With every single word Dinah says I’m getting a far worse feeling in the pit of my stomach. It’s a really good thing I’ve kept the suit on. That may be the only thing keeping both women from seeing me turn a little green. The irony in all of this is that I like Conner, that’s the truth. The parts of him that are normal, are actually great. There just happens to be so few of them. When we first met, I could not for the life of me understand why Bruce insisted that I visit that particular school. Make those particular friends. If anything, he was a standard Luthor. He was all the things I said he was moments ago, but in Luthor-mode he also intentionally dials all those personality quirks up. His secret identity? Is all about being the worst possible person, so that no one would ever suspect him of being anything good.
Frankly? It works. Because even now, right this second, I’m hard pressed to think of a single redeemable quality about him. He’s a blank slate though or he was. Which leads to that singular saving grace; he didn’t know what love really was. His meeting Cassie had gone poorly at first. Continued that way for a couple months too. Somewhere around Homecoming our first year at St. Joseph’s, the two of them clicked and it stopped looking like a hostage situation and became a Stockholm situation. It was only because of the strict orders from Bruce that kept me from intervening. Now though, right now, I’m once more rocked by how good at this Bruce was. He knew. Somehow he saw it in the cards, forced me to play the hand. Now, if what Dinah says is true, there is a real chance that Cassandra Sandsmark might actually save the world from a threat she keeps from every materializing.
“That’s a puzzle for you to work out,” is the only real comment for Stephanie, as to whether I’m insulting her or complimenting her. “Everyone has a file. You can see them when Canary says you can handle seeing them.”
For a time then I’m quiet. Leaving the ‘Roost’ to the sounds of Stephanie and Dinah, while I look absently at the methodical way my hand bounces under the force of Dinah’s movements. It’s soothing. Having that point of focus as my world spirals out of my pretty little box that I’ve put it in. Damnit. Everything fit so well. Everything had a place, every place had a thing. Now I’m faced with the very real reality, that I’m going to have to sacrifice something important to me personally, to someone that I was pretty sure from the start was a monster. How can I do anything else? There’s a very real chance Dinah’s right and that disappointing Cassandra is something important enough to forge a real Superman out of Conner Luthor. How do you turn away from that possibility? Especially when you know the world just lost a Batman. The Batman.
“Stunting his suit shouldn’t be that difficult, but if they’re monitoring it? We need to do something better than block it. We need to make it so that they’re unable to monitor him, but don’t actually know they’re not monitoring him. Until…” Taking a deep breathe and a step forward, trails that fingertip down her boot until it’s about to touch Canary’s actual skin. Then I give it a gentle nudge off of the computer terminal. “… you think Superman doesn’t need to be monitored. You’re going to be meeting with him again?”
A jerk of the cowled head in Stephanie’s direction, if only to make a point. “If Wonder Woman has her hooks in him and he thinks saving you is a good way to get in to her graces. Maybe you can work that angle. Show him the benefits of doing things Her way. You’re already going to be teaching one Stray, why not two? Reinforce Wonder Woman’s point. Let’s give him as many reasons to buy in to Wonder Woman’s philosophy.”
I’m about to go on, say something more when I find myself staring at Dinah for a different reason. Recognition. She already thought about that, didn’t she? It’s why she had him bring her to Gotham. Because it gives her a chance to follow through on meeting him again. Instead of it just being a ploy before she disappeared. Dinah was working the angle, before I even knew there was one.
“You already think he’s ready to have it blocked don’t you? Huh, he turned down sleeping with you to impress her. That’s not exactly the empirical data, I normally like to work with but… I’ve got to admit, it’s compelling. I’m not sure I would have turned that offer down. Alright. I’ll work something up, you can give it to him. If Wonder Woman gives it to him there’ll be more questions than I think she’s ready to answer.”
“In any case, we’ve got some more immediate problems to work through. I heard what you said. About the Joker. There’s something I think you should know…” She’ll understand then, why I nudged her foot off of the edge of my desk, when I tap in the command to show her the Roost’s internal cameras. Playing back Damien’s visit for her. When he picked up his new suit and hardware. “. . . so . . . this happened.”
Dinah: “Ugh! If I wanted to be confused and yet still soul crushed I could have stayed home and watched K-Dramas…instead I picked fictional study group with Mr. Rogers and the Chuck Norris of vigilantes… not that I’m not grateful for the opportunity to be. Y’know. Beaten up and downtrodden.”
I’m still not paying that much attention to Stephanie, though what Tim had said made me curious enough to want to dig her file up on the computer right now and take a looksie. Family issues, yeah, none of us enter into this business without it. In fact, I can’t think of a single person that I know in this line of work that took it up voluntarily, or not so voluntarily, that has a happy, safe, sane childhood. And frankly at least one dead parent. It’s a little shocking that there aren’t more of us for that reason alone, especially here in Gotham but maybe it takes a certain suicidal bent to a personality to get you here. Or we were just some of the few who were lucky enough, had enough skill, to make it until Bruce took us in. Tim told me he didn’t want this one getting herself killed, and that it’d be his fault if he let it continue. I’m sure that’s true enough. I can’t help wondering if it’s also because it’s what Bruce did.
“I assume I’m the Chuck Norris. I look horrible in cardigans. Covers up everything important and exciting. I’ll remind you how grateful you are when we’ve gotten you a little more trodden though.”
That, however, isn’t something I’m going to ask him. As I demonstrated with my abbreviated, field psych eval of his Superfriend, I don’t really need to ask many questions to put together the pieces and clues that are in front of me. Even if I don’t know the subject all that well, and I know Tim Drake a great deal better than I’d gotten to know Conner Luthor in half an hour. Or maybe he sees something in her besides a utility belt full of optimism and a woefully blank slate. Cocking a thumb and forefinger into a finger gun, I pull the imaginary trigger at Tim as he works out what kind of tech we’d actually need to accomplish what I was suggesting.
“Attaboy. A feed loop of some sort maybe, but nothing to make them think it’s broken and they need to fix it. Long enough for you to finish recruiting Red Robin’s Angels, and there’s enough of them that the scales can be tipped. At least, I assume that’s what the end game plan is here.”
He’s got the information. She has the status, and the ability to proverbially rub that status off on someone else. I assume by being seen with them, associated the same way Luthor was trying to get me to do with him. So that people would notice if they went missing, would ask questions that someone wouldn’t want to have to answer. And they’re going to have to do it at a pace that NOWHERE doesn’t think something is up and act before the setup is secure to wipe them out. That could mean slow and steady, one at a time, or maybe a group unveiling when it’s too late and unable to be spun anyway but what it is. A co-op of heroes, independent of Lex Luthor’s agenda.
“Yes. I don’t know when, but I don’t doubt he’ll turn up again so that he can show he was reporting and they still think he’s in line with the program.”
I can’t help laughing, as my foot hits the floor of the Roost with an echoing thump because I haven’t bothered to slow the descent from anything but a dead weight drop.
“He’s going to be a little confused when I switch tacks from ‘You’re Superman, you can do whatever you want!’ and ‘Is that a sidekick in your tights or are you happy to see me?’ to ‘Great Power and Great Responsibility.’ But I can give it a go. Sorry kid, not going to proposition you and boost your ego anymore. And not you either.”
“Uh.. yeah… boy. What a disappointment but… I think I’m good.”
Waving a hand absently in Stephanie’s direction, as I lean in to look at the monitor Tim’s nudged my boots off of.
“Yeah, I do. There was literally zero reason for him to be honest with me, I just ruptured his ear drums and made his day difficult. None. But he got me where they couldn’t hear, and did. You don’t have a girlfriend that can crush your skull if she’s angry with you. But you do know even better than he does how great I am.”
“…so there’s not a girlfriend…”
“If he doesn’t think he needs to follow NOWHERE’S orders all the time in order to protect Wonder Woman from their attention? I think he’s going to be a whole lot more likely to be…well. Superman.”
I think there’s something you should know. Literally nothing good ever follows that statement. Ever. Deaths. Disasters. Disappointments. That’s what follows. And what he shows me has me inhaling sharply through my nose. For a drawn out amount of time, that might indicate I’m about to use all that air for some lung power. Or, as it turns out, to let out an equally long and drawn out sigh.
“So you’re aiding and abetting even more idiocy? …no offense.”
“…none taken. I. Think.”
“Did you know he was using it to commit murder with the Joker? Or were you just thinking some solo action? Christ. I understand frustration and anger and not having a concrete way to channel it but Jesus. He’s going to get himself somewhere you don’t go back from.”
I’d know. I was almost there once, too. But I never went in on homicide with the other side.
Tim: “You can’t be the Chuck Norris,” said with little more than a wolfish smirk, “You are far too pretty to be the Chuck Norris. But there’s a certain Irony you can work in someone calling you Mrs. Rogers.”
While the clowning has it’s purpose; Distraction. I’m not overly keen on letting it through my thought processes. Which is why I encourage it, but I only indulge a little before I put myself back on the proper track. Making a loop of some sort that would block the true monitoring of whatever Conner was doing? That’s easy. Simulating something; something believable that only the best sleuth in the world would actually uncover as a deception? That’s a real challenge, but the solution rests in what I’ve just said about Irony.
“They raised him in a cloning tube, educated him with a virtual reality program. One of the first things Batman had me do, after meeting the new Superman, was to track down his true origin. It lead me to a little place in Nevada. Where a laboratory used to exist. I say used too, because the place was a heap of rubble. I spent three days sifting through it and by the time I’d left? All I recovered was some trace element programming from the tube that held him. It only survived because it was in proximity to him. It was the virtual reality program that he woke up from. I think, with some modifications, I could adapt it to project that back to his handlers. It’ll take me some time….”
Another look, flicked back over a shoulder to Stephanie, before returning my gaze to the busty blonde in front of me. “Time you can spend making sure she doesn’t get herself killed. I gave her a suit, but it’ll only protect her so far. It won’t likely protect her from herself at all… uh, wait, uh…you told him he could do whatever he wanted? With everything or.. you specifically?”
“I’d like to reiterate that I’m dumbfounded at his refusal,” the shake of the head is paired with the slow exhale of breathe that once more serves as my pulling my thoughts off of a track they’re threatening to go down and back to where they need to be. “Skull-Crushing Girlfriend sounds like either an excellent code name or the finishing move of a terrible professional wrestler. Though, I’m not sure that actually works out if you’re Superman. She can’t crush his skull…”
A quick turn in Stephanie’s direction let’s me take a sum of her recuperation. “She’s talking about Him not Me. I don’t have a girlfriend. Skull-crushing variety, most especially. But, I think she was also talking about propositioning Him and You, although if she were, I would more than willing to surrender the Roost to the two of you.”
“Call me a sucker for idiocy, but I can’t let Damien go out there and get himself killed any more than I can let Stephanie. The difference is that I could tell in a heartbeat that Stephanie’s too stubborn to give this up. Even though she’s so under-trained that she’s more likely to break her own neck on that cape she bought at a Halloween prop-shop, than to get killed in the line of duty. Damien’s almost the opposite. If I didn’t help him, he’d go out there and do the same things. He’d just do them without the Hood. What do we gain by that? Our Father’s legacy drawn in to the mud. Not one step closer to his killers? Plus, there’s a good chance he ends up dead, right along with Br…”
“Besides. You don’t get to lecture me on this one. What did you do to stop him? No, not tonight. I mean when you saw him on your return to Gotham. You just read a guy like a championship profiler, in thirty minutes. Don’t tell me you didn’t know Damien was going to do things the League of Assassins way. It’s Damien. But you didn’t kick his ass and put him in time-out. We’re both equally guilty of whatever he does when we chose not to stop him. I’m just hoping we can get something useful out of Damien being Damien…”
“It’s not just frustrating, to not have any movement. Dead ends at every turn. It’s damning. Because every day we go without a lead, is another day that the rest of the world goes down the tubes while we hunt for those clues. The world isn’t waiting for us to find out who killed our father. It’s moving on. Faster than I can keep up. As demonstrated by how woefully out of date my intel on my Best Friend was today.”
Without warning, I turn, flicking my wrists out simultaneously. Hurling two of the discs off my belt at Stephanie. “Clearly, I’ve been wrong before though. If you think Damien’s actually working with the Joker, as opposed to using the Joker like a rabid dog on a leash. Then let’s bring Damien in. Let’s talk to him. Let’s convince him that there’s another way.”
“But, I’ve got a strong impression that you know I’m at least partially right about this. Our choices are ‘Help him,’ ‘Stop him,’ or ‘Get the fuck out of his way.’ In no particular order.”
Dinah: “Are you telling me, a liberated free woman, that I can’t be anything I want to be? Tch. Someone probably should have raised you better than that. Someone definitely should have raised Superman better than that. There’d be a definite style to using something that used to be used against him to fool NOWHERE. Maybe he’ll even appreciate the irony. If nothing else, hopefully he’ll just appreciate the help, or at least use it for our benefit with no spoken thank you.”
I’ve got the vantage now that Stephanie’s moved to be able to see both of them at the same time without having to turn like Tim does. She’s in the process of spreading her arms out in a ‘hey, c’mon!’ gesture like all this constant dogging is actually starting to offend her a little. Or maybe she’s just unable to passively take the comments. I know someone else like that in this room, and they’re also blonde. Lot less fond of purple though. And while she’d insisted she wasn’t going to get herself killed, she’s also here. And still here after the threats, which tells me two pretty important things; she knows she’s not good enough for this, and she wants to learn. I can work with that. She just may not enjoy the pace.
“Everything, but the me was heavily implied. Especially when he started to pull the well, gosh ma’am I’d love to fuck you right over the … ahem. Children present… moving on… but I really probably shouldn’t. I was pretty flabbergasted myself. How do you know she can’t? Has she tried?”
“…what kind of relationships do you people have!? And that’s …too bad about the girlfriend. I mean. Unless you’re happy about that and… I’ll tell my friend. I’m going to stop now…”
Stephanie’s hands on hips posture has what looks a lot more to do with general awkwardness of not being sure how to stand in a get up like that, while not engaged in anything else, rather than because she’s still trying to catch her breath. I can’t hear her panting anymore, or see any shifts in the face mask that indicate she’s puffing. I take the time to size her up again a little more fully with Tim’s back to me. I actually let him carry on about his reasonings without interruption from me because I think I need to hear it fully to understand.
“…I did not. I borrowed it from school. And I wasn’t actually out to punch anyone…”
The girl may be defending herself but she’s doing it in a glowery sort of way as she folds her arms across her chest that’s coming off as more to herself than justification for Tim, and not meant for anyone else to have to overhear. I’d say we’re both caught flat footed with his sudden turn, only I’m not the one that an attack’s being flung at and she wasn’t expecting it in the least. Arms go up, though her posture prevents her from moving quickly enough to get more than one forearm in the way for the discs to bounce off.
“What the hell was that for!”
“Huh. Not bad. More elegantly avoided if you’d just pivoted to the side and let them go past. Unless you knew they’d just bounce off your suit that is…”
She didn’t know that.
“…yeah I… will read the manual when I go home.”
“It’s Damien. I can’t put him in time out unless all the rest of you are going to help, unless I get to maim him first and I’m not going to do that, and he’d probably only take kicking his ass for encouragement to keep doing the same thing he already wanted to do. And I know it’s hard. I do. With all the tech, tools, and manpower we’ve got working for us to have nothing can make it feel like there is nothing, or that the longer it’s taking the more something that you’ve missed is going to slip away forever.”
My exhale is a lot more resignation than exasperation this time, and I scrub a hand through my wind and walk tousled hair, ignoring Stephanie’s harumph as she pulls her hood back up once again. So much purple…
“I couldn’t see what went on inside. I didn’t have any of my stuff. It could have read like they just picked the same target, cooperated, and then went their own ways. I didn’t stick around after obviously to sort it out. Option three there, I’m afraid, has the very strong possibility of leaving Gotham with two rabid dogs before this is over. And one is difficult to stop as it is.”
Tim: Actually, I would never tell a woman that they can’t be anything they want. Because I believe in that. Anyone that thinks otherwise? Hasn’t met Barbara, the book-smartest person I’ve ever met. Nor Dinah, who can throttle just about anyone (including Superman apparently). There’s no limit to what a female can do, except the societal constraints that hold them down and their own ambition. That said, I’m pretty much in complete agreement with her assessment on the tech problem. Utilizing what NOWHERE used on their Clone in the first place, which kind of gave us our rotten apple, would be the best sort of irony.
“Wait, you mean to tell me that Children being present keeps you from saying what he was going to fuck you over, but not that he was going to fuck you to begin with? I know at least one set of teenage ears that most certainly would have rather had none of that information. Absolutely none of the information about Conner Luthor putting his hands on … all of that.”
There’s a sideways glance at Stephanie once more, but otherwise I’m leaving that alone. For now. The questions and the manner in which she throws them out in her fishing expedition. Instead of that, I let my focus remain on her abilities or lack thereof, for now. “Well your new cape is flame retardant, projectile kinetic diminishing and bladed weapon deflecting. So give them back their terrible bath towel. Because -that- was your first chance to actually use the cape functionally, instead of as a fashion accessory. We don’t wear capes just because they look neat. As Dinah will tell you, if they’re not fulfilling a function then they’re actually a detriment. From now on, if you’re keeping the cape, make it your new best friend. An extension of you.”
“She didn’t know,” following up on something Dinah said, “Even though I told her to read the manuals. She was barely out of my sight before she was changing in to it, the night I gave it to her.”
She’s nailed it. The main reason that I took to outfitting Damien. It’s difficult to be back in Gotham. To face the loss of my Father, for the second time. Knowing that there’s a kiler out there, but not being able to find it would be maddening enough. It’s actually worse than that. I’ve been able to turn up nothing. Not a thing. As far as I can tell, Dinah has turned up nothing. Damien is the same. If Dick has found anything then he’s kept it himself. The only person making any headway in the whole damn city on this case? Is the Joker (and now Damien), because they’re doing the one thing that the rest of us can’t do. Eliminate suspects from the list, by eliminating the suspects entirely.
“Look, I don’t actually agree with the methodology. But we both seem to agree that it’s the only thing that’s gotten any results at all. Maybe we can talk to him. If we can’t stop him, without breaking him, then maybe there’s another option. Maybe we can aim him. Limit the collateral damage. I mean, that’s one of the reasons I gave him the tech in the first place. To keep the collateral damage down.”
Except that I was actually thinking too shallow. I’d been trying to reign in the damage Damien could do to the Wayne name and legacy. I hadn’t considered, even for a moment, that he would actually do something reckless like work with a madman. The City can’t handle two of them. It has barely handled one before and she’s right about that. Batman had a hard enough time controlling one of them. This could turn in to a catastrophe.
“Damien would tell you that you’re highly over-estimating yourself if you think you could maim him. Even with all of our help. Lucky for me, I’m not about to call that a bluff.”
by Michele | Sep 27, 2017 | Chronicles
Conner: When Cassie called, I was in the middle of flying back to Metropolis. There had been only momentary hesitation before answering. After all, I’d been very close to Gotham! Somehow Cassie knew, that quickly! Am I in trouble? Wait-a-minute. Why would I be in trouble? She’s the one hiding stuff. Including a whole city that she’s been micro-managing me out of. There are very few times in my short life when I knew for certainty that -I- am not the one who should be in trouble. So I’d answered that call. In what was, I have to assume retroactively, one of the most defensive voices that I’ve ever had.
“I wasn’t doing anything! She was in danger, so I was flying her home. That’s it, honestly…wait-what?”
It happens to be a little strange, once I take the time to think about it but… I’d actually forgotten that I was in the process of spying on Cassie when the original distraction happened. She’d been out of town, on what had at the time sounded like another trip to a boring city for another tour of a college she wouldn’t end up selecting. At least, that’s what I had assumed she was doing once she started to explain where she was heading. Fawcett City? The only reason I’ve even ever heard of it, is because of my first case out of the cloning cylinder…
Uh, oh.
This looks like a job for Superman! Because I’m sure not showing up any other way right now. Calling it in as ‘Work’ also, at least temporarily, gets me off the hook for the situation in Metropolis. Which is to say, I’m not looking forward in to going back and explaining to Doc Fairchild what happened there. Not the real version. Nor the makeshift cover story. All of it is going to be a hard sell, but if I show up with presents? Hey, maybe she overlooks my not bringing in a low-level Meta like the curvaceous Dinah Lance. She might even be in the mood to accept that I’m intending to see Dinah again, which is why I’m not indoctrinating her in to N.O.W.H.E.R.E.
As much as I normally like to make an entrance as the President’s Son, I’m growing to enjoy -this- entrance as well. ‘Look, up in the sky.’ ‘Oh, shut up Betsy, that’s just a bird.’ ‘That ain’t no man, it’s a plane. You need yer glasses checked, Festus.’ Nope. Wrong on all counts, as Cassie can attest once I come down to a landing atop the county courthouse. She’s made some friends it would seem. Is that a Sheriff standing with her?
“Sorry it took so long,” all of about three minutes, give or take a minute for the time change. Which is roughly ten million times the time investment needed to check Cassie out in her uniform. “When I got your call, I was on my way back to Metropolis. I must have been out of my cell network, because it sounded like you said you needed me to send someone to pick up a crocodile.”
Cassie: Guilty conscience. It’s as much a saying as it is an accusation as it is an actual thing. None of them are something that I have ever, and I mean ever attributed to Conner Luthor, despite the thing that he’s done an awful lot of things that most people would probably feel at least a little bit of remorse over. It would also have to imply that he has a conscience. Besides me, that is. Okay, so that’s a tad harsh because it’s not that he’s totally lacking, he just has a skewed sense of a lot of things. You can blame his upbringing for that. No, not the simulated corn-fed variety but what was actually going on at the time. We’re working on it. He’s getting better. Still. I’m utterly unprepared for the stream of words that come out once I’ve had a minute to get Freddy to safety, work out a meeting for later, and then de-sewer myself.
Maybe the stunned silence on the other end had come off like angry fuming since he doesn’t have the ability to pair a facial expression with it. Or at least, I hope he doesn’t because that would mean he had in fact been following me. Blue eyes had gotten progressively narrower the longer he’d gone on though. She? Who’s she and where was he taking her that he feels the need to excuse himself over it? Conner doesn’t excuse or explain himself. Conner just does what Conner wants to do, typically. And that may just have to be a conversation for a later time because there’s something a great deal more pressing going on here.
Apparently these suits are self-cleaning. Very handy. And something I didn’t know before now. I’m sure the Sheriff would have attempted to be very polite if I’d still reeked of sewage and waste, and I’m also sure Conner would have had comments to make were I naked, but since neither of those would have made for very dignified introductions for the local law enforcement to Wonder Woman? Lets just go with ‘it’s a very good thing I have the suit.’ You know what’s also great? That being able to fly means I can make the short trip upwards to hover on the roof in front of him without removing either of my hands from my hips at any point.
The attitude is maybe a little ruined by the fact that I’m trying very hard not to smile. Maybe no one else would pick it out, or even know, but I happen to love flying. It’s the best part of my powers. It’s also the part I get to use the very least, and here I am. Plain view of any of the loiterers that had stuck around afterwards to sate their curiosity about what had happened at the bank, or for me. And I like it.
