by Michele | Oct 25, 2019 | Chronicles
Batman: Lately I can count the number of things going right in my world on one hand. It has seemed like a never ending streak of the worst luck possible. League of Assassins come to Gotham. Joker goes on an even more insane spree than normal. Bruce died. Don’t forget that the entire mess with the Cave, between it turning against us and being infiltrated while that happened. At this point keeping track of the things going right in my world are a lot easier than things going wrong. At least Barbara is back. I’m going to hang my cowl on that for the time being.
It’s almost reassuring to know that I’m not the only one having that sort of time of life lately.
Shiera thought she was alone, but ‘Batman’ has a way of sneaking up on people. The apartment is in only slightly better shape than her House is. Though I think that has more to do with the lack of a full scale war happening on the front lawn. Damien and I being there tipped the scales in the girl’s favor, whether she likes to acknowledge that or not. She wouldn’t have known they were coming, for one. Nor been able to take them all, by herself, for another. Clearly Carter hadn’t, which is plain to see even for an untrained eye. Yes, he put up a fight, but the numbers game was simply too much of a factor.
“Same squad that attacked you,” I’m just confirming what she already knows of course, but I’m trying to establish something here. “They’re called several things, but the moniker they use most is the Suicide Squad. Officially speaking they’re a rogue group of mercenaries that work off the books for whatever government pays them. Unofficially they’re a select number of meta-humans that the U.S. Government employs to look like Mercenaries. Most of their number are criminals, plucked from society and sentenced to long term imprisonment for their crimes. They’re given years off their sentences for work in this black books group.”
“As I was trying to tell you before. They’re not necessarily after you. They want your weapons. The business on the news. This War in Kahndaq, that’s ground to a stalemate? It started because they raided Kahndaq for the metal you and Carter are using for your weapons. I was approaching you, because you seemed like the reasonable one.”
Shiera: Better or worse is subjective, as far as the apartment is concerned. No, there’s no current war on the lawn, or lack thereof, but it looks like the site of a battle that’s happened, and then moved on. Neither one of us actually lives here, but it serves as a crash pad on occasion and storage if nothing else. More or less the summary of all the property that belongs to one or the other of us, or to one of our prior incarnations that we can lay claim to through a line of inheritance. They also function as alternate identities.
Ordinarily I wouldn’t have simply bailed on someone that was trying to help me, as I realized the two not actively trying to stuff me into a van had been, but Carter needed me or else he would have probably already been home. By the time I’d arrived at the downtown apartment there was no sign of him. Except maybe the blood splatter that I had my fingertips hovering millimeters over when I’m interrupted. Maybe it’s not his, but I have to assume at least some of the carnage across the front room had to have been.
The wings weren’t out when he came in, but the moment I hear a noise, or a voice in this case they appear. Not quite instantaneous, but still very quickly and in a much less defensive posture than I’d arched them in the house.
“Ordinarily, you’d be right.”
Carter’s many things, but chief among them is hot headed. He would have taken someone walking in unannounced as a threat. Or even announced, depending on posture and discussion. I just don’t know how reasonable I feel right now. I’d listened though, instead of attacking, though the wings are still folded down my back as I leave the smear of blood and stoop to shuffle around torn and littered papers on the floor. The desk is still mostly intact, if they were looking for something as he says, I guess it makes sense that they’d turn the place upside down. Sloppily, there couldn’t have been much time.
“There’s no getting them without getting us, I don’t think. At least not these. Why now?”
Maybe someone is more informed than I am, though at the mention of Khandaq a look of surprise and recognition had flown across my face. I’ll never be a person at this point who can insist there’s not a reason and a timing behind everything.
Batman: The ‘crime scene’ is such that I’m pretty sure even Damien could tell what had happened here. They were here first and were searching through Carter’s apartment, turned storage flat, for the loot they were after. Carter Hall was either alerted to it or happened upon it. The damage to this place is extensive, but not nearly as wide-spread as what was done to the home these two ‘Live In.’ Confined as it, I’d deduce that the Squad here simply overcame Carter through an extreme use of tranquilizers. Which is what they’d been aiming at Shiera, until Damien went kam-fuckin-kaza on them.
“Despite my many … misgivings… about Kahndaq’s dictator slash champion, Black Adam has been very adept at keeping the secrets of his homeland exactly that; a secret. I suspect that someone has been aware of the Metal’s existence for a long time. Personally, I can tell you that elements of the United States have been aware of it since the nineteen forties. However believe in the mystical side of our world was looked upon with a scant eye, even with people faster than speeding bullets or leaping small buildings and whatnot. Recently that has changed in America, I would propose the same could be said for elsewhere in the world.”
“Regardless of whether the knowledge of and interest in things of a mystical bent, I believe that the answer of ‘Why now’ is actually tied to the Alien origins, rather their mystical properties. It is my current hypothesis that Nth metal is being targeted currently because of what it can do, more so than what it is or where it comes from. If you’re after specifics? I’m talking about killing people like Black Adam, for good.”
“Which brings me to right now and something you just said,” the Batman doesn’t need to move or use gestures to make a point, so when I actually do it’s to simply highlight something. Right now, I’m reaching out from beneath the cape of mine to point at her Wings very pointedly. “You said they don’t get those without you, that may be true but once they have you do they need to keep you to keep them?”
“Personally, having seen you fight. I’d remove the you part from the Metal. If you want to find Carter Hall, we need to move very quickly. The tracker that I put on those men who attacked your House, won’t stay undetected for ever.”
Shiera: Of the two of us, Carter and myself, I am infinitely less impulsive but at the moment I’m finding it very hard to stay still. Agitation could probably be excused given the circumstances, however, if I actually felt the need to explain myself. Which I do not. As I listen to Batman’s explanation, I’m moving through the apartment, picking up a fringed and beaded dress with a little more reverence and care than I’d shown the papers I was rifling through, and trying to find the remnants of the garment bag it had been preserved in before the intruders had arrived.
“Nth metal. Yes.”
The word’s right, and falls into place in my head like a weight, or maybe more correctly the last tumbler on a lock and I look a little far away before gritting my teeth and turning from the dismantled closet to face him again.
“If they were just after the base material… no. I suppose not.”
We’ve never been sure if the metal. The Nth metal. Functioned as it did for us, because it is us or if that’s what it could do for anyone. If maybe our minds made the shapes, rather than just controlling their actions. But the salient and immediate point is that the harnesses, which make up the wings and armor, aren’t exactly removable like a coat, and I rather doubt anyone would live through the experience once it’s been fused.
Another reason to hurry.
“Lets go.”
There’s really not much more to it than that, is there? Yes, I have more questions but priorities say they can wait.
Batman: “They’re definitely after the base metal,” this is another point that I really don’t have to argue with her about, one of the few points I happen to know for certain. “Put frankly, they wouldn’t have even known about the wings, if you’d have come with me originally. They just knew about Carter’s theft from the Museum in Cairo. The Mace. Maybe some other trinkets. The moment you brought those out…”
No, I’m not actually placing blame. Not on Carter or Shiera at least. Had Damien not shown up, had things gone differently, perhaps we could have lead the Squad astray with some bauble of metal. That is now how the cards were played though and now this is what we have to deal with. Clean up, in fact. Which is why I’m equally accepting of Shiera’s transition to accepting my help this time around. Bruce was always right about this, he’d taught me long ago that if you present people with the proper case -and- demonstrate it’s veracity through your own actions, the truth wins out. I fought to help her, I’ve presented a case that is free of my own opinions (as much as I can) and allows her to draw her own. Now she believes me, at least enough to take the next step.
Not a word is spoken to Shiera, just a touch of my cowl at about ear-level. Then a swirling blue-white glimmer appeared in the open space behind me in the shadows. How had I gotten here? How had I snuck up on her during a state of heightened anxiety? The answer appears in one of Zatanna’s magical portals. Through which we step directly in to more shadows. Only these are in a much bigger place. A hangar to be precise. One that is currently filled with men and women in uniform that work towards one purpose: Loading Carter on to a private cargo plane. Hard to miss the carter-sized stasis pod being loaded in the giant bay doors by soldiers. Even harder to miss the problem between us and them: Suicide Squad members, Captain Boomerang, Deadshot and a caldre of soldiers that are all being directed by a very large, scary looking guy in soldier garb of his own.
The portal put us in the shadows, behind cargo containers and near the furthest reach of the hangar. “We need to disable the plane, release Carter and get then evac. The longer we stay the more out numbered we’re going to get. I’ve arranged for a distraction, but it’s not going to buy us much, if any, time once they see you again.”
“Since he’s your asset, we can do this your way if you’ve got an idea. Alternatively… I can call in my distraction, and I’ll cover for you, either way, you’ll need to get back to this exact point to catch the portal out of here.”
Shiera: There’s no small amount of my head that wants to explore that point further. What do they want to do with it? Something just as simple as killing the equivalent of a god on this Earth? There’s more to the metal than that, and possibly even more than we know still beyond. The connection that’s driven us to find these pieces, and the blanks that have been filled in when we have. Carter’s experienced that more than I have, but the piece that’s currently attached to my body had been a part of me before. The missing time that had slid into place like putting on a glove. We knew there was more of them. We’d actually been preparing another little ‘excursion’ before the attacks today, it’s why Carter had been in this apartment at all. Preparing. I’d done the grave robbing in London solo, but this time we’d intended to go together.
There’s nothing that I need from this apartment, not now at least, and there’s almost a sort of recognition beneath my skin as the portal springs up. I don’t think he’s the one that made it, the man doesn’t exactly scream ‘magic’ so much as skulking unholy terror if you’re on the wrong side of him. Which I suppose is its own different kind of magic. No chatter, just purposeful steps, which shift onto my toes into something more akin to sneaking as we slide into the shadows. I don’t hiss, so much as bare teeth and make myself breathe slowly as I watch what’s going on in front of us.
“I’m going to tell him you said that, after. He’ll love it.”
The dry sarcasm doesn’t last long, mostly because there’s something a lot more important at hand. Like not simply doing the equivalent of handing over more of exactly what they were after in the first place. There’s a shake of my red head, as I ease back on my heels.
“Once upon a time, battle tactics was my thing, but I’m probably a little rusty.”
The plane would seem like a priority to me. Otherwise they just take off with half the prize, and then deal with the rest of the problem. So the order he’s already listed should work. I have no idea what shape Carter’s in, but if he’s even have conscious he’ll probably become a very aggressive problem for them once he’s freed. Probably would like this plan, too. Smash. Grab. Bolt.
“Do it. I’m ready as I’m likely to be. I should be able to shred the plane’s engines on the way in.”
The wings don’t just work wonders on skin, after all.
Batman: A very direct nod of the cowled head is her response, I’m already keying the microphone, “Penny-One, bring the thunder.”
Very good, Sir. I must say, flying a drone is simply not as fun as the real McCoy, but I do quite enjoy the thrill of the hunt so-to-speak.
“We really need to get you our more, Penny-One,” the shake of my head in response to the voice in my ear is quite different than the one Shiera had gotten only moments before. A small ear-plug is offered to Shiera, as I’m stepping past her once more. “Wait for it. You’ll know what you’re waiting for.”
She won’t need to wait long actually. I’m dipping in to those shadows with a flutter of that cape she’d been admiring. Concealing myself in those shadows is something I do very well. Being Batman isn’t exactly what I wanted to do my whole life, but I definitely learned to love being able to blend in as Nightwing. It’s something that the Robins never get to do. Ever wonder why very few people are ever shooting directly at Batman? Your answer is the little Boys next to him in Bright Red and Yellow. Targets. Moving, Talking, Sassing, Smart Alleck, Targets. Look no one that knows Bruce would call him a saint, but he is right more often than not.
Que the Distraction. It comes in very simple terms. Taking the form of a Bat-Drone. Piloted by none other than Sir Alfred Pennyworth. It comes in hot and loaded. The attack is without warning and you betcha it makes for a brilliant distraction. With the air fire coming at the mouth of the open hangar, it pins the soldiers in with them naturally thinking that they are fighting this surprise battle on a single front. In front of them, since there was no natural way for someone to be attacking them from behind.
As Shiera does whatever it is she has in mind to ‘deal with the plane,’ she’ll no doubt have a good vantage point from above. Allowing her to see several little glimmers as I launch numerous batarangs out of the shadows. One specifically aimed at Deadshot‘s back. Hey, a fight has a winner and a loser. Hitting someone in the back, while they’re distracted? Assures us of not being drug in to a protracted battle with the deadliest man in the room immediately. The second hits the floor right next to the flashy Captain Boomerang. The two batarangs explode the second they make impact and Shiera will see a spray of taser wire envelope the two jerks.
That leaves a throng of soldiers and that massive one that was directing traffic. “Boomerang is down. Deadshot’s suit is insulated, it will absorb most of that. We’ve got maybe a minute before he joins the action.”
Shiera: Penny-One? Somehow it seems like an incongruous call sign, because I assume he’s speaking to someone and not himself. The sanity of anyone dressing up like a bat and skulking through portals and shadows might be questionable to many people, but I’m simply not one of them. It would be a hair hypocritical, even before you factor in what I still feel to be moments of my own mental instability. It actually got worse after finding the Nth metal that makes up my wings, but I had more memories and more lifetimes to contend with. There’s an almost terse nod of my head, as I take the offered plug and fit it into my ear.
It’s one thing to fight in response, to react to a situation as it rises around you with no other choice. I’m finding it’s another matter entirely to go in like this. To proactively attack. I’m not, in this lifetime, the one that used to be Kendra Saunders, a trained fighter. So what I have to go on is a sort of muscle memory and so far it’s served me fine, but I also know there’s the possibility that it won’t. I haven’t really taken the time to study and practice because there just hasn’t been any. Time. If we can reasonably expect to have people continue to come after us though…
It happens fast, and it happens loudly. The sound of the attack amplified in the enclosed space, bouncing off the walls and drowning it in distracting cacophony of shouts and fire. Everyone seems to be looking towards that, or maybe some stray ones towards the suddenly down members of the Suicide Squad, which hopefully means no one will be looking at me. Or firing on me, as I launch myself into the air. I don’t fly nearly as quickly as some of the costumed superheroes you see on the news seem to, but in an enclosed space like this and over a short distance there’s probably not much discernible difference.
I land on the wing of the plane, it should shield me from view at least in part, while I curve my wings downwards and then twist, driving lethal pinions into the metal beneath me. Testing mundane material against the Nth metal’s magic. I’d briefly thought about going for the engine, but I’d have to likely destroy multiple and I think it might still be capable of motion without one. You cannot fly with a broken wing.
Batman: From Shiera’s vantage point it is not that difficult to see Captain Boomerang. He had taken up station near the loading pylons, where I’d pointed her as soon as we arrived. His colorful suit makes him stand out normally, but right now the volts coursing through him that make him do this weird dance as he jitterbugs across the floor? That’ll probably give Shiera all the real view she needs to know that at least one of the creeps she fought at her Home is out of action. If she scans up near the doorway, where Deadshot took a sniper’s position in order to shoot down the drone Penny-One is piloting? She’ll see that he’s similarly down too, but she didn’t need visual confirmation. I’d already told her these important details. It just depends on if she trusts me enough to not waist that time.
Nothing actually stops her from perching on the plane, because nothing actually noticed her. Most of the soldiers had been focused outside the Hangar. Deadshot‘s choice of vantages took him out of the line of sight from those in front of him. It’s only Captain Boomerang‘s going down like a sack of potatoes that raises any red flags. The men nearest Carter’s little pod react immediately to raise the alarm, but again… not to call out about a bird-lady flying above them.
The reaction to Shiera comes after the sound of metal on metal shrieking gives the Mercenaries somewhere to look other than outside. Nth metal isn’t just naturally stronger than the plane’s aerospace engineered carbon-aluminum. It also happens to get a little bump from being magical too. Shredding through the plane’s wing takes only seconds, creating massive damage that will definitely cause them issues in taking off.
What’s more is that as she’s doing this, Shiera does for me what Alfred had done before. In her destruction of the wing, she’s become a distraction. The men who were working with Captain Boomerang are quick to use Carter’s containment pod as cover. Equally quick are they to start taking aim at her, their training tells them that there is only one reason for a Hawk Lady to be attacking them as they’re loading a Hawk Dude up for incarceration. Let’s be honest, they’re not stupid. She won’t do anything massively destructive, not when they’re putting the object Hawk Lady is there to save.
They do not, however, know about the Batman. I’ve been doing this a very long time and working with a team mate is literally how I grew up. The moment their attention is stolen, I take advantage of it. Leaping from atop a row of cargo containers, the ‘Batman’ descends upon them like a Hawk himself. Only I don’t have any shiny metal appendages to give myself away. The nearest one is down before his brain puts together the feel of a boot at the back of his head, being the reason for his face suddenly accelerating in the pod itself. It’s actually that man’s rifle that strikes the one to the left, just under the left knee with the sound of a crack that is almost as loud as the gun-fire. Before he’s finished screaming, alerting the others, a grapple shoots from beneath the cape in to the man on the third of the four corners. He’s pulled so suddenly that his rifle sprays bullets harmlessly over Shiera’s head.
It’s the fourth of the mercenaries that has the unfortunate luck of being the last in line. Leaving me the least amount of time to neutralize before raising anymore of an alarm that has already been caused. A swift tug of the grappling hook, jerks Merc #3 around and against the Pod itself. The kinetic force of which is used similarly to a sling shot, allowing me to springboard up, once more over the pod and give Merc #4 a different target. His rifle sounds a number of shots as they spray wildly up at the shadowed visage of the giant bat in the air. His scream is cut short by a a kick driving his teeth together with another resounding crack, that is followed by the cape and bat enveloping him. When I rise from the fourth Merc’s body, he’s clearly not getting back up either.
Unfortunately while satisfying and decisive, the interior gunshots have drawn the attention of the only other Soldier that really stood out. The unknown soldier isn’t someone you’d have seen on the news. He is only someone you recognize if you’ve done something so wrong he’s come to you as a nightmare. The literal boogeyman of the spook world. The moment we have his attention our comm-links go live,
Bloody ‘Ell, get the fook out o’ there, that’s Rick Flag.
Honestly? I shoot Shiera a little look and a shrug. Because I haven’t a clue who Penny-One is going on about myself, but I know better than to doubt Alfred when he’s going on about someone like this. Add in the fact that Deadshot should be rousing any second now. I go right to work on the locking mechanism.
“Shiera, buy me thirty seconds and I’ll get Carter out of this,” because as much as I’d love to have her use those wings on this Pod, something tells me if it was that easy to shred like the plane had been then they wouldn’t think they were safe storing Carter inside of it to begin with.
Rick Flag doesn’t have super powers. Not really. He’s a lot more like me than he is like these Hawk people. The difference is? The man’s a lot more like Bruce, with an actual super-powered gift of somehow getting other soldier-types to buy in to his decision making. Which is to say that moment he caught on to Shiera and I being here? He started to martial the troops away from Alfred’s distraction. So we’re not looking at one simple Soldier. We’re looking at all of them, being commanded by Flag to start focusing on us. He’s going to try to pin us down, neutralize us long enough for Deadshot to get back in the fight.
Shiera: At my home, they’d said they needed me alive. With how little time’s passed, I’d assume that’s still the case and that makes me just that little extra dash of brave in how I proceed. Not so brave that I think there may not be a sliding scale of how much they want/need me compared to how much trouble and destruction I’m causing, particularly since they already have Carter in custody for the moment. A body can also take a great deal of damage and still be technically living, as well. Consequently, I don’t risk standing still and testing how far I can go. I’ve no sooner destroyed one wing, then I’m moving again and rather unnecessarily using my wings to boost me up further onto the top of the fuselage and punching rows of holes in it as I go.
I don’t know who the voice in my ear is, other than the moniker ‘Penny-One’, or know what qualifications he has to need listening to, and the name ‘Rick Flag’ doesn’t mean anything to me. When you’re in the middle of a fight, and someone says something like that, however… there’s an answering shrug of my shoulders before I hop down the other side of the plane, continuing to drag and shred with my wings. Disable the plane. Retrieve Carter. Get back to Point A. And now, buy the Batman 30 seconds so he can accomplish bullet point number two.
We’ve got what I have to assume is an advantage that our opposition is coming from in front, if this weren’t a hanger maybe we could even bottleneck them. But it is, so I need a wider attack to keep an entire group of soldiers from interfering with Batman’s current task. That starts with a spin, pivoting on my feet and flinging out a wing which dislodges a salvo of razor feathers. A twist in the opposite direction does it again. I’m not necessarily trying to hit anyone but after what I’d just done to their plane, I’m hoping the soldiers may have the good sense to try to avoid being skewered.
Batman: If only we had someone that was an expert in Hacker-work. This would be an opportune time for that person to be tasked with doing this work for us. If only. Instead what we’ve got is the fourth best computer in the Bat Family at this stuff, having to do it on site. While having eleven different soldiers taking aim and one of those happens to be someone that scared the piss out of Alfred from long-distance. Score one for improvisational battle-planning, Dick. I’m so good at this.
Truth be told, I’d actually be impressed. Genuinely. If I were even looking up to give witness to Shiera’s awesomeness. Whether it’s some sort of inner mechanic of a past life coming out in the heat of battle or what, when I do look up it’s only because of Alfred once again making a noise over the comm-link. This one sounds a lot like a gasp-guffaw, that I’d only heard when someone managed to get Damien to do something kind and generous. The kid just isn’t wired that way.
There was eleven hostiles at the Hangar doors. One of which was Rick Flag himself. Not counting either of the two temporarily downed members of the Suicide Squad. When I look up from my work using my costume’s fiber-optic connections to wire in to the containment pod? I see a litany of them being drug back in to cover by their squad-mates. The front of the Hangar looks like a bomb went off. Silvery shrapnel is literally everywhere the eye can see.
“Impressive.”
“Impressive.”
The compliment comes in concert, as Alfred chimes in at the same time. She essentially did exactly what I asked, by buying me time and sending the entire squad floundering for cover. The -problem- with that, is that they were already behind cover. It just happened to be facing out, while the attack was from within. Shiera’s aim might have benefited from Alfred’s earlier distraction, but the attack she made was just short of impossible. Half of Rick Flag‘s squad is down and Flag himself is caught right across the left eye with one of those feathers.
Flag is absolutely not an idiot like a good number of confetti bad guys. He might just be the deadliest person in the room on any given day. Despite half of his troops being taken out in a single swoop of her wings, he’s already moving on to a new plan. His men aren’t going to be an easy target like that again. They’re busy pulling themselves inside the doors, so that Alfred’s drone can’t attack them, while also using their own men to cover against Shiera too. From their vantage points they bunker down and start spraying bullets everywhere.
Seems rather silly. Unless you consider the one thing I said about a minute ago. Something that Flag has already did the math on too. He only needs to delay us long enough for Deadshot to get on his feet. Which happens to be something that the man is working on right now.
Luckily for Shiera and Carter? I don’t have to hack anything trickier than a door, because this would all be going sideways fast. A click, followed by a hisssssss of pressurized air being released is the sound you only want to hear when you’re talking about a door unlocking. Once the pod unseals, it’s time to go and by go? I mean…one hand is literally grabbing Carter Hall a shoulder and the other is dispersing gas pellets out all around me. They’re shooting indescriminately, but Deadshot won’t be once he’s in the fight. So I need him to not have me or the large Hawk Man as potential targets.
“Don’t inhale the pellets. It’s mercantile gas. Throws off heat tracking. Get to the evac point. We’re leaving.”
Shiera: From an emotional point of view, it should perhaps bother me exactly how effective that actually was. It doesn’t, because it needed to be done, and this is a them or us situation. With the way the bullets have started to spray they wouldn’t probably have shed a tear, because I’ve very likely now pushed into the ‘forget alive’ category. Logically, though, I don’t need to add a heaping death tally on top of the reason they already want us. That’s why the first two flurries aren’t followed up by even more, despite my having plenty more Nth metal crafted feathers where that came from.
“And clearly pretty effective, too.”
The explosion of deadly metal doesn’t simply stay in place, either. I’m not about to give them any of what they came here for, if I can help it. It’s magic, and for whatever reason it’s linked to, and almost behaves like, an extension of my soul. As the soldiers retreat from the next attack that should be coming from flared metal wings, instead the quills that had been flung at them before fly through the air once more. Reversed, and back into place. I could do it all again, but now they’re firing indiscriminately and I don’t want to test how many I can deflect or avoid. It isn’t just me here being shot at.
I may not hear the hiss of the door releasing over everything else that’s going on in the hanger right now, but it’s an easy assumption to make that he’s completed that particular task. Otherwise I assume we wouldn’t be going yet. How long has it been? He said we had a minute. It must be near to that by now. I take to the air again, just not moving as quickly this time because I don’t want to leave them behind. In the air, bullets sprayed towards me won’t also be sprayed at Batman, and Carter.
“I can carry you both…”
I don’t though, I’m used to one man with a very prickly sort of prideful disposition. Gods know I don’t need to alienate another one, but the offer’s still out there in case something happens. I can retreat to where we came from at the same time either way.
Batman: This isn’t actually your standard type of retreat, but then nothing about this has been standard has it? Normally a retreat involves simply making a rush for your evacuation point, but we don’t want to do anything in a straight line. All we need is to give Deadshot something to lock in on and he’ll have a shot. What actually happens is more of a zig-zag pattern. One that doesn’t give Shiera an answer right away.
Not until we’re behind the cargo containers like before. Despite the gunshots I can hear (thank you sensory enhancement tech in the suit) Flag barking orders. The men that weren’t injured are being pooled in to three teams. Two teams of two are sent searching for us, with the third team being put on rescue duty for the men that are down. So far I’m not hearing anything about fatalities but I’m not exactly sure how much Shiera cared about that, having seen what she did with those wings.
If our method of escape was anything but the instantaneous pull of a magic portal? I don’t think this would end as well as it’s gone up to this point. I’m also not sure what pandora’s box we’ve opened by utilizing magic like this. But I’m rationalizing now, as I had before, this Nth metal is considered magic by most of our world. These people who involved normal non-magic faring people like myself in this, opened the door. I’m merely making use of the tools at my disposal. Yeah, it sounds like bullshit in my head too.
The very moment that we’re through the portal, this time, Shiera is getting the chance to meet someone new. “Shiera, this is Alfred Pennyworth and Helena Sandsmark. They’re going to take Carter and put him back together again. You’re welcome to stay with him. You’re safe for the time being. Flag is going to put my presence in that skirmish together with the one at your home. N.O.W.H.E.R.E. is very logically going to make me their biggest clue to finding you. They’ll start with Gotham.”
“Which is why I brought you here. To Coast City. Welcome to Titan Tower, Shiera you’re our first visitor. Please do me a favor and once Carter is awake, keep him from breaking anything. We’ve not yet even had an opportunity to christen the place.”
You might actually call the look on my face a little bit smug. It just has nothing to do with the lavish Titan Tower, because really the place is only half-built and partially functional. This look? Is directly in response to the look on Shiera’s face when Helena Sandsmark scoops Carter Hall up with one arm and maneuvers him toward the half-functional medical facility. While Alfred Pennyworth starts working field medic magic on Carter. Neither of them seem the least bit phased by any of this.
“Oh, don’t worry. She can carry you both, if you’re feeling faint.” Yeah and -that- look on Shiera’s face is the same one I had when she made the same offer in the Hangar. Smirk.
Shiera: No small part of me had wanted to simply grab hold of both men and get us where we were going faster, but I’m fortunately capable of letting other people do for themselves. As it turns out, there was no need for me to hurry us along regardless, and I’d spent the very brief time getting myself back to the entrance, while keeping a hawk’s eye out for any pressing danger to my impromptu companion or Carter. It’s a distraction I actually appreciate more than maybe I should, given the situation.
As abruptly as we arrived, we’re gone. I’ll marvel at the amount of destruction and chaos caused in a very short time later. Wherever we are now has my immediate attention, the people more than the setting.
“Ah. Penny-One. A pleasure. Thank you for your help.”
In advance, and maybe a little terse but its still a thanks. Seemingly out of immediate danger, I have more focus available, and less adrenaline, to see me through actually looking over Carter. It’s never a pleasant thing to see someone you care about so still, but I’m finding it even harder right now. Tamping down my panic, I tear green eyes away from them and back to Batman. I’ve seen him die far too many times to want to experience it again so soon after we’d found each other once more. Or at all.
I let out a tired wuff of air that could be a laugh, or maybe a resigned sigh.
“I’ll do my best, but smashing is terribly second nature for him.”
My head tilts to one side and my answer had become almost absentminded as I watch Helena move the bulk that is my other half.
“Mmn. I should hope so. I don’t weigh that much.”
It’s been months and months since I felt like I wasn’t the strangest character in a room. There’s a sort of… ease of tension I hadn’t been aware of in finding I’m not the most interesting anymore. Or maybe it’s just the lethargy following what feels like days of violence and stress.
by Michele | Jul 13, 2019 | Uncategorized
Dick: “So. You’re heading off with Slade Wilson. To track down a part of your History. This is where I’m supposed to ask you if that’s a good idea.”
Things have not exactly gone according to plan for me of late. The investigation in to Bruce’s death has hit a wall at nearly every pass. Given the combine ability of every Bat-family member involved, it is nigh-unto impossible to calculate the odds that we’d all be getting no where fast. Yet, here we are. Made all the more confounding by the ramp-up of Nowhere. Which has now played in to Damien getting himself in trouble with them. A fact that brought them in to Gotham. Damien doesn’t even realize his mistake there, with the Princess from Outer Space. He’s essentially erased a decades long agreement between Black Canary, the original version, with Nowhere to leave Gotham effectively out of their crusade.
Oh and let’s not forget. Hawk-Lady literally flew away, while I was stuck dealing with the after-math of an all out assault on her. Damien’s involvement there was absolutely baffling and with her ‘getting away,’ I’m left back at the basics tracking the Hawk-people and their ‘magic metal’ down. I’m not even sure how Damien got involved with that, but… I do know who to talk to about being in charge while I was gone. I’m looking at her.
Or rather, I’m looking at the person I thought was going to be in charge. She’s apparently got something to do too. “Dinah, do I really have to tell you how preposterous it is that Slade fucking Wilson shows up. With the kind of information he’s throwing to you. At exactly the moment we need you in Gotham most? Much less with his hat in hands and willing to help you with Ollie?”
“…and Tim is letting you just… go off on your own?”
Dinah: “I wouldn’t call it with so much as Deathstroke adjacent. And when is anything we do a technical good idea?”
Because on paper, going to a concrete war with mobsters and psychopaths toting guns and acid while wearing lingerie and boots sounds like an absolutely terrible one. Fighting an army of criminals with minimal, no matter how skilled, backup to call on is essentially in the same boat. We could go on to talk about well armored Halloween costumes and not sleeping while maintaining double lives. The list goes on. And it doesn’t stop a single one of us. So really, the determining characteristic of whether or not an idea is ‘good’ or ‘bad’ in these parts seems to come down to whether or not you’re the one doing it.
“And no. You really do not. Why the hell would you even think that I haven’t run all that through the over-thinker a time or six? It boils down to what it always boils down to, and I shouldn’t have to tell you that. It’s about what’s in it, or not in it, for him.”
Clearly he’s been talking to his brother. Or alternately getting into the computer, though I have to assume it’s more of the former. There’s a pause in my unceremonious packing of a duffel bag, aka cramming clothing in a wad into its interior, and a puff of breath to get blonde hair out of my face as I look over my shoulder at Dick. The last time we had a one on one conversation I had the distinct impression that he was trying to get a certain answer out of me, and not listening to the words that I actually had in his quest to get them. I also ended up very annoyed, and so here I am. Debating already if I want to instigate a fight or to not give anyone else a reason to try and interfere in all this. Especially when I’d managed to get out of one round of this with his brother better than I’d expected.
“Y’know. I really can’t decide if I want to coo at you over actually saying out loud that you need me, or go the righteous indignation route for using ‘Tim’ and ‘let’ in a sentence. Tim wasn’t invited, and hopefully will stay busy with his protege and not try to tag along anyway.”
Neither is anyone else, for that matter. But I think he’d gotten the message well enough. Gotham doesn’t need to be involved in this, and no matter how much I might insist that Gotham is as much my home as it is any of theirs, that one little gene makes for a line. A line that also was, up until lately, an unspoken boundary around the city. One that doesn’t need to get any more blurry than it already is. Besides. I’m actually quite good at identifying my personal quirks and foibles, and I know I can’t sit on this particular situation any longer.
“They’re threatening family. So I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth. That’s how you get bit. So why are you here, exactly?”
Dick: “We both know, maybe better than any two people have a right to, that there is absolutely no such thing as Deathstroke adjacent. The man utilizes over ninety percent of his brain. Most people never use more than ten percent. Me and you? Forty, tops. He’s next level and he’s got some sort of an angle in this. Engaging him, even adjacently if it were possible, without knowing his angle? Is like hugging a hornet nest with the hope of not being stung.”
By this point in the conversation I’ve switched from hanging out at the doorway, to actually making sure she has to see me by crossing in to her line of vision. I want her to see that I’m not in the Batman’s costume. Nor am I here with that stone cold face of distance. I don’t want her to do this and I’ve come without a mask so that she can read my features and know the truth. First rule of engagement with Dinah, pick your battle wisey. Second rule is to choose the right weapon.
“A lot of research was done on those implants, Dinah. Tim told you everything he could find, but did he tell you that Bruce knew about all of this?”
Clues within a clue. I’m giving away something for free; Tim didn’t go behind Dinah’s back to give me a total debriefing of their discussion. At the same time I’m also laying on the table that I know more about that aspect of it than Tim could have uncovered from notes on one of Bruce’s files. Bait, that’s what a comment like that is and I’m not an idiot, so I know that Dinah knows exactly what I’m doing. Which is why I have to throw something else out there.
“I know my little brothers, Dinah. As good as you are. You couldn’t stop Damien or Tim from being Damien or Tim, without permanent damage. Maybe not even then. So. Yeah, I’m asking if Tim let you go. You’re choosing to take it as my saying he could prevent you, but I mean it as a question of whether he is allowing you to go without a struggle of some sort? No argument? No drones keeping tabs on you?”
This is the second time I’ve felt the twitch of the detective side of my brain screaming at me over this topic. Unlike last time when I couldn’t put my finger on it, this time … I came a little better armed for the discussion. Pick your battles -and- your weapons, remember? “One of the most frustrating things I’ve dealt with since getting in to this life? Is this whole ‘Family’ idea. Bruce hated it, you know? I mean he thought of all of us as family, don’t get me wrong, but he thought of the whole idea of us being a ‘Family’ as a bad idea. Alfred pushed him in to it. He knew Bruce needed an anchor. Something to keep him from crossing that line. A tether of sorts that would hold the darkness at bay. Originally that ‘Family’ started with me, Dinah.”
“I’ve been the one pushing this family agenda since day one. I’ve fought for it. Pushed it. Kept it alive. Time and time again, Bruce would pony up to the table and tell us all to go away. Or worse, he’d put the weight of the entire family on his shoulders. Lock the rest of us out and go cowboy on some issue to protect us. Time and time again, until I had enough of it. Until I couldn’t take it any more and walked away.”
“Who drug me back? Who made the big speech about doing my part and protecting my family when they needed me most? Spoiler Alert: It was you. Now you are going to go maverick, with Slade Wilson and you think. Wait. Here’s the Clown Prince of Jokes. You actually think that I’m going to let you go off half-cocked when this City… and this Family needs you most?”
“So. I’m asking you. Seriously. Did Robin give you permission to go?”
Dinah: “So if you have to hug that hornet’s nest, you go in with a suit and do it at arm’s length. There’s any number of easy angles, which means that they’re probably not the correct, or only, ones. Whatever it actually is, he’s motivated.”
Information is a good one, and even if they hadn’t started messing with people that I care about and pushed the issue, information would have eventually led me down this path. Knowledge. You can’t brag about knowing yourself, only to then find out that you really don’t, and not have that stick in your craw. I might have been able to hold off a lot longer, go about it in more long game ways and taken time to gather resources that were not homicidal mercenaries, but it was still only a matter of time before I did it nonetheless. That was when it was just about me. But it’s not anymore. It’s about Ollie. It’s about Roy. It’s about that blurred line. Because if they’re targeting non-metas, no matter their reasoning for that targeting, then who’s next? Tim? Lian? Dick and Alfred?
There’s a very high probability that this is a trap. I’m not stupid, I’m not even especially trusting. That’s why I’m still alive. And if it is, their choice of bait has only made me even more certain that I’m going to make them pay for this. And it’s going to hurt. And it’s going to stick and the whole damn world is going to know about it.
“No… but I made an educated guess.”
And I was even butt-hurt about it for a minute or two when I realized it. Those minutes weren’t even when Red Robin was giving me the information that he had in the first place, so much as after my initial discussion with Slade. There wasn’t much that went on here that Bruce hadn’t known about, but knowing him made it absolutely impossible to believe that he would have missed that assault on Arkham. And having not missed it, that he wouldn’t have found out about the participants. Which leads to…
“I’d even bet you five bucks that it’s actually why he brought me in, in the first place. You know. Adjacent to the fact that he couldn’t seem to help himself when it comes to orphans, and not wanting me to really futz up the status quo with my wanting to be heard.”
Because it had never been just to help me. That was an end result of course, giving me that family which he supposedly hated and seemed to instinctively amass just the same. I really can’t fault the reasoning, and maybe were he alive I’d get a little more righteous about him not telling me. But…
There’s no skulking in the shadows of my apartment, or even especially looming which means I can’t really call him Batdad, but it also means that he’s got a reason. Or maybe just knows that trying to get me to not do something by trying to order me around in the cowl is only going to push me in the opposite direction. So I do him the moderate favor of pausing in my preparations, straightening my posture with hands on my hips. It’s a more relaxed posture than one of defiance, mostly because of the inquisitive tilt of my head. Even if I am muttering under my breath.
“Drugging doesn’t even work, either… Drones are kind of a given, especially now that he’s sonic proofed them, and he didn’t argue so much as spin out my logic and then not really fight me on it.”
Honestly, he’d fought me on it a lot less than I expected. Because what I’d expected was bribery. Of him withholding his help on the technical aspect that I didn’t have a prayer of figuring out on my own, unless I took him along even though I hadn’t thought Tim was in any shape for much of anything. I’d tried to bench the guy after the Iceberg, and the second I’d turned my back he’d gone out anyway, with someone that really wasn’t good enough to pick up the slack and keep him safe.
“You were half-back on your own, Dick. And even me ranting and scolding couldn’t make you do this if you didn’t have your reasons. So while I appreciate the warm welcome, and have every intention of being here for my family, I’m not exactly the only one with multiple irons in the fire here.”
He’s doing it again. Asking me the same questions over again, when I already gave an answer and Dick’s a lot of things but forgetful and dense aren’t really among them. Barring some sort of cranial injury that has messed up his short term memory that I hadn’t heard about… there’s a clucking sound of annoyance as I suck my teeth at him, arms moving from my sides to folded across my chest.
“We discussed it. He told me to go and that he’d man Fort Gotham until I got back. Why are you harping on this? I don’t need any of your permission.”
Dick: Drones probably are a given. Honestly. That’s beside the point that I’m making here, but I should really look in to the whole drone thing. Oh, hey. Irons in the Fire, by example. Right, so I’m going to need to escalate my plan of action here aren’t I? “Sucker’s bet there, Dinah. I was there, remember? I was always trying to get in his head. He was always trying to let me, too. He wanted me to become him. Oddly, I’m unique in that way. He never wanted this life for Tim. He regretted that Damien was forced in to this life before he even got a choice. You? He wouldn’t have gotten his friend’s Grand-Daughter in to this life. You were already in. He brought you in to protect you.”