“Back from where?” So maybe it won’t wait that long before I have to ask. “And you only partially heard me wrong. I need you to pick up some Crocodile Men. Almost a whole pack of them, actually. They seem to have decided today was a good day to pick up bank robbing.”
Conner: “Gotham,” there might just be a hint of guilt in the admission, but I don’t lie to Cassie and I’ve got nothing to hide! Okay. Maybe a little to hide. “Long story. Cliff notes: A very, very, very attractive lead singer, tried to solicit Superman for her audience. It didn’t go well, but for once? Not my fault, and I actually mean it. I had big plans to tell you how you should be proud of me. I was getting so laid, like I would have needed to redefine what it even means to get laid like you were going to lay me.”
Oh. Right. This isn’t a discussion between Cassie Sandsmark and Connor Luthor, we’re supposed to be someone else. Some thing else, entirely, point in fact. I normally do a better job at hiding my proclivities, but it’s been a very long day. Headed in to a very long night. I’m barely comforting myself by looking through Cassie’s costume as it is. I better not do something else stupid right now. So I just sigh out the rest of the ‘short version’ of events, while taking stock of my girlfriend from top to bottom. Then bottom to top.
“She ended up being a Meta. I tried to offer her a way to avoid … them, since she gave herself away in the middle of Metropolis. Turns out she’s part of some sort of Underground, in Gotham. I think she was trying to recruit me with sex. Or maybe she was distracting me, so that her Underground friends could do something. Distract me, with sex. Anyway, she blew my ear drums out. So I threatened to kill her and everyone who ‘witnessed’ the event, unless she let me save her. She gave in. So I dropped her off in Gotham and came here. Gotham Harbor, just outside of the City.”
Ahem. Well that’s my side of the events. Truth is, I never got really question the ‘Why’ of everything. Nor did I get to really follow up on it like I’d been planning. What with the call to come here and help with. “Uh. Crocodile Men? You got to fight Bank Robbing Crocodile Men and I almost got fucked by a good looking super-spy? I love this job!”
My excitement is only moderately restrained, if that, by the fact that my eyes finally shift from her breasts to the large bruise along one forearm. This isn’t the first time that Cassie has seen my eyes begin to glow faintly with a red hue. No small amount of anger surges through me over her being hurt. Though, I’ll be the first to say it. This ‘Job’ is dangerous. We’ve talked about it before. I haven’t done this for the last few years without my own share of bumps and bruises. Some of our foes have strength on par with our’s. It’s only natural that we’ll get hurt in the process. What infuriates me isn’t even that she got hurt. Someone left a mark on my perfect Goddess.
“We’ve encountered a crocodile man before. One in Gotham actually,” stepping in, allowing the cape to cloak the two of us from prying eyes for a moment, while I take her hand in inspection of the bruise. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?”
Cassie: “You. Were in Gotham.”
It’s not a question. I heard him the first time. I don’t even especially need confirmation, because why would he have said it if that wasn’t what happened. He could have said he was literally anywhere else, and that means he’s not lying about it. He was in Gotham, literally the only place I’ve ever tried to keep him out of. I maybe should be disappointed in him, or even mad, but it wasn’t like I didn’t expect it would happen eventually. I was only doing it as a favor to our friend, and it’s kind of a miracle it’s worked as long as it did. He actually manages to sound contrite about it, and I was on my way to deciding to just let it go for the time being in that instant. Then he continues with his story.
“…I should be proud of you because you were going to get laid?!”
I, also, have forgotten where we are and who we’re supposed to be for the moment, and the fact that sound is going to carry even better from this vantage to the area around us, so I clear my throat. Purse my lips together, unclench my fists and lower my voice an octave or two. I’m not sure if I’m regretting our open and honest policy right now, or if I want to be infuriated that he’s talking about sleeping with someone else while he’s doing what he’s doing with his eyes. Yes. I know what he’s doing. I ignore it most of the time. What happens, after that start of an outburst, is an almost comical series of emotions playing across my face, shifting almost as quickly as he relays his Very Trying Evening. Confusion about this underground in Gotham, curiosity if he actually has figured it out entirely. Puzzling over whether or not I should correct him, and if I could even do so without giving away a secret that’s not mine to tell. Actual concern over whether she really blew his eardrums out, and a moment of checking Conner over, until I cycle right back into disbelief.
“…you did what?! Of course she gave in! That’s what sane people…”
You know what. More bait I’m not rising to. Or not rising the rest of the way to, because it’s not intentional on his part. He’s telling me about his day! It just sounds an awful lot like one of my first times meeting Conner Luthor, and apparently it was with a super attractive other blonde. I’m not normally prone to jealousy, and that’s not really even what this is right now. I’m frustrated. Already was before he got here, and now I just need to focus on the matter at hand. Instead of bickering with my boyfriend while the Sheriff and whomever else watches. Pinching the bridge of my nose, there’s an audible sound of teeth grinding for a moment before I continue.
“Crocodile Men. With clown masks. In suits. Saved as many hostages as I could, but some of them had been eaten before I got there and…”
I’m leaving Freddy out of the conversation entirely. See. We don’t have to talk about other blondes to relate the tale of the night! I’m also not ready for him to be brought to anyone‘s attention yet, or rather I don’t think he’s ready. I’d honestly forgotten entirely about the very obvious line of bruises across both front and back of my arm, at least during out little chit chat here. I remember them when I see the obvious sign of anger in his glowing eyes, and follow where they’re angled. Oh. I wince slightly when he takes my arm to inspect the injury. Not because he’s making it worse, it’s just… gotten easy to forget what it feels like to be physically hurt sometimes.
“I’m not sure that there’s a connection, there. The whole situation was reading a whole lot more Nile than River Monchant.”
Because I didn’t -need- you, is the thought that flashes unbidden and definitely unwanted into my head and the second wince is for my own mind rather than my arm, as I lay my other hand on top of the one holding my injured appendage. Why I’m wanting to comfort -him- when he’s excited about some other chick wanting to do him, and he’s going where I told him not to…
“Because it went from thinking the hostages were deluded, to realizing that they were honest to Goodness Crocomaggia robbing the place, and between getting dogpiled and all the rest there just wasn’t time. I’m okay. It’s done. They just…obviously don’t really have a suitable detention facility in Fawcett city for. Well. Monsters.”
Conner: “Not so much in as on the outskirts, where I dropped her off. After we had a heart to heart. Maybe that’s not the right word choice….”
Okay. So Cassie is not reacting with the amount of grateful pride that I was anticipating when originally planning out how I would regale her with this Tale. Let’s me review what I’ve said to her, so as to better re-state why she shouldn’t be mad at me. Hold on. Did I say that I threatened to kill everyone? Probably another poor choice in wording. Damnit, I said I was giving the Cliff Notes! She’s judging me on the Cliff Notes without reading the book! It’s just like I do at school. When the text books lack the answer to the quizzes! They’re not worth reading.
By the point of her voice raising an octave, I’ve put my hand out to forestall getting lambasted, “Wait. Hold on. She did give in! I was testing her. I didn’t know if she was worth saving or if she was really some sort of Meta-Spy sent to attack the President’s Son. You know what I mean? It could have all been a trap. I didn’t know who she was working for, so I needed to know if she would save lives if they were on the line or not. So, I caused a localized earthquake…”
“Wait. Hold on. So it was more like a tremor. Very small. Barely a risk of bringing down the auditorium. And I did it after she attacked me with this super-sonic voice of her’s, that ruptured my ear drums. Limited my choices at that point, y’know?” How did I lose control of all of this so quickly? I know it too. When it’s out of control. A couple of N.O.W.H.E.R.E. Proctors could question me for days and I’d barely lift an eyebrow at this. Cassie? Has me stumbling over things I don’t even feel guilty about. “You were going to be proud of me, because she offered to have sex right there on the roof. I turned her down. I even offered to introduce her to some people that might be able to train her. She turned me down, so I went in out of costume to try to approach her incognito. Figured if I could get her on the Luthor record label, she wouldn’t disappear for having a super-wolf whistle.”
“Did I mention how hot this girl was? And that I turned her down? Or that I was trying to help her? Or that she attacked me? Or that she was from Gotham?” You see I’m not having any of this side-tracking. Not yet, at least. I want it stated. For the record. That I should still be getting laid. Because I did everything, just the way Cassie would have wanted me too.
Okay. Maybe not the threat to kill everyone. But. Sometimes you have to break a few eggs to make an omelette. “Well, they only managed to bruise your soft-tissue. It doesn’t look like there’s very much penetration. A couple more bites or some gnawing action though, might have done some real damage.”
This? This is a talk that I can handle without fumbling or screwing up my words. This is the job. Not the one with the Cape. Though as Cassie fills me in on just what she was dealing with? As absurd as it sounds, I don’t even question it. In turn that should clue her in to exactly what strange things I’ve dealt with in my short life-span as an Agent of the Project. While she speaks, I let my eyes grace over the bruises once more, before letting them settle upon those big bright eyes of her’s.
“There’s a facility. I can put them there, but there’s going to be questions. I’ll need to have Megan come too. Especially, if you’ve found another stray to hide in Gotham.”
Cassie: “Did she attack you before or after you threatened her? Because that’s probably a decent indicator of whether she was there to attack Conner Luthor on purpose, or if she didn’t find the Man of Steel as charming and doable anymore.”
He didn’t say he’d threatened this woman in quite so many words, but I know the schpeal. I heard it myself once. I also know Conner’s methods of convincing people to go along with the way he thinks they should be going. He’s getting better! Really! Just apparently not in his recruitment speech. I would actually bring up the fact that I’m betting she knew who he was. Not the President’s son, but Superman, both in and out of costume, because it seems awful suspicious to me. Except maybe I only think that way because of her methods of distracting him, because I knew there would be a distraction just not what kind, and that I’m putting a puzzle together I have more clues for than he does.
My mouth opens to protest the ‘localized earthquake’ but he keeps interrupting, rephrasing, and I’m really not entirely sure if he’s digging himself out of a hole, or making it deeper. Somehow I believe he’s managed to simultaneously do both. I let out a tremendous sigh, and push my free hand back through my hair. Mostly to stop from pinching the bridge of my nose again. Okay, Cassie. Lets stick to the important facts as he seems them and not just what he actually did because… he thinks he did a good thing, or he was trying to, and frankly I don’t want him to decide that’s too much effort in the future. Especially since apparently he’s starting to love this ‘job.’ Because chicks are throwing themselves at him.
“You did mention that. A couple times. I’m sure you made a very good effort. It shattered all his teeth when he chomped my arm. So there wasn’t much biting after that fortunately.”
We’ll leave out where I was fairly sure I was going to be a Croco-amputee and that I was pretty startled I wasn’t at the time. Don’t need to add any drama-trauma and make him that much more excited to be sure and be with me next time. Though that really isn’t fair. I actually like doing this with him. It was the only reason I’d started it in the first place. Then I started to realize, and had it pointed out to me, that I could also do something else and more with it. Over all, it’s boiled down into a clearly very weird day for me, and his weird day is connected to mine though he just doesn’t actually realize how. I’m nodding my head in acceptance, even agreement of what he’s saying. I assumed there’d be a place. Of course there’d be questions. It isn’t until he gets to the part about Megan than I purse my lips and wrinkle my nose.
“I’m not actually hiding anyone in Gotham, Superman. Meta or otherwise.”
Conner: “Before. Like waaay before. I mean she blew my ear drums out after I offered her a contract, with no terms. Just to connect herself with Luthor’s name, to save herself from them. Here I am. Offering mega-bucks with no payoff, I’d already told her that I didn’t want to sleep with her by that point. There wasn’t any catch. So she whammied me. Just for spite, I think. Since it turns out that she’s actually not some Agent of Evil Meta-Humans seeking nefarious whatevers.”
“She’s just some well-trained hot chick. Her Grammy was the original Black Canary. She’s got a legacy of Hot Chick DNA.” Even now. When I know that I’ve lost any hope of the pay off that I was actually after, I’m still working the magic. Siiigh. Sometimes, I should really just shut up. It’s better that way. “Seriously. Mega-Hot-Chick. Turned down. Completely. Shot down. Not because I didn’t want her. Oh-no. You’d have to be blind, deaf, and more than a little retarded. I’m talking Corky from Wonder Years retarded. To not want this girl. She was wearing this little number that I didn’t even need to X-Ray to see through.”
“Didn’t even give her my number, Cassie. I’m a one Woman sort of guy. Especially when my Woman is wonderful. Grade A Goddess.”
Sigh. So. Okay then. Crocodile Men. That’s my night now. No sexy blonde singer. Apparently no Grade-A Goddess ass. It’s hard being Superman. Really hard. With that sigh, I’m visibly slumping. Even I can admit that there comes a point when you’ve just got to accept that you’re not digging yourself out of the hole you’ve dug. Not without a scapegoat. That’s what I’m missing. A scapegoat. One prime suspect, to whom all other blame could be assigned.
This is why I’m okay with her putting together a team. More people to take the blame. “You’ve been keeping me out of Gotham for weeks and I just so happen to get attacked by a meta-human. Who says the only place she can think of that’ll be safe from N.O.W.H.E.R.E. is Gotham. It’s alright, Wonder Woman. You keep your secrets, I’ll keep mine.”
“Just remember that the next time you find out that I’ve got to cause an Earthquake to keep the Girls off of me. I won’t even bother you with explaining how I tried to save a Meta instead of throwing them to the wolves. Or how Faithful I was in the face of overwhelming beauty and a siren’s voice.”
With that? I step off the roof, to leave her with those glistening words of my rebuke. See how she likes it! Hah. Why then, do I feel as though, she really doesn’t see how good I was? Ugh. Time to go deal with Crocodile Men. The least confusing part of my whole night.
Cassie: “Okay, okay. But were you doing the thing? You know. The thing you do where you lean in a little and emphasize certain words to make sure someone knows you really mean something else?”
He’s trying really hard. It isn’t that I’m not giving him credit for that part, I’m just not giving him out loud credit for it. It’d be easy to say he’s making up excuses, but there’s a difference in the behavior. I know him. I’ve really only seen him so worked up and flustered one other time, and that was when he tricked me into becoming Wonder Woman in the first place. He hadn’t understood why I was mad, or at least he’d assumed the wrong reason. He thought he was doing good, and what I wanted him to do. I’d just been surprised and taken unaware by the whole thing. It wasn’t what I’d wanted then, but he wasn’t doing a bad thing. Tonight? Well. Frankly it sounds like maybe he did do a bad thing, but he was trying to do something good. And clearly was anticipating an entirely different reaction from me. Except maybe about the part where he was in or around Gotham when I’d told him not to.
“That was probably smart of you. And it’s not what you…”
Think. I could keep talking, despite the fact that he’s just turned his back and dropped off the roof. He’d still hear me, loud and clear, even if I decided to carry on the rest of the conversation in a whisper. The reason a meta would probably feel safe from NOWHERE in Gotham is because there are no metas in Gotham. That fact should probably have been suspicious before since they can possibly crop up anywhere. For there to be such a dead zone for powered people. NOWHERE doesn’t look for metas in Gotham because meta people don’t live there. Only crazy people do, and that’s a perfectly normal and acceptable state of being in this world, apparently.
I’d let him explain poorly. Then re-explain. And explain it again and I don’t even get the chance? I press my bruised arm against my stomach for a moment, like the twinge of the bruises are going to distract me from the way the frustration and unfairness seems to churn and gnaw at me and turn my face skyward for a moment alone with myself, and my grumbling before I push backwards in the air, turning to land once again near the surprisingly calm Sheriff I’d excused myself from for Conner’s arrival.
by Michele | Sep 22, 2017 | Chronicles
Dinah: There’d been an important question asked up there on the roof, and while I’m sure the kid thought it was going to be a thought provoking, soul inspiring, motivational line? Maybe to someone else it would have been, and having it come from him with what I know of him had been far more startling than the words themselves. Why am I not ruling the world with some multi-million dollar recording contract, and sold out stadium shows? I’m all for tooting my own horn, I do it frequently and I don’t even have to exaggerate much when I do. Legs for days, blonde, great body, pretty face is actually enough to get a starlet up there. Synth work can do the rest. I actually have incredible vocal control to go along with it.
So why don’t we go any further? Well. I can tell you for a fact that at least half the band wishes we would. Wishes bad enough that they got their asses over here from Star City on incredibly short notice. We’ve got enough of a following, little as we are, that Kicking and Screaming was fit into a gig slot when I’d called and said I was going to be in town and willing to get up on the stage. I guess we can call it a one night reunion tour, because all the singing I’ve done lately has been much more random Coyote Ugly at my own bar than anything formal. This? Is practice for me. The vocal equivalent of an athlete running wind sprints, or fitting in just one more punishing set of dead lifts. I have absolutely zero desire to pursue music as a career. Even less than I now have for legit law enforcement. It’s something I can do, and do very well, but not what I want to be.
They’d started me on harmonica, actually. Breath control that didn’t actually involve me accidentally destroying something. The jump to singing was my call, and it’d evolved from simple melodies and harmonics, to a garage band that I think both my parents despaired of in middle school. One more extracurricular that was preparing me for something I didn’t know at the time was coming. The death of one parent and grandparent, the murder of another, and the need for vengeance that came out of that. Traditional melodies gave way to rock, which is my personal preference anyway, where I could really push the line between screaming, and screaming. But. It’d be a lie to say I don’t enjoy the attention every once in a while. The dark and the neon and the smoke, and all eyes on me while I strut and perform.
Kicking and Screaming does have some original stuff. Not a lot of it, but it gets woven in between the covers that primarily dominate the set. There’s not even necessarily a real rhyme or reason or order to the choices other than I have a tendency to pick numbers with grueling vocals, or ones that fluctuate from extreme highs to lows. Blondie tracks like One Way or Another, to Hallowed Be They Name by Iron Maiden. But I always. Always finish with the best. All Hail Queen Freddy. Because if you don’t love Bohemian Rhapsody? There’s something wrong with you.
Conner: Well there’s one sure fired way for a band in Metropolis to make it big. One word: Luthor. Whether they own you or people just think they might want to own you? There’s always a certain amount of vibe when you get noticed by them. To have a Luthor Corp rep come in to talk to you? Just that step alone will make other companies look at you too. Even if Luthor Corp wants you for a dime, you’ll make a quarter off someone else trying to out bid. If Luthor Corp wants you enough to actually bid? You’re set for life.
That’s just a rep. Last year Cassie and I actually caused a bit of a scene when we tried to go to a relatively low-key concert. There’s a lot of work that goes in to the President’s Family going to public functions. Secret Service being a key factor. The truth is, I don’t need them but it’s part of the routine. The facade that is a ‘secret identity.’ However part of my image, part of what truly makes people never take a second look at me as even a consideration for being a Super Hero? Is all about the attitude, the reputation. How many tabloids tell the tale of my ‘Once again slipping my security detail for a night on the town?’ A lot less of them now than there used to be. Cassie and I do it to keep up appearances, mostly. Another part of it happens to now be my enjoyment of her embarrassment when we do it.
Tonight’s appearance therefor comes with a double helping of trouble. Is that Conner Luthor? Oh. My God. It’s Conner Luthor!! Why is he hear? Isn’t he Dreamy? To the less pleasant side of the fellas, who aren’t too happy with the attention I’ve taken away from them once I’m in through the V.I.P. door. There’s really no ‘Low-Key’ entry here. Not for me. Superman had his Clark Kent, hey-shucks persona. I’ve cultivated the polar opposite. Embracing so many of the aspects of life that Dinah only just moments before suggested that Superman should. Fame. Adoration. Wealth. Power. But there’s a flippant attitude about it lately. Because I’ve been discovering that part of it, isn’t nearly as fulfilling as some of the things I get by not being a Luthor.
Sooner or later the Secret Service will catch up. They’ll hear reports of where I’m at. They’ll show up. N.O.W.H.E.R.E. is going to be furious with me, once more, for doing things off of their schedule. Both of them can kiss my ass. I’m Conner Luthor, the Superman. In the end, what can they do about it? Other than try to lecture me, as I’m taking advantage of the hospitality of Dinah’s fans by ingratiating myself to one of the boothes. Buying drinks, that I’m not even legal to buy and otherwise insuring myself of being noticed by the Band.
The good news? She doesn’t suck. I knew that before getting changed. In fact, I wouldn’t be here if she didn’t have the pipes she does. Part of me has to admit, I wouldn’t be here anyway but there’s something about the woman herself. Her story struck a chord with me. How did she escape the List? Curious. Why isn’t she on M:TV (other than the fact that they no longer play any music)? And why is she so accepting of mediocrity? The latter two questions seem, on the surface, to be easier to guess at an answer than they should be. If she had avoided the list intentionally, she’d want to stay beneath the Radar of N.O.W.H.E.R.E. to keep herself off of it. Except that she seemed not to know about the list. I didn’t hear a lie in that sentiment, so I’ve got accept that too is the truth.
The trouble with all of that? Is that this woman is accepting mediocrity in life, but puts for the effort to keep herself looking like that. In my world those two things do not add up to one and the same. There’s more to Dinah Lance than she’s letting on. I’m all too happy to take a front row seat for looking in to it. At least, that’s what I’ll tell Dr. Fairchild. I’m still working on what I’ll tell Cassie, but it’s probably going to involve Alien Invasion.
Dinah: There’s the general mayhem of any club that you can expect on any given night. Then there’s an added layer of buzz that a band can bring, especially if it’s one that got asses in the seats to any degree. People that came to have a good time, and then the ones who came to have a very specific good time. The third kind is what gets my attention now, the one that’s generated by someone coming in that means something. A recognizable face. The anxious pitch of a group of individuals all wondering the very same thing. Can I talk to them? Would they even talk to me? Are they going to notice me and what happens if they do? Some of these ‘butts’ might indeed be here to see me. A lot of them even, but I’m not famous. Not like Conner Luthor is.
Sure, it could have been someone else who’s Somebody in Metropolis, but a belief in coincidence will only take you so far. You rely on it past that? You’re going to miss an important details and the details can get you killed. Or in slightly lesser trouble than dead. I’m not able to resist smirking into my mic when he settles in. I’d had an even money bet going in my own head over whether he was just going to hang around in the sky, or if I’d get the alter ego. I suppose you could argue which side of this kid is the real one, and from my run in with ‘Superman’ and what Tim had prepped me with? I’d say this is the real one.
Fortunately? I’m pretty cocky when I perform. Or when I breathe. So smug facial expressions and the smirking, even a little heavy winking aren’t all that far out of my lane. Not that he’d know that. Until ten minutes ago this guy had no idea I existed, and I think that’s a big part of what brought him down here. Or at least that Big Brother didn’t know. That’s where the whole thing gets iffy, honestly. How curious that makes him, even for a supposedly minor and unimportant meta-human power. Now. What to do with him?
As the final number’s music eases back down from the swell and tempo that it built to in the middle, I’m scanning the crowd. Trying to pick out the obvious suits, if they’re even here at all, to see who’s watching him. Well. Mostly everyone, but that’s a different kind of situation altogether. I could take this away from prying eyes, and the detail would try and follow. The safe play for the moment? I decide is going to be sticking with the crowd. We finish the number. The band gets their bows, I get mine, and I ignore the hopeful way they watch me like they’re thinking that just maybe this means I want to take the whole gig a step further. The club’s promoter and event coordinator is waiting to talk to me, but not only in the hopes of another night. There’s a VIP, of course.