“…and to get to the bottom of the whole mystery…”
“Which brings me back to the point. I was there.” Two of us can put our hands on our hips and I just might be the one person she knows who has more shapely ones than herself. “I was there and you haven’t asked me what I know.”
“Wait. Stop. You’re going to launch in to some witty retort. For once, let me talk. Not just because I like the sound of my voice, but because I’m good at this Dinah. I want you to think about what I’m saying and what I’m about to say. Really. Think about it. Walk through it like Bruce taught you. Like your Dad would have. Let’s take a stroll down memory lane. You’re not the side-kick type. So what is Tim? A friend? Little brother-type? I’d buy it. He needs a Batman, you’re his best option. But you care about him. Natural. Makes sense. We have a similar connection, but… if I tried to take you out of the field and make you a trainer you’d kick my ass. Or at least, you normally would.”
“That was actually the first clue. I couldn’t understand it. Barb thought maybe you were crushing on my little brother, but I couldn’t see it. Until I started to look closer. But then you denied it. Hard. I mean like stone cold hard. So I started to re-examine my clues. There were a number of them. I started with your return to Gotham. Then I started to piece oddities together. Your shift from keeping Tim at arms length to letting him slowly open the doors. You two became the new dynamic duo. But I couldn’t get past your denial. You’re self-awareness is keen, even more so than my own. So I started to back-track. When could I pin-point your first shift…”
“Moping around the apartment, when Tim didn’t listen to you.
“Coming to me to protect Tim.
“Not breaking Damien’s arms for murdering people.
“Letting me taser you.
“Taking in Tim’s stray to train…
“Staying in Gotham, to be Robin’s partner in the field.
“Everything. Every little squiggle of this centered around Robin. Robins. So maybe you were just being protective. Momma Bird. Right? As much as I wanted to think that, you’re more of a mock us until we do what we should have done in the first place -or- go do it your damned self type. So.. I just couldn’t let it go. Not after our last talk.”
Gesturing finally for Dinah to follow, I take about three whole steps needed to cross her floor and point to the little eye-in-the-sky drone that most people wouldn’t notice out across the street. “You’re the one who said it yourself. Drones were a given. They have been since he came back to Gotham. So, I took a page out of the book of the guy that’s been hacking the Batcave’s system. I asked Alfred to access them.”
“Fifteen Seconds. One of Tim’s drones tracked you. You were with Jervis Tetch for fifteen seconds according to that drone. Then Robin interrupted him. You told Robin that you had no memory of what was going on for those fifteen seconds. But you’ve been nicer to the three Robins in this City than you’ve ever been before.”
“So. Dinah. I have a hypothesis. Ready? Can you keep packing that bag, if I tell you that Robin is lacing himself with a chemical that is going to drive him insane in order to repair his body. Because -he- can’t stand the fact that you benched him? Listen to me closely. Can you even try you finish packing with the idea of leaving? You know, intelligently, that I’m capable of stopping Timothy. But can you, are you capable of even thinking of leaving without tending to it yourself?”
Dinah: He’s right, I was about to retort and it wasn’t going to be witty in this instance so much as snotty, because no. I don’t remember and that’s the entire problem. It was also before my first introduction in a personal way to anything Bat, or Batlike. That I knew of. So while I might have learned the timeline after the fact, I couldn’t have known for sure if he had been there or not. Now. Maybe if I wasn’t still a little pissy about him tasering me I might have thought to ask but I hadn’t needed to, because I had Tim and he’d been pretty damn happy to have me actually ask for his help on something.
I do actually let him talk. Much to my credit, right? I may like to talk, but I don’t need to in order to make a point. I do that with fists. Though not right now. Right now I employ my expressive face, and some body language so that there’s no missing what I think about any number of his points with quirks of my lips, or what starts to threaten to be blue eyes rolling to one side or the other. So I let him talk. And I wait. And I build up my tirade of a reply one little building block at a time. I’ve got a good memory, after all, which is another reason why the entire situation with the Suicide Squad was so goddamn obnoxious.
“I did not mope, he was going to get himself killed and me telling him so was only going to wreck his confidence and make it happen even more quickly, one of you two ought to muzzle Damien, but mostly we didn’t need our ranks thinned mid-ninja invasion, Stephanie Brown is also going to get herself killed without a whole lot of instruction, and Bruce was my family, too. Just like Gotham is my home, and I’m not staying for the purpose of being anyone’s partner.”
Okay so maybe skipping over the letting him taser me bit was telling, but if I’d protested that I hadn’t let him, then that would be admitting the lack of the ability to anticipate it, or to prevent him. I definitely haven’t forgotten. Oh no. I’m biding my time for a suitable opening on that slight. And as glorious as that imagined revenge has been in my head a time or two, it’s really not what I’m going to dwell on right this moment. Because I’m trying to understand what he’s getting at, without having to insist for what feels like too many times that I don’t have a ‘thing’ for his brother. He’s a little young for me, for the least of the reasons I might want to throw out there.
Gah. The damn drones. I’d gotten good enough at spotting them, that I think i’ve stopped trying to do it, and so…
“Is this a hypothetical situation or is he actually…”
The speed and sharpness with which my eyes have narrowed, and my brows pulled together actually makes my forehead feel a little twitchy, because I find it hard to believe that Tim would do something so stupid, unless he felt he didn’t have a choice, and then I’d like to think he’d invent or devise another one anyway. Or that someone would stop him. My expression stays focused and pensive, and my lips parted mid sentence as my brain… I realize it’s churning through its own hypothetical like it can’t puzzle out a result when it’s a very simple question he’s asked me. Of course I can finish packing. There’s not even much to finish, because I don’t really travel heavy. Don’t require tech and gizmos and gadgets when my weapons are usually just me, myself and I.
“He told me to go.”
Why is that my answer? Whether I was told or not has zero pertinence, because I was going to go anyway. I had just done Red Robin the courtesy of warning him. Mostly because I wanted to make sure Spoiler was getting training from someone who wasn’t me. I’d been so frustrated and in need of a pressure release after the phone call I’d gotten from Fake Oliver that I’d taken a sparring session far, far too . Well . Far. If I hadn’t told him, and he realized I’d gone, it would have only made it that much more likely that he’d follow me, and we couldn’t all be gone.
Dick: “Mm. Do you know how many times Barbara told me to go when she stuck in that wheelchair? I lost count. She meant it too. It was actually more painful for her to know that I was witnessing what she was going through, than it was to actually go through it. Babs wanted to be out there. Doing what we do. It got taken away from her, when she wasn’t even in uniform. She just opened the wrong door and bang…”
We’re not normally the close knit types. Oh, family might be what we say but it’s not always what we are. Our sort of little family talks usually involve teasing one another until the other submits. Or beat the crap out of each other in a spar/fight or video game. We don’t have heart to heart talks like this. So why are we having this one?
“Tim got put out of the game, when he wasn’t even in uniform. Doing something he’s done a thousand times. He took a fall the wrong way, because he couldn’t give away that he knew how to take a fall. He was protecting us. All of us, but mostly you at the time. He probably needs surgery. We all know it. You know it, you’re the one that pulled his wings. Why did he tell you to go, Dinah? Do you think he wants you to see him like that? Not a chance. He wants you to believe in him, Dinah. His time as Batman was singularly fueled by your belief in him…”
“And he’s going to do whatever it takes to make himself good enough to be that partner. Including the use of experimental Wayne Corp nano-probes that are fixing his shoulder. Lucius Fox reported it missing from the lab, during Tim’s overnight disappearing act while you grounded him. He went ‘shopping’ while he was out on the town. Lucius’ report to Alfred says that all the trials have resulted in ‘aberrant behavior’ in the test subjects, prompting the tests to be black listed.”
One thing I -do- know right now, based simply upon the look she’s got on her face, I’m not going to be able to break through what Tim said to her. I’ve got to do this a little bit different. “Back to my hypothesis. The Dinah that I know would never leave Tim to something so dangerous. Even if her mission was important, it’s been laying dormant for years so it’s not time sensitive. That means you don’t have to go. Unless you have to obey Timothy. He did tell you to go, like you said.”
“That Dinah. Always obedient. Sounds just like her. That’s what they say.”
Dinah: I could continue to argue this with him, but it feels much like our last conversation. Only this time he’s not in a cowl and interrupting my movie. I’m going to answer his questions, that I don’t actually have to answer. He’s going to ask them either in a different way, or more irritatingly the exact same one, over again. It’ll turn into a cycle that will continue to ramp until one of us gets irritated enough to cut our losses and bring it to an end. Tim and Barbara aren’t the same people. No matter the similarities he’s drawing between these two particular events. I’m clearly not the only one concerned about him, and if his actual family isn’t moving to put a swift stop to his behavior then why do they expect me to do it?
“Well. My personal guess is that he knew full well that I’d be going anyway whether he said it or not, and it was a way of taking on what I’m foisting back onto him without saying as much. Or because it’s a way of seeming to acquiesce while having every intention of meddling via tech and drones and whatever else he has at his disposal because medi-nano-whatevers? I’m sure there’s even fancier things in those vaults.”
I make a show of snagging the trailing sleeve of a dark sweater that I’d actually discarded from my planned packing, wadding it up and cramming it into my bag. See? I can pack just fine, thank you very much, even though I know he couldn’t have meant the physical aspect of it, so much as the mental follow through. But the act is.. actually more difficult than it should be. Not physically of course. I had no problem taking this course, and nothing Grayson’s actually said is enough to sway me because I don’t intend to be gone that long. His disapproval actually is a non factor. That much I know for sure. The fact that I hadn’t had to argue and cajole his brother to stay in Gotham had been a surprise, and if anything his willingness to stay and keep things safe (ish) in Gotham had been like a giant weight off.
“Are you really accusing me of being obedient over something I decided to do, marched into the Nest and told him I was doing…” Okay not really in those exact words… “And am now trying to get onto doing, even with you standing here griping at me about it? It stopped being dormant, and something to be backburnered Dick, when people’s real names started getting named. When me being here is going to bring them here again, and I assume you know they really don’t need much of a reason at this point.”
Superman’s already been and gone a few times. Wonder Woman turned up. The alien that crash landed. I made myself a little too interesting and tipped the balance of my grandmother’s agreement.
“Do you want to maybe just tell me in simple terms what it is you’re actually wanting me to say right now? I really don’t actually have to explain any of his to you, but hey. I might also point out that the ‘Dinah you know’ has bailed on Gotham before without actually having intentions to be back. So unless you have advance knowledge of the League coming back for round two, or some other immediate looming threat that is something you want to tell me you cannot handle…?”
Dick: “You’re not wrong. There is a lot worse in those vaults,” it almost seems to be an after-thought, the topic of the vault. “Or rather, there was. It would seem that Timothy took somewhat took care of that issue. As a means of preventing whomever has been attacking the Bat Cave from finding that sort of weaponry.”
Her point is actually a really good one. Timothy is my brother. Just as Damien is. I -should- be there for him, physically in person, but that’s the strange truth of Bruce’s philosophy. Doing that would take me away from what is actually going on out there, beyond Gotham City. A point that I think Dinah herself was espousing to Tim and I not so long ago. Her own argument about this Slade-business is that exact point of view; She could back burner it until it began to impact more than just herself.
“You’re going to have a hard time swallowing this right now, but I can’t. I’m pursuing a lead that might flesh out the entire situation in Khandaq. I only even became aware of the situation in Gotham, because Damien showed up at a location that I was investigating. Apparently your Kryptonian boy-pal decided to give him a choice between being useful in Khandaq or being put in jail for the entire Alien debacle there in Gotham.”
“Dinah,” starting over after a brief pause to pivot my approach to something a little more palatable to her. “I want you to say that you’ll tend to this Timothy matter, but I don’t think you can. Tim told you to go, so I don’t think you’re actually capable of doing anything but exactly what he said.”
Dinah: “And the situation in Khandaq is your problem why?”
I don’t actually need him to answer that question, though. Because he’s following through, once again, with something that Tim started. Tim, as the Batman, ventured out of Gotham and publicly worked with this Wonder Woman. With the new Flash. Why settle for one Pandora’s box being thrown open when you can manage a baker’s dozen? I know Bruce had his fingers in all the pies, but he’s not Bruce. He doesn’t have to be. That was where Tim was going wrong, even as I think he was also going right in other things.
“That does sound like my Superfriend. But let me get this straight. You had enough time to watch drone footage, do some other research, and drop in to badger me about this, and yet not enough time to go have a bro-talk with him yourself?”
The set of my mouth is expectant, if not exactly patient as he tries to swap tacks again. This feels like bait, like he’s trying to provoke me into a certain reaction only I cannot for the life of me fathom what it is. No, that’s not true. I just don’t know the purpose. Is Dick trying some reverse psychology bullshit to steer my actions? There’s a low, soft growl in my throat as I yank the zipper on the duffel closed, and push a hand through loose blonde hair to try to calm my irritability a little.
“Jesus Christ, Dick, do you hear yourself? You can’t say I’m someone’s puppet for doing exactly what I was already doing before they were even aware or involved. I. Will. Handle. Tim. If Tim is something that still needs handling when I get back, even though it shouldn’t be me that needs to do it, and with the track record of him not listening to me last time. Do you want to also tell me that I’m going to watch my ass around Wilson only because someone else told me to be careful? Or maybe breathing only became a good idea after some stray ‘deep breaths’ comment??
I don’t need to be half the good read of people that I actually am to know that Red Robin wouldn’t be at all pleased if I were to suddenly and abruptly reverse course to hang around and mother, and scold and nag and hover over him.
Dick: The snort that makes it past my otherwise unemotional veneer is simply because, “Wait. You don’t get to ask that. Not when you talked me in to taking the mantel over when I thought he was doing a good job. Making the Bat a symbol for hope again. It’s the only reason I agreed to do it in the first place.”
One thing that people easily mistake about Dinah, she’s as good with her mouth as she is with her firsts. Equal opportunity weaponry. She’s using the former as a means of trying to knock me off the path of attack. All deflection without actually answering my accusation. That part, I at least understand. Because she’s right about a lot of things. We three brothers haven’t exactly been playing the part very well. Who would have thought that Bruce was the glue binding the three of us together. These days we work independent of one another to such a large extent that none of us even know what the other is doing most of the time. Unless you account for the spying on one another. Which is mostly Alfred doing it, then sicking one brother on the other to keep them in line.
I’m not rising to that particular bait though. Not this time at least. “Despite what a couple of my ex-girlfriends might think, I actually can’t walk on water. Compliment noted however. Chicken or the Egg question, by the way. I’m not going to follow you down that rabbit hole Alice, beyond pointing out that if you had made up your mind to go? Your normal m.o. would have been to blown town before a loved one could try to stop you. Taking your own argument for example, you went against your own nature by going to Tim for permission.”
“But,” a hand finally comes up to make a very soft gesture to the packed bag. “The truth is, I really don’t have time to go have a bro-talk with him. Nor do I have time to keep trying to get through to you. So I’m going to make this easy Dinah. You might not even need to go with Slade, because we have the case files from Bruce. If you’d have come to me, I’d have shared them with you originally. Take care of Tim, Alfred will bring you the case files.”
“Here is where you lash out again. Bark at me some more about your mind being made up. Here is where you argue with me, when presented with an opportunity to have actionable intel, in order to do as you were told.” With this comes a resolved shake of the head and a soft sigh that brings a hanging of my head with it and the rummaging of a hand in to the vest pocket for a thumb drive. “Alright. Well, if you’re going at least take the intel from Bruce’s case files…”
Dinah: “He was doing a good job. He was also trying way too hard to be an ideal, and wasn’t playing to the strengths that would have kept him alive while doing it.”
I still can’t believe he was trying to do the job without his ‘signature’ weaponry. Maybe there would have been the crook out there who would have picked up on the fact that he was fighting differently than Batman used to, but chances are that crook is also one that likely already had noticed that something was up in the vigilante corner of the ring. Or maybe Gotham would more correctly be a Thunderdome. I might not often use my meta-powers, but I’ve had every bit as much practice, maybe even more, in using fists and feet and the rest of the my body.
“And you and I both know how that would have gone, Dick. I didn’t want him following me when he realized I was gone. Or saw me heading towards the city limits with a drone. Not when I already don’t think he should be anywhere but resting that shoulder, and here there’s at least other distractions. So, sure. I made a tactical choice.”
Tim doesn’t want to hear from me that I don’t want him slowing me down. That’s not something you say to a partner. Not if you want to maintain that relationship at any point in the future. And that’s what we’ve been working as. And we were before my run in with Tetch. I let the guy crash at my place before that, too. We’d been unable to figure out what exactly, if anything, the Mad Hatter had been able to talk me into during that time I don’t have memories for but it’s completely ludicrous to believe that it would have been to obey one of the Bats. Or all of them. I think my interactions ought to be proof enough that it’s definitely not the latter.
“You’re busy. Remember?”
Okay, so that isn’t fair entirely and while I’m not going to apologize for making it sound like I’m faulting him for being occupied in doing something that I actually do think is important, and good, the cluck of my tongue and the momentary wince is at myself and not Dick.
“No, I’m not going to, even though I’m pretty sure you’re actually trying to bait me into screaming you out that window over there. Barking at you is working as well as cajoling did on Tim. I’d worry that I was losing my touch if it were another week than this one.”
And I am going. So I hold my hand out, palm up, expectantly. It isn’t just about intel though. There’s a lot of this I feel like I shouldn’t have to explain or justify, and maybe he’s just caught up in this nonsense. To go from accusing me of having a thing for a teenage boy, to deciding that it must be mind control. There’s some things you can’t get just from information, like sussing out what Wilson’s part in this is. That? I need to be there for. I also need feet on the ground to make someone hurt for hurting Ollie. And past all of that? It’s just the way I work.
“So if you were there, why didn’t you bring it up before now? I know why Bruce didn’t. Because he’s… was… you know what, never mind. Apparently ain’t no one got time right now.”
Dick: “Originally I never brought any of this up with you because Bruce would have never allowed it. Not to mention, I actually sort of agreed with him. We didn’t really know all we know now about Nowhere, so all we knew was that some very highly placed government officials sanctioned a squad of suicidal super-people to do something in Arkham. We didn’t even know what at the time. Faced with the very real possibility that a headstrong Girl with a bad attitude might get herself killed trying to find answers? Bruce did what Bruce does and kept it all internal.”
“And for some real full disclosure, Dinah, I really hate the fact that once again Bruce is right. A decade later, he’s still right.” One more sigh for the road, but this time it comes without the hung head as I put the thumb drive in to her hand. “In more recent times, I didn’t bring it up because… because the real truth is that we, collectively, have a lot of things pulling at us. You wanted me to step in to the mantel, Dinah, right? You knew what that meant and frankly, I think you’re being a little silly about not at least giving me a little benefit of the doubt here. Being the Batman can be about inspiring Hope, it can be about solving crimes and cleaning up the City… yada yada yada… but it’s also at the very core? About being the Leader. Hell, you make fun all the time with your Bat-Dad jokes.”
“I made the choice to prioritize the problems, the cases, we’re all dealing with. Starting with ‘the potential end of the world as we know it’ crisis in Khandaq. Does that mean I love my little brother(s) any less or that I don’t want to help you with all of this?”
Has this discussion spiraled a little too far abroad of the reason I came here to begin with? I don’t like what I’m becoming reasonably sure is the situation before me, but I really do have to prioritize. I can’t drop every single thing I’m dealing with to try to convince Dinah that something is wrong. Just like I can’t stop pursuing these Hawk people just to stage an intervention for one of my little Brothers. I’m realizing all too quickly what made Bruce in to the man we all love/hate. These decisions eat at you, you can’t stop that.
So you just have to make the decisions be something you can live with. Right? “One thing. Just to be clear. You never asked for my help. Not once. Not even a hint at it. Yet, I’ve found the time twice now to be here trying to offer it. How do you even know that I haven’t tried to do the same with Tim or Damien?”
“When you’re ready to ask for help, I’ll be there. Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel,” pointing the finger-gun at her duffel bag on my way through the door of her apartment. “For someone that isn’t hung up on someone, you may have just packed Tim’s underwear in your overnight bag.”
A few seconds later, from just beyond the door of her apartment. “Hah! Made you look.”
Dinah:
“And my inner cynic can’t <i>not</i> chime in with ‘and not at all because it would make for juicy just in case leverage to use later against one of the only operating metas in the city.'”
Cynical sentiment or not, I can’t even really fault it. One of the many reasons besides his not being here any longer to be mad at that I’m not. Mad. Now, Dick would make a better target for it, but with my not remembering it could also have just been a matter of why bring it up if I don’t need to? There’s any number of reasons to not share something like that, and while I would have preferred to not have been caught flat footed when Slade Wilson showed up wanting to be chummy old pals it is what it is.
“The moment I stop making fun of you is when you can bet I have <i>actually</i> been mind controlled. Or whatever this is you think is supposedly going on. You’ve got a lot on your plate, I get it. I can juggle plates, too. Ollie and Roy and Diggle are <i>my</I> family, too.”
And frankly I trust the Batcrew in residence a whole lot further than I do the Arrows at this particular moment in time, to be able to keep their shit together long enough for me to deal with something else. How do I know he hasn’t tried to bash some sense into his brothers already? I don’t. Though if it’d come to actual blows I think I would probably have noticed the marks on someone, especially as much time as I spend around the youngest of them.
The only ‘looking’ that goes on with his jab is an exaggerated eye-roll towards the ceiling, as he’s on the way out. Psh. Please. Has he not seen that Red Robin suit? Even if there were underwear under that thing, Tim is far too OCD to leave any laying around. That’s <i>my</i> shtick, not his. Once I’m alone, I steal the luxury of wasting a few moments rubbing my face with the heels of my hands. Letting my brain tumble at a less aggressive responsed pace to the suggestions/accusations that he’d just made. Yeah, no, still sounds just as crazy as it had at first blush.
Maybe I should just go have a nice, quiet chat with Tetch on my way out to settle this once and for all.
by Michele | Aug 5, 2018 | Chronicles
Batman: “Hold on. Let me see if I understand you correctly. Your friend, Mr. Freeman, went off to get himself involved in for what amounts to a purely geo-political war in Kahndaq. He sent word to you that he could use the help. He sent the same call out to several others. Including the Flash. A man who happens to be roughly six times faster than the actual jet he wishes you to pick him up in.”
It might ordinarily be hard to make out the features of someone beneath the Bat Cowl, but it’s fairly easy to read them right now. This is Batman’s incredulous face. I have long accepted that the motley crew Tim was putting together are eclectic, but this borders on outright insanity and I’m not giving her the benefit of being attracted to her enough to buy in to it. She may be a Goddess, demi as it were, but I’m not nearly as impressed to let go of my good senses to buy in to that.
In fact there’s a very demonstrative cross of the arms over my chest that isn’t hidden by the cape to say it for me. “If you’re actually going, tell Wally to power walk, he’ll still be there faster than the invisible jet.”
“As to your offer to me, I’m afraid there’s a lot in play that we must consider before I can give you an answer. Despite all of our most fond wishes, there are times when it isn’t as simple as ‘Do the Right Thing.’ In this particular case, I’m looking at the facts. Just the facts. None of it makes sense.”
That’s the good news at least, I’m here. Now. Meeting with the Wonder Woman before she leaves. Even as we’ve been talking, I’ve taking to working at the console of one gauntlet. Behind me the Invisible Jet’s large wall-mounted television is starting to display the news feeds from Brother Eye.
“Bialya’s attack was unannounced. Furthermore since it was orchestrated multiple intelligence agencies have confirmed that there was not so much as a whisper about it before hand. That’s telling. Because in any military unit there is a chain of command and orders to be processed. For a military that was nothing more than a loose knit group of mercenaries not long ago? That’s a level of secret keeping among the rank and file that is basically super-human in itself. So the reality is more likely that someone. Someone highly placed. Planned this and executed it. Either the moment he got permission or… is someone in position to give such an order without needing permission.”
“That’s just the beginning. We know that Bialya bought arms from the Russian Black Market, but they’ve essentially fielded a Army -and- Navy. The regime in Bialya doesn’t have the money to afford this size of an army. Much less a Navy at all, given that there’s no ship yard on satellite imagery. Where did the bulk of their equipment come from then? How was that also kept secret.”
“Then there’s the one thing every crime has, that this attack lacks. Motive. There is always a motive. So most likely in this situation we simply don’t know what it is. Again, given the sheer proportions of this undertaking, how is it that we haven’t so much as heard a word from anyone. About why this happened. None of the Ambassadors are talking. The leader of Bialya isn’t speaking. There’s just an attack. Then a retreat. Immense casualties on the Kahndaq side and now mounting casualties on the Bialya side thanks to this Adam individual. But we still don’t know why this is happening.”
“Or. Rather the world doesn’t know. I find that to be extremely informative. Because it means that the reason for their entire siege wasn’t accomplished yet. So they’re keeping it a secret, in order to stop Adam from knowing what to defend. Also it stops the rest of the world from stopping them from getting it.” Before Cassie has spoken I’m already shaking my head. “No. It isn’t some random act of violence of a despot wanting to take more territory. There are other countries with far more to -take- that neighbor Bialya. Countries that lack a resource like Black Adam to rush to their aide.”
“This was calculated risk. Superior planning. With a pathological bent towards secrecy. Nothing about that suggests Random anything. Bialya wants something.” Turning my head to look at her over one shoulder. “Which brings me to the real question. What if they want you. All of you. There in Kahndaq.”
Wonder Woman: There’s not a single member of the ‘Bat Family’ that doesn’t know what my real face looks like, at least not those that I’ve met. They probably knew ahead of time, but if not they certainly do after my recent surge in powers had led me into placing an SOS call to Tim. We’re not even going to get into whatever it is that’s going on between my Mother and Alfred Pennyworth because I just really can’t right now. Even if Conner was joking about the whole thing in the first place, there’s just enough to make me want to wonder, and my mind needs to stay bent towards other things right now. I’m still wearing the Wonder Woman face though, and not just because I already had it on after my sadly unproductive seeming meeting with Terra. Or. Not Terra.
I can hope that something I said sunk in though. Or that at least she’ll take the offer of help if it’s needed. But I’m expecting Wally to turn up, and he also doesn’t know who Cassie Sandsmark is. So here we are. My call to the Flash, which had been after trying to return Freddy’s call hadn’t worked out, was then followed by ringing up the Batman. Doesn’t that sound moderately fancy? I’d briefly considered calling Tim directly, also not calling at all, but we’d worked together before and that united ‘front’ is something that seems worth continuing to show the world, if nothing else. Especially for something I’m hoping will be mostly humanitarian in effort.
There’s a shrug of my shoulders, no longer covered in the hoodie that I’d worn to the bar, and my expression and tone of voice is a whole lot more amused than his is.
“I told him that he could meet me here if he wanted a ride. Running that far uses up a lot of energy, apparently, and he’s kind of a diva when he’s hungry. But, yes. You seem to have all the lead-up points covered. And I am going.”
If we’re being 100% honest, I hadn’t really expected this man to come along, or whomever was actually wearing the Batman cowl if it’d changed in the last week. Gotham City has more than its share of problems in the best of times, and lately hasn’t exactly qualified for one of those ‘peaceful’ periods. As was made abundantly clear when I was in Wayne Manor. They have other things to do, but I’d wanted to extend the offer regardless. This isn’t a ‘thanks for the jet, the gear, and the hookups, Tim, now make way for the superkids to try and do their thing’ situation. It shouldn’t ever be, if for no other reason than Gotham’s resident heroes make it pretty clear that heroism doesn’t require powers. I’ve also more than enough examples of the other side of that coin, too. Powers often don’t make for virtuous motivations either.
Blue eyes move from the mostly hidden, but still clearly judgmental face in front of me to look at the monitors. I’d caught brief footage when I’d stopped home before the bar, but I hadn’t really intended to cross the Atlantic at first. Not until I’d gotten the call from Freddy. I know Conner’s already over there, and likely the rest of his team and that’s not something I want to push if I can help it. On the same note, however, I think there’s very, very little that can be told to me in the way of ‘facts’ that’s going to keep me from taking my jet over there, or just flying myself. Because no amount of extenuating circumstances can actually change the fact that there are people in Khandaq that need help. Their protector can’t be everywhere at once.
“And without having worry about any kind of repercussions for giving that order. Black Adam has been enough by himself to keep most threats away. It wasn’t worth the push back. So either they’ve found something to make it worth it, or they’ve been pushed by someone scarier than Khandaq’s leader. Or both. And someone’s paying on the back end to make them the pawns.”
It’s my turn to fold my arms now, though I don’t have a black looming cape to hide the action as I walk closer to the displays and look up at them. Even with the added couple inches of height I gained last week, I’m still not tall. He has found something, though, that at least has made me think.
“We were all together on American soil not that long ago. I’d think that a person, or group, with the resources to magic up two military branches for Bialya basically overnight could have moved on us then, while we were fighting someone else if we are really the goal. You’re thinking NOWHERE. Aren’t you?”
Where stepping a foot wrong would be an international incident, not just a localized one, and the timing as we’re starting to gain public support for our presence…
Batman: “I’m thinking Luthor,” comes the immediate response.
She’s known Tim long enough to know that we have a tendency to play things close to the vest. We don’t give out information that we don’t deem necessary to the vital parameters of whatever mission we’re on at a given moment. Bruce was the King of that, Tim isn’t that far behind, but I’ve never been one to keep people in the dark about every little detail. Not people I’m supposed to be able to trust. I understand why Bruce did it, I think I know why Tim does it even now. Not only was it a measure of control, but it also let them see the honest reactions of the people around them. Bruce always wanted to see if I would reach the same conclusion, unassisted by his own. Check and Balance. Cassie takes the points I’m making and follows them to the source, but she stops a step away from what I’m getting at.
I take a second, just a second, to let the information sink in before I put my hands upon the screens and begin to move them. “You’ve heard of the ‘Justice Society.’ A group of so-called ‘Mystery Men,’ who came together when the world needed them most to help win the second World War. After that time the President commissioned what would eventually become Nowhere. What most people don’t know is the identities of those ‘Mystery Men.’ The Batman knew.”
“This is that Society,” upon the screen I’ve brought forth a grainy black and white picture of the Justice Society and more specifically, I’ve zero’d in on one in particular. “I’m sure even you recognize a couple of them at this point. The Society existed in secret for a long time, empowered by a mandate of President Eisenhower. Then the tide began to turn against them, until they were given a choice. Enlist in the Project or retire. This is all history that Tim has shared, I’m sure. If not, you knew it from other sources. Such as your boyfriend.”
“What you don’t know, because neither of them knew, is that the Society saw the changes coming. They took steps to insure that their ‘Society’ of Heroes would persist. That is why some of them joined, hoping to guide the future of Cadmus and Nowhere towards more noble goals than they feared would happen without their involvement. Others took deals for retirement that guaranteed the survival of their progeny.”
“Others.” Another motion of my hand brings the image down to the very edge of the Society’s phone, where you can barely make out the man’s bare chest until my computer’s augment the image to reveal a Hawk crest. “Were lost. Perhaps killed. Maybe taken. Regardless of how, they all disappeared.”
“Most of them stayed that way.” Another shift of my hands and the screens begin to show a series of articles. Written articles, not big enough news to have made it to television. “Until recently. A series of thefts across the globe. Each one more or less unrelated. A museum in England. A private art collector in Bolivia. The Chateau Rennard in Spain. Seemingly random items. A harness. A mace. A helmet. Pieces of armor. International police have not connected the dots, because each piece that has been stolen was from a completely unrelated point in history. So their only commonality is that they were A) stolen and B) historical relics.”
Again the image is shifted, from the articles back to the obscure man at the back of the Society’s picture. A man who’s wearing a harness, sporting a helmet and holding a spiced mace. “Hawkman. According to the files we have from the original Society, his super power is being an asshole and re-incarnation. He is otherwise armed with a series of weapons crafted from a substance that according to Wesley Dodds is called Nth Metal.”
“All of which brings you to the question of what significance this has upon Kahndaq? Perhaps none. Perhaps everything. Given that these thefts are recent and that one of the known incarnations of this ‘Hawkman’ were from Ancient Kahndaq. It’s my suspicion that these thefts are more significant than we know. Someone is reacquiring Hawkman’s arsenal. I suspect that his doing so has motivated what is going on in Kahndaq. If I’m right, then their motivation for attack may be another piece of Hawkman’s armor. But that only creates additional questions.”
“Which is why I’m going. Whomever is stealing these artifacts is a thief. You need a detective to find him. I will track this thief down. You will take Wallace and help the civilians. While also assisting Freeman find his way through this whole affair. You’ll need to do it with one eye towards the fact that we know Luthor helped Bialya somehow. So we know there’s something in all of this for him. I suspect it’s the Nth Metal. So our goals run at cross purposes, Wonder Woman.”
Wonder Woman: There’s this brief, brief moment where the expression that crosses ‘my’ face could almost be considered rolling my eyes, while lips purse slightly to the one side. Most people probably don’t roll their eyes at Batman, and I generally don’t roll my eyes at anyone except my boyfriend, but I don’t seem to be able to stop myself right now. It’s only because Luthor was, more or less, exactly what I meant. In my mind they’re one and the same, and you really don’t have one without the other. He might not be publicly acting with them, because they’re secret for one thing, but without him they don’t have the power they currently possess.
“Yes. Luthor.”
He certainly has the money. He definitely has the means. NOWHERE has a veritable array of metahumans at their disposal the likes of say. Kelsey who could communicate messages without there ever being any sort of paper trail, and she could look like anyone. I don’t know the range or breadth of either of her skill sets there, just what Conner’s told of me and that’s not factoring in Rachel and what she does, or any other number of people on their ‘payroll.’ Though. Conner’s made it pretty clear to me that they, some of them like Kelsey… M’gann…, and even he believes that they’re doing something good to an extent. How would it be justified to them, to start an unprovoked war between two countries, in order to get them to participate?
So maybe he’s got a means outside of ‘just’ NOWHERE’s scope, too.
“I have. My Mother was always really interested in them. At the time I just assumed it was the same level of interest she had in telling me stories about the old myths and pantheons but…”
Hindsight’s 20/20 right? With what I’ve been told at this point, and what dots I’ve connected with her clearly knowing Alfred before I had, I assume the interest and knowledge was much more personal than Hercules and his Labors. Or maybe it’s exactly the same thing. Arms still folded in place, I am listening to what he’s telling me, and showing me, despite some of it being things I was already aware of. Being a know-it-all never really gets you the best results. Even if you are, but I learned very, very quickly that Tim and Company know a whole lot about things that you wouldn’t think they have any business to know in the first place.
“What if the thief is this Hawkman? You said his powers… erm. Power is reincarnating..” I’m not going to call being an ass a superpower, otherwise my darling other half gets another to add to his already too impressive roster. “.. so maybe he has, and he’s the one rounding them back up again. Is it really theft if you’re reacquiring things that were yours in the… sorry. That’s more stray curious thought than actual moral question that doesn’t really matter.”
He’s correct about it making more questions though. That delve into multiple lives (which, seems weird even if you’re a demi-goddess), questions of whether heroic motivations persist or if the person may have changed. If there’d be motive to trigger this war, when they’ve clearly had no problem acquiring the other pieces in a much more sly matter… my twirling thoughts and considerations are interrupted by something he’s said fully clicking in my head and my eyes regain focus as I blink in surprise.
“You are? Well. Great. Welcome aboard, Batman. If you pull that vanishing ‘trick’ again with him on board he’s probably going to disassemble my jet though. Fair warning.”
There’s finger quotes made, as I unfold my arms finally, because I know fully well that Batman was never actually on this jet the last time. I’d seen Red Robin pull the stunt before so it was an easy conclusion. I just hadn’t mentioned it to the rather frantic Flash at the time. My expression sobers again rather quickly though, because I haven’t ignored his warning. It’s just emphasizing thoughts I’d already been having as far as the NOWHERE team already being in Khandaq.
“I’ll be careful. And make sure that he is, too.”
Batman: “That’s my hope, in fact. That the thief actually is the reincarnated version of the man in that picture. If he’s the one that has been collecting his arsenal, then there’s a chance he remembers. Which leads me to hope that there’s a chance I can recruit him to your side in the coming conflict. You need all the help you can get.”
There’s a very purposeful choice of my wording here. Not my side. Not our side. Her side. She’s the one that needs help. Despite believing, as Tim did, that this is very much an effort of a team? I’m not convinced that my place is among them. My family has a lot on their plates. Even more blood on their hands. Being part of this little thing they’re doing may be good for the immediate purpose of removing Nowhere’s influence, but in the long term?
Once more though my expression isn’t all that hard to read, despite the mask. Clearly I can buy that magic exists, but there’s just a look about me that says the entire ‘Reincarnation’ thing is malarkey. “Assuming it is, in fact, the original Hawkman reincarnated and reclaiming his lost arsenal or not? If his arsenal originated in Kahndaq, then it is likely that there is more of this Nth metal there. It is our most likely motive for the entire ordeal. In the absence of ‘alternative facts’ we must base a theory upon the ones we have in evidence.”
“However, in the unlikely instance that this actually is the original Hawkman? Then whether he is stealing or re-appropriating, he’s still in possession of what may have just become the most valuable resource in the world. If Bialya went to War with Black Adam for it, then what do you think the people behind all of this will do to procure the artifacts that have been stolen. Assuming they’re not the ones stealing them in the first place. Either way, I’ll need to find them in order to get us answers. Leave that part to me.”
“Mm. As much as I appreciate the sentiment, Wonder Woman. I’ll be taking my own ride.” Thumbing over my shoulder toward exit of her plane. Almost on cue the Razor Wing jet descends from the Heavens to display itself. “There are two other things you need to know. First, Timothy was injured. Out of costume. He’s not.. like you. He needs surgery, but he won’t stop because he wants to be like you. So unless you’ve got a magical cure for a torn rotator cuff, the next time you see him, could you bat those baby blues and get him to go the doctor?”
“And second. Your Mother. The big dig she went on that you were upset about not getting to go on with her? Its in Kahndaq. Like I said. Someone is orchestrating this. Bringing everyone together.”
Wonder Woman: “I usually seem to.”
Delivered with all the irony due for a statement like that. I’m fast, strong, incredibly durable. A literal demigod, and yet I don’t seem to be able to pull anything on my own. That’s how it feels anyway. As droll as I might sound with my remark, however, I don’t actually think that it’s a bad thing. I was all in for Tim’s plan of recruiting more people, because I think going at any of this alone has more drawbacks than benefits. A prime example being the last iteration of public heroes, who had only really come together when the situation on the Earth absolutely required it. I can’t speak for how well they worked together, but maybe if they’d been a real team, someone could have seen Coast City coming and acted to prevent it. There’s strength in friends, but there’s also accountability and different points of view and approaches.
On a smaller scale, I can look at the way life has gone for me with Superman. He pushed me into being a hero, and I suppose in a manner of speaking I had as well. Despite my thoughts, I haven’t missed the emphasis in Batman’s word selections. It’s why I hadn’t thought he’d be coming. I wasn’t going to not offer, but I just expected he’d stay separate. Gotham manages to be it’s own little corner of the world, despite its lack of sovereignty. Official sovereignty, anyway.