I get to pretend to be surprised and pleased, and then I get to weave and curve my way through the tide of bodies, to where I would have gone regardless. Up to the kid that could level the block and/or put a laser beam through my skull if he so chose. I’m a bit more tousseled than the last time, but otherwise the attire is basically the same, outside of the leather jacket I ditched mid set.
“Well hey there. We’re all jazzed you came down to join us. Enjoy the show?”
We meaning the band, the crowd, hell I’m pretty sure the girls feel luckier that the turned up than I did. As for down, well. Down out of the sky, or could it just be innocently down to this part of town?
Conner: The truth is? She isn’t bad. The bad isn’t bad. These guys could actually be something. Which is another step in to the direction of questions. Why aren’t they doing something with this talent? It doesn’t make a lot of sense, to tell you the truth. Now that I’ve seen the rest of her band, I’ve got the added luxury of having scanned through all of them. Not one of them more remarkable than the last. Only one of them having any true merit in the department of super-human advancement. All of them, to a person, clearly dependent upon their lead as to how far they’ll go with all of this. Could I buy it that one of them was willing to scrape by in life? Sure, there are ambition-less people in the world. I tend to pick them as friends, because they adore me and rarely cause me any trouble. For her to be in the field of performance and somehow to have found a whole band full of ambition lacking artists, who are good enough to go somewhere, but simply not want too?
None of that fits in to the world that I’m aware of. Admittedly though, on it’s own, I can’t really fight the notion that Dinah might simply be smart enough not to want to take her act to a level that would merit attention. But that only works if she was aware of needing to stay low-key, which doesn’t play with how completely unaware she was. The combination is what brought me here. I could have watched from the Sky, just as I said. But there comes a time when you need to get boots on the ground, my Dad always said. You’ve got to investigate, question everything, trust nothing and no one unless they have the name Luthor….
“Oh, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” there’s manners and then there’s forward behavior that takes form in having your hand taken, kissed and then lifted in indication that you’re expected to spin around so more of you can be seen. “Sometimes, I’ve got to come down out of that Ivory tower that they try to keep me locked up in.”
There are so many ways to play this. Lie and say that I own her album. I’m not overly keen on saying that, though. Flattery only works if you can back it up. Right now? I can’t. Didn’t take the time to do much research, because -this- is the research phase. So I’ve got to go with the truth. “Truth is, I didn’t know you were playing tonight until I got here. I’d love to tell you how good your music was, but I barely heard half of it. Between being stunned at how good you look and then getting my new friends here drinks.”
“It’s been a busy night. People keep asking me for autographs and then leaving the paper behind?” Said as I wad up a handful of phone numbers, names, all printed hastily on napkins or cards. “You must get this all the time, right?”
Dinah: He’s smooth, confident and clearly very aware of his place in the world. I’ve known enough people with similar traits to also know that a lot of them his age can’t entirely back it up. There’s grown-ass men that will go part of the way into the flirtation and not have the ability to back up the rest of it. Maybe it shouldn’t surprise me as much as it does, because I’m starting to think it’s really just a billionaire superhero thing. Or those with training or a power or both. Depending on your outlook, you glide through life knowing it’s not what’s important so who cares what anyone else thinks of you or what you’re doing?
Do I spin? You bet your ass I do, because that brings my ass around, before I finish the move and sweep it out into an overly theatrical curtsy. Not that I can do it properly in a skirt this tight, but that’s what a healthy imagination is for.
“Something tells me they don’t succeed all that often.”
Like the fact that the direct approach by myself, and a multitude of others hasn’t been moved to somewhere more easily controlled. That means either they’re not here, the entire club is security or highly vetted, or … well there’s really no other ‘or’ to that situation except the possibility that they only bother for public appearances. I don’t think that who this kid is, who he really is, is that much of an open secret that such lax coverage would fly however.
“Well, aren’t you just lucky then? Since we’re being so terribly honest with each other, I didn’t know I was going to be until two days ago, either. Spur of the moment kind of thing.”
I take my time regaining my hand back, only after his flattery gets a playful bat at his chest with my free hand, and a rather wink. Sure he didn’t hear it, sure they’re his friends. Sure the bar is letting him buy drinks when he’s not nearly old enough. Well. That last one is true. They’re surely all too happy to take his Black card and let him buy whatever the hell he wants. That’s what fame and privilege gets for you. Or being ridiculously good looking. Really. Another superhero thing, I’m starting to think.
“The aw shucks isn’t going to work on me, honey. But I won’t tattle and break their poor hearts. They should know better. But I know you’ve got a Wonder of a girlfriend. I mean. She’d have to be to put up with all the attention without getting worried about it.”
My expression has taken a commiserating turn though, as I shake my blonde head and blow out my lips for a moment. Shifting from understanding, to maybe frustrated, to a little coy and then clear round again to something a little more wolfish and predatory.
“Not as much as you’d think. I’d have to do more shows for that. More requests for the hot blonde’s number than the band’s singer, but I’ve heard I’m a little… intimidating. So a lot don’t bother.”
Conner: “Would it surprise you to know they tried really hard for a really long time, but I think they’ve somewhat come to the understanding that I don’t do well under lock and key.”
The irony of this is that we’re not really talking about an Ivory tower here. The first couple years of my life were spent locked in a laboratory. Most people aren’t conscious from the moment they take their first breathe, but I don’t have the luxury of a mother. I awoke in to a vat of nucleotide fluid. With my brain hard wired in to a virtual reality simulator, that simulated fifteen years of life in just a handful of years in the real world. It was roughly two years in to that ‘captivity’ before I realized that I was in the Matrix. Another year after that before I understood what was happening. That last year was spent testing the boundaries, testing the trainers, the doctors and the teachers. There wasn’t an escape. That’s understating what happened. The news called it a freak earth quake, but I called it retribution.
As this plays through my thoughts, I’m reminded of just why I never turned Cassie in. We were too alike. Too close to the same thing. Except for where I’d been living my whole life in the confines of a lab, she’d seen the world. She was everything I’d wished to be, before I became what I am now. When I still thought the Matrix was real and that life had consequences for people like me. Now, I understand that there are consequences. It just so happens, that I’m the consequence and the woman before me is very much up for discussion of whether or not she deserves some of them.
“Honesty. A trait not entirely common in my family. You’ll have to help me, maybe hum a few bars so that I can fake my way through it?”
It occurs to me, that I should introduce her to the people I joined to watch the show. It also occurs to me, that I should have learned their names in the first place. Those things would have been the proper way to handle yourself. Even my Father liked to impress the masses by remembering their names after he shook their hands. Me? I don’t know, it just feels dishonest. Strange how I’d be worried about the dishonesty of learning the names of people I couldn’t care less about, but it doesn’t bother me at all that I don’t care about them in the first place. In any case, I take just enough time to at least let them fawn over her for a second while I let my held hand, transition in to an arm around Dinah’s waist.
“Oh. Now that’s a change of pace,” here’s some real honesty about things for Dinah. “Most people who approach me either don’t bother looking in to whether I’m single or not. Or. They don’t care.”
Then comes a smile that is genetically perfect in how wolfish, yet somehow entirely innocent all at once. “Truth be told? Cassie is Wonderful, but not because she’s immune to jealousy. You see, she doesn’t really have to worry about all that. She’s the only girl I’ve ever met that can keep up with me. No offense, Dinah, but as hot as you are? I don’t think you’ve got it in you, kid.”
“Honest. I don’t mean any offense. I can totally see why people would be intimidated by you. I mean. Have you looked in a mirror? Golly, where do those legs actually stop… and that ass? If my Dad were here, he’d be drafting a bill to pardon you. Because your ass is illegal in all forty eight continental states. I’d talk about the rest of you, but I’m trying not to drool. It’s very unsophisticated, I’m told. Hell, Miss Lance, your voice is the least intimating thing about you and it’s pretty much super.”
Leaning in close, most might think I was about to make a move, but all I’m looking for is her ear to whisper in to. “I’m winning, by the way. I assume we’re trying to see who can lay it on thicker, before we find somewhere a little more private.”
Dinah: “Nope. Not at all. Probably made them try even harder. Hell. They’re probably still trying.”
It’s human nature to try and control what you don’t understand, so that you can learn from it. Use it. Harness it and point it in the direction you think is right. In this kid’s case? Not only is keeping him under thumb an impossible prospect, but it represents losing control of a huge monetary investment. And power. Necessity is the mother of invention. They’ve just had to come up with new, and less obvious ways to trying to keep hold of what they think that they’ve got. And while I’ve never actually liked people like Conner Luthor? I also don’t think what I got up on the rooftop was entirely an act. There was no reason for it. I was giving every cue to go ahead and indulge his predilection towards being…well. This. Fluffing the ego. Giving all the go aheads and he didn’t. Even though there wasn’t another soul up there to see, or hear. And that means that if N.O.W.H.E.R.E. hadn’t tried to control him the way that they did? He might just be a lot more Super and a lot less Luthor.
There’s a scoff of laughter, before I begin to literally oblige him. Spinning up out of my extensive mental music library the chorus of Billy Joel’s ‘Honesty,’ though man. Chances are he doesn’t know it. I wasn’t born when that song came out either, though. As for his hanger’s on? I’m not overly worried about them either. Mostly because there’s only a 2% potential for one of them to manage to cause me physical harm, and they’re not important to the mission right now. Besides, I can be excused for ignoring them in order to fawn over Conner Luthor.
“I’d be hurt. Really. But the two of you are clearly not a common breed. Not looking to be a homewrecker though. And I don’t need to keep up with you. Overall seems like a much too public and dramatic affair.”
If I were looking for a booty call I could find any number to oblige me. Hell, he already essentially offered. I’m just not going back up on that roof with him. Because I’m not actually out to get it on with him, and not just because of the tabloid rage that would go on over a grown ass woman doing a very famous teenager in public. Someone would see. They always see. That’s why there’s tabloids. I’m not going back up on the roof because he can fly and it puts me that much further away from my exits. He continues laying it on thick just the same though, and I can enjoy and laugh at the commentary. I do, too. Laugh. Easy and merrily like I’m not in the middle of calculating odds and angles. I don’t even pause after I’ve cocked my head in to hear his whisper over the crowd. I just don’t lean back in to return the gesture. I know he can hear me.
“Really? You sure it’s you that’s winning? Do you even know the game we’re playing, honey?”
I know just the place, after all. Crooking my finger to get us moving again, towards the door next to the stage and the hallway beyond that. It’s quieter for sure, especially since the musical acts aren’t transitioning or really even packing up anymore at this point. Most of what we’d used belonged to the club itself, and my group’s pretty good at a quick tear down/set up on the worst of days.
Conner: “You’ve got no idea. There’s a Time magazine article about my escape from the Secret Service. Most of my best escapes are classified, for national security.”
Were she anyone other than who she is? Nothing I’ve just said would be peculiar. I’ve managed to create a legendary Rock-Star status with my exploits. Multiple parties in the same night. Always one step ahead of Secret Service. Never getting caught. Winding up in the papers, the tabloids, all across the internet. Meanwhile my own detail wouldn’t know I was out of the Pent House, if they weren’t told by people spotting me where I shouldn’t be.
Between our initial meeting on the roof and this one, I’m a little more confused than I was when I walked in. She was all too clearly down with whatever was needed to see the sights with a Super, but I’m getting the vague sense of being shot down now. Though, clearly, she knows her stuff. Cassie and I are a different breed. Our recent College Road Trip is one of those things that actually did make the papers. Not exactly to Cassie’s pleasure in some instances. I can’t fault Dinah Lance there, knowing your limits is a good quality in a person. She’s got every right to be intimidated by me. I just like the fact that she’s also a little impressed by Cassie too.
Am I sure that I’m winning? To be honest, Yeah. I am pretty sure. Hell, it’s not even a measure of my cockiness. When it comes to laying it on thick? I’m a class all to my own. I’m pretty sure Cassie’s dad would give me a seat at the Pantheon. God of Ego. Not only do I have one, but I certainly know how to massage someone else’s. Though, in this instance, I’m a little taken aback by the question. Because I’m not sure Dinah knows what game we’re really playing. But, she’s asking me the same question.
For the people I’d flopped with? There’s the show of my shrugging helplessly. After all, who am I to turn down the invitation backstage of the lead singer of the band? Much less an older woman that looks like this one does. Who would blame me? Other than the ones who were wanting to bask in my presence, as much or more than they wanted Dinah Lance’s. That’s a show for the people. I tell Cassie all the time, how having a secret identity is about putting on a show. Give people something to see, to look at. The more shallow you seem, the less reason they have to look deeper.
We’re barely a few paces back stage, before I’m scanning the area. Really scanning the area. Insuring that no one is near, no one is approaching. Sight, Scent, Sound. All bases covered before, I say a word. Once I say something, I have a feeling things are going to change quickly. “Look. Before this goes any further, I want you to know you’re a nice girl and all. I mean. Really nice. Great Caesar’s ghost, you might actually have a nicer body than Cassie and she’s a Goddess. But. As much as I would love to do that. You. Specifically, I mean. I want to sponsor you.”
“Your band, I mean. Get you on a label. Something attached to Luthor Corp. Very public. Maybe you could sing for Cassie’s graduation. I’m putting on a little concert for it. But, it’s all got to be very. Very. Public. I can’t take no for an answer, Miss Lance.”
Dinah: “Right, of course they are. Wouldn’t want people knowing your methods. Maybe they’ll make a highly suspect, loosely based movie around your life twenty years down the road. Except you’ll probably still be the First Son then…”
President for Life. What a thing. I sure didn’t vote for him, and knowing what I do now thanks to TIm Drake kind of confirms all the reasons I might ever have had for picking someone else. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, I’ve got too many things keeping me in the United States to want to pack up and move to …well. Anywhere else. I wonder what the world would think if they knew what his son really was? Not even factoring in where he came from, just the aspect of Conner being a meta of any sort. Then add in the alien portion. Or the cloning… mostly it boils down to a whole lot of reasons why it’s not in my personal interest for anyone else to know that I know. I’m good, but there’s only so much one person can do.
I don’t see, or hear anyone. Not close enough to matter anyway. It’s not likely anyone was going to follow us backstage because.. well. Things go on in these kind of areas when you have a band. It’s even been me doing those things a few times, and I extend the courtesy to the other members if they have a new special friend, too. Less likely now that a couple of them are more settled than we used to be, with full knowledge that I can, and will, rat them out to the appropriate parties. Now. I’d asked the kid if he knew what we were playing and for a moment I’m not sure we’re playing the same one. Which is okay, because I’m still doing what I came here for. The subtext just shifts.
“…thanks…”
It’s a brief answer, but mostly kept that way because I’m snorting on my own laughter like he’s just said something absolutely, tremendously funny. I’m fairly sure no one ever. And I mean ever has called me a nice girl. Let alone really nice. Because I’m a lot of things and that isn’t usually one of them. Driven, aggressive, sharp, flirty and a tease? All more likely. I struggle to smooth my features because I am listening, and not really laughing at him and….okay maybe a little.
“Wow, well. That’s incredibly generous of you.”
And something I didn’t actually see coming. Whether he’s playing at being the good guy, or it’s an emerging streak, or maybe he’s just trying to throw me, I wasn’t expecting nor planning on what amounts to a job offer. Not that kind of job at least. Even if it is some kind of ruse, it’s still a great offer and if my bandmates were back here? They might take it whether I wanted them to or not. There’s trying to pursue some sort of record deal, and then having Luthor money dropped in your lap.
“I’m a helluva lot more likely to thumbs up the doing me part than the rest, though kid. So you’re just going to have to take no. A party? Sure. We can talk about that, but a contract I’m just gonna have to pass on.”
Which is unheard of for pretty much any singer or performer out there, I know. But I don’t do this for the money and never have, and the rise and fall of a single shrugging shoulder demonstrates how passe I am about the entire notion as concerns myself.
“I can get you the number of a few others if you’re really wanting to get into the band repping gig.”
Conner: Part of me can’t believe all that I got was a thanks to that sort of praise. Only seconds ago, Dinah was lavishing praise on me. Then again on me upstairs. Now though, all I get is a thank you and a laugh? Hrmph. Some women just don’t follow the same rules. If I’d actually come back stage for the purpose of putting her against the wall? I’d be skeptical for a whole different reason. This smells like a trap. Not even my first one. Trying to get me to do something, without my sort of witnesses, to extort money.
Except. I just offered to throw money at her. Only to be turned down. So. What the actual hell? No hiding that sort of confusion, even I’m not that talented a liar. Be that as it may, I’m more than a little sure that I’m pursuing the right course here. She left me a bone too, so I latch on to it. “Oh, I didn’t say anything about a contract, Miss. In fact, I’m more than happy to give you a contract stating you’re under no contract.”
“It’s not important to have you wrapped up. I get it, you’re not really in all this to make it big. You’re an artiste, right? I mean, seriously. I get it. Big company like Luthor Corp. They gobble you up. Spit you out as some Britney Spears knock off with a better set of tits. The kids eat you, but you start down the road to drug abuse born out of selling your soul, in the form of your craft, to the devil. Spend the next ten years in a drugged out stuppor. Who wants that, from a girl with the ass like your’s?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know I was supposed to say Assets, but let’s just be real candid here. I’m not what the papers say I am. This isn’t about me flipping a few million at you and each one of your band mates, for no other reason than having you on the hook. So that I can grow old with Cassie, while I work your ass until it’s sagging worse than your record sales.” Until this point, I’ve been happy to let Dinah just play the games with words and body language, but now? Now I step in front of her. How? I’m faster than anything she read about me. “Look. All I need you to do is pull the gig for Cassie’s party. Hell. Ink the deal. Take the money and some pictures for the papers.”
“Cassie gets a great band. You get to put your name in the paper with the Luthor family. We both walk away clean. They never approach you after that.”
DInah: When you follow the same rules, it makes you one thing: predictable. And when you’re predictable, the other side knows how to counter you. They’re prepared for your move before you make it. That’s not the side I want any opponent of mine to be on, that’s where I want to be. Verbal fight, physical fight, doesn’t matter. We’re both back here expecting some sort of trap, only I’m braced for it with a lot more knowledge of what I’m actually up against than he is. He’s expecting an untrained, extremely lowgrade powered meta that can whistle kind of loud. I have to assume that he thought I was underselling myself, and that I’m probably capable of more than that. That’s kind of like comparing the water escaping a punctured garden hose to what comes out the end of a fully cranked fireman’s version, however.
While I expect he’s perfectly capable, and maybe even willing, to crush my skull or just eye laser me. Expect the worst, always be prepared and never be disappointed…
“Which. Is still a contract. Look, you’re a fan and you’re Conner Luthor and you don’t need yet another lady to tell you that you’re a smokin’ teenage fantasy, but…”
I’m just not a teenager. I leave that part out. Throwing myself at ‘superman’ was one thing, if I want to pretend like I think they’re separate…which I don’t… this is just a convenient angle to back and forth like I don’t really know what he’s actually saying to me. He gets a whole lot closer to actually outright saying it this time, though. Our whole conversation of hints that are more than hints with the context behind it coming close and closer to the overt.
Then he moves. There’s knowing someone has super speed, seeing it, and then experiencing it that close up. His arrival on the roof had been fast, but it hadn’t been in my face when I’m already primed to fight, worked up with adrenaline and skirting around the edge of a conversation where I’m getting exactly what he’s spelling out and what he thinks he’s going to help me to avoid. Out of all of this, I actually don’t understand what’s in it for him. I make a great first impression, but that doesn’t quite justify what he’s putting out here. Any of it. It takes an awful lot of control to not just rear back and defend myself from the attack he hasn’t actually made yet, but blue eyes do widen in surprise.
“I’d be totally happy to do your Goddess’ party. I’ll take pictures even. But I’m not signing anything. They have never approached me in the first place. Sweetie, this is just a side hobby for me. I’m just not interested. So again. No thanks, I’m good. Nothing that really even needs cleaned I don’t think, do you?”
Not a record label. Not NOWHERE. I’d say I could thank Tim, or even Bruce before him for that, but I’d been walking about with meta powers for more than ten years before I ever met Batman. I have a feeling it has a lot more to do with my grandmother and my adopted, unofficial relatives that she’d fostered in with the family than any of my ‘work’ friends.
Conner: “Ugh. Listen. You’re not really this dumb.”
Okay. That’s not how I wanted this discussion to go. Nor is it how I was trying to angle it. It just isn’t. But, I can’t believe what my super-ears are hearing from this woman. I’m offering her, literally, the moon and stars. Only to have her turn it down. Why? I can’t actually even fathom why, because she’s all but accepting of nearly everything else. One and one aren’t adding up to two, they’re like four and three quarters with this girl. How can she be so good, so trained, but so lacking in ambition? How does one get that good, to stay below the radar in any way shape or form, without some level of ambition? Ugh. It’s like… she went to school with Cassie’s friend Kelsey.
By this point, I’m pinching the bridge of my nose. Because I’m getting a headache. No. Really. I am. All of these damnable lectures from Cassie. Now here I am, doing my level best. Not once, but twice. The result? The result is that I’m having to try so, so much harder to help, than I would have had to try to get her bent over that fire-escape, whistling dick-see for hours. I’m really not getting nearly enough payoff from Cassie to go through this on a regular basis, I’ll tell you (and her) that right now.
“Okay. I legitimately did not mean that. It’s been a very long last two hours. I’m trying to do this thing, that I’m not used to doing. This is a little more her thing than mine. So let me level with you here. Let me just try to put this to you in the most basic terms, I can possibly do.” The hand from my nose, very gently, very slowly, very methodically, moves from it’s place on my face to her’s, in an effort to cup her cheek. “You met a friend of mine earlier. On the roof. He was wearing a very fancy suit. It catalogs people like him, for people like my Father. He doesn’t have a choice to not report you. Not after he hid one from them before. They don’t trust him now.”
“The way I figure this. You’ve got about as long as they think it’s going to take me to fuck you in to a stupor, before the ‘Secret Service,’ takes you. Everyone member of your band. Every member of your family. Their family. Anyone who knows you. Knew you. In to custody and you all cease to exist. Poof. Like mother fucking magic. ”
“Two days from now there’s going to be a tragic accident. The Daily Planet is going to talk about what might have been for the starlett and her band, if only they hadn’t made their goodbye performance in Metropolis. Because they coulda been something, if it wasn’t for that pesky airplane engine. You’re no Patsy Cline, despite that ass on you. So no one is going question. No one is going to look in to you. You. Your band. Your family. Their family. Anyone who knew you, might know you, could even possibly have a clue how you kept off the List? Is going to disappear.”
All of this is meant to make an impression. To put this woman who I’m actually making an effort with, in to the proper frame of mind to understand what’s about to happen. “The only way I can think of, in the time we’ve got, is that you walk out there and marry your Band to my Family.”
Dinah: I don’t need to cock my head and waggle my finger back and forth at him with an ‘oh, no you didn’t.’ The way one eyebrow goes up and the twist of my mouth makes that sentiment incredibly clear, though other people could tell him if he knew how to ask that he’s getting treated to the more amused version right now. Not the one that comes right before the pain and me physically demonstrating my displeasure. Usually that’s saved for colossal missteps in the training room, though. Clearly the kid’s frustrated, and I may even feel a smidgen bad over that fact. But the longer he’s standing here trying to talk me into going along with his plan, to letting him rescue the damsel in distress that I’d joked about being earlier in the evening, the longer I’m doing what I actually came here for.
I’d question whether or not this was worth it, but I know I wouldn’t have been asked if it wasn’t.
He’s trying. He’s really trying. I’m not even pretending to look as sympathetic as I am, because there was a point in my life when I was probably about the same age as him, maybe a little bit younger, where doing the right thing was incredibly hard for me. That’s why I don’t balk at the approaching hand, or yank my head away from his touch. I go far enough to lean my cheek into that contact, and find it’s much hotter than you’d expect skin to be. And I mean temperature wise, not anything untoward. It means he’s in that much closer to me. Fancy suit. Check. Automatic metagene databasing. Check. If Tim didn’t already know about those things, he’s going to in very short order.
“No. I’m really not that dumb. And I legitimately want you to know that I do appreciate the sentiment going on here. What you’re trying to do for me. Right shtick. Wrong dame. And since I appreciate it, I’m going to point out one very important facet of all of that hypothetical but probably likely scenario. I actually do have people, with their own kind of magic, that would look. ”
And know where to look. I mean, don’t get me wrong here. He’s threatening me. It’s wrapped up in telling the story of what someone else is going to do, and yes it’s very true that all those things are probably completely outside of his realm of control just now. Anyone else, delivered in any different way, and I would probably have already reacted in a very different manner than I already have. I don’t doubt his timeline, though, and that means it’s time to go.
“I’m sorry. I really. Really am…”
Because I’m not taking his offer, though that’s not actually what I’m apologizing for. The reason I’m apologizing is that instead of the ‘am’ what comes out isn’t the slightly chagrined, conversational tone I’ve been utilizing. The whistle had made his ears ring. Here comes the full force fire hose. SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. I actually really, truly do feel bad, too. Not something I can say I’ve often felt when it comes to using my powers, but with his hearing from this close up? And I’m not stopping until he’s down. Or at the very least dazed enough that I can bolt. I already sized up the hall when I got here. Did it again after I came down from the roof. I could make the ten yard sprint to the fire exit in heels, I do it just that smidge faster in boots. The sewer grate is already tugged off kilter enough to make it easier to slip through and down to the closest bet I’ve got for ‘momentarily safe.’
I mean. It’s a sewer. But it’s a Metropolis sewer. I’ve stayed in worse hotels than this in Gotham. Guess this means I’m not invited to the graduation party anymore.
Conner: She’s got people. I like it. Ballsy, but I respect Dinah’s machismo. It’s something that most people in this position don’t do. I mean, there’s been the occasional outburst of ‘Do you know who I am?’ Or ‘Do you know who my family is?’ Threats like sending the Mafia after us or being some Senator’s golf-buddy. Those type of threats normally come from a different sort of people. Not the kind of folks who have a Dive Band, that picks up little shows here and there for penny money. Definitely not the sort without a record deal. Most assuredly not from the type who were all but throwing themselves at my dick upstairs.
You know, I really do respect that though. Because it tells me something I didn’t know. Something, I am not sure she meant to give away. It explains to me exactly how she managed not to be on the list. Someone protected her. That’s the only viable explanation, in the face of the simple fact that this girl is showing not one ounce of fear over what the son of the President just said. Matter-o-factly, too. I’d love to say, later when I explain this to Cassie, that it’s because I was recognizing all of this that Dinah catches me off guard. Unfortunately that would be a lie. I’m caught with my proverbial pants down because I’m stroking Dinah’s cheek with my thumb. Trying to offer her some form of comfort.
That’s what hurts the most, I think. Two years. I’ve had two years of Cassie telling me time and time again about what it means to be a Hero. How it means something more than you get from instant gratification. It’s about being a bigger, better, person. People idolized the original Superman as a God because of his virtues and valors. Yet, here I am doing my version of the very best I can do at trying to do the right thing? When suddenly the world around me is spinning.
“…what are you…?”
To my credit? There’s no scream. I’m no new comer to pain. People think that being Superman means that I’m invulnerable. Honestly, they’re right. I am. To most things. To most standard things. Bullets? Knives? To a super-sonic punch from a guy calling himself a Flash? To a full on power punch from some lightning themed dork? Yeah, I shrug those off pretty well. Part of that is knowing I’m about to take a hit. Being ready for it. Significant force can still hurt me, I just get better. Fast. The trouble with this isn’t that I’m flat-footed. It’s that I’ve left myself open. My ears are ripe for the picking and she goes all in. Even when ear-drums rupture, I don’t scream in pain. I should also probably get some credit for not reflexively crushing her face with my hand.
It would seem that even Supermen need their balance though. Mine is fucked. I mean fucked like I was offering her. Bent over the fire escape and taken like thousand dollar hooker. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen my own blood. You know what? I don’t like it. Not one bit. It’s a really, really good thing that Dinah makes a bolt for it. My first thought at seeing, recognizing my blood is to kill her. Not beat her, not take her to ‘meta-jail’. My first thought is to see her turned to ashes, just like the facility that brought me in to this world. One of these days, Dinah might just want to thank Cassie for the fact I don’t act on that. Because without a shred of balance, I’d likely incinerate the whole building. Everyone in it, included.
Instead. Since I’m already on the ground. Since I don’t really have any way to physically go after her, yet. I do the one thing I’ve got available to me. The ground. Given that it’s about the only thing I’m able to look at without throwing up for the moment. I punch it. Then I punch it again. And again. And again. And again. I don’t know where she’s running, but it’ll be clear to anyone that the whole ‘House’. Maybe the city block. Will come down around us if she keeps running away. That is actually supposing she can even move when the actual -world- around her tremors like an Earthquake is rolling through.
I can’t hear her. I can’t hear anything. But I’m betting she can hear me. Hell, I can’t hear my own voice so there’s a good chance a lot of people can hear me. “You can’t outrun this…! Not them. Not me.”
“…but… I can. Let me save you. Or let them die. All of them. Your choice.”
Dinah: Well, this went sideways in an awful big hurry didn’t it? It’s threatening to go even more in that direction, too, and I’m not just talking my personal situation. I mean everything. I hadn’t exactly stuck around to double check whether or not he was down, and that means that I’m also not handy to answer the question of what I am. Not that he would be able to hear me anyway. You know how people wearing headphones talk much too loud because they have no concept of the volume of their own voice to those around them? Yeah, that’s what’s going on just now. Only it’s not the only thing.
My hearing’s just fine, for whatever reason I’m immune to the force of my own powers even if they do managed to get bounced back at me, so I hear right before I start to feelwhat he’s doing. Stumbling through the door frame, as the world threatens to heave out from underneath my boots and it’s only my agility that keeps me on them in the first place. My turn to be caught off guard. And then the shockwaves just keep coming, right along with the beat of his fist meeting the floor and reverberating through the ground. Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t make it all the way down to the sewers before this began. I would probably have been a dead woman. Or at least more than a little crushed.
At first? It’s easy to believe this is a temper tantrum and that’s what keeps me going forwards. And to a degree it is that. But it’s also not one that’s going to stop, apparently. Because it’s not just a tantrum, it’s the only effective action currently available to him, in order to get what he wants. And really, I won’t even pretend it’s not my fault, I just sucker punched the kid while he was trying to do the right thing in his mind. And that means an immediate and necessary reroute of not only my escape plan, but the follow up moves that would have come after that. Signaling for some cover, or some world class RobinHacking. I catch the door frame, hanging from its support. If he doens’t stop this building’s coming down. I’ve been around enough Earthquakes to know that much. Possibly more.
He also probably can’t hear that I’m not running anymore. Which means he has no reason to stop. I know that changing course? Means I’m fucked. Oh, he might say he’s going to save me but I don’t actually believe him now, there’s no real reason to. And there’s a very real difference in why people do the things they do, their reasons, I put on the fishnets for revenge and to right a personal wrong. I keep them on for something bigger than that. It’s the struggle I’m currently having with Damien. Tempering your actions no matter how badly you’re hurt. Acting for the greater good. I might be choosing to let the people he talked about before die or not. Or all of them could mean everyone in this quake’s radius. He hadn’t specified this time. And that’s a risk I can’t take.
Which leaves me throwing my weight the opposite direction. Stumbling only as close as I think I have to be for him to pick up in his peripheral vision that I’m there. My ready posture is only partially to brace for the continuing tremors he’s unleashing. It’s also because I am ready. Even if that means having to be ready to provoke him into fighting me, so that it ends with me. And no. I’m not stupid. From this range? I know exactly how that fight ends. What am I?
“I’m the Black damn Canary.”
And he’s probably still too deaf to hear it.
Conner: It does continue too. Time and time again. Shaking the building to it’s foundations. Stressing the integrity of the super-structure of the buildings next to it. Each time my fist lands, it’s a lot like the beating of a drum. One that pulses with energy enough to level far more than this building. Am I a cocky little twat? I know that, I get the reference. Just don’t accuse me of exaggerating. Because I’ve got every ounce the strength of the first Superman and by every account of the Project, there’s a strong potential that I’m a little stronger still.
Don’t mistake me for a simpleton though. I was born not just with the DNA of a Kryptonian superman but the other donation of the most intelligent man in this world. Not one ounce of that genetic material is wasted. I’ve got one recourse, that can stop her and I put it to use. Why? What has this person shown me that makes her important enough to cause this much destruction? Honestly, if I was her I’d think it was my own damned ego. That I couldn’t stand to be taken down by some whistle-lipped rock star. The problem here is that Dinah seems to have been missing one small iota of information. She can blame Tim for that later.
Right now she’s face to face… well face to back of the head .. with a very angry ‘Superboy.’ Who only stops endangering the rest of this club, her band, the people for potentially hundreds of yards in every direction? Once I’m able to see Dinah step back in to ‘range.’ I’m panting, I can’t hear it myself but I can feel my lungs cleaving for air. Not from exertion. Pain. I’m not truly Kryptonian. At least, not entirely. Those beads of sweat aren’t because I’m taxed or tired. It’s born from the expenditure of a good deal of heat. Energy I’ve collected, stored and now put to use repairing my god damned eardrums. At least the blood isn’t dripping from them anymore.
“…dumb. So damned dumb.” Even my muttering is loud, but I can’t help it yet. “… did you even think this through? Jesus Christ. My fucking ears. Are you fucking insane? What do you think happens next after you get away? Huh? Are you kidding me right now? You just fucking attacked the President’s son.”
“Let’s pretend for a moment, that the Project doesn’t consider me a useless effort for letting someone like you beat me. Let’s just fucking pretend, like we’re kids and this fucking candyland, that the Project only holds me accountable. Then either I failed and you beat me. In which case they build a better me. They hunt you down. Or someone with your abilities. To make damn sure that doesn’t work on the next one. Let’s say, in this fantasy world, that they don’t make a better me. That I’m valuable enough to good ol’ Dad, that he keeps me around. Well, now he’s fucking tired of my bullshit. She. I mean Her, in case you’re wondering. Is the reason I’m doing this. All of this. Trying to save … someone like you… so what’s Daddy do next? He can’t control me, so he has to control her. So how he’s do that? Think it through. THINK IT THROUGH!”
“Her Mom. It’s her only weakness. The only thing she’d compromise her morals for.” Talking. Constant talking. But at least the floor isn’t shaking. The building isn’t toppling. There’s even a good chance the commotion outside will keep people from hearing most of this. “She. Who is the only reason I’m doing this. Compromised. The only person who makes me care about anything else. Destroyed.”
“How many of you die then? How many people die because the light goes out in a Goddess? All because, for no other damned reason, than because I try. For one fucking time. To do the right thing. Jesus. I was trying. Y’know? I wanted to believe her. I did. That there was more to all of this than…”
At least with all this bitching I’ve managed to make the world stop spinning. My equilibrium is coming back and with it, I start to pick my broken ass up off the floor. “…[pant]… oh get the fuck out of here with that kung fu shit. I could break every bone in your body with a sneeze. [pant] I was testing you. No. Don’t give me that fucking look either. [pant] I was testing you. First rule of engagement the project taught me. If you ran. You weren’t worth saving.”
“You came back. So I was right. Up there on the roof. You are special and… you deserve another chance to not let Her down. Give me your hand, point me the direction I need to take you. And don’t make me fucking say it a second time.”
Dinah: There’s this tiny shred of that sense of self-preservation that’s making me not want to get even a tiny little bit closer to the guy. Don’t get me wrong, usually that sense is pretty huge, it has to be if you’re going to go toe to toe with the sort of folks I do on a regular basis, it’s what keeps you alive. But there’s a moment I think for a lot of heroes where smart has to go out the window if you’re acting to save someone else’s life. Or a lot of someone else’s. This? Kind of on me, and so by proxy no matter how much my brain’s screaming runrunrun? I’m not anymore. Did he make the choice to endanger people? Sure did. But I provoked him. So this is kind of on both of us. It’s just in my court to stop it.
It’s hard to tell if he’s meaning to talk out loud or not. Or that loud. And it’s so garbled that it reminds me of listening to someone who’s deaf talking along with their sign language. In any other situation it might be kind of hard not to giggle at least a little bit, but there’s a willingness to tease and provoke and then there’s being a goddamn idiot. I’m actually not the latter.
“Technically I just attacked Superman. Potato. Potahtoh. Neither one’s a great life choice though, you’re right.”
He can’t hear himself and I’m mostly talking to myself, because I’m fairly sure he’s not going to hear me for a while. Nor is he looking at me to see the little shrug, so between that and his carrying on? I think he doesn’t really know I”m standing there yet. Lecturing maybe in case I haven’t quit running… even though he’s clearly recovering fairly quickly, much as I suspected he would, and I’m still seeing my life flashing before my eyes I’m listening. Hard not to from here. And the longer he goes on? The more I’m convinced it isn’t just because his girlfriend’s got him by the balls. He’s actually inspired by her. At some point? I’m going to have to meet this Goddess of theirs. Not because I want to worship or grovel, but because she’s clearly got a pretty good following. Exhibit A in front of me here.
Then there’s Exhibit B, back in Gotham probably sitting in his little RobinRecRoom. Who sent my ass out here to cause a distraction, so that this girl could get something done. There’s a level of hearing about a person where you just kind of need to see for yourself. And while he starts to struggle his way up again, I wish I could help him. I don’t dare get that close, and I”m pretty sure he’s not going to want my help anyway. The urge is still there though. And yes. He is in fact getting a dubious, mouth twisted look because that was a pretty lousy test. There’s any number of other ways, I’d have to imagine, to test someone’s intentions but then.. I had been being not entirely honest with him.
For me? This is being relatively quiet. But it’s not like I need to banter to myself to make me feel better. And I don’t make him ask again, reaching down to take his hand, and pointing West with the other one. Though even I’m not entirely sure where to have him take me. Where’s home? Where’s not just going to lead him to where I don’t want him to be? Just west is a safe enough bet though. West is out of Metropolis. West could be the airport. Hell. It could be Star City, for that matter.
Conner: The moment she takes my hand she’ll actually know she’s safe. Mostly. Because that’s the moment she could die the easiest, since there’s no need for my ears involved with crushing the life out of her right here and now. She should know, because the only moment of suspense comes when I find myself a little unsteady once I’ve straightened up. The time between her hand touching mine and that whoosh of air that bristles through her hair is far shorter than the time it took me to stop bleedingfrom both ears. Dinah felt the heat of my touch before, it’s feverish now. Even with the air flow.
What’s more is that she also gets a glimmer at something else about me. We shoot directly upwards. There’s no need for balance in that. Straight up. Through ceiling, then roof, up, up and away. But not so much as a stray wood nail harms her. Nor does her arm tear out of socket, much less from her body, in the motion before I pull her up in to my arms. It’s as if she were surrounded by some sort of shielding that kept her from her harm just by being in contact with me. The same thing keeps the wind shear from sandblasting the flesh from her bones. Yet, the air still reaches her. Still rustles her hair. At least until the air is so thin, that there’s simply not enough of it to brush past us.
There at the true apex of my range, we come to a very brief pause. Silent this time, other than the steady breathing that signifies the concentration I’m putting in to pulling my ear drums back together. She has no real way of knowing that they’re fixed, but she might pick up on the wince of pain that accompanies the ringing. Yeah, I might have liked it better when I couldn’t hear anything. -This- hurts. Though there’s equally a good chance that she’s not paying attention to me right now. Maybe she’s never seen the world from the vantage point of near-space? Or, y’know, maybe she’s wondering just why she’s not being asphyxiated by the lack of oxygen at this height.
Either way once we set out ‘West,’ it’s only so long before I’ve got to ask for a little more specifics in so far as directions go. But I didn’t bring her here to just ask for directions. Instead of that, I lead off with something a little different. A fact not even Cassie knows. “This. Is the only place I can go where they can’t hear me.”
“You made things… really.. complicated down there. But. I actually get it,” she probably thinks I’m still deaf, so I don’t bother giving her an opening to talk yet. “You don’t want to spend your life in a cage. Being poked and prodded. The only other choices are stop being who you are by joining them or stop being what you are by turning it off. Never using it again.”
“They make me make the same choice, Miss Lance. Every time I’ve thought that I turned the tables, they’ve found a new way to make me make the same choice again and again. The place that made me, I burned it to the ground. Only to learn it was one of many. Not all of which are even here in the States or here on Earth. I refused to work for them. So they let me know my lifespan is measured by the amount of usefulness I have for my Father. No one would even know I was gone. A new me would just step out of one of the other facilities and take my place. So I worked for them, but I refused to kill for them. Until someone else. Someone a lot like you, Miss Lance, put me in a position where I had to choose again. Him or me.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a victim. I made my choices. They were mine. I know the other one. The first Superman. He would have made other choices, but I chose to live. I chose me and I’ve chose me every day since then. Until I met her. That was the next mistake. Because now they have the one thing they couldn’t breed in to me. Control. Everything I do now, I do because I chose her and they know it. They use it. They twist everything. I saved her, they control me. I brought her in to the Light, now my Father works his magic and tells the world -We- are the future. Because now he doesn’t just have Superman’s muscle to back him up. He knows I’ll do whatever I have to do to save her from ever having to make the choices I make. So now… he has Superman.”
“Saving you? Saving some low powered schmuck singer. They’d overlook that. It’s good press for their Superman. This? This is a whole different can of worms. They’re going to try to make me come find you. bring you back. But I won’t. Because if I did and she found out, I’d lose her. But if I don’t and they hurt her, hurt her mom, then I’ll still lose her. So, I’ve only got one question for you. I really hope you stop bullshitting me long enough to give me one honest answer tonight. Where can I take you that you’ll be safe, so that all of this doesn’t happen for nothing.”
Dinah: There’s a moment where I’m fairly certain that I’m about to get pasted on the roof as we head on through, and to a degree I kind of have that coming. But it’s to his credit that I don’t get my hand smashed. I don’t get my head crushed. Hell, I don’t even get whiplash from the sudden speed of the takeoff. You don’t have to be a genius to know that momentum and force work a certain way on the human body. You just have to have ridden a motorcycle or taken off quickly in a car. Something else is at play here, and we go up. And up. And up more and there’s about the point when the perfectly natural, and not wussy, urge to start to panic kicks in. I don’t fly. I don’t even ride in airplanes all that often. I’m pretty sure I’m not meant to get up this high but the view? Well. It’s stunning.
So while I wasn’t watching him to see that wince? My ears have been working perfectly fine and I can certainly hear when he starts talking more like a normal, fully functional person again. Of course, once he’s going he’s not stopping and I feel like I kind of owe it to him to listen. That and it’s insight. How much of it’s a bluff, and how much of it’s to try and make me empathize with him and see his side with the truth? That’s debatable and I”m not about to believe it’s one hundred percent genuine. But there’s enough of it in there. I could tell him that turning it off isn’t all that hard. That I make it through days at a time without using my powers. But mine’s ‘just’ my voice, and I”m fully capable of going about my day, even doing the job without it. Good ol’ Gotham City upbringing for you.
“Yes, well.”
He’s wanting input now, so I’m giving it. And not just the question he asked. Cards are kind of out on the table now, and even though he’s had no real compelling reason to do so? Kid’s laid out a whole lot more of them than I have.
“Clearly I’m not a low powered shmuck singer. I undersold that one by a factor of a hundred. I happen to have made a fairly educated guess that they wouldn’t and won’t just let me…slide. My grandmother was the original Black Canary. I inherited the same power. When I was five. I trained with the Wildcat. I’m not going in. I’ve got my own fight, and my own crew to look out for.”
I’ve had as long to train my gift as these kids have had to be alive. Or have been mentally stimulated to believe they’re alive in his case. And it’s a powerful one at that, even with brute use and no control. No, I’m no flying, impenetrable Wunderkid but still. My choices have never had to be about the same thing as his, though I had to choose to leave home to protect others because of them. Or to not use them.
“You’ve got no real reason to, and I get that, but take it from me kid. There comes a tipping point. Where it goes from being a fight and having to make shitty choices that you don’t like, to not having to make them anymore because someone else has your six. Or lots of someone else’s. And bananas as this probably sounds? I think this? Is going to work out better for you than you think it will.”
Because it’s not just the two of them. And maybe it won’t just have to be him watching out for his girlfriend and her mother. Whether he’s motivated just by her, or not? You have to start them somewhere. Squinting down at the whisps of clouds below us, I manage not to sh udder at exactly how high up we are, before I give him the name of the last place on earth pretty much anyone would pick as a safe haven.
“You can drop me off at the edge of Gotham. I can take care of it from there.”
Conner: Actually, as dreary as it may truly sound, I don’t really care if she empathizes with me or not. What I’m after, what I’m going for by putting my cards on the table? Is also something I learned from my ‘Father,’ you have to spend money to make money. In my case, I’m spending good will in an effort to garner some. Partly, I gain some information. Though that too wasn’t the goal. I wanted her to trust something. Not me, I am crystal clear now that she doesn’t trust me despite Superman’s good press and Conner Luthor’s Rock Star popularity. What I want her to do is trust in the fact that my motivations are clear and that I don’t want them to have been wasted for nothing.
It works, really, because in the end she tells me where to take her. “Oh. I’m not allowed to…” Go to Gotham. Almost immediately something at the back of my head clicks. I’ve been thunderstruck before, this isn’t really it. This is something, somewhere, between wanting to smirk because my girlfriend played me and groan because my girlfriend has been playing me. Wait, she’d call it ‘managing me.’ This time though, there’s no big espousing of whatever is on my mind. Then again there’s really no need to. Nothing to be gained by explaining to her that I just realized I’ve been getting kept away from Gotham, which is apparently where a stray Meta happens to feel safest right now.
Flying air Luthor is a lot faster than most things. Dinah probably has no real placement awareness to even realize how fast we’re traveling up here. It’s mere minutes before we’re almost directly over Gotham Harbor. “Your grandmother was the first Canary? Believe it or not, I’ve read her file. It’s required reading, actually, for new recruits. She was among the first to get the ‘Choice.’