“Even if there isn’t, it’s a logical sounding conclusion for them to have drawn as well. I still just don’t understand why this was the best method unless, like you clearly think, it’s shaping up to be a two birds, one stone situation. Or. Three, if they think they might manage to draw Hawkman in as well. With what Nth metal he has, if he even has any at all or if it’s him but… the off chance might be reason enough.”
The first real look of displeasure on my face comes with the two additional things, on top of all the others, that he wants me to know. No longer the expression of commitment to this plan that I think is right, even if it’s maybe a trap, which is enough to make me resolute on it, but an almost sour one of concern as I rub fingertips against the side of my nose. It’s a much more ‘Cassie’ gesture than ‘Wonder Woman’s.’
“I knew he was hurt. I didn’t know it was that bad, and if I do that’s a power I haven’t figured out how to tap into just yet. I’m not really sure why you think he’d li…”
I’m not going to discount the potential for more powers, because frankly I have as many as I can handle right now, and I’m still learning how to capably use what I’ve got. But with the way things have gone for me lately, who knows. Two weeks ago I was half as strong, half as fast, and two inches shorter. Zeus made it very clear that I’m essentially still an infant. Why would Tim listen to me that would involve me flirting with him? Dumb question, Cassie. It’s also not an angle I’m actually wiling to exploit because despite knowing it’s there? I think it’s cruel. And Tim’s my best friend. I’m more upset about not realizing how hurt he apparently was, despite being actually face to face with him, than a lot of other things going on right now.
Like him apparently airing my dirty laundry of the fight with my Mom about her not letting me go on the dig. Which. I’m now going to after all.
“I’ll try. And maybe my Mom had some sort of inkling ahead of time I just… had started to assume it was related to a separate problem. Or maybe it’s not separate at all and then… as you said. All the help I can get.”
Moving away from the panels, I go to find a seat and set up to wait for Wally to turn up. Clearing room for Batman to get to his own jet because. Of course he has one. For someone who runs as fast as Flash does, he seems to turn up a bit… late a lot of the time.
“I’d say I’ll see you in Khandaq, but I imagine I probably won’t. So I’ll leave it at stay safe.”
I don’t think any of them are the ‘good luck’ sort of guys, so I don’t say it.
by Michele | Jun 24, 2018 | Chronicles
ST: Ra’s al Ghul had not mislead Damien when he provided the boy with the location of his Mother. Sandy Hook: Admiral Docks. This isn’t your average Warehouse district sort of Boat Dock. Considered to be one of the wealthier areas in all of Gotham, Sandy Hooks is most notably home to Gotham Stadium. It is the tourist district of the otherwise gloomy Gotham skyline. You won’t find any homeless people here. No dark alleys. Very little crime.
What you will find is the Admiral Docks, where the wealthiest members of Gotham’s Elite harbor their boats. We’re not talking about an industrial district. This is a well lit harbor, with Yachts ranging from personal pleasure boats to Bruce Wayne’s own super-liner that hosts the New Years Eve celebration each year.
Security for the Admiral Docks is a mixture of personal security provided by the society members who bring their boats in to port and Port Authority, which is the naval portion of Gotham’s Police Department.
Each Yacht in the Port is more elaborate than the next. With every rich family in the City seemingly out to establish their own personal stature in the community, by making their water-bound homes more and more lavish than the next. Searching them all would take days, if not months given how difficult it would be to acquire the proper search warrants.
Luckily Ra’s al Ghul didn’t need to worry about red tape. He provided Damien with the exact Vessel. Destiny. A super-yacht. The 174 meter Luursen-class yacht can accommodate a whopping 75 people comfortably for a six month cruise. Three times that number can come aboard for an evenings party. Even in the dark of night the Destiny can be seen from all angles for miles due to the halo-lighting that serves as both ego-massage and security because the illumination makes it impossible to approve even from -beneath the boat- without being seen even by the naked eye. In fact this miracle liner is known for that very feature, as it actually causes the water for nearly 100 yards to illuminate in such a way that passengers can see the bottom as if it were pristine coastal waters.
Nothing about the boat is amiss, to the naked eye. Though neighboring Yachts have been complaining of late about the loud music and party that has seemed non-stop for almost two weeks straight.
Damien: The harbor wasn’t exactly Damien had in mind when his grandfather told him where his mother was being held. And on board the Destiny, nonetheless. It wasn’t going to be easy, there was no real way to approach the luxury yacht stealthy. If he was going to get in at all, he was going to need help. First, he needed Timothy to get him a layout of the yacht. If they were going to go in, they needed to know exactly where everything was. Everything was going to have to be figured out on the spot. Damien wasn’t going to wait to see what happened with his mother.
Second, He was going to need backup. As confident as Damien was in his own abilities, he knew this was going to require help. Calling Dinah and Richard to come help him was … hard. Damien was much like his father in this regard, not liking to have to ask for help. And when he did, he despised it. It wasn’t going to take long to get towards the docks, going in by air, ground or water wasn’t going to matter. “Timothy.” saying all too calmly as he brought his younger brother on the comm. “Will you be able to turn off the halo?” asking as he started coming up onto the harbor.
“Also. I will require information about this yacht. And do make it quick. I will be onto harbor grounds in approximately fifteen minutes. You will be our eyes and ears, Timothy. The Oracle, if you will.”
Dinah: Normally? There’d be some razzing about the phone call. Maybe more than a little but the tone of voice made it clear enough that I should save the pushing for after this is finished. I don’t want Damien, or any of them, to think that I won’t help. Especially when I’m asked. Because lets face it, normally I’m much more the in your business whether you want me to be or not kind of woman. This isn’t exactly a private matter anymore. Not once the League turned up in the city. Now it’s all hands on deck, or at least all hands that are functional and capable, and I’m still wishing there were a few more to be counted among that number.
Good thing I never let myself get totally drunk. It’s not the night to be off your game in even the slightest.
“Is the Batplane still potentially in kamikaze mode? Air’d be the closest thing to a surprise entrance you can hope for with those lights, and that’s still not going to be a lot.”
Explains so much though. We’ve been over the rest of Gotham, so has the League I assume, and no one had found hide nor hair (Ugh, both have strong potentials with who has her) of Talia al’Ghul. No one thought to check the one part of Gotham that’s usually off limits, and so… of course the Joker would have selected it for his hideout. Insanity doesn’t equal stupidity, unfortunately.
ST: “The ‘Halo’ is unfortunately a hard wired feature. Someone will need to disable it from onsite. Giving you a layout of the Destiny isn’t a problem though. There are essentially six decks. With the upper most deck being a helicopter pad, deck two is the bridge. Deck five and six are maintenance and engine rooms. Deck two is where you’ll find the security system’s main controls, including the hard line for the Halo. Once you’re on the boat, if someone can jack me in I’ll be able to do more but for now I’m essentially your eyes in the sky.”
Timothy Drake-Wayne has been sidelined for the evening due to injury. He’s been incommunicado for most of the last two days recuperating from the brutal beating he received at the Iceberg lounge. Along with his own physical injuries, the hijacking of the BatCave systems have left the Bat-Family with only one functional computer system. The Nest, which isn’t something the rest of them can actually operate in the first place. Leaving him the nature one to play the role of Oracle for the evening.
On the flip-side of this is Dick Grayson, the man currently sporting the Batsuit, “We’re essentially down one Bat-Plane. While we were chasing down a certain Red Hood and stopping him from killing anyone else. The League assaulted Wayne Manor. They ransacked the entire place. PennyOne was controlling the plane remotely when they attacked. He was forced to leave it on auto-pilot. Giving our mysterious Hacker a timely opportunity to seize control of it and attempt to kill us all.”
“There is more than one way to go airborn though,” Grayson is quick then to gesture the two of them to his Cape. “It isn’t just for show… I’d be willing to bet that Damien’s cape still fits too. Maybe he’d like to trade the Hood in for a R, tonight?”
Catman: What has Thomas Blake been doing since everything went to shit? Retracing steps. Checking out old haunts and probably if he did not know any better, contaminating crime scenes, but luckily for the over worked, stressed out men and women of the law especially the CSI techs Thomas knew a thing thing or two about not contaminating crime scenes. For Thomas it was about getting what he needed references, deconstructing what happened, but what was in front of him.
Whether it was a broken table, skylight or anything else that was out of place. Scents that blended together that made for a nightmare for most could be pulled apart by Thomas. It was like looking at after images. He didn’t see people, his brain could fill in the images, but his sense of smell, his olfactory senses were on fire. Things that were familiar and those that were.
Birds of a feather and who flocked and didn’t flocked together could be made out. As could ninjas (he was being kind, because in the beginning it was kung fu mutha #$@%ers.) Those were new, but he was becoming familiar with them and their arsenal of weapons. They certainly liked their smoke bombs. If anything he was looking for clues, clues to help him piece together where to go next, what questions to asks.
The Joker was involved. It was evident by his pirate broadcasts. Word on the street is this is where it happened. He needed to be able to distinguish scents not to go running out into the city, but to add them to a growing and never ending repository of information, but these quiet moments of the lone cat slinking through the night allowed Thomas to organize information in a way that allowed him to ask simple questions. Questions that some would overlook, but others might go hmm.
Of the scents there were some that were unfamiliar. One that was expensive, yet exotic. The fragrance wasn’t anything you would find stateside, it was definitely outside the United States. It had to be the dame. Then there were others that were local could be Joker, but another, this one that was neither ninja, goon or Cobblepot made Thomas wrinkle his nose.
He knew that scent. He smelled it before. He tucked that away. The scent had no name attached to it, but the nose never forgets. Still, this is where the dame was snatched. It’s what he was thinking about as he left one crime scene for the next. There were people to talk to. This was normal. Insurance rates would go out for Oswald, but he’d reopen.
He always did. Why was he involved? Why did it matter? Firefly wasn’t anyone to him, not really.
Perhaps it was the nagging feeling of…where was the justice? If it had been him he’d be in jail, being told what a harm he was to society. Ninjas were in the streets menacing anyone that was caught in their path that happened to have some interaction with those that had been classified as the enemy, because they might know something. Bat’s was an asshole, but he was their asshole and there was something. This…this bullshit was something….Gotham was hitting new lows, even for Gotham and given that he was from Gotham Thomas Blake could say that.
In the middle of all that something stuck out.
Dames!
Damien: Damien had chosen to gloss over the fact that he had killed Killer Moth, but it wasn’t something he regretted all that much. The man was useless. Hardly a match for Damien’s viciousness. But, that wasn’t the others appreciated so much.
“You are not funny, Richard. Besides, I believe Dinah wore it better than I ever had.” Damien said with a complete straight face and deadpan delivery. Did he just make a joke? Gunning it towards the docks, Damien didn’t stop for anything. Dodging between cars, surprising old ladies crossing the crosswalk. You know, what he normally would have done. “The League attacked Wayne Manor? Hmm. Interesting.” pressing his lips together as he continued zooming towards the harbor.
Storing that bit of information for later, Damien concentrates on the operation at hand. “Dinah. I will need you to take care of the lights. If we cannot shut off the lights, then the night will be much more difficult than it will need to be. What about lifesigns, Timothy? Can your eyes tell us how many guards we are expected to encounter? And maybe where Joker is holding my mother hostage?”
ST: “That is where I give you the Bad News,” as if the rest of what Tim had reported was Good News! “There are nearly one hundred life signs on the boat. Scattered pretty randomly, from what I can see. I can’t risk the drones going in close, with the Halo on, or they’ll blow the element of surprise. So I’m dealing with what I can give you from range. More than half of the life-signs are also pinging on the metal detectors, suggesting that they’re armed. But…
“I’m afraid that’s not the worst of the news. My drones are reading high levels of thermite, which isn’t necessarily an explosive of it’s own, but is a catalyst used to ignite explosives,” Timothy’s voice is actually shaky when he finishes speaking. “What I’m saying is. I can’t tell you who is an enemy or an innocent but what I can tell you is that Joker has rigged nearly everyone on that boat with dead man explosives.”
Dinah: “Sounds like a job for someone not named Canary, you lost me at hard wired…”
In reality, I’d followed the rundown of the yacht itself of course, layout and what’s where committed to memory as easily as anything else is. Except the operation, or use, of anything more complicated technology wise than my VCR. I can use computers, we just have a hate-hate relationship and when it comes to ‘jacking’ anything, especially something important, it’s not a job best left to me even if there’s no other options. I’d probably find a way to get his system herpes at a distance. Or just break whatever I was supposed to be linking. But I’m glad Red Robin’s not here. I’d tried ‘grounding’ him to the house that he’s bunking in with me, which had lasted until I’d left myself, and he’d only been briefly back since. As long as he’s not in the thick of the fight though, he can do his thing.
“Ttch. I was hoping to see you in the booties, Hood. I’m sure they make them in your color. And I wore it better than any of you did. But who wouldn’t want to get all up close and cuddly with Bats, here. You drop me in the bay and you’re getting another tally on your sheet…”
Any further comment or commentary about Damien’s plan gets cut off by Tim’s additional sunny information about our situation here, and the corner of my mouth pulls tighter, and tighter to the side in a grimace as he goes on.
“So. We need to get in and out, with minimal side trips for vengeance…” Yes, I’m making side eyes at you, Hood, “In as short an amount of time as possible. I’m assuming if I destroy in true me fashion the controls and lights then Red Robin’s not going to be able to help…?”
Catman: Thomas had been to the Iceberg a few times, it was usually for upscale clientele. He was familiar with most of the female staff in one way or another. He rather not go into how he knew them, but he was familiar with most of their scents and the clothing that Cobblepot had them wear. It was familiar. However, there was something that didn’t stand out, something that was more along the lines Joker’s people.
Quinn. Not that he didn’t have a frame of reference, but anyone that was there that talked said nothing about her. Despite all her problems, Quinn was not a shrinking violet. She was loud, obnoxious and usually draped over the Joker like a cheap suit. At least that’s what Thomas had observed and heard. However, this time there was no mention of her…at all.
Even more, he couldn’t recall seeing her during the Joker’s broadcasts. That didn’t add up. Not one bit. What’s a guy to do? Ask questions. Questions that could get him in trouble if he asked the wrong people, but there were people he could ask. Had they seen the Joker’s best gal. True they had their differences, and they sometimes went on the outs, but there was nothing on the street said that they were on the outs. What he had a was a peculiarity. One ne needed to uncover.
Here’s the thing. He was working at the deductive reasoning business. If the Joker and Harley weren’t on the outs then where was she? There was nothing from the regulars about her being seen or brought into the police department and she’s not someone you would overlook on the street. She stood out just like the clown.
However, everything about what happened at everyone looking at the Joker focused on what he was doing. Their attention was to the left, but what was happening to the right? What was she up to? Why wasn’t she noticed? Because she didn’t want to be. Took of her face and put on a mask.
She blended in. Change of pace. Less asking about Harley and more about Harleen.
Damien: “I will hardwire him into the boat, then.” offering as he listened to Tim. Though, that didn’t discourage him from coming in hot on the harbor. “Oracle. If I am to give you a up close look at these dead man explosives, will you be able to determine if you can disable them, or give us a way to disable them?” the information was bleak, but it wasn’t going to stop Damien from going in. Though, it wasn’t going to be in the usual way.
Getting through the harbor gate wasn’t hard, that was probably the easiest thing he’d done tonight. Coming within sight of the yacht, Damien would narrow his eyes. It was obvious which boat it was. “Do not worry, Canary. There is only one trip of vengeance, And that is ending when I bash my fist against Joker’s skull.” explaining. “And here, We were comrades at one point. Tch. I was thinking of inviting him to Thanksgiving Dinner.” Obviously Damien was suffering from some kind of head trauma to make such a terrible joke.
Or, maybe he was trying to be like them? It was hard to tell. Damien was hard to read at times. “Okay, Oracle. I will be on the boarding ramp to the vessel in…3 …. 2 …. 1” stopping the cycle hard when he gets just inside the halo light, Damien launches himself at the first guard. Hoping to draw the surprise of some the guards to him. “Patch yourself to my helmet to see what I see and advise.”
ST: “Alright, hang on tight then Canary,” Dick’s voice is not nearly so stern as Bruce’s, but there’s a timber to it when he’s wearing the cowl. “Let’s be clear about this, Hood. We’re here to get your Mother out, Damien. That has to be the priority. Saving Gotham for tonight means getting Ra’s his daughter back.”
Bruce would have never agreed to this plan. Not with so many variables. Especially not with Damien in such a strange place as he has been mentally of late. Bringing in help with explosives on every level would have just invited carnage. All but asking the Joker to set them off for no other reason than to take people away from the Batman. The trouble with Bruce’s method, tonight, would have been a failure to recognize that all of this isn’t about the Batman and his eternal fight with the Joker. It’s about Damien confronting his Demon. Maybe tonight that Demon wears the face of a clown, but it’s still the young man’s demons at risk here. The loss of his Father has the Hood going down a rabbit hole and this might be the last chance to pull him out of it.
The Batman’s arms enclose around the lithe waist of the Black Canary only moments before the two of them take in to the air. They were in a lofty spot, across the Docks at the Lighthouse Tower. It was not merely a point of vantage to see the scene before them, but offered an opportunity to take the high ground. With his cowl in place, Dick was able to track the Red Hood’s transit from afar. Making it an issue of timing, that put them in the air only seconds after Damien begins his count down. Their arrival cannot be before the Hood causes a distraction. True to his words the Cape that Dick wears is fully functional, with hardened spines that look to be seams snapping in to place. With the cape then employed as a glider it will allow Black Canary to choose her point of entry.
—
In all of their ears is Timothy Drake, “You’re on my main screen Hood. I’m going to use your helmet line a sonar. As you move through the boat I’ll ping and then cross reference with the blue prints. Your mother has to be on level three or four. Deck four is mostly bed rooms. The films that Joker was sending to the local news showed your mother on a stage. That means deck three. Near the aft of the boat. There’s a theater room there. They have live bands perform for parties.”
—
Now the Boat itself isn’t that difficult to board. Not for the Batman, Black Canary and especially not the Red Hood on his motorcycle. What might be surprising though is the lack of defense put up by the ‘armed guards.’ Even when the engine of the Red Hood’s bike garners their attention? They seem rather flat-footed about mowing him down with a spray of bullets.
Which is a mystery that gets solve in rather quick fashion, when the Halo goes out and the disco lights take it’s place. If you though the Halo effect was bright? This is taking that effect and adding crack cocaine to it. The Admiral Harbor lights up like New Years, in the middle of June. The party music that had been reported to the police as noise pollution before only cranks it up that much worse.
Oh, but that is not the strangest little bit of information that our ‘Heroes’ get once arriving on scene. One has to wonder: How did Ra’s al Ghul know where the Joker was holding Talia? That answer comes quickly. In the form of League of Shadows bowmen laying face down in the olympic sized pool on the main deck. Their blood has turned the pool a sickly shade of brown. The chlorine does very little to cleanse the stench of death from the air. It’s difficult to count how many of the Assassins have died, because their bodies are quite literally piling up in the pool.
Catman: Thomas would not go as far as to say that he cracked the case, but he had something he could work with. It’s not that he didn’t have other resources, but he rather not tip his hand if he didn’t have to. He also was unsure about where he stood. Could this be contained? If so, what then? If not, what then? Gotham hadn’t grinded to a halt, but it felt like a city had seized a bit with everything that happened. The wheels of progress were once again off the track in the worst way.
Even if this had the best possible outcome and Talia al Ghul was rescued there were individuals who weren’t too keen about the way things went down. If the ninjas had been acting alone at the command of their master it would be one thing, but there had been too many reports that the Hood had been at the front. The same Hood who was galivanting around with the Joker.
Everyone saw how long that lasted, in the progress someone last their life and yes everyone knew the Joker was insane, not excuse a fact and he may find his way to Arkham again to repeat that cycle, but what about the Hood? Is this the Justice people should expect now? Are the rules being rewritten? A new order.