“She’s already got my .. eh.. six? More like nine, maybe nine and a half. Ten if the sun is shining really brightly.” Yeah, I’m not getting -that- reference at all. They didn’t put Top Gun in my Matrix. “I happen to be a little concerned, that all of this isn’t going to work out half as good as you’d like to hope it will either.”
“When I get back there’s going to be questions. Who are you? What happened? Where are you now? So, Miss Lance, how do you want me to answer those questions? I’ve got an idea, but you’re not going to like it.”
Descending down through the stratosphere to Gotham isn’t any more difficult then rising was. As we begin to approach for the outskirts of Gotham’s Harbor, I’ve got little reason to believe she’s not the observant type. So she’ll no doubt notice the hue all around us once we’re back inside the atmosphere. My ‘costume’ is slightly darker than the original Superman’s, which most people think is an effort to set myself apart. In reality, it mutes this effect. Siphons off the color bleed of telekinetic energy that builds up when I’ve got direct sunlight and employ the field that is protecting her.
“So. About that idea… I’m going to need to be very convincing. The project has people that can tell if you’re lying or not….”
Dinah: “Hence the outskirts.”
Though really, there’s something pretty damn funny about Superman being kept out of a city like it has an invisible dog fence around the perimeter. The phrasing, and his clear view on authority and trying to keep him anywhere tells me that it’s nothing to do with NOWHERE that has him putting the brakes on that particular destination. I’m close enough that I see the realization dawning on him, I just don’t entirely know what it is. The truth, not that I know it in this case, isn’t that it’s a stray meta that had her keeping him out of Gotham. That had a whole lot more to do with a little Robin Redbird. And for the same reason that once upon a time not all that long ago, Batman gave me the choice that sent me packing off to Star City. But he can draw what conclusions he will.
“Uh huh. In the flesh. I got a lot of tutoring growing up. Bit of a head start if you will.”
I know we’re moving, and I assume we’re moving fast I just didn’t know how fast until I recognize the familiar geography and the shape of the harbor laying out beneath us. Time flies when you’re flying above the clouds, I suppose. Still. Not something I especially want to experience again anytime real soon.
“Right. But while she’s got your back, and your ten if the sun’s shining bright, someone else has nine, and someone else has hers, and at some point? it’s not just about you reacting to help each other… anyway. You’ll see. I hope anyway. I’m all for you kids succeeding. And not just because I’m a meta and supposed to root for you.”
Though I guess technically up until now, most metas would probably have been rooting against Conner Luthor and not been terribly happy to see him turn up on their doorsteps. Not once they knew who or what he really was. Squinting down at the water below, I pull a bit of a grimace.
“All about speaking a convenient half truth. I had to learn all about that when I tried to lie to Batman. He could always tell, too. You going to dump my body in the harbor?”
Maybe they don’t need to know which one. And whether or not it was still alive. Hell, I can hold my breath so that he could even honestly say I wasn’t breathing when he did.
Conner: “You’re lucky. They simulated my training with a virtual reality combat unit.” There’s a half-pause, like a hitch in whether I was deciding on if I should continue or not. “While most people my age were learning to drive a car? I was killing your Grandmother, her friends and pretty much everyone she ever knew in fight simulators a thousand times.”
I could use my powers better than most meta-humans that I’ve ever met, better before I took my first real step than they could half way through their adult lives. Truth be told, Dinah’s only one of a handful that I’ve encountered that truly had control of their power. I mean, really fine control. Most were either just learning, were honestly out of control or didn’t quite have the sheer enormity of practical experience they pushed in to my brain. I decided to actually be honest about it, because I think it actually adds gravity to what I meant before about building a better me. What would that even entail and how bad would that be for, pretty much everyone.
Before we actually glide just above the water of the harbor, I give her a different kind of look. “The next time you call me Kid or Boy, I’m re-thinking this whole thing and we go back to my breaking every bone in your body. Seriously. Pet peeve.”
It isn’t that much later when we’re about to make it to the shoreline when I finally find a way to explain my plans. It’s not that difficult to explain. I’m not even going to say it’s the best plan in the world, but I’ve got a pretty good notion it would work. Not one part of it happens to be unbelievable. Given that it’s happened before. In parts. I’ll just leave that mostly unsaid, I think.
“Well. If I told them, I got handsy with you and you blew my ear drums out with that cute whistle of your’s? They’d probably buy it. I’ve got a certain reputation in the Tabloids. Some rather pointedly cultivated, so that people think I couldn’t possibly be Superman. If I then, spun it that I took the initiative to get you and I out of there before it became public news? They’d buy that too. There’s going to be some questions about what you know, but I think maybe they let that go if they think I’m planning to… um… keep you under my thumb. So-to-speak.”
by Michele | Sep 20, 2017 | Chronicles
ST: Located in the central mid-west of the United States of America, Fawcett City is known more for it’s down home country style than it’s criminal element. It is the place where it’s corn-fed farmers go to peddle their wares and buy a few of their own. Akin more to Andy Griffith’s Mayberry than Batman’s Gotham, there’s rarely a day that goes by without the local barber weaving some tale of suspense to the kids on the corner. Nor a chance for those same kids to miss Granny Smith’s fresh apple pies. Baked right there in Granny’s Kitchen. It, like much of the Town, has stood the test of time. This is where the ‘core values’ of America were born, raised and have yet to die.
Crime? Feh. Young men fall over themselves to walk an old lady across the street. Doors are held for women of all types. Men tip their hats to one another when passing in the streets. Race? Color? Creed? The people here wear blinders to that sort of thing. Preferring to live their simple lives, in a simple way. Coming in to town is a trip. An adventure. Something to be looked forward too. Not something that is a chore. Nothing politicized. The solitary blight upon the city? Once upon a time there was a notion to modernize the pore downtrodden yokels of Fawcett City. Walden thought to put his latest Wal-Mart up. To this day it remains a standing lot of emptiness. A sign that this is a people not to be disturbed, to be put upon, by the ways of the world beyond their simple day.
So then. It should come as no small surprise, that such a place would call to such people as Cassie Sandsmark or Freddie Freeman. Yet, through a miracle of fate or happenstance. This is where our intrepid heroes have found themselves. One brought here by the drawing of a strange lure perhaps. Unknowing, truly, why he was even at such a strange place in the middle of the States. Another sent here directly by ominous watching friend who happens to style himself more oracle than bird these days.
So then what are the chances of each of them being in that town. That exact moment. When that hayseed town experiences something most peculiar. It starts with nothing so convoluted as a swirling storm. Rolling in like a texas twister. The sky darkens in moments, perhaps in spite of weather men’s most assured predictions to the contrary. Amidst the sky-gazing denizens, rushing about their business. Each scurrying for a shop, a restaurant, a bank, whatever they’ve come to town for without their umbrellas, comes a single thing more shocking than the surprise storm of the century.
Lightning crackles the sky. Yet, it is no thunder strike that sends alert sirens in to the air. That’s the sound of the explosion at the Fawcett City Bank.
Cassie: I’ve been a lot of places in my seventeen years, in a lot of different countries, on nearly every continent, civilized cities, and forgotten ruins. I think I can pretty safely say that I’ve never, ever been to Fawcett City. Not even on the Fabulous Summer College Scouting Road Trip because lets face it, the place isn’t exactly known for what I’m looking for in higher education and it’s absolutely everything that Conner Luthor’s not going to want to be around. No experiences to experience or I guess more correctly none he hasn’t already had psi-jacked into his head thanks to the clowns that were responsible for his ‘formative years.’ I have a lot of things I might like to say to them at some point, but I guess he also wouldn’t be the same Conner I’ve got now without them. That could be a good or bad thing but either way, he’s not the point right now.
He’s not with me. As a matter of fact, I’ve snuck off without him quite on purpose and it didn’t exactly require Tim’s advice for me to see why that might be the best way to go about this. He’d organized the diversion and I hadn’t asked, but I have to assume that it’s worked. I made it all the way here without a speeding blur overtaking me brimming with curiosity about what the hell I thought I was doing. I actually feel a little guilty about the whole thing, to be honest, especially since I haven’t brought my phone with me either. You don’t need super-vision to use a ‘find my iPhone’ function.
Not guilty enough to stop or turn back though. In fact, I’m feeling pretty damn determined today, thanks in no small part to the way life’s been going lately. Not bad. Just. Not quite what I want, either. So. Here we are. Fawcett City. I’m glad I wore jeans and a teeshirt or I might really stick out. More than a new face is always going to stick out. The krakoom of an explosion makes me pause in my rather aimless ambling down the walk, though. That sound means trouble, and I don’t need my little bird chirping in my ear to tell me that’s probably where I need to go. So I put tennis shoes into high gear, still on the ground at least for the moment, and aim for the sound.
Freddy: Exactly why had Freddy come? He was here to visit his grandfather. Fawcetty City was a second home to him. A place he could come to escape the madness of the world and the journey that he had been set upon. His world had been turned upside down some time ago, but it was finally beginning to right itself. Less topsy-turvy and more pear shape.
Whether or not one knew which was easier to handle Freddy decided that it was pear shape. Topsy-turv was terrible time for him. It was the dark period where down was up and left was right. Nothing made sense as he stood in the hallway remembering the words of the doctor as he was told that his grandfather was no longer with them. He had passed on to a better place.
What better place was there Fawcett City. That is what his grandfather would say more often than not, but at the time, at that point in his life Fawcett City had lost its shine. It dimmed a bit through no fault of its own. All that was left in his life had been taken away.
Bitter and angry. Those were words that had never entered is mind. He was the typical All-American kid, star player on the baseball team. Things were supposed to get better. This wasn’t supposed to happen, but that’s life. It knocks you down not with a push but with a punch to the gut and then it’s up to you to get up and keep going or wallow there in the dirt as everyone walks on by.
Never for a million years did he think that he would be where he was. Yet, he made a promise, to his grandfather and to himself. He needed a moment to steady himself. He was so close the trials. He had been so consumed with them, but as he was reaching the end he knew that he needed to talk to his grandfather. He needed to focus himself. He also needed to talk to the only person he knew that would keep his secret which truly gave a morbid spin to the, Two can keep a secret if one of them are dead.” adage.
Still, that’s exactly what he had done. He been speaking with his grandfather for almost an hour. He needed to catch up he needed something that was a steady in his life. Talking to his grandfather was probably the one constant that had not changed it just took him a while that’s all.
He was still going over what he shared with his grandfather while he headed down the main thoroughfare in the city. It’s not that Fawcett City was small, but it wasn’t huge. Depending on where you were headed you could usually get there by foot and if need be by bus. He hadn’t gone to the house instead he decided to stay in a hotel which is where he was on his way too when the storm system began to develop.
True twisters did seem to come together quickly, but there was nothing in the forecast about it. That was rather odd, but what bothered him more was the sound of an explosion that came from the direction of the bank. Explosion. Fawcett City? Before he knew it he was taking off as quickly as he could to see what happened. He already felt his heart pounding in his chest. Adrenalin. Still explosion things like that happen in Fawcett City.
It was like Riverdale. Obviously Freddy had not watched TV in the last year.
ST: It is a stark contrast. The way in which Heroes such as Cassie and Freddie rush towards danger. While those of a far more average ilk rush away from it. There is never a more pronounced sense of just that as now. When the average every day citizen of Fawcett City would look to keep themselves and those they love safe. Not to say that they’re cowards! There is, even if in small amounts, Heroism in the way that Father’s rush their sons in to the truck. Or how mothers scurry their daughters in to the relative safety of the General Store. But there is a very noticeable lack of people, rushing toward the bank other than Cassie, Freddy and the piercing siren of FCPD.
As the Heroes approach the site of the explosion the sight before them is nothing too shocking at first. Fawcett City’s bank is smoldering. Smoke swirls out of the shattered windows. A cordon of police have begun to blockade the building. A light rain keeps the embers of fire from lighting neighboring buildings ablaze, but the fire crew is on standby none the less. A particularly barrel chested man, who wears a slightly fancier uniform and carries a megaphone, is even then barking orders to the others.
‘Everyone back behind the lines.’
‘Stay calm. We’re dealing with the situation.’
‘Get the wounded in to the General Store, we’ll set up an infirmary until the ambulance get here.’
His commanding presence seems to bring calm to those in the area. As if this is a man who has ‘seen it all,’ so he doesn’t crack under pressure. But while the average Fawcett City citizen might take a good deal of hope from his display? The trained eye can tell that even the Chief is rattled. He’s not sure what they’re dealing with here. This is Fawcett City, stuff like this just doesn’t happen here.
The relative calm is soon broken, when the otherwise shattered front door opens to allow a single disheveled older woman to exit. Her hands are bound behind her. A single tether of rope, like a leash, allows her no more than a few feet of space out the door before she is stopped. Despite obviously having been in there, where the explosion happened, the woman remains remarkably calm.
“They say they’re not going to hurt us. They’re only here for the money. If we let them leave, they won’t hurt-… they won’t eat… anyone else.”
And that, my friends. Is the exact moment when the look on the Police Chief’s face says he has never dealt with anything like this.
Cassie: There’s a pretty big difference in the reactions of the people to what I’m used to. No, it’s not totally different from the way it goes in Metropolis. Anytime there’s some sort of disaster, or crime in progress, you can generally count on people to do exactly what I’m seeing the citizens here doing. Getting to safety, getting out of the way. Seeing to their family or to self-interest. Maybe I notice it more now that I’m involved, but lately? In Metropolis it seems like there’s more people moving towards the scene of whatever is happening. At first I thought it might be to help, and sometimes it is in fact that. First responders that can and will step in to help. But more and more, now that ‘Superman’ and ‘Wonder Woman’ have been stepping in? They gather to gawk as well.
I don’t know Fawcett City. I mean. I was provided with a map, because the TImBirdy is nothing if not excruciatingly thorough, but I don’t exactly need it. There’s only so many places to go, and the sound had been guidance enough. It means that at some point along the trip there? I catch sight of another blonde head moving towards the noise. He stands out because like me? We’re trout moving upstream. But it’s also a face I’ve seen a picture of, and the whole reason that I’m here. As I arrive at the bank itself, and the smoke, I take in what’s going on. Robbery? Accident? The latter might seem more likely since the whole thing’s a bit dramatic for a place this size but… even Metropolis’ police force who are a lot more used to dealing with weird don’t really know what to do with it.
This guy sure doesn’t. And when the door opens, I shade my eyes from the rain to squint inwards. She’s ruffled but… too calm. I’ve got super powers and I would probably be freaking out a bit more than she is. Especially when she finishes the message with the correction of whomever’s in there not eating anyone. Eating? Well. That’s never good. Edging my way back a bit from my viewing spot, I start to circle around. They can probably only cover so much area, and I make a point to take my path past Freddy. To bump shoulders with him and mutter a ‘Sorry, excuse me’ as I go to find another way in.
If I can’t find another one already available? Well. It’s probably even easier to find an angle without as many eyes and to make one. Whether that’s yanked open door, or a dislodged window. Last resort would be a Cassie sized hole in the wall, but I’d prefer stealth over loud People Eating Triggering Ruckus.
Freddy: As he reached the bank he saw the perimeter being established. Emergency services had already arrived. When little happens in a town they were pretty Johnny on the spot. Police, firemen and the EMTs were already doing what they were trained to do. They were handling it.
The chief was there with his megaphone keeping the crowd clam. He projected the air of calm that everyone needed at the moment as Freddy took everything in from a slight distance. He didn’t want to rush head on only to find himself detained by the first responders. He needed to get a handle on what was happening around him, but he also needed to help.
Everything seemed by the book at least with how the emergency services were handling everything. Still the storm the explosion it all seemed to come together out of nowhere. Freddy gave it a bit more thought, but he was broken from that thought when the old woman came out of the bank with a tether of some kind.
Moving a little closer Freddy wanted to hear what she said and in the beginning it sounded like something out of a cop show or movie right up until it went all Walking Dead. Eat them? Nothing good could come of that. Nothing at all.
This couldn’t be a coincidence could it? Eating people? The same time he came to visit his grandfather’s grave? Things like this didn’t happen in Fawcett City. He didn’t know if something like that didn’t happen anywhere. Either way he doubted that they would be ordering up pizzas given the fact that they snacked on or devoured a hostage.
Freddy told himself to keep calm and focus. The last thing anyone could afford was for him to get too hyper or to panic. What was it that he had been told?
Charging in never a good idea. Instead he had to go for an alternate route. The blonde stepped back and ducked down the alley as he began to make his way to the back of the bank. How was he going to get in? Who he had to think of something right?
Of course he couldn’t do this as Freddy he needed an assist. As much as of an assist as he was going to get. When he was far enough away from the crowds he used what he had to help him.
“Shazam!” He called out and just like that it was still Freddy Freeman running, but he was moving far faster than he was before. He had two trials down. Wisdom and Speed. That he had on his side. Wisdom had to be the first. Gods suffered no fools so to speak. It was like unlocking the trials. Pass it and then you showed potential fail it then they would wait for another.
Speed proved useful, because it allowed him to do more than to move swiftly, but it did give him an idea, but he couldn’t remember if the bank had a sky light or an access point from the roof, but he could try to enter from the back. Back entrance then roof. That’s what he was working with for the moment. Hopefully he would make Solomon and Mercury proud. Sailor Mercury jokes aside. Though he couldn’t help it when he met the god himself. It just popped in his head.
ST: The bank is large, for Fawcett City. Being also the only bank in the City, because somehow the place has managed to avoid all of the incorporated points of interest that every other major destination has. Come to think of it, did anyone see an ATM machine around anywhere? And is that guy over there, using an actual telephone booth to call in the news story as it unfolds? Needless to say finding a ‘back door’ in to the Bank isn’t terribly difficult. Finding one that isn’t, at this point, at least marginally being monitored by the local constables? That’s a far tougher problem. While the Fawcett City PD might be a bunch of rubes when it comes to things like crooks who ‘Eat people’? They’re not new to their jobs and they seemingly do them fairly well.
What they can’t do, is cover the windows above their heads. No need to pull one out even. The explosion took care of that for the most part. Might not even need to fly, Cassie. Since there’s a fire escape leading right up to one. Just got to get past a couple of Deputies, who are watching it for potential escape efforts.
Of course. One moving at such high speeds isn’t going to have the trouble that Cassie has, in being unseen. Though it’s probably a good thing Solomon was on his side. As that would certainly tip off Freddy not to open that door on the roof. Not once he catches the sight of a small zip-line on the interior. Another Bomb. Rigged to blow in the even that the Police sent a team in that way. Leaving Freddy, much like Cassie, with only a couple real obvious hopes for entrance. That fire escape or the windows.
In the mean time the scene up front is not getting any better. The captive is giving off a list of demands. Not all of which are exactly out of the ordinary, but some….
‘They say, they want a Van. They want you to move the line back a thousand feet. No snipers on the roof. If they see even one they’ll eat… er.. kill a Hostage. Park the van up front. They’re taking two hostages with them. They’ll release those when they’re out of the City.’
Once inside the Bank? Well the scenery is quite different from the docile tones of the rest of Mayberry. With only three floors above ground, they all show signs of damage from the explosion. The top-most floor has the least, but it’s still obviously disturbed. Whether by those who caused all this or the effort to evacuate after the initial explosion. The second floor is more obvious in it’s damage. With the central floor collapsed, walls separating offices have caved in. Desks and debris little everywhere. Here there are signs of life though. In the form of near-horror story amounts of gore. Blood from injuries… or perhaps from people being eaten… is visible at nearly every turn. All signs point to the people on the second floor, those not caught in the explosion, being rounded up. Taken downstairs.
Visible through the enormous hole in the second floor is the lobby. Where debris causes a lot of hurtles in making out exactly what is visible. Still it’s not impossible to make out the Hostages. They’ve all been rounded up in the Bank’s main lobby. There too the floor has collapsed downwards, in to a basement. The Hostages show all the signs of visible duress. They’ve been through an explosion. Now they’re being held hostage. Some have seen their friends, co-workers, actually eaten by….
You actually have to see it to believe it. There’s four of them visible. Each standing at least seven feet in height. Their elongated snouts, long slooping tails. The clown mask disguises do —nothing— to conseal the fact that these men. These Crocodile Men. With their tommy guns and their mafia-style suits. Are terrorizing these people. At least one more is out of sight, most likely holding the tether of the Hostage that’s being used as a mouth piece. With yet more beneath, in the basement level where they’re no doubt raiding the vault.
Cassie: Getting past the deputies? Not really that hard, I don’t think. They’re watching for people coming out, not stopping other people from going in. Because really. Who in their right mind goes into a partially blown up building, with a hostage talking about demands of criminals that are apparently willing to eat you. Heroes and crazy people that’s who. Is this cannibals? Or something else? I actually hope it’s the ‘something else’ option because somehow that’s less creepy. Overall, it’s a mental picture I’m trying to dwell a whole lot less on.
While I’m not as fast as some other metas out there, I’m still fast. Getting faster, too. My powers may have triggered when I turned sixteen, but they clearly hadn’t shown up full force all at once. Probably a really good thing for me and everyone around me. So I bypass the fire escape, or at least most of it, by starting a little further down the alley. Running start that isn’t strictly necessary for me to scrabble up a nearby wall and then launch myself over, tucking my head to go in through the blown out remains of a window more for less impact noise than any real need of preserving myself. Acutely aware of the rustle of momentum that makes hair blow the way it shouldn’t. Most people probably wouldn’t know what that means. Most people don’t have superspeedy boyfriends that delight in using said powers. Someone faster than me just went past, and boy. I’m hoping it’s my new potential friend here.
The gore? The blood? That takes me from that little pre-action stage of antsy and determined, to angry and determined, and that’s a whole different side of Action Cassie. First though, is searching briefly and visually for anyone who hasn’t already been found by…
What the actual fuuuuuuu.… Yeah. Well. That’s a thing. Apparently. Gun wielding reptiles. Anyone close to me that can be ushered to safety? All I can really do for the moment is try to beckon them to a mostly safe corner of the place until I can come back. Sending them out the fire escape might get them shot. Down gets them eaten. And if there’s no one to immediately save? Then I guess there’s someTHING to fight. I’ll start up here on the second floor. Picking out a target away from the others if I can manage it to introduce to an over the head blow with some superspeed momentum behind it.
Freddy:Upon seeing that the back was being covered by the police Freddy backed himself away and quickly got out of sight moving as swiftly as the speed he had been endowed with allowed him. He also used it to give him the edge he needed to get to the roof. Whether it was a leap or flight he wouldn’t tell. He didn’t land hard, touching down light as a feather. Scanning the area which did have an access route, but nothing he wanted to tamper with. He saw the zipline. He seemed to be moving faster than normal even here as there was a chance that the police could be watching the roof for signs of movement. That’s the last thing he wanted. With that in mind he continued move quickly trying be as much of a blur as he could.
That might what he might need to do to keep people from seeing or recognizing him. Freddy never pushed himself to see how fast he could go, but right now he was about to try and see while he decided that he would enter via a different route. Windows here he comes. He slipped off the edge disappearing to land gently on the fire escape. It was right at this point that he thought he might need a mask of some kind, but that was neither here or there at the moment as he slipped through the window of the third floor.
Once inside Freddy took a moment. He couldn’t let the adrenalin get the better of him. He paused briefly to take in the surroundings. No real damage, structural or otherwise. He moved to the stairs pausing as he heard voices below him more like people nervous and upset and probably hurt obviously. He waited until the voices were fair enough away before he made his way down the stairs so he could get a read on the second floor which was none too good.
A bomb. Someone set off a bomb. Seriously wasn’t that a bit of overkill there? Why a bomb? He moved down the stairs quickly making sure not to disturb anything as the huge gaping hole that was once part of the floor gave him the line of sight he needed. He paused to take in what he was looking at while trying to keep out of sight.
Given what he had been told and shown gun toting reptiles weren’t too out of order, but it didn’t make sense. They had guns. Also, why the clown masks? It’s not like there’s a lot of croc men walking around. He didn’t even want to get into the fact that they were eating people. You had to remove the mask for that.
Still he waited, but he saw that he wasn’t alone. He could try to get her attention, but with the hole the crocpeople down below might see. Think Freddy. There was a possibility that there could be another bomb. That’s always a possibility. Not to mention that they had hostages. They made for easy targets. Not like Freddy was super-durable. Not there yet.
What he wouldn’t give for a distraction.
ST: There’s not a lot left of the second floor by the time our heroes arrive. Those too injured to be scuttled downstairs were among those whom got… well.. eaten. Those who weren’t eaten or hustled downstairs? Are more or less scared completely shitless. Putting her at risk of discovery, more so than of any real aide. In fact it’s at the point when she’s trying to cajole the first person she’s found, when one of the would-be captors comes looming ’round a corner. Snout up, extended, tracking like a predator in the wild.
Someone hasn’t watched Crocodile Hunters. The precision needed to strike a crocodile and knock them out is one that takes years to learn. Oh, Cassie has the raw strength in spades. Certainly enough she makes a resounding thud upon the skull of the suit-wearing, tommy gun toting, mobster of a Crocodile. But instead of the resounding victory that she thought perhaps to engender? Well. Her surprised captive goes from shocked, to hurt, to angry all in the span of her single punch. There’s good news at least. At least he didn’t reflexively squeeze the trigger and alert the others. On the flip-side, there’s a little bad news. Call being bitch-slapped by a Crocodile Man’s tail.
Which apparently packs a pretty good punch. Not a Superman level punch, but the sort of punch that leaves Cassie more offended than injured. Because. Frankly. She just got bitch-slapped by a tommygun toting crocodile man. The real threat comes only heart-beats later, when those long, strong, jaws open to bite her.
Hey, Freddy wanted a distraction? Well he gets one in spades then. Because those wide opening jaws looking to take a bite out of Cassie? Sets off the young woman she’d been trying to rescue. Who needs a gun to go off when you’ve got the Kim Basinger-type of wail of a scared young woman. ‘He’s going to eat you!‘ It’s more screech than scream. And well. So much for the element of surprise now, Cassie Sandsmark. Now it’s a lot more about the NOM NOM of Crocodile Men.
‘Great. Sylvester’s eating another one! Aunty Minerva’s gonna be pissed.’
Cassie : Someone doesn’t watch reality television, no. Or much television at all, really. Someone spent enough time in areas with regular reptiles to know to be wary of where they might be lurking, what they do to you when they strike and where to actually aim for if you’ve got the peace of mind to do so once you’ve gotten yourself chomped. Of course, I’m not exactly sure here how many of those characteristics and tactics I ought to count on being in play just now. Because these are … I don’t even know what these are. We’re sticking with Crocomaggia for the time being. My punch is less effective than I might actually like it to be.
Not a position I’m used to being in anymore, actually. And if that hadn’t put me a little off balance along with the whole walking talking Reptar thing? Then I might have better anticipated getting tail slapped. My chain of reactions isn’t all that different from what his had been. Shocked. Irritated. More angry than I had been already. Flinching slightly over the screeching of the hostage, I don’t have the time to shush her. I probably shouldn’t bother anyway. If they think he’s just eating another helpless person then it seems, from the blood and the talk, that they’re probably not going to bother interrupting.
Auntie Minerva? Weird as all this is I’m not going to call that a coincidence. It’s just a detail that’s less important at the moment than the jaws and teeth coming at me. So I lunge inwards, their height difference from mine giving me room under the jaws to throw my arms around in the best choke hold I can muster. If all else fails? It gets my hands a whole lot closer to where I can gouge at one of the very few weak parts on this kind of critter in the ‘real’ world. The eyes. It’s also a whole lot harder to get bitten or tail slapped from this vantage. One hopes, at least.
Freddy:Eyes are the vulnerable points. It could cause more problems than solve to get in the middle of the commotion and it could cause more problems, but at the moment it seemed that they had their distraction, but he was aiming for something that would allow him to get the other hostages out free and clear. There were a few ways that they could go about this, but at the moment it seemed that they had their hands full on the second floor here.
Screaming woman. Another who seemed to be able to take a hit and give them all the same. Things were getting dicey there needed to be a way they to round up the crocodile men without causing more damage. There was the hole in the floor, the first floor. That’s when Freddy moved into action. Don’t fail him now Mercury. He moved as fast as he could pushing himself. Fast like lightning? They were going to put that to the test.
“Go for his eyes.” He told the blonde girl..young woman. No time to be PC! He burst into action moving as quickly as he could to pull the gun from the Sylvester is? Hoping that Cassie’s attack would cause him not to grip the gun tighter. He might not be able to snatch. He needed the gun out of the way, because if she did go for the eyes that might cause him to react with a spray of bullets.
Also, who uses Tommy Guns? What movie did they walk out of? Still he had to see if the speed would let him move quick enough not only to snatch the gun and allow the young woman to get a few blows in he hoped to get the screaming woman out of the line of fire and out on the fire escape and then they could decide what to do about the other crocs.
ST: The creature that Cassie has engaged is not all that different than the creatures Cassie has a bit of experience with. Though she was never the one actually putting the skills to use of fighting off a crocodile. There’s certainly small differences. Like the longer bipedal legs that carry these creatures around. Leaving short, stubby arms, which carry the signature weapon of choice. Which is either by design or luck, still not going off. Even when Cassie lunges in close, ducking inside like a prized boxer to get under the natural defense of the larger creature seeking to bite her. A choke hold isn’t all that difficult to lock in to place either.
It’s really what happens -after- that, which is important. First is that Cassie realizes why the gun hasn’t gone off. The way it shatters in to a thousand little plastic pieces after Sylvester cracks her on the skull with it? Speaks to it being nothing more than a prop or a toy. That’s what Freddy confirms moments later when he takes that gun away from the creature.
Then there’s the density of the throat she seeks to choke out. Oh, she’ll win that fight. But before she does? She and Sylvester are going for a ride. Because in order to clamp down her godly strengthened arms, she’s got to be close. Too close to stop his tail from curling around her as well. And then… well you probably guessed it.
Gator Roll.
Well. Freddy wanted a distraction. Right? Nothing more distracting than two fully grown people, one of which is a seven foot tall crocodile man, wrastling on the floor. Rolling around. Crashing through desks, debris… she’s heeding the advice of Solomon though. They eyes happen to be a very prime choice. One that makes someone new howl in pain. Sylvester himself. So much for the others thinking this was a harmless snack. Apparently Sylverster picked a snack that fights back.
Between the gouging of the eyes, which forces Sylvester to defend his eyes with those short little stubby arms. And the fact that he’s unable to keep rolling. It leads to Cassie’s original plan working a lot better. Slowly choking the Crocodile Man down. All the while Freddy follows through getting the one captive out the fire escape window. Causing a commotion outside when the Police officers take notice of the terrified woman. In turn. This changes everything.
‘The jig is up boys. They’re on to us. Time for plan B. Kill the Hostages.’
Cassie: There’s a grunt from up under the GatorMan’s jaws that could be an affirmative. It could also be something a lot ruder than that, but the truth is I’m kind of occupied and don’t want to untuck my head long enough to answer clearly. A head that’s a whole heck of a lot harder than the plastic toy that breaks on it instead of the other way around. It’s something I’ve experienced before, though the last time it was cruel torturous teenage girls and not …these things. Of course, in that case? I had to pretend it hurt and I also couldn’t throttle them in return. This time I don’t have to be effected at all, and my fingers can rake and claw.
And. Then we’re rolling. This part I at least expected but after getting tail pimp slapped it’s a whole lot less startling, and a little rolling and wrestling I can manage. I don’t have enough of a peripheral view to really even get dizzy from the tumbling or the smashing. It’s not the cat fight that someone might have fantatsized about between me and my high school nemesii but then… we’re all girls at St. Mary’s. At least. Far as anyone knows. This I can do all day. The only really dismaying thing, as the thrashing slows and I clench my arms harder, is the call I can hear from downstairs. The racket outside. We’ve got to get those people out and now. Before anyone else gets eaten.
The pause that I take before extricating myself from Sylvester, and from the latest pile of debris that we’d rolled into, is to call out to Freddy. As well as to reach under the neckline of my teeshirt and press a fingerprint to the ‘bauble’ I wear there. Activating not only my custom designed and technologically crafted ‘costume,’ but the facial alteration as well.
“Keep getting them out!”
Now’s the time to be a whole lot less sneaky. That ship’s definitely sailed anyway so there’s really zero subtlety in the way I descend to the first floor, and a whole lot more dropping my weight, backing the falling up with flying, so that I thunk into the floor crouched and ready to move. If Conner were here? I’d definitely not be doing this. He’d probably claim it’s his pose, the Superman Landing but… he’s not and while I’d never say it to his face he’s right. It’s definitely impressive. And I need to get all the attention that I can right now. All attention on the sudden descent of Wonder Woman is not on chomping hostages.
Now that I know I don’t have to be concerned about the guns, and what they might do to other people?
“Which one of you amphibians is next?”
I know they’re not amphibians. In fact, my brainy brain is cringing over even uttering those words.
Freddy:The gun cracking and shattering was unexpected, but it explained a lot. As did the clown masks to a point. It was unexpected, but it drew together a few things in his mind. When he got his hands on the gun he looked it over dropping it so he could get the woman out. There were the other hostages, out. Was he that fast? Was there another bomb?
The bomb was a distraction? Perhaps it was the blood and guts that caused them to eat the hostages. Much like blood in the water for a shark they couldn’t resist. They can’t kill them with the guns so eating them was always the fall back plan. Still how many were there? He didn’t now.
Getting the woman out was a gamble. He didn’t suspect that the police would make a big to do about. It could have been a quiet affair. However, it was more like the gator roll which may have happened regardless.
If he had the strength he might have used Sylvester in hammer toss towards his brothers? Cousins? Other Crocthugs? Cassie was already making an entrance which could work to his advantage as he moved as quickly as he could making his way down to the floor deciding to remain grounded but using the speed to begin moving the hostages out of the area going for the closest exit whether it be backdoor, window or possible whole. If Cassie kept the attention on her then maybe they wouldn’t notice the hostages being moved out of danger.
Sadly this meant that Cassie was crocbait, but it also meant that she was currently the star of the show. Worst show ever, but still.
ST: “Amphibians! Who are you calling Amphibians!?”
Apparently one of the group is smart enough to know the difference. That also happens to be the one holding the ‘leash’ for the Hostage that had been outside. Playing the part of mouth piece for the group. What’s more impressive than Wonder Woman’s landing? Is that it actually doesn’t strike fear in to the hearts of Men. Not even Crocodile Men. They’re not even phased by her arrival. In a way it’s a little insulting, because they actually seem more concerned about the Barney Fife squad outside than the honest to goodness super-heroine that just landed in their midst.
Or perhaps they’re just a little more concerned about something else. Something other than Superheroes or Cops. That it keeps them on point. Pushes them forward. In any case, Cassie’s landing has one of the desired results. The remaining four Crocs aren’t making a move on the Hostages. Instead they’re forming a kill circle around her. While their ‘Boss’ heads for the basement, his singular hostage in tow. Leaving Mr. Freeman all the time in the world (or at least as much as Cassie could buy him) to extradite the Hostages at a super-fast pace.
How long he’d have to make that effort? Well that entirely depends on how long Cassie can square off against four full-sized Crocodile Men.
“Is he dead?”
“I think he pulled his barmy eye out!”
“Shouldna oughta done that miss.”
“Yaaah. Now weze gotta eat youse.”
Cassie: “That doesn’t seem like a very fair trade-off.”
I’m not about to let them eat me, of course. I don’t even want to risk letting one bite me, because there’s a downside to being smart enough to put two and two together on things like this. It means that I’ve taken what it felt like to get tail whipped by the first I ran into, and I’ve started to calculate the force that a regular crocodile’s bite would muster and multiply it by…whatever these things are. I feel like maybe my good buddy Red Robin should have prepped me for clown mask wearing, man-crocs with toy Tommy Guns but lets face it. I wouldn’t have believed him. I have a feeling that if I get home and decide to tell Conner about it? He won’t either. But being able to wing it in the ‘field’ is a big part of this job. I’m not always going to have a dossier of facts and tidbits, and I’m not always going to be in a place like this on purpose. Sometimes it’s just going to happen.
The important thing is as long as I’m distracting them? They’re not eating civilians, or interfering with Freddie getting them out. There’s just the one being led to the basement that I’ve got more pressing concerns about. Eyeballing the circling Crocs, I’m waiting for them to make a move, for even one of them to move in towards me, then I can drop my shoulder like I”m falling to the floor, I just never quite hit it so much as take off from that vantage. Aiming to take my opponent out at his very low knees and carry on through. There’s got to be a desk or a downed bit of architecture I can use for a baseball bat. Unless they all move at once, then it’s just straight up and out of the way. At least until what goes up comes down again right on top of them.
Freddie: Freddy moves as quickly as his feet will carry him. He moves through the lobby making sure that he can get his hand on every hostage that was in there while remaining alert. He said nothing as he went about this. There was one hostage that wasn’t gathered by the others. The hostage that was sent out to speak for the crocs was missing. He wanted to snip the line do whatever, but she was gone.
He was worried. Why was he pulling her away? Freddy had to prioritize. The others came first and if he was fast enough he would follow the other down into the pit. He didn’t like it, but he would take the moment to push himself even faster if that was possible to grab what he thought could be helpful from the walls. He grabbed the fire extinguishers. This was Fawcett City. Sure, they probably had a sprinkler system, but they probably had extinguishers. Not one of those dinky extinguishers either. Time stopped here why would they start thinking about getting little ones. Besides in times like this you use what you could and it wasn’t like he could lift a vault and drop it on anyone…yet, that would take too much time. Use what you got and those are the things that caught his eye.
“Catch!” He called out tossing one of the extinguishers to Cassie while he used one he still had to try and take one of the crocs on his way towards the stairs. Moving as fast as he was he wasn’t going to try to punch him He didn’t want to know what might happen but he would swing and hit as he moved as fast as he could, hoping that he would leave Wonder Woman (ok so he watched some TV) with one less Croc to worry about.
Of course, this was all depending on if he didn’t get tripped up and could be a be as helpful as he could be. Save hostages, take a croc and try to intercept another before whatever plan B was initiated. Sure he could do that maybe.
ST: What Cassie finds out soon enough is that this is one of those rare situations where the ‘Bad Guys’ aren’t actually as dumb as they look. Or rather, that they’re not quite as unschooled as they look. It might not even be that they’re smart, but it should be readily apparent that these guys have hunted in a ‘Pack’ of sorts before. Cassie is waiting on them, but they’re not attacking. Not yet. They circle. During which, Freddy is surely all but ignored. But when they circle, it’s more like organized chaos than just chaos. A trained eye might even take note of the way they clue in to one another. With the main hunter among them giving non-verbal cues. A snuffle, a jerk of the head, a little twitching of the tail. One by one the Crocodile Men fall in to place.
When it happens? It’s sudden. It’s no singular attack either. More like a layering of attacks that come all at once. One goes in, low and teeth first. While another flicks it’s tail in to the air high to deny her leaping out of the way. Those two attacks happen at once, but as soon as Cassie moves (tipping her hand), two more join the fray. Each one picking a different angle. These guys are trained and clearly of a predatory variety of villain. They don’t hold back, suggesting that they don’t have any compulsion against murder in the most bloody forms. By the time all Six have attacked, Cassie is going to be all but dogpiled by snapping jaws, teeth, claws and tails.
But there is definitively good news in all of this for Cassie. Freddy was very helpful. His tossed fire extenguisher is snatched out of the air by a set of jaws that rip is asunder. Spraying high-density, fire extinguishing and oxygen eliminating foam all over the lot of them. By which means that I hope Cassie can hold her breathe. Y’know. Longer than your average Crocodile.
Meanwhile, Freddy’s only real hurdle in all of this? Happens to be that ‘snatching’ one of the Crocodile Men, even at high speeds, is a little like grabbing a brick wall at a few hundred miles an hour. Sure, you might take the Croc with you when you go. But boy are you going to feel that in the morning, with the whole lack of super-strength to compensate. But, it’ll work. Even disorient the Crocodile Man enough to not instantly surge in to attacking.
For the time being neither Cassie, nor Freddy are really able to get a free trip down in to the basement to follow the last remaining hostage. Speaking of! With Freddy having saved most of them, the Cops outside no longer have any reason not to intrude upon the bank itself. As if being in a bank with a tremendous amount of structural damage wasn’t bad enough? The lights go out and the interior of the bank is bathed in spot-lights. You know the type that blind perps right before a tactical team breaches…
Cassie: I’m not used to fighting like this. I’m not ashamed to say it. I don’t have any reason to have learned to do so, because most of my training so far has come from sparring against my boyfriend, and that’s a one on one sort of situation. He’s much faster than me, so sometimes it can feel like more than one. But it’s not like there’s a contingent of practice dummies up in Canada where we go to throw punches at one another, not that can come back at me in any sort of tactical way. But it’s not that hard to figure out what’s going on here. Especially not if you’ve seen pack animals at any point in your life. That’s just not behavior you normally attribute to a crocodile.
I’d thank God (a God) that I’m as sturdy as I am, except we’re not really on speaking terms right now. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here but…just the same. The only advantage possibly to being dogpiled is that it makes it that much harder for them to get me instead of one of their own. Where I don’t have to worry about who I’m kneeing, punching, or clawing at. It’s mostly a lot of kicking. Trying to get some room, gouging if it feels like I’ve got hold of anything soft. The help from the other blonde sails my way but I have no chance to grab it before it’s chomped, and then the world goes white and thick. Fortunately I can hold my breath a very long time, but there’s still a sense of panic that kicks in if you’re not prepared. I haven’t had my powers long enough for them to become entirely natural to me.
Unfortunately? I bet I can’t hold it as long as a Crocodile can. They’re designed for that kind of thing, and that means that my kicking and wriggling my way free of the pile on takes on that much more of a sense of urgency. No longer just fighting to be a distraction, but digging a bit deeper because I don’t especially want to die today.
Freddy: The explosion from those crocman jaws. That was unexpected perhaps at another time it might be comical. He didn’t wince, no time for wincing. When a crocodile, saltwater crocodile bite they slam their jaws shut with 3700 pounds per square inch or 16,460 newtons. So, they were more than capable of doing just that. He was just trying to give Cassie something to use a bludgeon the crocs with.
When hit the croc. He felt it. He knew he felt it. Thank God for adenalin maybe. He took a moment to use his extinguisher while the croc was disoriented. He could spray a little in its eyes blind it. It can’t be fun can it? Just get it out of the mix. He kept going to try and evade become croc chow. He had to deal with that, but there was the fact that two things happened as he made his round again to put some distance between him and disoriented croc.
His fellow blonde in arms was being crocpiled. “Wiggle free!” He called out. They were covered in extinguisher foam. Maybe it was you know slippery. Like that foam party he went to in New York. He didn’t add that part, because no one needed to know about that. However they were all wiggling about he might be able to work her way free.
Second thing. Lights went out. Crap. He knew what that meant. Power was cut. They were ready to rush in and do whatever and he still didn’t know what that other croc up to. Plan B. Possibly bomb! His mind went there. There was a hole in the floor. Easy access right? But into what? Possible getting dinged on the way down, but he didn’t want to abandon the other especially if the cops were about to come in like gangbusters.
“Coming in hot!” was what he got in as he used the speed to launch the second extinguisher as hard as he could. He was going to be out of it tomorrow and the next. She was underneath she was protected, but whoever was on top?
This was a total Hail Mary, Jesus and Joseph on Freddy’s part as he continued to road runner his way through this. He couldn’t get to close, because he saw what happened with the first extinguisher. He didn’t want to get snapped in half. Also please let his am be true. Croc not blonde. Croc not blonde.
ST: When you’re surrounded by five different people and they’re all trying to kill you? It’s easy to hit one of the bad guys. Finding something soft though? Is an effort in futility, when you’ve got very little time to actually make your strikes. If only you were the one blessed by the God of Speed, Cassie. Alas, wrong baby daddy. All you’ve got is immense power, strength and ….
CHOMP!
“…ow!…”
That crunchy sound brings, if only momentarily, everything to a halt. Crocodile Men looking for some sense of satisfaction. Cassie looking for a missing limb, where her arm hands out of a Crocodile Man’s mouth. None of them finding what they want. Because apparently her arm is more dense than Crocodile Man teeth. Not so dense as to not -already- be bruising from the force of the attack, but enough so that one of the Men is stumbling back and away holding his jaw. Cracked teeth and more than a little blood covers Cassie’s arm. Whether Luck or Favor from the Gods, it’s not her own. Yet.
You might think that was enough to actually put a spark of fear in to the hearts of Crocodile Men. Though, you’d be wrong. They don’t exactly see this as a failure on their part. It’s not the broken teeth, jaw or pain in their comrade that gets in to their minds. It’s the fact that the force of one bite bruised the Heroine almost immediately. So that means enough bites just might make it through! It’s all but a feeding frenzy then. Of them taking, soaking Cassie’s punches, her kids. Wrestling with her. Because each time she has her focus on one, even two of them, there’s -three- more to bite her somewhere. Over and over.
Correction. Two more. Since Freddy’s aim is definitely true. Call it the ‘Luck’ of Solomon this time. But there happens to be one stationary Croc in the midst of all of this. The one with the broken Jaw. He takes the vaulted extinguisher right to the side of the face, sending him sprawling away. His other comrade is thrashing about, raking at his eyes from Freddy’s quick thinking too. Leaving Cassie with a mere four Crocodile Men and one large opening chance to ‘escape.’ If that was her goal.
This is the end of our good news Champions. Because this, is also, when the first of the smoke bombs comes careening through the front windows in to the bank. As if the Cop’s thought, ‘Let’s add some fun tear gas to the mix of fire repellent, explosions and crocodiles.’
Cassie: “….huh.”
It’s a thought, more than a spoken word or syllable. Maybe a grunt of pain because it did actually hurt, more than the tail smack in the face had for sure, but a wiggle of my fingers shows that it’s clearly still attached, and I’m fairly sure that all that blood? Is not mine. I’m not going to bank on that happening every time, if I had faith in that scenario it’d make this a whole lot easier because I’m betting I could find all sorts of tender parts down past the jaws and into those giant maws of theirs. The whole thing would probably be fairly comical if it weren’t me right in the middle of it, and the rest of them didn’t seem to think it was an excellent time to redouble their biting efforts instead of being a little more wary about the whole thing.