The Bat had been seen, but…Thomas told himself to focus. He needed to take a step at a time. Rather than asking if anyone had seen Harleen Quinzel he asked if anyone had seen this woman. If they didn’t think about or she would be a random person.
Anywhere. Somewhere. Someone had to have seen the woman. He was hoping. Whether Gothamites wanted to believe all of Gotham was touched by crime. Some violent, some not so violent some that used the upper echelons of population to bring their operations into the light. They went legitimate , we as legitimate as they could. Others had understandings, which is why he spoke with everyone showing the picture of Harleen from an old newspaper article. They didn’t need to know that she now went about as Harley Quinn.
It was a simple, “Have you seen this woman.” Type of situation. She was running a scam, and someone got burned and Thomas was doing work to track her down, for a friend. It took a little time, because he slow walked it, he didn’t want to tip off the wrong people. If word got around that he was looking for Harley it could quickly get back to the Joker and he wanted to avoid that.
However, he got what he needed eventually. She had been spotted, in Sandy Hook of all places.
Dinah: “So help me God, if you taze me again right now…”
I know he’s not going to, so it’s a hollow and trailed off threat as I wrap my arms around Grayson’s suited form. Up close, it’s very easy to tell the difference between him and when Tim wore the suit, even though he was ‘enhancing’ a lot when he did, and certainly from their father. They’re all built very differently, which could be attributed to what they’re each individually good at I suppose. His ‘fun’ little prank while we were sparring was one thing, none of these guys are going to put down a comrade in the field, especially not when there’s only three of us. It might amount to suicide.
And speaking of which…
There’s a harsh noise not exactly under my breath as we glide over the pool, lit up like a psychedelic murder disco that says ‘Welcome! Party’s Right Here and We’ve Been Waiting for You!’
“So we’re doing Ra’s’ dirty work, in the name of family loyalty and Gotham. Just #$&*ing great. I don’t know if this is a compliment, or a convenient ploy…”
And in the end it doesn’t really matter which one, because clearly the League can’t get this done with the forces he was willing to commit, and the current state of the city just can’t continue. As we approach the helicopter pad, and the inevitable staircase downwards to the floor below, I jerk my head with a suggestive waggle of blonde brows.
“Going down…”
When I’m close enough to make the jump, I just let go and do, tumbling into a booted run across the top deck to make my way towards a whole lot of surely delicate electronics that I’m going to play not so nicely with.
Damien: Damien’s response well, wasn’t a response as Dick told him they were there for his mother, and his mother only. Vengeance will have to wait. That simple fact made Damien’s blood boil. Once again, having to choose. It was the right decision, Damien recognized that, but it didn’t mean that he had to like it. Once he’s on the boat, he’s surprised to see the League of Assassin bowmen laying face down in the pool, upon piles of their own corpses in the pool. It was a disturbing sight, but didn’t faze Damien.
All this would bring Damien down to one knee within the bridge as he reached up to touch the side of his helmet to turn the sound dampeners on. Then something in his lenses to filter out the extra light. Though, it would take him several seconds for the light blindness to slowly fade away. Whatever Joker was doing, it was definitely slowing them down. “Oracle. Can you hear me?” asking, unsure if Tim would be able to overcome the additional sound and light at the origin. When his blindness faded, Damien’s vision would still be hampered. Though, he could only hope that Batman was able to overcome this.
“If you can hear me, Oracle. Can you turn the power off to the vessel? Maybe that will be sufficient enough to turn off the lights and additional music. I am unsure how much longer the sound dampeners in the helmet will be able to suppress the sound before overloading.” It was becoming clear as to why his father had such a hard time defeating Joker. There was no rhyme or reason to his methods. No pattern, just pure chaos. While even chaos had patterns, Joker seemed to defy those laws.
“Batman, Canary. Are you well?” asking as Damien worked on patching a stronger connection for Oracle.
ST: Now our group makes Three. Batman. Black Canary. Red Hood. Gone is the sound of Timothy Drake in their ears. Gone is the sound of one another in their ears. While there are three of them, they are now each very much alone.
The Red Hood has taken to the bridge, that was the plan. He’d volunteered to handle deploying Timothy’s technology that should have given the Boy Wonder access to the Vessel. However none of them had accounted for the instant radio silence that descends upon them at their arrival. Damien most of all was relying on Tim to give him information. Cut off from that he has only his own senses and those of his Red Hood helmet to rely upon. Immediately beneath the Helicopter Pad, the Bridge Deck is actually the smallest area where crew or passengers actually inhabit. Damien can literally see from one side of the deck to the next, with the only impediment to his vision being the singular ‘Room’ where the crew would go to take control of the boat. That’s where the Captain and Crew would be, if the boat was out of the Harbor sailing the ocean blue. Right now the Bridge itself has a myriad of crew members. Each one dressed in their uniforms. Though they’re each showing signs of abuse. Their faces painted, marred with makeup that has made each of their faces a mocking tribute to the Joker.
What’s more immediately recognizable is that Tim was right. They’re all armed. Each of the five man crew that inhabit the bridge is armed with some manner of firearm. And each of them are turning those weapons on the Red Hood.
The Black Canary’s roost upon the Helipad is actually the one place on the vessel with the least amount of eyes on it. But that is actually by design. As the Boat ‘Lights Up’ the Helipad is transformed in to a stage. With the biggest and brightest of the lights turned upon it. Colors of all sort wash over the pad, as blinding as the sounds are deafening. The purpose of chaos is often confusion, but the lights upon the Helipad do not remain all that confusing for once. Their swirling nature last only until each of the lights come to rest upon a single point. A spotlight, such as it is. With a single person standing in the middle of it. A woman. Who’s arrival seems all too timely, especially once Dinah realizes that this woman has put herself right in the path of the staircase off the Helicopter Pad. The red, purple and green tassels that waft in the wind have a similar effect to Batman’s pretty cape obscuring most of the visible sight of what armor and weapons the creature might be carrying.
To those not yet on the boat the sight of the Yacht has drastically changed. It’s ordinary white wash finish has taken on a purple and green hue. The soundscoming from the Destiny can reach as much as a mile away. Circus Music is certainly a way to rouse many a high profile millionaire in the surrounding boats. Anyone within range of line of sight might also notice, strangely, that the other guards are almost motionless all along the exterior of the Boat.
Catman: This was the last place that he thought he would find himself. When people came to visit Gotham it was usually this area that they visited. It is where Gotham Stadium was located. It was the part of Gotham that people wanted to have showcase across the world and it got its fair share of television time sadly Crime Alley and the like also got their fair share. If Crime Alley was the hideous child that you wanted to keep hidden under the steps then Sandy Hook was the one you wanted to show.
In other words, Sandy Hook was Marcia Brady, while Crime Alley didn’t even rate Jan, it was Cousin Oliver.
If Thomas had more to go on he might know where to start in this area of the city, but while he had something he didn’t know exactly what it was. There could have been a number of reasons why Harley had come to his part of town. He could ask around, but that would take time and time had been running out. Though when one thought about it despite the fact that Talia al Ghul had been snatched in the Iceberg, Sandy Hook would definitely be an area she might have been residing in.
It was a leap, but one thing that Thomas knew was that no one had heard anything about the Joker setting up shop in the usual areas. Maybe there was a reason for that. Perhaps to disappear they needed to hide in plan sight in the last place anyone would look for them. It was possible. Anything was possible. It could explain why Harley had been in the area.
Perhaps it was as simple as that. Not only had she removed the armor to appear as a regular person they needed something innocuous and wouldn’t draw attention to themselves. So many assumptions, but now that he had an area there were different questions that he could ask.
Was there anything out of the ordinary. Anything, nothing was too big or small. Was it business as usual in Sandy Hook or was something out of place? That was the question and while there had been no explosions, no terrible threatening people roaming the streets, there had been something.
Noise complaint. Nuisance. Noise pollution. Apparently, all was not well in Sandy Hook. Neighbors weren’t getting along. Perhaps they were having a bit of spat, but as Thomas dug into it apparently this had been going on for quite some time. Two weeks. Two weeks and nothing, but then again, the wealthy tended to handle certain matters amongst themselves. At least that what he was told, but two weeks. It was true that al Ghul had been missing for a week, but perhaps he should.
It’s what brought Thomas to the Admiral Docks in Sandy Hook. The source of the noise pollution. Thomas had seen it before they all had. It was a jewel of Gotham, but by the time he arrived it had gone from jewel to something out of a nightmare. If there was any doubt about where the Joker had set up shop it had vanished. Apparently, the murder circus had set up shop on the water.
Despite what this meant the first thought that Thomas had was, property values are about to hit the basement.
Dinah: The lack of communication and tech feeds? Not actually all that problematic for me. I know what kind of gadget suites most of the other suits run, heads up displays, data feeds, streamed access to the Batputers. Just because I avoid implementing them like the plague doesn’t mean I don’t have a general idea of what they’re all working with. The only thing I’ve used, and probably ever will use, is the earpiece for communicating with my partners, and on occasion some low light/no light lenses. I’ve heard enough bitching and moaning from Tim that I wouldn’t let him ‘set me up’ with something more efficient and top end when he did the latest iteration of my Canary ‘suit,’ not to mention the serious threats of bodily harm he got when eyeballing my bike, but in moments like this? I kind of thing it’s a good thing. I don’t feel crippled, or even that off, when the banter and insight cuts off.
Plus, I have a bit of a distraction in front of me. The lights, and the figure at least. The sound doesn’t bother me in the slightest. Being immune to the concussive force of my own powers doesn’t mean I don’t hear them.
They were waiting for us. Tonight, in fact, because I don’t buy that this one, of all people, was conveniently waiting just so for more than about five minutes. I doubt she has the attention span for it, really. That’s not even factoring in the lovely stage lighting, but I only spend so long wondering exactly how much of our system has been compromised, and where it starts. Or maybe someone just told them we were coming.
“Well, gotta say I’m a little surprised. I figured you’d be all for us offloading your boss’ distraction…”
Damien: When his vision came back, Damien turned around to see five men pointing their weapons at him. This wasn’t good. When they started firing on him, Damien did his best dance to dodge the incoming bullets. They were marred in Joker makeup, which means they might be doing this against their will. Which means non-lethal methods. Unfortunately, that didn’t apply to them against him. Though, he couldn’t kill them. Didn’t mean he could disable him. Diving behind one of the consoles in the bridge, he used it to take cover from the fire.
They were jamming all the equipment. Which meant that Damien had no idea what was going on. But, he had faith in his brother and Dinah to get the job done. There was a hope that maybe Tim could do something. But for now, he had to assume there was going to be no way in contacting his younger brother. It was a slight setback. Right now, Damien had to deal with five armed men, looking to make swiss cheese out of him. Sure, Damien’s armor was bullet proof. It didn’t mean he wanted to rush them and test just how bullet proof it was.
When there was enough of a pause, Damien would make his move. Getting onto his feet and staying low, he pulls out a small blade and runs around the edge of the console. Making sure to make it as hard as possible for the men to tag him. To keep them alive, he was going to have to slice the side of their knees in an attempt to get them to falter. It was the best he could do right now, because if any of them get a good shot in, things were going to become much… much different.
Helena: She couldn’t decide if she was more frustrated or embarrassed over the end of the evening. Frustration she could deal with, the other, not quite so easily. It left a lot of lingering questions she was prepared to answer, or could even answer. It also posed some larger problems and that on top of everything just soured her mood. Being reminded of to many things from her past made a seed of doubt dig its way into her brain, imbedding and growing. To many what ifs were running through her head as she unlocked the door to her dead father’s house and slammed it behind her. Leaning back against it she rubbed the but of her palm into one eye, her head was throbbing again in that knife through the back of the skull kind of way.
Dropping her purse on the entryway table she dug into it, pulling out her bottle of pills. Her hand was shaking, never a good sign, as she opened it and tapped out two of the contents and tossed them into her mouth. Dry swallowing the pills she tossed the bottle back inside her purse, taking it upstairs to her old bedroom to leave among the pile of her things that she’d still yet to go through. Which made her eyes slowly turn to the large locked storage box that she’d shipped over with the rest of her things.
Gotham was off limits. She wasn’t here in any official capacity. She wasn’t here to work. Yet she’d still packed her suit and gear. She hadn’t expected to need it but coming back here with what information she had been given she had planned on gathering more information about the vigilantes in the city. And Dick had left her to go deal with a problem at the docks, which lead to the possibility that those very same vigilanties would be showing up.
An hour later she was perched on the edge of a roof looking down over the harbor, googles down over her eyes as she zoomed in on the yacht just as the lights lit up in clashing colors. A frown tugged across her face and with a thought the air around her shimmered and she vanished from sight. Jumping down off the roof she caught the edge of the fire escape, swinging her around, slowing her descent before hitting the pavement silently. The police radio in her ear buzzing.
Moving further toward the docks she found a new perch on the roof of another yacht, the lack of chatter in her ear making her frown. The silent pop of the radio the telltale sign of a jammer. She drummed her fingers against her knee, the unsetlings sixth sense in the back of her head setting off more than a few warning signs.
ST: “Gee wizz, Mista Jay ain’t so distracticated as ya might think.”
The Cheshire smile is right at home on her sweet face. Dinah’s taller. Seemingly in better shape. Nothing about the heart-shaped face or the even heartier shaped bottom suggests that she might put up a fight against someone like the Canary. Yet there she is. In all of her grandeur. Posing, more or less. Directly in the path of the blonde vigilante. Making no effort to hide or simper. She’s bold and the mallet in her hand, trailing upon the helipad behind her? Is even bolder.
“Listen Tweety, what we have here is a stand-off. Not even the fun Mexican variety. What say we skip town. Couple gurls out on the town. Leave the boys to their toys and games? Maybe we can stop and watch the fireworks. Mista Jay does the best fireworks.”
—
Just below the Helicopter Pad is the Bridge and that is where Damien is encountering a whole new world of psychotic. He’s right to dive for the nearest console. He’s also right that there’s no way of knowing whether or not the bridge crew are acting upon their own volition or not. What he does know, right away, is that they’re trying to kill him. Gunfire erupts immediately.
Now when he emerges from behind the console there’s a selection of targets. The five of them have not spread out like professions. They’re huddling closer to the console than they should and when Damien takes the fight to them he’s quick to take one out at the knee. Immediately he gets a little more information about the crew, because they don’t hesitate. The remaining four simply shoot at whatever is moving. Including each other. He might not be employing lethal force, but the first person he takes out? Is dead shortly there after by the other men not caring who they shoot in their rush to hit Damien.
His helmet is filtering all of the insanity around him, but it isn’t blocking it off entirely. Now that he’s engaged directly, he’ll hear the men. Screaming. Not in rage, but in terror. They’re terrified. Of -Him-. They’re not attacking him out of rage or intention, they’re attacking him out of unbridled fear. Like he was a demon among their midst.
—
Not too far below them comes yet more sounds of carnage. After dropping Canary at the point she wished, Dick Grayson descended upon the boat as Batman. Neither of them can see what is happening, but there is no mistaking the sounds of combat below.
Nor can either of them mistake the sound of the first explosion for what it is either. Easily seen from -off- the boat. Something or someone just went up like the forth of July.
In the relative silence that follows the first explosion comes the maniacal cackle of the Clown Prince.
Damien: Damien can see it in their faces, though he can’t let emotion get the best of him. Did he want this man to die? No. He didn’t deserve this, he didn’t deserve to die like this.In complete terror and being shot down by his friends. As much as Damien wanted to save the man, he knew he couldn’t. It was something he’ll have to figure out later. But, right now, he couldn’t be distracted. Taking them down close wasn’t going to do it. Instead, he ops to use the console again as a shield, but he knows it wasn’t going to take long before their weapons completely tore through the already bullet riddled console.
When Damien heard the explosion, hopefully that would catch the men’s attention just long enough for him to throw over some gas pellets as he ran from the console as it wasn’t providing him with any kind of cover. He’d use anything as cover at this point, hoping the gas pellets would be enough to knock the men out. Damien was a man of order, He liked to do things in a certain way. Much like how Bruce did. There was a method to his madness. The Clown Prince threw all that into the air.
“I do not suppose you men are done shooting at me?” asking, waiting for the sounds of the men falling to the ground before slowly creeping up behind a sofa.
Hopefully Dinah and Richard were having a better time than he was.
Dinah: Here’s the thing about looking curvy and sweet and mostly just female: it gets you underestimated. A lot. Even when you’re carrying a Loony Tune-esque mallet in your hands. It’s one of the reasons that I walk around in glorified fetishwear, or maybe just underwear like I do. Being underestimated is a real, solid, and fairly dependable fighting tactic, especially when you’re aggressive enough to seize upon any and all openings that gives you. I’m not going to underestimate Harley Quinn.
“I suppose not, seems like he’s had plenty of time to plan a real party…”
Cocking my head towards the starboard side of the boat, I sweep a half gloved hand out in an inviting gesture.
“Pick up some margaritas on the way? Sounds great, after you…”
The gunfire erupting below isn’t unexpected, we knew most of them were armed coming in, and it means that someone’s engaged. From how close it sounds it could be either one. Then comes the explosion, that you don’t have to be able to see to hear, and maybe even feel. I don’t have time to stand around playing a waiting game here, so I sigh, and the hand returns to my fist.
“No? Alright then.”
I don’t normally like to give up ground. It’s always better to force your opponent to act so that you can react, and set the terms of an engagement but she’s already called it what it could be. A stand-off. And so I move, charging in on the side of the mallet so there’s less time for a wind up, and more opportunity to dodge its’ inevitable path.
ST: The fight in the bridge room ends up being short, if not sweet. Though the gas pellets do not have 100% effectiveness, they do take the proverbial heat off of Damien. One by one the crew men succumb to the toxic gas they inhale. But once the Red Hood emerges from behind the cover he sought, he’ll see that knocking them out did not save them from a gruesome ending.
One by one as the crewmen began to lose focus and consciousness, they took their own lives. Of the fives that were there when he entered three of them died from wounds inflicted upon themselves. One shot himself, to avoid the ‘Demonic Creature’ that would sure surface from the toxic cloud to eat him. Another slit his own throat in some sort of gruesome attempt to keep himself from inhaling the acidic cloud that Damien unleashed upon them. A third simply died, choking and wheezing upon the gas itself. He lays at Damien’s feet gurgling his last breathe in utter terror of the Red Hood.
Only one remains and he, the Captain of Yacht in fact, lays curled at the base of the doorway. Huddled around his firearm. Rocking back and forth, muttering some strange prayer for the help of God to protect him from these unearthed sea demons.
—
In any sort of real fight between Harley Quinn and Dinah Lance, the Canary wins. The only mistake that Dinah makes is in thinking that this is such a thing. She charges. Quinn ducks backwards, making no effort to truly engage. Instead as she dances back, a hidden switch on the mallet is touched and the floodlights rush to her co-star. The Black Canary gets the lights from all sides. All at once. The sudden unmistakable focus of those ultra high beams, meant to guide aircraft in from thousands of feet away.
She doesn’t attack Canary at all at first. In fact it’s quite the opposite. Blinding the Canary is just step one. Step two comes in the form of a string of fire crackers. Tossed at the pretty bird’s feet. Not just any fire crackers. I mean, they do read “BOOM” on the side.
Her giggling is pretty obnoxious.
—
Once Damien emerges from the Bridge area he’s going to be greeted with those lights and sounds. The circus is in town and it’s apparently right here on the boat. Below him, just a single deck down. Batman is facing an eerily similar situation to what Damien had faced. It’s nearly impossible to discern the difference between Joker’s actual goons and the hapless souls who just happened to be here innocently when Joker took over the boat.
Which has left Dick Grayson fighting a battle from all sides. Bouncing between upturned chairs, that once upon a time had been for use in the art of sunbathing. He fights an ever growing battle. Similar to Damien’s results, Dick has discovered that disabling the innocents merely causes the thermite that Tim pointed out, to ignite.
“They’re all wired! If they lose consciousness, they blow up. We can’t knock the civilians out! It’ll kill them.”
Which means the Batman is bound in a dance between the ones actively trying to kill him and the ones who can’t help themselves. The Chaos has them turning even on one another. Which is clearly what caused the explosion before.
“… they’ve all been juices… I think it’s Scarecrow’s fear toxins…”
Dinah: So we’re back to the crazytown stand-off it seems, and even though my eyes have started to adjust to the bright strobe effect that’s been bouncing and dancing all over the ship, I wasn’t entirely prepared for the intensity of all of those floodlights, all at the same time. A defensive arm isn’t nearly enough, or fast enough, to fully block them from robbing me of the full range of vision. Who needs all their senses in a fight… It’s definitely preferable but you just have to learn to use the other ones to compensate.
Speaking of seizing advantages, Harley wastes little time in an attack of her own, or what looks like one anyway. They could be nothing. They could also be enough C4 to blast me to Bludhaven in bits, regardless of what happens to the boat along with me. Naval safety doesn’t seem to be their concern, if the amount of thermite Tim had spoken of was any indicator.
I just don’t let them slow me down, after the stutter that blinding lights had caused in my gait, I pick up steam again, breaking into a sprint, orienting myself on that awful, grating giggling. That I know how to stop once I get my fists on her.
Damien: This was insanity in its most pure form. Thankfully Damien’s helmet was able to at least filter out the extra noise and strobing lights. “I noticed.” saying as Damien descended onto pool deck to help Batman try and contain and incapacitate them. “Then maybe we should not incapacitate them. Instead, may I suggest rounding them up like cattle in order to stop hurting themselves?” asking. Damien’s blood was boiling on high. But he was trying to keep his cool so that he could go confront Joker and end this lunacy once and for all.
Pulling out some rope, he hands Batman one end and hopefully they’re able to maneuver around the masses enough to try and tie them up without knocking them out. “Do you have any Fear-Toxin Antidote on you?” Damien wasn’t sure what Batman had exactly. Hopefully their plan worked. “Do you think you can get to the engine room, Batman? The bridge is out of commission and the only way to disable the vessel now is through a power switch in the engine room. Though. I have a feeling you may find more of these lunatics on your way.” commenting, Damien would then start towards where the theatre was. It was time to end this, and end it now.
ST: It might seem like a mad dash, but Dinah’s got a lot of things working in her favor. The rush of adrenaline, the sound of Harley’s laughter. Motivation in the form of Fire Crackers that are even now going off with the thunderous sounds of rifle fire.
What she lacks though, is premeditation. Harley has that in spades. Our Heroes have seemingly forgotten that Joker and Harley are each more than insane, they’re also brilliant in their own little ways. Harley, also known as Harleen Quinzel, happens to be a world class psychologist. Knowing for getting in to her client’s headspace in a way that most couldn’t even understand. Right now she seems to know, intuitively, that the Canary wouldn’t just let someone like her win without giving it her all. Why else would Harley be playing a game of keep away.
Which is working, if only because Harley is dancing away unencumbered by the light that threatens to take away Dinah’s vision. Unfortunately for Harley that only works for so long, before Dinah’s almost upon her and the giggling stops.
“Hey! Hands offa da merchandise!”
Dinah manages a single handful of one of those tassels. Now she just has to hold on to it when that Hammer’s handle thuds against Canary’s stomach.
—
Batman and Robin, by way of the Red Hood, are squaring off with a sizeable amount of terror-filled people. As Damien gets in close, he’ll see what Dick was talking about. These Civilians are scared, they’re lashing out at anything and anyone who gets close. No skill involved, but that’s where the actual trained goons are failing as well. They’re frightened as well, terrified just the same. Causing them to surrender their own training to that fear, giving in to it. Putting the entirety of that third deck in to complete chaos.
And the Batman’s already scary appearance is only making it worse. He amounts to a literal demon in their midst, not just ones their imagination conjure up.
Damien’s plan is one that Dick sees some sense in, but there happens to be a whole lot of downside in it. At the moment there doesn’t seem to be a lot of choice though. Bringing the Grappling hook in to play, he sets about assisting Damien in that very thing. Tying up as many of them as he can. At the very least it thins their numbers.
“Standard issue in any utility belt, but I don’t have enough for all of these people. That helmet of your’s should keep it out of your system, I’ve got the re-breather from my cowl. Canary’s unprotected though…”
Leaving Damien here sounds like a terrible idea, but neutralizing the boat’s power is an optimal plan. There’s little doubt that it’s not the best option, but nothing in this mad house is optimal. Finally Dick gives him a nod, he’ll get the power turned off.
“Hood, as hard as this is to accept. We have to get Talia off of this boat. There’s maybe fifty civilians here, but if Talia dies Ra’s will unleash the League on the whole City. Ten times is many people die if that happens.”
Damien: “Turn off the power and attempt to get to Canary. I will get Talia and take her off this boat. I know what Ra’s is capable of Batman. His blood runs within me. Also, maybe call PennyOne after you have turned the power off. Have him drop enough on everybody here.” Watching Batman for just a moment, Richard is Batman. There was no doubt that the cowl belonged to the right person. It was never for Damien to wear, but he would if Richard didn’t want to wear it.
Purging the thoughts from his mind, Damien turns and runs towards where the theatre is. Using their fear against them to create a path.
Talia had to be rescued. In his mind, Damien was working on an idea. An idea he didn’t like, He couldn’t fight the Joker and rescue Talia at the same time. So, he was going to have to go in guns blazing, if you will, to create enough of a distraction to grab Talia and then somehow blow out a section of the vessel to escape with her.
But, honestly. The idea was shakey enough.
If Joker killed Talia? That would probably be the straw that broke the camel’s back. It would be more than enough to drive Damien onto that path and never look back. Maybe even participate in the razing of Gotham. When he reaches the theatre doors, he doesn’t stop, instead he leaps into the air and kicks the door down tucking into a roll before popping back up, sword in hand.
Now, the final phase of this whole ordeal was about to end.
One way, Or another.
Dinah: Here’s the thing. You don’t stay in this line of ‘work’ without learning how to take a good bit of punishment, and being able to muscle on through it. I happen to prefer avoiding getting hit, while doing the brunt of the hitting myself, but there’s moments where things don’t go quite as I like. For instance, when I’m charging more than half blind at an opponent that I can only hear, and even that you can’t entirely trust because… these whack-os are all about show-biz tonight and I wouldn’t have been that surprised if it meant mics and speakers.
“Woooof…”
However, the handful of whatever this is, and the sharp ram to my midsection tells me I actually was heading the right direction. Hanging onto that tassel? Not a problem, if for no other reason than it’s getting a sharp yank as I fold forward over the handle of the mallet. Other hand going forward with the momentum of my run, following the ‘lead’ of the weapon down to the inevitable: one of the hands that is wielding it in the first place, and then a wrist so that when I twist around to that side, I’ve got a sensitive body part to torque along with me.
ST: While they weren’t able to secure everyone on the main deck, Damien and Dick did their best to secure as many as they could. There was only so much tether line between the two of them. It made for a slightly less chaotic venture for the two of them through different parts of the ship.
Dick’s path was less certain than Damien’s. Tasked with the unenviable task of getting all the way to the engine room, Dick understands that he doing the exact opposite of what Bruce would do. Bruce would -need- to go face the Joker. He would rationalize that this always going to be about Batman and Joker. Maybe he’d even be right, but the Joker knows. Somehow through all of his insanity? He knows that Batman is dead. Maybe not -the- Batman, but his Batman. He didn’t believe Timothy’s act as Batman and he’s unlikely to believe Dick’s anymore than that.
Damien on the other hand has a personal stake in this. One that will play out whether he’s involved or not. Losing Talia, without factoring in to the result would destroy him. Leaving only one choice, Dick has to trust his younger ‘Brother’ to do what is right. Because that’s really the only hope he has for the man’s sanity when all of this settles down.
So the Batman goes, not to fight to the Joker, but to find the power system that drives all of this insanity. Damien’s last sight of his brother is the cape and cowl descending a flight of boatsman steps. Sending a clown faced goon down before him, with a kick that jars the man to his very core.
—
“Tee hee. Holdin mah hand? Are we goin steady Tweety? How ’bout you give Momma a little sugar?”
Does that sound like a woman that is being twisted up like a pretzel? No, that sounds like a woman who enjoys being twisted up like a pretzel. Someone who’s had her arm twisted like that for kicks.
And Dinah was right. Sometimes it’s about muscling through the pain, other times it’s about enjoying it. Harley sounds almost happy to finally be in on some of the action. Dinah’s just getting warmed up too, when she undoubtedly hears the click.
That’s about all the warning she gets when the blunt end of mallet fires off like a rocket. Well, not -like- a rocket. It is an actual rocket. Having already been against Canary’s stomach, when the rocket fires it seeks to take Canary. Up up and away.
Oh and that arm? Yeah, well judging by the high piercing shriek of laughter Harley thinks of this like a Roller Coaster. If Canary hands on she gets to go for a ride.
Crazy bitch.
—
Up until now Red Hood has managed to get through the majority of this Mad House unscathed. He got through the bridge somehow without being shot. He made it through with the Batman’s aide, what might amount to nearly a hundred fear-crazed people with knives, guns and explosives. All the way to the theater room, where he makes this super awesome kung-fun style entrance.
This, folks, is Red Hood. Damien Wayne. In all of his glory.
Right up until the Titanium Baseball bat hits the back of that red hood with a ‘ting‘ that sounds like a grand slam hit.
Then another.
And another.
One to the ribs.
That one hits a knee.
One for the pistol arm.
“…stupid… fucking brat… don’t you get it? We are the same! He meant something to us… we needed answers. Who killed the Bat! Who took him from us?!”
Not so far in the distance? Damien can see his mother. Maybe not in the way he’s ever wanted to see her. She’s mostly naked by this point. Still hung to what looks like an over-sized dart-board. Which has been the obvious target of a game of throwing knives. Let’s just say more than few of them found the mark. If, between smacks of the baseball bat, he’s able to focus even a little? He’ll see that she’s actually still breathing. That may in fact be a bigger dishonor than anything else, because she’ll have to eventually awaken to see and feel what -all- has been done to her.
“Well. I know now. I know the truth … it’s the biggest Joke of them all…”
Dinah: Mother *%$&ing rockets.
When this is over, I’m going to go hunt down whomever it is that’s supplying these things to the city, and we’re going to have some words. And by words I mean I’m going to introduce them to every sharp, bony part of my body in rapid succession, and then do it a second, and possibly a third time afterwards. I wasn’t actually out to hurt Harley with the wrist lock. That had been to set her up for the hurt that was about to come when I put her down on our helipad dance floor.
Sorry Harls. No ride-a-long for you. At least not with me on this rocket-mallet. I let go of her wrist, and give the tassel in my other hand a yank, mostly to try to pull myself around and off of the forward movement of the rocket.
SCREET.
It’s short, but with my weight already back and off center, the force of that short burst ought to be enough to not only tilt me downwards, but the face-full of sonic energy might rock my opponent back, too, and maybe with some luck send her aim and her mallet up up and away. Prone isn’t exactly a great place to be, but I’m more than ready to kick anything that comes in range before I can kip back up again.
Damien: Joker didn’t have much in the way of strength that Damien, or even his father had. But, he wasn’t weak. So when the bat struck the back of Damien’s head, it nearly knocked off the helmet, but it also drove Damien down onto the floor where his ribs, knee and one of his pistol hands became greeted by the bat. The pain coursed through his body. Travelling at light speed, incapacitating him. But, every time Damien saw his nearly nude mother, he grew stronger. Grew angrier.
“Kill…” saying as blood dripped down out of his helmet. “Going … to kill you” growling under his mask. His head felt like it was on fire. Whatever was going to happen now, was going to happen on auto pilot now. When Joker stops his beatdown, Damien rolls away. But not before leaving a few exploding beads in his wake. Not enough kill him, but certainly surprise the living hell out of him. If they go off, the small force is enough to push Damien away even further from the psychotic clown.
Damien probably had a dislocated knee by this point, probably a cracked rib or two and a broken hand. But none of this was going to stop him from rescuing his mother. “Torturing the daughter of the demon would never get the answer you wanted, you psychotic lunatic.” pulling himself up, Damien can’t focus with the helmet on, so he tugs it off to see clearly. “You do not know the family you are trifling with, Joker. You do not realize the bounty that is on your head. The Demon will not stop for anything if you kill her.” slowly stalking towards the white skinned man.
“If you think Batman frightened you. Then you have no idea what true fear is. The Demon would kill you, Bring you back. Then do it again, for all eternity. Until your mind is so fractured, You will not even remember Batman. He will be just a memory that has lapsed.” stalking towards the Joker. “I will give you this opportunity to run, Joker. My fight is not with you tonight. Though, I will not hesitate to show you what real fear is.” saying as he changed direction to reach his mother.
“Come, Mother. It is time for you to return home.” Damien would keep his back towards Joker, knowing that Joker might strike him. Or run like the coward that he was. This scuffle with Joker was not over. He will pay his dues. Either by Damien’s hand, or by the League’s hand. This was his choice though. To rescue his mother and to take her home.
ST: What kind of world do we live in where a Rocket-Hammer doesn’t actually win in a game of one upsmanship between a couple of girls? A world full of crazy people, that’s what.
There’s this start of something truly beautiful. A little cheerful laughter, that turns almost mournful as the Canary is about to be sent in to outer space. Then a hiccup of, “…oh shit…” That comes just before the clowned smirk of Harley Quinn is turned in to a scowl of something akin to remorse.
Seconds later the Mallet of Mayhem is spiraling off in to the wild blue yonder. Leaving Harley’s dimpled face twisting in to a pout, that results in a foot stamp of petulance.
“That was mah favrit one! I clobbered Batgirl with that one… now you’re in for it…”
Then those wild, angry, blue eyes flicker to the wavering tassel. To the way Dinah twisted it as she rolled away. To the end that now tapers in a little loop around the …
“….but I didn’t wear mah parachooooootttt…”
—
The Joker might be unaware that his girlfriend is even now taking a short flight over Gotham Harbor, but he has other things to worry about. Beating the piss out of the Boy Wonder for one thing. Right now he’s too busy ranting to have immediately noticed the little beads or even care about what they do.
“… you think Ra’s al Ghul scares me?” His laughter is only interrupted by the beads exploding. Flinging the Joker away from Damien, much as it carries the Hood away from the baseball bat that was coming for him.
Coughing, wiping the blood from his chin, and using the bat as a cane to pick himself up from the wreckage of an overturned television filming stage. The Joker isn’t nearly done. He’s taken more than that in bathroom brawls for the soap. The dry laugh coming from his lungs is serious, not nearly so mocking as before.
“Ra’s is nothing, he lives off of fear. Fear that is over-stated. Look around you Hood. Look at the pool outside. Ra’s is over-rated. He couldn’t save his daughter. He had to send you. You and your second rate bat-knock-off and the blonde hooker. You’re a a regular justice league out there.”
“The only reason you’re even alive is because I need someone to know the punchline.” Twisting the handle of that bat, the fat end drops off revealing it to be a sort of mechanized shot gun. “It’s a joke. Don’t you even see it? Haha. This is why I need him. He’s my only equal. None of you even see it and it’s right in front of your faces.”
“Ra’s doesn’t care about his daughter. He already knew where she was. If was half as scary as you seem to think, why didn’t he bring the full League to rip her away?” Stalking toward the Red Hood, shotgun bat in hand. “He came to Gotham to get back what she stole. The Lazarus Pit you threaten me with. She stole it to raise the Bat.”
“But it didn’t work. Because there was no body. Ask her yourself ‘Red Hood,’ you clod. We’ve all been duped. Batman isn’t dead.”
BLAM!
The shotgun? Blasts a hole in the side of the boat. Big enough for Damien to take his mother and leap in to the Harbor. “… Talia had so much to tell me. I’m afraid I can’t let your friends take me back to Arkham yet. Not when I’ve got so much to do. Go. Carry on my Legacy, as the Red Hood.”
After all of this? The insanity of it all. Damien made it clear that he was letting the Joker leave and the Joker? If what he’s said is true, then he has no reason to stand and have one big last hurrah.
Damien really doesn’t have a choice after all. His back is to the Joker, brazenly. So all he really gets is to feel the Joker’s boot kicking him through the hole out in to the Harbor. He gets to hear the insane laughter. And watch from the Hudson River as the Joker sets the switch. Detonating any of the remaining bombs that can still go off.
How better to cover his exit?
Dinah: On the downside, apparently Harley wasn’t packing a parachute. Seems unwise if you’re going to walk around with a rocket mallet, but that’s just me. The upside? Her trip up, up and away has officially spared her from feeling the brunt of my irritation, and thwarted my plans of ending all that giggling with a couple well placed finger jabs. At least, it’s an upside if she knows how to swim, but that’s not as high a worry on my priority list right now as you might like to think.
Namely because the entire ship is now, apparently, exploding. The usual elegance of me rising to my feet gone all to hell because the vessel rocks, and roils, and moves beneath me. There’s no more attempts at getting to any controls, or lights, there’s just getting off this ship. And hoping that my companions are doing the same. Booted feet beat across the helipad, picking up as much speed as I can get, before launching myself over, and into the awaiting frigid water.
I can swim. Eat that, clowns.
by Michele | Jan 20, 2018 | Chronicles
Dick: At this point it seems like forever ago that the so-called ‘Bat Family’ was having a get together at Wayne Manor. Complete with costumes of a different sort. During which Damien had dressed up as an Assassin, from the League of Shadows. Now only a handful of weeks removed from that? I’m walking among a litany of dead bodies wearing that same attire. The Iceberg Lounge was once the peak of society in Gotham, I suspect it will be that again. It’s owner is connected, wealthy and one of the original families of Gotham. For some reason that tends to provide those few people with Teflon. Nothing ever sticks to them for long and that includes owning the site of one of the largest mass murders in Gotham’s History.
That is what I’m looking at. Mass Murder.
Bodies lay in random order in just about every place the eyes can travel. One murder is nearly indistinguishable from the other. Gotham City’s Police Department has called in all the over-time hours that anyone can handle. Crime Scene units have been brought in from all across the Country to collect evidence and work the case. A case that every single person here already knows the answer too. This wasn’t the act of just another of Gotham’s Rogue Gallery. This was a War, between several of them.
“Penguin’s Men were thrown to the wolves. Buying him time to escape. His body is absent, he’ll be back.”
It didn’t take your Bat-Computer to figure that out. What we’re having trouble with is who the hell killed these guys?
“Slade Wilson.”
Deathstroke? Why the hell is Deathstroke involved? He working for Penguin?
“No, he was clearly taking out any and everyone that got too close.”
So he was a free agent? What the hell is going on in my City, Batman?
The Commission’s question is troubling because I don’t have the answer. Bruce always seemed to. He always knew what was going on before anyone else did. It was like his very own super power. Despite studying with him for nearly three decades, I’m stuck with the thought that I failed to pick up the one skill I needed most. Because very little of this makes sense.
“The Joker has Talia al Ghul,” this isn’t a secret, it’s been all over the news, but I’m building to something. “He’s called out the League. The League was here because of whatever was in that room.”
The Commissioner and I have been standing at a doorway. It leads in to a room that at one time resembled some sort of private members only sauna. Complete with Hot-Tub. Apparently the best damned hot tub in all of the Free World, because the body count rises the closer you get to the room. Except that the causes of death change dramatically here. Out there in the Lounge, it’s mostly Mobster on Ninja violence, but starting just before the hallway to Penguin’s office the signs of Deathstroke entering the fray become clear. Crystal clear. Culminating here, at this doorway and ending just beyond it.