The blinding lights were an issue, though not as much of an issue as they might have been if I needed to aim my attacks. The bounces of the grenades coming in? That’s another story. Part of me is actually very concerned for the armed men outside, more than I am for myself really, but I’d have to hope they just won’t get close enough to get bitten. This also isn’t over, so while I’m ‘escaping’ it’s not to retreat so much as to move onto a smaller fight. Wiping at my face with the bloodied arm, if no other reason than it’s had most of the retardant chomped off it with crocodile slobber, I rocket upwards again through the hole into the second floor, but that’s only to get a better angle to twist and shoot back down again. This time angling for the entrance to the basement.
I’d cart Freddy with me but honestly he could probably get there way before me.
Freddy:Thankfully it landed. He didn’t know if it was luck or all the years of baseball perhaps a little of both. However, it was the first time that he actually had to launch an extinguisher like that. Bright lights meant razzle dazzle. They meant to daze and confuse. Lights out then emergency lights on then the the sounds of grenades coming in releasing tear gas. If this was all for him he would have done a funneling technique of some kind, but this was for the crocs and they could have it.
He had no idea how they would react it to it, but it was best to disengage now, and trust that the cops got the 411 from the hostages and didn’t think that they were simply hysterical on wacky weed talking about crocodile men.
“Right behind you.” He called out as he careened around heading towards the basement stairs. Whatever was waiting down there for them they would have to deal with it, because it was about to get ugly on the first floor.
Just keep going beat the gas and down the stairs. Hopefully, the Wonder Woman would be able to give him a heads up if they were heading in to trouble you know beyond the obvious trouble that they knew was waiting down there for them.
ST: Cassie’s escape in to the air casts all eyes upwards in time to see the smoke grenades coming in. In turn that keeps them from restoring their focus upon her, so there’s no immediate pursuit or efforts to stop that escape. However, there’s a bit of stroke to the bad luck for the first time then. As Freddy, Cassie -and- the Crocodile Men all start at the hole at the same time. Now, this might otherwise be a humorous little clusterfuck, but in this instance both of our heroes make use of the one true edge they have upon the Crocs. Speed.
Behind them a grotesque glut of Crocs all hit the blown out hole all at once. Four of them. Leaving a slightly humorous sight of the four crashing in to the same point, then finding themselves mostly caught there by their own mutual girth. As humorous as that might be, moments later the Police storm the building behind them. And frankly, they’re rather lucky only to have one functional, though blooded and jaw-broken, Crocodile Man to deal with.
Beneath the surface of the Bank, it is almost exactly what you might imagine. The first basement is mostly security, but beneath that is the vault. Which is where the explosion has actually come from. If they stop to ponder that, they might wonder exactly why the explosion comes from inside the Vault. If the Crocodile Men were here to break in, to simply steal something, then wouldn’t they have been trying to break in to the vault? Curious, though nothing that either of the intrepid Heroes can hope to follow up on. Not when they finally catch up to the ‘Leader’ and his lone Hostage.
Except. That’s kind of when things take yet another sideways turn. Because it’s the ‘Hostage’ who’s rifling through safety deposit boxes. While the ‘Leader’ of the Crocodile Men keeps watch. Translating in to the final Crocodile Man seeing the Heroes coming. If anything else about anything in Fawcett City made a lick of sense, then it would probably be funny to see the Crocodile lifting the massive, unhinged vault door. Not to throw it or fight with it. But to pull it back in to place, in an effort to once more block the vault off.
Cassie: A couple things become immediately clear. That they’re not about to just let us run down here, which says that they really were a distraction upstairs as much as keeping everyone else outside out, with the flesh and bone shield of hostages. With the hostages gone, and the police coming in, they follow us down. Because either we’re the bigger threat? Except they never seemed particularly threatened by me. Irritated maybe, but not threatened. Or…
The ‘or’ solidifies as the real reasoning. The shape of the place says that this is where the bomb came from, and that means someone had to plant it here. Someone also would have hadto see these clowns coming in. Unless they didn’t come in off the street. My assumption is sewer. They are crocodiles after all, and there’s bound to be an access point. Maybe that’s what they blew up in the first place, or maybe it was the vault. Maybe both, really, because as I arrive I can see that it is, in fact, where the explosion originated.
It takes about half a second to look at the no longer tied hostage, who is also not eaten despite what went on upstairs for little or no reason, to the other crocodile, and then to narrow my eyes and move.
“Stop her.”
Throwing myself forward, I don’t go directly for the crocodile man. Not at first anyway. I go for the door in an attempt to yank it out of his grip. Perfect world? I can chuck it myself and very temporarily block the entrance to the basement, or at least bludgeon the hell out of the bottlenecked bad guys (since c’mon, clearly they can lift the thing). Worst case I can maybe keep him from getting it in place long enough for Freddy to grab the woman.
Freddy:As Freddy’s eyes took in the entire scene he started to try and formulate a potential hypothesis mind you all of this was happening while his feet moved across the ground making use of the superspeed he currently had his disposal as Freddy’s mind was going a mile a second at this point. Obviously from the look of things she was an inside man someone that could be used by the crocodile men to deliver what was possibly her message and be the innocent party if anyone ever caught up with her or herpes she never turned up because they wanted to use her a snack. If she wasn’t the only inside man so to speak.
Freddy recalled the message she relayed. ”… They’re taking two hostages with them. They’ll release those when they’re out of the City.” They could be taking her and someone else. That someone else could be in on or just to make it look good if something went bad and they thought the woman died or was still being held…probably the later.
Then there was the Aunty Minvera. Freddy assumed that she was waiting somewhere perhaps, but perhaps she was right here all along making sure everything went according to plan. Then there was the fact that the blast wasn’t end to the vault, but appeared to be within.
Blow the vault from within. Perhaps from a bomb that had been planted in something that the woman possibly placed in a safe deposit box. The vault was probably difficult to break into so why break in which would take time potential and require particular sets of equipment when you could blow it out from within while placing something in a box perhaps?
Too many Mystery Woman movies with gramps when he was alive, but regardless that’s what his brain fired off as he moved attempting to intercept the woman and rather than have her do something if he was lucky he moved swiftly to keep her off balance which could result in upchuck or her blacking out.
He was coming to save what he thought was a hostage, but she wasn’t a hostage. Innocent people were hurt. She was in on it. Freddy might be a little perturbed. Just a smidge.
ST: Cassie is good. She’s had a bad night, to be sure, but she’s good. Trained in how to use her powers by someone that knows a little too well. She’s quick, strong, but then you add in her brains. Don’t say this to her boyfriend, but it’s that combination which makes her actually dangerous. Maybe the Most Dangerous of the folks she’s set forth to bring together. All too quickly she’s getting the right of it. Seeing things for what they are. But then, she’d had an inkling at the very moment she saw the woman that first time didn’t she?
Getting to the broad vault’s door isn’t the problem. Over-powering the Crocodile Man to take it from him? Not the problem. What she does with it? Isn’t even the problem. The problem is when Freddy Freemen touches the woman. The Hostage. The petite little creature who had stood outside doting their demands. It’s at the very moment that he touches her, that Freddy realizes just how right he was. How right Cassandra was. Freddy learns a lesson that Solomon is even now whispering in his ear, Your speed isn’t always a weapon, sometimes it can be a weakness. Don’t act faster than you think. Take stock of the area. Use your speed to never get outflanked, not merely to race to the heart of a problem.
Because as his hand lays upon the woman, seeking to disrupt her. Seeking to disorient her. Seeking to do what has worked every other time to this point. This time? It goes horribly, terribly wrong. As the woman. Frail as she may seem. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t budge. Doesn’t so much as flinch when Freddy touches her. In fact, it’s Freddy who will find himself unable to move the woman. Like she’s rooted to the ground.
That? Is when Cassie problem knows shit is about to get real, because the Crocodile Man? Squeaks, before surrendering the vault door in an effort to escape in to the sewers. Like. Making with such haste, his little Clown Mask hits the ground before his squeak even clears the air.
Now. You might wonder what could scare a Crocodile Man so much? What could resist the speed of Mercury? Shazam? No, no. Not spoken like a command. Nor a trigger word. This sounds more like a Question. ‘Are you Shazam?’ Except that the answer is immaterial because Freddy is then introduced to the Strength of Hercules. When he is thrownback at Cassie with the force a kryptonian’s wet dream.
Cassie: You know what’s never going to be a good thing? When they run. I may not have the most practical experience, but I’ve seen enough movies and I have enough common sense to know that when you’re outnumbered by someone, or something, and they turn tail and bolt? It means something worse is coming, or in this case already there. Like little children skedaddling to the other end of the house when Mom or Dad’s found something they know they won’t like. It might be one on one, between me and the Crocodile Man right now, but that could change at any moment. I know it’s not me they’re worried about.
I sail backwards a bit in the air, because I was prepared to tug the door and I no longer need to. Pulling against nothing sets me back, before I turn the momentum into swinging that door into the other four before they join the fray in order to escape, or maybe to take the opportunity to get a little more bitey all over again. Either way, they’re not my problem any longer clearly. Not right now. What is? Is Freddy flying at me. Him hitting me? Isn’t going to do a hell of a lot to me, but me hitting him is going to be a little worse than splatting into a wall. So I catch him, doing my best to move with the force and cushion him a bit.
“Shazam? Is there more than one of you?”
Freddy: Freddy had it all worked out in his mind, but that’s when it all went sideways and upside down. One moment he’s trying to pull at her to do what needs to be done, but then she’s still there. Planted like a redwood. Then the all-important question. His eyes widening. He already knows the answer to everything before the question is fully formed in his mind.
“Oh shit!” He was hurled towards Wonder Woman with as much strength that Superman possesses. No if he had to think about it. Hercules. Strength, but if she had strength what else. He had Speed and wisdom, but she had strength. She could have any the others. When he was caught by Wonder Woman he offered a smile.
“Rival it seems or perhaps not.” He answered while he got down to the ground. This is… It was the first thing that he considered before he was set on his feet.
“Yes. I’m Shazam” He thought about launching himself at her, but at the moment he decided to err on caution, curiosity and a good deal of wisdom which as served him well for the moment.
“Keep one eye on the croc,” He told Cassie as Freddy listened to the voice that was quietly whispering in the back of his mind.
“Who are you?” This couldn’t be? Could it? Strength. She couldn’t be? She could be a rival. However, there was another possibility. “Hercules?” Not as in the strength of Hercules as in was he in there somewhere? Freddy mind wanted to wrap itself around that one, but he had to remain focused.
She didn’t speak the word to call upon the power there was no flash or anything. Freddy couldn’t afford to be confused. What he required right now was confirmation rival or Lord of Magic and if it was the latter what the hell was he doing breaking into a vault? All he knew was that the old woman was connected to the powers of Shazam of Captain Marvel, but how?
ST: Keep an eye on the Croc, really losea a lot of meaning when the ‘Leader’ of them is plunging through the hole that was punched by the original blast. Down in to the sewers, just as Cassie had surmised. Then there’s the others. Whom she threw the vault door at, but they’re currently dealing with the vault door itself. Which caused more of a physical hurdle than anything. Behind them? If one was to listen real hard, are the sounds of a near-militarily efficient tactical group moving in. The skirmish above is a short one, but that only means they move on to neutralizing the other Crocodile Men from behind. As they work to dislodge the door. Maybe they would have moved a bit more hastily, if they’d only know what was going on below.
You see, the Wisdom is Solomon is indeed correct. All is not as it appears. This petite, frail, woman, hadn’t actually called upon Shazam to empower. It had questioned Freddy. Before she then forced him to unhand her. No sooner had Freddy been discarded than the woman went back to it’s search. Pilfering through each of the little boxes, slowly. Time consuming, but it would seem the woman thinks herself to have all the time in the world in spite of what goes on all around her.
Perhaps this is just another part of the Trial then? His questions fall upon deaf ears. Or perhaps it is less that the woman is deaf and more than he’s said nothing of merit. Nothing worthy of a response. It would seem that she is quite consumed with her search.
What is far more important to Freddy, is not what the woman asks for. It is what his own inner voices begin to whisper. That she is familiar. That there is something about her that it recognizes. Her features are chiseled, her frame is slight. She seems elderly, but that in itself only makes her seem different. When looked at through the eyes of Solomon, she might seem younger. Far more beautiful. Egyptian, not sun battered. Ancient, not elderly. Much as Cassie had observed right from the start, this woman stands out as a misnomer. She appears to be elder, slight and was at one point a ‘Hostage.’ Yet from the beginning she seemed far too ‘in control.’ Then there’s the final clue. Which Freddy had remembered without Solomon’s help. They’d said two hostages. Not one.
“Ahh. Here it is,” having apparently just found what she was looking for. “Osiris! I’ve found you.”
Cassie: That Croc? He’s gone. And I am not about to chase him into the sewers where I’d be at a definite disadvantage. Fighting them on dry land had proved to be enough of a challenge for me. We haven’t exactly tested whether or not I can be drowned, and I don’t particularly want to find out today. Especially not in a sewer.
“A rival? Huh.”
I hadn’t had to fight anyone for my powers, but then there weren’t any trials, I was more or less ‘born’ this way. Something or someone just kept me from knowing it was all waiting until the ‘right’ moment. Once I’ve let him down, I hang back by the vault door almost absently leaning into the obstacle with one hand while blue eyes watch the woman askance, and Freddy from my peripheral vision. I don’t entirely know what’s going on. I had enough background intel to make me uncertain though. One assumes that if there’s a trial, that means a test and what happens if I interfere more with that? Or if I’m the one that does it. Does that matter? Or will that stop him from doing what he needs to do?
“Do I punch? Or not punch? Trying to take my cues from you now. I assume that her finding a God of the Dead is never going to be great for anyone concerned though…”
Not the. A. But I also have zero doubt they’re just as real. Look at me and where I came from.
Freddy: Freddy wasn’t sure what she might do, but the strength she possessed he was no match for and this was not something that would be settled through blows. He considered the possibilities as the woman seemed to forget him as soon as he appeared. The crocodile men. There had been a fleeting thought about them. Children of Sobek?
He looked upon the woman Solomon revealing to him things that he should have already known, but still the strength. She was a part of the power. He could feel it. It was one of those like recognizes like, but when she claimed her prize the realizations spilled upon his features.
“Isis.” He said the name loud enough for her to hear to draw her attention from her prize. Less he was completely off about this she has seemingly retrieved her husband. In Fawcett City? Daughter of Geb and Nut. Wife of Osiris. Mother of Horus.
“Not punch. I think she’s probably capable of going toe to toe with you. Actually I know she is. She possess the strength of Hercules.” Was it stolen to achieve this goal? Freddy didn’t run he walked over towards the woman. If he was right she found her husband.
Isis had done much to be reuniting with her husband, but this felt all wrong something was amiss to a degree ok several. “You’ve found him, but what of all the damage you’ve done. The crocs?” He wasn’t on top of her but close enough for him to notice and if she was going to lash out he was going to evade. He considered snatching up what she had in her hand, but if he could talk he would talk. The police were on their way a tactical team no doubt.
“You meant to escape with him. To release him from whatever prison he was placed in.” She knew who he was. Do they have to be enemies?
ST: Wisdom of Solomon indeed. It materializes in Freddy’s mind with such clarity. He is so very, very right. This woman, seemingly frail enough to break in a light breeze, is imbued with the power of Hercules. How that has come to pass is not immediately clear, but Solomon has put him upon the right path. There’s no denying the reaction Freddy gets from his line of questioning. She hasn’t already struck at him again, so she is either at ease with his presence or considers him a gnat to be swatted at leisure, as opposed to a threat to be worried about.
Once close enough, Freddy can see the pendant. A red jewel, encrusted in gold. Woven in to the shape of a Death Mask, for the God of same name. There is no mistaking it, actually. Especially not if you’ve half the knowledge of such things as Solomon or Cassandra Sandsmark. The elderly woman cradles it, bringing it closer to her breast.
Freddy’s question brings the first actual response to his presence, since she threw him like a paper airplane. “The Power of the Gods can be used for more than Championing. I need them. To bring him back. To bring me back.”
Not your normal sort of villainous monologue, actually. Though as the woman says this to Freddy, she also begins to turn. To finally take more stock of him. That is no doubt when Cassie, even faster than Solomon, gets a little tingle along her spine. There’s something more. Something Familiar about this woman, that she hadn’t felt before. Something a little closer to home than she’s ever felt before. Call it women’s intuition, call it a hunch, but Cassie can very much feel a presence that she is far more familiar with than she even knows.
“You. Have their powers. Yes. Come boy. Take my hand. Say his name. Call forth the Lightning.”
In this small chamber. A small vault in some city in the middle of no where. A place where nothing special ever happens. Stands the Speed of Mercury, the Wisdom of Solomon, in Freddy. The Strength of Hercules, in the creature Freddy has named Isis. If by chance then, she has one more of those powers, then what does Cassie’s presence here represent? Why have they all been called here, today, amidst the thunderstorm outside?
Cassie: “Hercules, huh? I’ve heard of him.”
He’s apparently my half-brother and all. I maintain my place, and my eagle eyed watch on the pair of them. I’m waiting for an excuse to do something else besides watch the door, but maybe I don’t need to do more than that. Gives me a little time to think over exactly what I’m seeing here, and what they’re saying. He’s calling her Isis. Is she really? And if she is, and I’m assuming he means she has the literal strength of Hercules, not just strength like Hercules… given that the figure in question had heritage not really any different than mine does that mean someday someone will have the Flight of Cassie?
…can’t say it’s really got the same ring to it. They’d probably insist on my full name for regality. The entire thing is pretty damn silly though, even in my own head, and so doesn’t take much thought or attention. Which leaves me squinting at the pair of them. What she actually has. Blue eyes widen, and then narrow all over again.
“Is that what I think it is? Why is it here of all places?”
None of this makes sense. But then, when you think about it, in traditional terms almost zero in my life does anyway. Then you add in crocomaggia, people invoking powers that weren’t necessarily theirs by birthright. Gods. Monsters. In the middle of Fawcett City. I can’t decide if I should ignore what he says and strike or not. But there’s something tickling at me, like I know her, but I have no reason to know her. Unless, maybe I’ve met her before and didn’t know it. Or maybe that’s just some sort of higher recognition. Divine calling to divine.
Freddy: Freddy was ordinarily the helpful sort, but something about this felt off. He hadn’t written her off as a rival, but this was completely unexpected. He took a few steps away from her quick steps denying her his hand. She could grip it and break every bone in his body until she got what she wanted.
“I don’t think it’s a call I should make. How about you do it yourself. Intermediaries are so impersonal.” He said still taking quick steps back probably faster than he needed, but enough to put some space between them until he was near Cassie once again.
“Gods aren’t imprisoned for no reason.” Unless there was a bit of business going on with the Egyptian Pantheon, but that was neither here or there. “What have you done with Hercules?” He asked. He would not freely give her the power. It doesn’t feel right. She powered her way into this place.
Isis brought her husband back from the dead once, but now she wished to do it again. Freddy was getting a bad, bad feeling about this. If she had Hercules’s power who else’s did she possess.
All he got was bad vibes from all of this. She’s made requests and requests from gods usually mean demands. “What I have was entrusted to me. Not only to use to protect, but protect.” Freddy took a moment. Either through magic or death power can be taken. “Where is Hercules?” Why was the question so important? Freddy was adamant about it. He wanted an answer, because it would give him the insight he needed. The answer would prevent him from jumping to conclusions. He needed to hear it to let himself judge to use Wisdom that had empowered with to make the right decision. He wanted to believe that this could be settled without things getting anywhere than they were, but even without Solomon he had to look at the facts.
She had Hercules strength. She also ran with crocodile men who would probably serve Sobek first before they would serve her. Innocent people had been harmed. She sought this to retrieve Osiris and now there was a gathering storm. She knew who Freddy was almost like she was checking him off a shopping list. Freddy’s mind could run with this, but he wouldn’t allow himself too. He also realized that he was putting himself in between her and Cassie despite the fact that she possessed more power than he did, but something or someone told him that it’s the right thing to do.
Love makes people do extraordinary things. Extraordinarily good and Extraordinarily bad.
ST: The answer to Freddy’s question comes a little more quickly than even his evasion skills. A veritable crack-a-thoom of thunder, to go with the lightning that neither of them can see at this point. Yet, somehow lightning flashes none-the-less. In a heartbeat there is a shaking, tremor, that precedes the sudden understanding of just what destroyed the vault. Exactly what had caused the destruction of several levels of the bank.
Isis explodes. Crackling with lightning that sweeps across entire vault floor, racing for Freddy and Cassie. Now they know why the Crocodile Man, the leader, had ran away. Just as Solomon had given Freddy certain glimmers of Sobek and the Crocodiles of the Nile. It now bestows upon Freddy a certain inescapable knowledge. Run, fool. It’s Zeus.
Except that there’s no longer a route -up-, Cassie blocked that with the Vault door. There is only one way out of here and the Crocodile Man showed it too them.
Cassie: I’m a little surprised at his back pedaling, to be completely honest. I assume there’s something going on that he understands and I don’t entirely, but there must have been some queue that the woman had given that made him think cooperating wasn’t a great idea. It turns out to be fortunate that he had, though. It means that he’s close enough to me that I don’t have to go terribly far to grab him by the back of his shirt and yank him up off of the floor. Ideally he’s not going to resist, but if he does? I’m still not leaving him to get electrocuted, it’ll just be a bit more of a forceful move on my part.
“I think that’s our cue.”
The hairs on my arms and the back of my neck feel like they’re all standing up and at attention and I don’t actually think it’s because of the electricity. That is what I was feeling, and I don’t need anymore questions for the light bulb to click on in my head. It makes me…angry actually, in a way that surprises me a little bit, but I focus that energy on something else. Namely getting us out of here. Up would be an option if I were by myself, going through the ceiling would be easy. I’m carting Freddy though, and that means going the way the Crocodile Man had. Great.
“Arms in, head down, knees up.”
Not that he has to, I’m rocketing through the opening just the same. Into the sewers, and then hunting the first way up I can find.
Freddy: Freddy had wanted to hear it from the woman’s mouth. He wanted to know what she had done and how far it went. Unfortunately he wasn’t given the chance. The storm that had been gathering and swept into town had struck again and it was in that moment a few more things clicked beyond the fact that he was getting ready to get out of dodge.
It appears he wasn’t the only one that was aware of Isis’s activities. This didn’t bode well not at all. Wonder Woman was free to pull him out of the basement and into the sewers of Fawcett City. Probably the last place he wanted to be. The whispers came through loud and clear. “Zeus.” It was a whisper. That right there was old school smiting.
Confusion spread across his features as they traveled away from the lightning strike that sought to harm anyone its path luckily they were already gone. He needed answers, because he needed to know what this meant for him and for all of the divine.