“My cowl has determined that there are trace amounts of the same substance Ra’s al Ghul uses to maintain his immortality, all over the room.” Turning away from the commissioner and toward the Penguin’s office. “When the Lab Results come back and confirm that, we’ll have one of the answers to this mystery. We’ll know why this place was more important to the ‘Demon’ than his own Daughter.”
That still leaves us with a shitbag full of other questions. Like where the hell the Penguin is now? Where’s Joker taken Talia? And why the fuck did Deathstroke get involved?
“I know where Penguin is, he’s not important.”
Says you.
“I’ll know where Talia is soon.”
Wonders never cease. Pray tell when are you going to let us average Joe’s in on the secret?
“As for Deathstroke. That is a mystery to me.”
God damnit, you spent too much time with him. You’re doing that thing..
. . .
Uh. Batman. When I start to rant you’re supposed to disappear. It’s almost reassuring. Why haven’t you… oh…
The Black Canary is why. Leading one to question how she’d gotten through a crime scene without arousing any notice. Especially dressed like she is. She’s certainly got the Commissioner’s notice. He no longer seems to be blaming me for not disappearing. I like Jim Gordon. Liked him long before I began dating his daughter. He could easily be one of us between background as a Marine and his skill as a Detective. The look he gives Dinah is somewhere between properly appreciative and a look I normally see reserved for Barbara. Does he know Dinah? That’s a curious wrinkle, I wonder if Bruce ever picked up on that? He wouldn’t have any way to recognize that look in Jim’s eyes.
“Can you give us a few moments, Jim?”
Sure, but make it quick. The S.I.’s are on loan…
The man is still muttering about budgets being blown as he wanders down the hall. Meanwhile I’ve allowed my eyes to trail up the long legs of the Canary, across to the doorway to the Penguin’s office. To the giant hole in the roof there, where a rocket is even now lodged and inactive. Back to the Canary and those long legs.
“Why is Slade Wilson here.” It’s not a question, just phrased that way, because I actually did know that answer. At least in part. “You’re the only connecting dot.”
Dinah: I’d be hard pressed to make a call on whether or not tonight was a success or a total, epic failure. It’s got the notes and highlights of both. On one hand, I got the answers that I came for. Not the way I’d intended to get them, but that’s the job. You adapt, you scrap, and you salvage. No amount of ego and a positive outlook is going to make what went down at the Iceberg tonight look good though. A lot of people died tonight. Some innocent people. A lot more not at all innocent people, between the League’s assassins, and Penguin’s goons. While I’m not one of those every lives is sacred kind of people, and the deaths of the ‘soldiers’ in this fight isn’t going to keep me up at night? It’s going to make me a hell of a lot more pissed at the generals.
Neither of which gave me answers. Not on purpose anyway. But the fallout was telling. So was what we found behind that door. There were also so many more questions. It’s not the ‘more questions’ that makes this feel like a fail, either. Tim getting hurt, though it could have been much, much worse, doesn’t feel great. It is, again, the job but it doesn’t mean I have to like it. Once I’d gotten him settled, I’d left. With some hope that the kid will stay put and just recuperate. Maybe I should have followed through with the thought of drugging him. After taking away the utility belt so that he couldn’t just detox when he felt the weirdness that is ‘getting sleepy.’
I’m not hurt though. I’m not really even scratched, which wouldn’t be the case if it weren’t for my partner, and the fact that I’m a meta. Otherwise blown up, shot, and stabbed might have been on my list of nightly accomplishments. It was always a possibility I could still add them now that I’m going back. Unlikely though. The fighting’s done. Everyone’s either dead, run away, or Slade Wilson. No, I don’t need a monitor in place to know that’s what happened after I bolted with Timothy Wayne and his gaggle of other dates. This time? I’m in an entirely different revealing little number. A whole lot less classy, and a whole lot more leg when it comes to fish nets, combat boots and the rest of my ensemble.
How do I get through a crime scene without arousing notice? One part knowing where not to be, another part walking like I own the joint, mixed with the moon eyed, unfocused expressions on a lot of the poor ‘out of towners’ that aren’t used to Gotham’s level for potential lethality and mayhem. This is the kind of crap they tell you about in course work, or the blown up horror stories you assume are exaggeration. Except Jim Gordon. He knows. Does he know Dinah? Yes, actually. So does a lot of the GCPD. Any of them that have been around for a while, at least. My Dad was ‘one of them.’ And his Dad. And his Dad before him. I was going to be. Until I learned some things about the real world, and found I didn’t have a taste for it anymore.
Does he know that Dinah Lance is the Black Canary who’s now strutting up the hall she’s already been in tonight once? I don’t go in for masks. I wear enough makeup, applied in the right way, that between that and where most men, and many women, look no one is going to really pick me out for who I really am. He’s also an observant man, who already has seen behind the curtain of people far more secretive and with more to lose than me. I’d wager twenty bucks that if he didn’t know before? He drew the connection between Canary and my turning back up. Old enough to be my Father, if he were still alive, doesn’t mean Gordon doesn’t get an outrageous wink as he wanders past though.
“Because he’s working for someone…?”
That’s not a question either. That’s a trailed off set of words strung together to imply a ‘well, duh.’ Which is mostly just sass, piss and vinegar. All of which I’m overflowing with tonight. I’m not in a great mood, and that makes my tongue just a hair sharper than even it would be normally.
“He was here for answers that Penguin had, too. Normally I wouldn’t assume the same answers that I wanted, but he seemed perfectly happy to sit back and watch me convince Cobblepot to talk for both of us. Which means he must have thought I would get him to say the right things.”
And not knowing Slade’s questions, there’s no way to assume Penguin would give those answers, too.
“As for me being the connection… that I don’t know. He was being much more friendly than I expected. He also heavily implied that he knows about Ollie. But as far as the carnage out there goes? He was actually staying fairly neutral. Offered to help me put down some assassins. Offered to not interfere while I worked over Penguin. Seemed a little butthurt that I wasn’t interested, honestly. I think it would have turned into a game of watching us struggle to get out of here, until I asked him, but then one of the League was stupid enough to hit him with a throwing star.”
And then… that mess out there happened.
Dick: Gordon likely knows a lot of things that he either shouldn’t or even couldn’t ordinarily know. The Commissioner is no ordinary person though, is he? If he was Bruce would never have brought him in. The way in which he’s looking at Dinah doesn’t speak for someone that is falling in to her trap though. His glasses almost fall off his head from the weight of his eyes rolling over her theatrics. Nor does it take excellent hearing to pick up the man’s muttering about ‘bird brained schemes’ and half-dressed girls that are young enough to be his daughter.
“Deathstroke isn’t an intelligence grabbing tool,” barely turning towards Dinah as we speak of Slade. “He’s a surgical knife at best, a bazooka at worst. He is not the one you send, if you’re actually wanting answers from someone like the Penguin. That means he was here for something other than asking questions. Without more information all we can do is speculate, but…”
…there’s a lot of information she’s providing that I couldn’t glean from forensics. I’m not some all-knowing, all-seeing diety. In fact, I’m not even as good as Bruce was at faking it. Nor as gifted as Tim as intuiting it. There are other tools at my disposal though. One of them happens to be that I know how to pool the resources that I do have. Dinah is certainly one of them. As long as I’m not Bruce, hiding everything from the people I work with, she has no reason to keep things from me either. This is how it works now. How it has to work in order for all of us to keep this, the City of Gotham, safe from things just like this.
There is also one other thing that Bruce would have done that I won’t. Assign blame. No, I don’t think Dinah needs absolution for all of this. I just know that she’s all too aware that Bruce would have held her accountable for everything we’re seeing. Even if it wasn’t exactly true, she was the seasoned member of the team here. She should have found a way to not let people, innocent people especially, die in the crossfire. I can tell she’s armed for that particular fight too. It makes me wonder if she is waiting for it and wanting to see if I’m going to follow in those footsteps.
“This wasn’t your fault,” I’m not even defining the ‘what’ as to which I’m saying isn’t her fault, just blanketing everything. “The League was coming here regardless. Slade was already here. The people who made it out of here? They got out because you were here.”
Pushing open that final door. The one that Alfred kept working on long after Dinah told him it was time to evacuate. The interior might have one time looked like a very upscale Roman bath-house. With a pool that extends most of the room and wall of tensured glass to allow the Penguin to keep watch over those inside, without himself being seen. The Penguin surely thought it some sort of hoot that he’d be keeping members of the High Class Society in their very own cage. Like penguins at the Zoo. That was before whatever happened here.
“The men in the hall were guarding either this room or Penguin’s escape. We can approximate their time of death due to the coagulation of the blood. In contingent with the wall-clock that stopped working. We believe that Deathstroke did his business out there. Apparently after being struck with a throwing star. Then when he was finished he came here. Putting charges in strategic places.”
Crouching to put a fingertip upon the edge of what was once the pool, so that she can see the residue that comes away on those gloves. “Penny-One was right. At one time this pool contained the particulates from a Lazarus Pit. Someone, presumably Wilson, added something to the water to neutralize it’s effects. Then blew it up. This was very precise. He countered the Pit-water, so that after blowing the charges it wouldn’t seep in to the water supply and contaminate everything around here. This is the work of someone that didn’t want collateral damage from the Lazarus Effect being wide spread across the city. He then destroyed it, so that no one else would be able to take control of it.”
“I agree with you, he’s working for someone, but whoever it is? It is not Ra’s al Ghul or the Penguin,” turning over one shoulder to look back at her. “Throwing in Ollie’s name and the fact that he’s hanging out at your Bar? You’re even more the common thread, Canary.”
Dinah: “No, he’s not. Which means he was there, getting it for himself for a job, or he was there for pleasure. Sit down meetings weren’t his style for one of those, I didn’t think, and the other? That’s actually a little more concerning to me. They seemed to be mostly getting along until I showed up.”
But playing ‘nice’ isn’t the first route I would ever see him choosing. Unless it gets him something else that he wanted. So there’s a whole new round of questions. I’m not sure that Deathstroke is a problem that we have the resources and time to deal with right now. Story of the week, huh? A problem, after a new problem, combined into a whole different problem on top of that. With answers that we’re only really piecing together with educated guesses and intuition, and some knowledge of how these individual groups usually ‘work’ and/or do things. Then you add in chaos. With people doing things you don’t expect, and couldn’t have planned for. Deathstroke here on a job? That’s definable. There’s a guided sort of mayhem to that. If he’s here just because he wants to be? Fuck. What do we even do with that?
The way I purse my lips, lift an eyebrow and cock my head at Dick makes it pretty plain I’m about to say something snarky in response to his absolution. Namely that I don’t need it. In this case? It really wasn’t. The response/action times were too grouped. If anything, we had the misfortune of being there at the wrong time just like everyone else who wasn’t on one payroll or another. I keep that snappy commentary to myself, though, because while I know I don’t need it? I also recognize that Dick is giving it. So I take the attitude down a half notch and shrug my shoulder.
“It was definitely a situation that called for the tool of last resort.” I.E. the only thing I try to not do in Gotham. Scream. “It was sideways before the League even showed up, and then it was sideways and rolling down a hill. You might give that little talk to my partner though, next time you see him. He seems to be under the impression that he failed because he was in the position of having to protect a name and everyone else at the same time. But. Thank you. I do appreciate that you’re saying it just the same.”
Following Batman to that door, in a much more unlocked and bloodied state than last time I was here, I’m also not nearly as heated this time about what Dick should, or shouldn’t talk about with his brother. Much more well meaning suggestion this time, than an order, but this time I’m not feeling quite so much like Tim’s life is at risk either. Not anymore than the rest of us at least. But. I also think that Red Robin’s starting to get a better idea of what wasn’t working. And why.
“I’d assume his escape. They went from assault/defense mode to getting the hell out of Dodge within a time frame that I would assume allowed for Cobblepot to bolt. He was still in the office when I left. With the flamethrowing Actual Penguin. Wilson went out the window about the time I hit the next floor. This being here seems like it may have been above their general paygrade, anyway.”
I don’t come in closer than the doorway, I don’t really need to and there’s no sense in crowding. He’s better equipped for the close up examination, and we already knew what was in here before. There’s just assessing the aftermath and deducing what happened. Which Dick is already doing.
“So maybe this was the job. It sounds like Wilson was willing to deal with all of Penguin’s problems. The Joker. The Hood. Maybe the League, as well, and their attacking him first just gave him a plausible excuse, while making it look like he wasn’t actually targeting them specifically.”
Or. Maybe it wasn’t a job at all. Pleasure. Clearly? He knew the Mini-Pit was here, otherwise why would he be prepared to neutralize it? Or even know to do such a thing. So who was he dealing with it for? Or… acquiring it for? Or perhaps both. The only really startling thing that Dick has to say relates to Slade and… me again. It makes me blink, pulling my head up like I’m backing away from an unpleasant smell.
“He’s what?”
That should probably fall into the things I know about category. But I only go into the bar if I need booze or coffee, or maybe something to eat and I hadn’t been down there tonight. I have my own entrance in the back, and a set of stairs that go up to my apartment. There’s a moment of strange panic about leaving Tim there hurt and by himself, even though I know he can defend himself… but if Slade were coming in guns blazing he probably already would have done so.
“What are the chances that this is all just one bloody package? All of it? Not Joker, but the rest.”
Dick: “Ordinarily, I would say that none of this works together. Ra’s isn’t a puppet. Penguin might do it for enough money, but the amount needed for him to put everything he’s worked so hard for at risk is astronomical. Factoring in Lazarus Pit, Talia and now Slade? The odds become so remote that I’m not even sure Tim could compute them without a computer.”
“But,” said as more of a sigh than anything else. “A lot of things are defying the odds lately. Too many things to be random.”
Despite this conversation, I’ve barely turned away from the ruined husk of a pool. She went right to what I’d been thinking too. It’s why I’m here, instead of keeping an eye on Damien still. Though, actually, for now he’s the safest person in Gotham. Penny-One confirmed that his Grandfather’s men took him just as we knew he would. Damien wanted to have a communion. He’s getting it. Bruce would never have allowed it, but I’ve decided not to do everything the Bruce Wayne way.
Rising finally, but not turning, just speaking too over the cloaked shoulder. “He’s been in your Bar since roughly eleven minutes after you and Robin took off your commlinks. After he finished his work here, he took up residence across the street from your bar. He was watching you. Saw the boy with the S-Shield come, have a talk with you and go. At some point, he apparently got thirsty. He’s been there ever since.”
“He’s not following you, currently. Unless he’s suddenly able to go invisible. Penny-One says he’s making friends. Telling stories to your people about old times. With you and Ollie. And before Ollie. For someone that wears their whole life so openly, you certainly have a lot of History that none of us knew about. If you get back quickly, maybe you can stop Slade from telling the entire East Coast about it.”
Dinah: “I would have said the same thing about there being a group in Gotham, with the power to scare the Demon, that your Father didn’t know about, too.”
The Wild Card. The Big Random that’s making me think that everything that makes no sense, or seems to be out of pattern and order, is all related back to it. Gotham might be a chaotic, violent place but there’s still a rhyme to it most of the time. Before Bruce died, you could even count on the crazies like Joker to have a certain… theme as well. But now he’s gone, and so the Clown Prince has apparently started branching out and looking in other corners for his answers. You take a place like this, and then you factor in grief. Anger. It’s a seething mass of bad. Or a nuclear bomb that’s just waiting for the wrong little bump to set it all into meltdown.
“Seems like we have a lot of History that I didn’t know about either, then.”
Fucking Slade Wilson. I have to assume that none of it is so bad as to have warranted a more immediate response or I could have been reached before now in order to be warned. So either they wanted to hear what Wilson had to say, or they assumed it to be a bunch of make-believe and didn’t bother to stop him. Slade, for his part? I guess assumes I actually monitor the bar and is escalating his tales in order to make me respond. Which makes me not want to, but I need to find out what the man wants. Maybe get my answers about the ‘why’ of him being here in the first place
“If I get back quickly, then Deathstroke thinks he can bring me running any time he wants, too. So I’ll head back. Slowly. You don’t need me here.”
See. He can absolve me of guilt. I can attempt to not boss, or hover, or interject myself. Dick can do this. He was already doing it when I got here. I still can’t decide if that’s comforting, or making me think that my place really is going to be in the Nest, doing the training. Either way. I push off the door frame, and start making my way back the way that I came. Avoiding the spatter turns it into a bit of a dance of not further contaminating the crime scene but… I was already here once tonight. Now, I get to retrace my steps once again, back to Pretty Bird’s, to see what one of the only deadlier people on the planet wants.
Dick: “Canary,” I know she can hear me, even as she’s making her way back down that solitary hall. “Ordinarily, this might not need to be said, but so many things are out of the ordinary right now. I’m not sure the conversation should be between Red Robin and I, this time. He’s your partner right now. You haven’t had many of those, but I’m something of an expert. Trust me when I tell you this. He needs to know you trust him and his judgment. My opinion on what happened here? Is a far second to your’s.”
“We’ve talked about roles and responsibilities, but with a focus on the things I wasn’t doing. You need to consider the same things for yourself. The younger generation is going to look to you. Take their lead from you. Whether you want to be a Leader or not, they see you as one. What you do is going to be an example to them. How you handle this. All of this. Will play out in how they handle things in the future.”
“Also,” looking up from the display of the gauntlet that’s been displaying crime scene information. “Your new partner does not sleep. Nor does he take being sidelined well. In the time since you left him to recouperate? He’s tried to save Wonder Woman’s life. Picked a fight with Superman. And is now ‘under cover’ with the Cluemaster’s Daughter. Penny-One is monitoring him. As well as Damien, who’s meeting with his Grandfather. Keep your comm-link on, so that you can be updated if anything changes.”
“And. So that we can monitor you too.”
Dinah: “I’ve already told him as much. I can always tell him again for good measure, though. That’s kind of my M.O..”
Sometimes I just get the impression that maybe Tim Drake thinks I’m just being nice to him, or going easy. Which isn’t usually my way. I’m pretty much clinically incapable of not telling someone to their face if I think it’s a very bad idea, whatever it is that they’re doing. I suppose I didn’t tell him that playing at being Batman was a bad idea, but since I was in the roll of moral support at the time it didn’t seem wise. Maybe, in hindsight, I was being soft. I hadn’t felt like I was at the time, though.
“So what you’re saying is I shouldn’t go home and get drunk with Deathstroke. Check. I’ll do my best.”
It’s not what he meant, and I know it. Ideally the wink back over my shoulder would convey that kind of thing. This is a new gig for me. Role model. Ugh. Fighting? That I’ve been doing almost my whole life. Fighting real opponents with life and death stakes for coming up on half of it. Or it feels like it sometimes. It’s not just about kicking their asses either. That much I do know. Because I know why Ted Grant kicked mine as hard as he did. Because of those stakes.
“…okay, seriously what the actual fuck is going on with this city this week?”
Since he didn’t say anything about Tim going to Metropolis, and Conner was clearly here when I saw him last, I assume it’s all gone down in our fair city’s limits. Pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingers, I take a deep breath. Maybe I didn’t drink enough to deal with tonight, and not the other way around. I already knew, or at least suspected that Tim doesn’t sleep. I’m rethinking not drugging him. I also know that Tim, tonight at least? Was pretty damn aware of his own limitations and so I’m going to have to trust that he thinks he can handle what he’s doing. Or maybe that he has a death wish if he’s trying to fight the Super, and throw himself in with that grade of problems. And Stephanie? Well. She’s the one out of all of those names least capable of handling herself, though she’s a whole lot improved since Red Robin drug his little foundling into the cave. Hopefully improved enough, depending upon what they’re doing but…
No. Dinah. Focus.
“Sure thing, Big Brother.”
Monitoring isn’t ever exactly what I want, but I also know the benefits of it. Especially right now. It’s why a comm is about the only piece of tech I’ll wear out in the field without a whole lot of bitching about it. There’s a sloppy little salute/wave, before I turn my ass around, no longer progressing backwards, for the stairs.