“She stole Hercules power. She meant to take the power that resides within me. “ She could have had others. “Zeus intervened…” Indiscriminately. Was it over? Couldn’t be. The trials were challenging enough and now they had become complicated, because he didn’t think this was the end of it.
ST: When the ‘dust’ clears the Cops will have six very feisty Crocodile Men in their custody. Although they’ve got no clue what to do with them. The Police Chief won’t allow the normal people of the City to know that. He’ll continue to demonstrate unwavering courage and spirit in the face of this entire fiasco, even as he struggles to find a way to explain what has happened or deal with the after-math.
Our Heroes escape. Though they do so without knowing what happened with Isis for certain. Was she smote as Freddy seems to believe? Was she channeling Zeus’ power, like Cassie a little jealously thought? What happened with the Mask of Osiris? The only thing we know for certain, is that those answers and more will come to us in the next issue. Until then all signs point to Fawcett City.
by Michele | Sep 14, 2017 | Chronicles
Steph: It was just supposed to be one time. Famous last words of every kind of junkie that there ever was. I wonder if The Douchebag ever said that to himself, before he started making a crapton of really wrong choices, that he seemed to think were the right choices at the time. And also now despite having repeatedly gone to jail for them. I mean, maybe I ought to be grateful for his perennial awful example. It taught me what not to do with my life, and it’s not like he’s a serial axe murderer. That I know of. Just a tool, that had some really great things going for him, but those really great things didn’t matter enough when he got his feelings hurt and wanted to get some good old fashioned revenge.
(…wait a minute…)
Well. It’s completely not at all the same thing as what I’m doing. I’m not doing anything illegal (..ehhhhtechnically?..) for starters, and I’ve got absolutely good intentions (…onthesurface…) to go along with my questionable life choices. I’m out here to stop crime from happening, and even though it’s kind of harmless in the scheme of how bad it could be? It’s still hurting someone. Not even just me. And I’m going to do it. God. My Mom would be so pissed. Maybe even more pissed than The Douchenozzle would be if he ever found out, because he’s sure never seemed to enjoy being thwarted. Being thwarted by me might make it extra awful.
Good. That’s the point. Perfect world he’s not going to find out though. Not until I get to have some kind of grand AHA moment that I haven’t fully made a plan for just yet. Gives me time to perfect my heroic victory laugh. Which currently in my head sounds a lot more like dastardly melodrama villain. Sue me. I’m new at this. Something that’s been more and more clear to me each time I have gotten rudely interrupted by some jerk/punk/vigilante. They’ve all got way fancier gear than me and my grappling hook from the sporting goods store, and my improvised brick weaponry. Or the ‘borrowed’ from what passes for a drama department in a crummy public school outfit.
Maybe it’s paranoia, but I’m actually kind of starting to think that it’s on purpose. The interrupting. Hence the super circuitous route to my destination tonight. Which seemed like a way better idea at the start than it is right now at the peak of my building jumping, alley swinging, dumpster dodging (…please not diving, can I even wash this cape?…) trek across the even seedier parts of Gotham than I actually live in. Starting from the opposite side of an abandoned building that I crawl through to reach what little gear and getup I have, and then onwards to an address that the DoucheRocket thought he’d secured.
Seriously. I need a bike. But there’s something kind of humiliating about a Huffy.
Tim: Who needs a bike? Not this guy. I’ve got one. Along with all the other gear that Bruce put in to play for me. Along with that I’ve got some that were improved upon by your’s truly. Funny thing that, I’ve turned in to the guy in the know about that sort of thing. Funny. All of the folks in the extended family and I’m the only one that every really paid attention to how we got all the things we get. Lucius Fox may have may have made some of the tech, but Bruce designed most of it. He was doing a lot of this long before Lucius was in the picture. I’ve picked up the ball on that and ran with it. Lucky me.
Mind you. It did afford me the chance to setup a discussion with Damian. He’s been doing some pretty bad stuff to the criminal element of Gotham of late. A lot of people think they can curtail him, I’ll settle for helping him not get himself killed and not being in jail when the dust clears. Until he gets this all out of his system, because I learned a long time ago that you’re not telling Damian what to do. You’re just not.
Now, in stark contrast to that. I had some hope for this one. She showed a lot of heart, promise, if not a lot of brains in our first meeting. The plan had been to arrange for her training, but then she went out and started doing this all on her own again. Lucky for me, not so lucky for her, that she’s one of the people I’ve got drones trailing. It gives me a good idea of where she’s at. Which allows for me to plot an intercept course that, unless she does something crazy, should put me right in her path.
Or. Rather it would. If I didn’t do what I’ve been trained and plant myself on the next roof in her path. That way when she comes full tilt over the side, she gets to walk in to the shadowy, ominous figure of…. well. Me. But I’m sure to look ominous with the shadows and such. Maybe I’m not a six foot bat, but I’m a near six-foot Red Robin! It’ll have to do.
“Hey,” no lecture, no tone of judgment, just a quick greeting and then, “If you can keep up, follow me.”
There’s nothing more. If she follows? Great. If she elects not to then our next meeting will involve a slightly different tactic. Either way I’m turning, dashing and diving over the edge of the building. Unlike her though, there’s a bit more safety involved when I’m doing it. Not just the tether that I could shoot out at any moment, but the cape functions as an air foil. Allowing me to glide downwards to a soft landing next to a bike. My bike. Call it a Hog. Built for speed, made for endurance.
Steph: I’m a lot of things, clutzy isn’t usually one of them. If it were my choice of hobbies and nighttime activities would probably have gone from possibility to already happened and six feet under the ground. Maybe an overreaction to something that I didn’t expect would send me off kilter every now and again, but under my own steam I’m pretty great on my feet. Now, believe it or not I’m actually pretty aware that I don’t fully know what I’m doing out here. Down for ill advised plans and schemes? Yup, you betcha. Stupid? No, not really. That still doesn’t mean I want to look like a dumdum in front of anyone. Bad guys. Other vigilantes. Alley cats (…they judge and you know it…). So in about five seconds when my arms stop their idiotic windmilling as I work at keeping my balance after crashing into a not brick wall person (…though, whoosh is he solid…), and I regain my footing, and drop out of being about to sail a left hook? I’m going to be kind of mortified and a little grumpy about making myself look like (..you guessed it…) a dumdum.
“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”
And that was your out loud voice, Steph. Hey. Who just says hey like, sup, super casual meeting we’re having here, when I was probably laying in wait to ambush you for some bro-class upnodding and… yeah he’s already taken off. With a grunt of annoyance that I hope is a lot more quiet than it sounded in my head I start running again. I mean, what else am I going to do? I stand there, or take off in another direction and that implies that I can’t, in fact, keep up with him. And while I don’t really want to end up following another dude around the city doing what he wants instead of what I came out here for I think my ego’s winning this battle for control of Stephanie’s brain.
I don’t have a tether. What I do have is a lot of experience in climbing out of and around windows, hopping off and over railings, and the lack of just enough self-preservation to not question whether not I’m going to stick the landings I’m aiming for. I don’t get down there as quickly as he did, but I guess it’s good enough. And that was a pretty short goose chase (…thank God because I’ve already been at this for like fifteen minutes…). The last half dozen feet find me with feet on the pavement, knees bending to absorb the impact before I tilt my hooded head at his… is that even a motorcycle? What the hell?
“So is there like. A secret, member’s only Costco for Capes somewhere that you guys all go to? Because I need to get me a card.”
Tim: “Yes.”
It would be a lie to say that this meeting wasn’t on purpose. Maybe more so to intimate that I hadn’t planned carefully to meet her exactly where we did. Though a little gambling in whether she’d actually follow a pattern or not. Then following the drones, to put myself in position. So. Yeah. I’m exactly where I want to be. She’s where I intended her to be. All of which is on purpose.
What that purpose is? She’ll find out once she’s actually made it to the ground. Which is thankfully not by way of going splat. Again. If anything this is the first element she’s shown that demonstrates practice. Doesn’t actually take a detective to figure out how someone might learn how to scale a building to the ground. Especially in this city. Especially as a teenager with a life outside of your parent’s apartment. I learned when I was barely ten. The reward for completing this feat is a lot like an achievement that comes in a low, yet appreciative whistle. Not the cat-call variety, but the ‘I’m impressed, you didn’t die. Or break your ankles.’
“Actually. Yes. There is. That’s why I’m here. To give you your card.”
No, really. I’m not even teasing her. Because before she’s even had a chance to start piping in with her witty reparte, I’m opening the bike’s saddle bags. This isn’t a game. I’m not hiding anything. She’ll see items being pulled from within. First is a long telescoping staff, collapsed in it’s current form it looks more like a billy club. Then there’s a small utility belt, appropriately colored to match what she wore the first time we met. In addition to that is a well folded set of what looks like spandex, but upon inspection is a fiber mesh of polymers that serves to make up most of the Bat-costumes. Diverting bladed weapons from being lethal and hopefully blunting the penetration of all but point blank or high caliber gunfire.
Once set upon the seat of the bike, I turn slightly enough to see her out of the corner of my eye. “Like any good Costco, there’s a membership form and signup fee. Lucky for you though. We’re currently running a promotion. Sign up today and you get free training with the Black Canary. Gotta hurry, it’s while supplies last and they’re going like hot cakes in this city.”
Steph: “Wait. Really?”
Like anyone expected a straight forward answer there, especially not to a meant to be inside voice that turned into an out loud voice rhetorical that happens way more often than it probably really should. I mean, I sure didn’t. I kind of expected him to be all cryptic and judgey again. Maybe that’s not fair. He did try to poison me the last time. Even though I’m actually pretty sure he was making all that up in hindsight. I mean. What would that have accomplished? If he was aiming for keeping another vigilante off the streets there were probably less nefarious ways that had less potential for going wrong. Or. Alternately he does that all the time (…in which case, yikes…)
The whistle earns a dramatic flourish of my cape forwards and into a bow. Lowering my forearm after a moment because that pose was reading a little vaudeville mustache twirler, but I’m also fairly sure that’s the whole purpose of a cape. Dramatic flourishing. Because I can tell you, my school has never, ever put on any kind of period play with anything close to period accurate wardrobe to go along with it. Seriously. I’m shocked this thing was even in there without some kind of vermin having bitten holes in it.
“…wait. What?… I know I just said that but. Seriously. What? There’s actually a card? And a Costco?”
Of course there’s not, but my chattering carries on almost autonomously from the actions I actually am focused on. Like pinching the bridge of my nose through the lower face mask I wear out at night (..sporting goods find, not dramaflop department..), and some actually serious thoughts on why he’s telling me about the repository of heroic gear goodness, and what kind of serious mega-catch is about to be revealed to me. I didn’t exactly make the best impression last time, I’d bet. Or maybe I did! Since I didn’t get left for the back of a police cruiser. I’m also rambling away while he’s digging out goodies like some sort of shadowy Equipment Fairy that visits good little girls who leave thugs’ teeth under their pillows (…ew…). Are those…really for me? So it really was on purpose but I’m having a bit of a hard time grasping the why. Or what it’s about to cost me.
Because it’s pretty damn unthinkable to believe there’s not something in it for him. Still. It’s kind of all I can do to not snatch and grab at the proffered loot, like a kid that knows he who acts last goes hungry. Clearly building facade monkey bar hijinx was not the only skill you could pick up from a misspent childhood. I restrain myself into leaning forward to peer at it all though, and I don’t need to touch or be in any kind of nice lighting to know this is serious upgraded shit. Like, much closer to what he’s wearing than forgotten public school auditorium closet. Now it’s my turn to whistle. It probably sounds more like cat-calling though, because… Damn.
“Black Canary? Like… the Black Canary? I’m pretty sure she’s screamed at… ” The DouchePrime. Too much sharing, Steph, keep that one to yourself. “..a whole lot of people that thought better of making her mad agaaaain and… I thought she was gone?”
I mean, it’s been a couple years. I’ve got a pretty good education on the city’s lowlifes, and do gooders though it’s possible my information’s a little out of date I think I would have heard rumblings of her being back in action. Gotta respect a lady that can run around kicking ass in undies with no apparent self-esteem issues. Or a dude. No judgement here. But why would she care, let alone bother and I’m not sure that I… See. I might say to myself right here that I don’t need the training, but I really am not a dumdum. I’ve got a pretty mean hook, a nasty sucker punch and my knee is a ball seeking missile in its’ own right, but there’s a reason I try to avoid direct confrontation when I’m out here like this. Actually knowing what I was doing? Man. I could do so much more.
“…uh yeah? No. Not a question. Um yes.”
Because I’ll take a few fighting lessons as a payment for shiny new toys. Still seems like too good of a deal to be true.
Tim : “Really.”
Why would I lie? She’s in my city. Untrained and untested. Picking fights with people that could be her end. Or worse. I wasn’t fibbing last time when I said that if I allowed her to continue then her fate would be bound to me. I’d take whatever happened to her personally. A failure of my own to not put the brakes on like Bruce taught me. Even if I can’t say that I control people’s decisions, Batman proved long ago that you can in fact control someone’s ability to get themselves killed. He once told me, after a particularly nasty encounter with a guy in a hockey mask, that he let the bad guys beat the would-be hero to smithereens, because walking the rest of his life with a limp? At least meant he walked the rest of his life.
So if I’m not going to put a stop to this kid’s ambitions, then I’ve got to make sure she’s prepared for the life she’s wanting to lead. She convinced me before, if only of one thing, that she would continue doing it so long as she was able. No matter what I said or did to the contrary. So I’ve either got to put her in jail, let her get hurt or… I’m back to helping her prepare. People with the drive are few and far between. This girl kept going even after falling off a building.
“Really-really. There’s a membership card and everything.” The steady look, monotone voice, and lack of efforts to be a wise ass suggest that I’m actually speaking the truth. “Gone? Not exactly. Off the radar, is a little more apt. She’s actually a card carrying member of the franchise. Alright. More like a free agent, but I’ve already asked her if she’d be willing to train with you.”
“That kind of brings us to the terms of your membership. It’s non-negotiable, but I think you’ll find it slanted heavily in your favor.”
Taking a single step back, I clear the way for Stephanie to actually approach the gear. I’m not locking it down or telling her no. If anything this is a little bit of a sales pitch. Tongue in cheek, sure, but I’m not hiding anything about what I’m offering. It is exactly that: An Offer. She can take it or leave it. This is an effort that clears my conscience, if anything. There’s also the added benefit, that if she succeeds in what I’m about to tell her? That she’ll make a good asset in the field. Without the Batman? We need all the help we can get. More than we even really know yet.
One hand casually gestures to the gear, the other to Stephanie. “It’s your’s. So long as you do everything the Canary says. Until she says you’re ready. The moment she says those words? All of this is your’s. You can walk away from Batco with the merchandise. You quit? You wash out? Then we agree your heart isn’t really in it. Then you either find somewhere else to play dress up or you go find some other way to fill that desire you spoke about last time.”
“One more thing. You’re not going to want to stop what you’re doing. I get that. So I’m not even going to ask for you to wait until you’re trained. I’m just going to make it clear. Right up front. You won’t be able to keep a secret if you work with us. If you think you can, okay. But like I said, I’m not a fine-print person. I want you to know what up front that it’s better to tell us everything. Put your spin on it. Might as well use all of the tools at your disposal.”
Steph: “Huh.”
You’re not only one who can use one syllable responses Red Robin. Though by the way my jawline shifts under the mask, and how my fingers fidget on the opposite forearms in their crossed positions? It’s probably pretty obvious that there’s a whole helluva lot more I want to say. Or ask. Like maybe another few ‘wait, really?’s for good measure. I have a feeling, conditions or no, that even one piece of this gear is probably more valuable than everything else anyone’s ever given me in my whole life. And those other folks weren’t basically strangers in the night (…heh. Well. Now this guy’s got a theme-jingle in my head, and it isn’t yuuuuuuum anymore…).
A brown eyed squint is checking the invisible bullshit meter over his shoulder, because God. At this point I don’t know if there really is a card or not, and I’m not totally sure that it matters. It’s definitely been more than enough to distract and detour me from my really round-about way of getting where I was going tonight. The trip’s going to be even longer because if I take this stuff you bet your ass I’m going to go put it on right damn now. To my credit, or maybe it’s a credit to my general life experience so far, I’m actually quiet and attentive as he spells out the deal itself. Because I’m looking for loopholes, or things that are going to bite me in the butt later
“As long as I do everything the Canary says for combat training.”
Because I’m not in for any weird kinky crap, or dumb enough to tell anyone that I’ll do anything. Not even for some straight up superhero accessories. The huff of air that I suck in, and then push out again is a very audible harumph like I’ve just been mortally insulted. I mean, this guy doesn’t know me, but it’s like he doesn’t know me.
“I’m not quitting. I don’t know how.”
Even when I should. It’s probably the most honest thing I’ve said about myself all week. How’s that for a way after school special type of moment? Unfolding my arms from across my chest, I pick up the folded clothing, and bring it closer to my face. I can’t feel the fabric itself through these crummy gloves but I can always do that later. It’s lighter than I expected. I shift from examining it, to eyeing Robin sideways and then back again a few times. Better to tell them…. Everything. That could mean a lot of different things, and cover a lot of aspects of my nighttime activities but. I’m in. I can throw in a bone when I’ve been given what’s basically a smorgasbord. Even though I don’t really wholly agree with his reasoning, I’m not really going to judge. I mean. I’m benefiting here.
“Cluemaster’s up to something. Been up to something.”
Tim : “That’s kind of why we’re here.”
I knew right away she wouldn’t quit. At least not without coming to a point where she physically or mentally couldn’t handle going forward anymore. Batman might have been willing to take her to that point himself. I’m a lot less willing, maybe a lot less able, to do something like that. Above all else, I can understand having the need to be out here. Doing something, anything, to help make your own world make sense. That said, I still circle back around to not wanting her (or any one else’s) death on my conscience.
Hence. Gift bag.
“I’m not locking you in to doing her laundry. But, I’m also not letting you re-word my offer to be only combat-training. Whatever training she thinks you need to be out here? That’s her prerogative. Not your’s or mine.”
This has an air of finality about it. I think I’m clear enough that this isn’t some deal with the devil. In fact, not one ounce of this benefits anyone but Stephanie. Loop holes? Only in so much as being a agreement that if she washes out, she’s done. But even that is entirely in her control. It’s all up to her. Which is also why I won’t let her whittle down the terms to be only combat. If Canary needs her to learn how to be a Detective? That’s all part of the job.
“That doesn’t surprise me. He’s not the only one who has gotten active recently. What you probably don’t know, is that your window to make a move on Cluemaster is probably closing faster than you think. Joker and Red Hood are roughing up or taking out just about anyone with a past connection to the Batman. So, I think we better fast-track your training. Take the gear. In the belt is a transceiver. It will chirp, unless you silence it like a cell phone. When it goes off, answer it and either Canary or I will let you know where to meet us.”
“Go on. Go put it on. You’ll get the call soon. If not tonight, then tomorrow. Try not to kill yourself with the grappling hook before we get to teach you how to use it.” Because it’s very clear, to me at least, that this isn’t the type of girl who’s going to tuck all that in a drawer to wait for when she’s read the instructions or been shown how to use it. “Let me know if the suit needs any alterations. I put it together with approximations based on my assessment of your shape the first time we met.”
“Yes. That means I checked you out. Yes. There may be a bike in in it for you, if you pass Canary’s boot camp. Yes. There actually is an instruction manual. If I were you? I’d read it before you accidentally poison yourself. Or taser yourself. Or gas yourself. Or mace yourself. Stab yourself. Really. Read the manual. Stop checking me out. Just because I did it, doesn’t mean you get too. I was assessing. Read the manual. Stop grinning like that. you’re not going to read the manual are you?”
Steph: “Well. Good! I… think.”
He probably thinks he knows that you’re going to get yourself splatted, pasted, shot, axed, run down or otherwise murdered. And since he has a conscience that goes above and beyond what you’d expect out of a lot of people in this city, with some kind of moral code, that’s led him to being here. I happen to think that’s not a totally fair assessment, since it’s hardly been my fault that things haven’t totally gone as planned and all (…well, nearly all there was that time the other night. And the one before that…) of the violence involved has been thanks to some other vigilante stepping on my stakeout toes.
“Alright, alright, alright. Whatever training the pro thinks I need to be the best kind of kick ass I can be.”
That’s good enough for me, and enough of a defining limit to settle my peace of mind. Though the woman (..assumptions again but…c’mon really…) did run around town in fetish wear so who the hell knows what she’s going to think of as necessary for the job. I’ve been waiting this whole time for the rug to get yanked out from under me and so far? It hasn’t. I don’t see any candid cameras. It’s not April. So I have to kind of assume that Robin? Is being legit. That the rest of this is legit. And that it’s not going to be some weird freaky cult crap I’m about to get involved with. (…please don’t let it be some weird freaky cult…)
“But he’s not even really being active. Just encouraging other people to be. The warehouse where we met. Jewelry store last night. They’re doing shady crap, ob-vee, but they’re not doing anything.”
Which is super weird, right? It ought to be for something. I just haven’t been able to figure out what that might possibly be just yet. I’d say maybe there wasn’t anything. That there didn’t necessarily have to be some menacing, over-arching plot except I just don’t think he’d be bothering otherwise. I happen to know for a fact that the Douchebag doesn’t do anything unless there’s something way better in it for him. For now though, I can let myself lose mental sight of the Great Lack of a Caper Caper, and focus on my fabulous door prizes. Which is good, because what he’s told me about losing my window’s actually set the most determined look on my face yet.
“Do we get our own jingly ringtones? Like Kim Possible? Or Go Go Power raaa…nevermind.”
Approximations based on his assessment of…that’s a really out of the way method of saying he checked me out. A lot. Not that what I’m wearing is exactly concealing, except the cloak and hood and my head doesn’t really need measuring. It’s not fat or anything. His admitting that he checked me out makes me let out a staccato ‘hah!’ Though, I mean. That could be good or…bad? I don’t know who that is under there. He could be old (…he doesn’t sound old…) and a perv (…come on it was totally flattering…) And another, more enthusiastic ‘haha!’ for the bike. Jeez, he really is the Gear Fairy. Instruction manual? Pah. And technically I was grinning from the bike potential before he actually gets to scolding me about manuals, or questioning whether or not I will. I’m just scooping up the rest of the gear off the back of his own motorcycle like now I’m worried about the change of heart.
“Just debating whether or not I could whack you with my shiny new stick and make even more candy fall out. Reading. Hah. Life’s too short for that kind of nonsense.”
PSA, kids. Life is not too short for that kind of thing, and learning is not nonsense. Especially if you’re the daughter of a recently, supposedly, mostly reformed drug addict and a career criminal that only reforms himself long enough to break promises and parole, and aren’t especially interested in growing up to be a criminal or a drug addict. I will be reading the manual because what the hell good is a suit full of gadgets and gizmos aplenty if you don’t know what they are, or how to get them to work? Just. Not tonight.
“No peeking, sorta tall, dark and loomy!”
I’m bolting with my haul, and while I don’t intend to change anywhere near here? I’m definitely definitely changing and he’s got a so far uncanny ability to turn up where I don’t want anyone to turn up. I’m already around the corner and out of sight before I remember to tack on the acoustically muffled.
“And thank you!”