by Michele | Nov 7, 2017 | Chronicles
Steph: Ah, the good old days. When I lived on the other side of the river there, in what amounted to a war zone on a good day, and descended into full classification on a bad one. Sometimes with little to no warning or difference between the two. Yeah. Not the greatest place to have a childhood. Leaves you really well acquainted with the timing of looking away from something you don’t want to see, because you get something of a sixth sense for when it’s about to happen. That gut feeling that makes your brain decide now’s a great time to look at the sky, what you can see of it, or to check if your shoe’s been tied (…ahaha. Shoelaces. Like we could afford those. I mean. I’m kidding. I had shoe laces. Could tie them and everything…) properly or not.
By good and old I mean, boy am I glad Mom cleaned up enough that we don’t live in the Narrows anymore. Now we’re just Narrows Adjacent but it’s a step up. My school just sucks instead of being shut down due to riots, Joker Venom, or rampaging death squads half the year. The walk home is a bit less fraught with peril, and no one’s even tried to mug me for my phone this week. Things are coming up Stephanie Brown! Snugging my backpack straps a little more tightly over my shoulders, I let out of a huff of air that blows blonde hair out of my face, before finishing suiting up.
Not as Spoiler. It’s way too early in the day for that kind of thing. My gear preparations are only for the trudge and maybe bus ride home. Bag? Check. Overloaded with all the books I need to get my homework done early and free up my weekend for ass-kicking and baby sitting (…not at the same time. Hopefully…). Ear buds? Check. One in, one dangling over my ear so it doesn’t totally block out the sounds around me. It’s a fine line, ignoring the drug dealers and other asses that want to get you in on something or other, and being able to hear if you’re about to get jumped. Beanie tugged over my hair and down? Check. All that’s left is to push play, picking up where the random shuffler left off this morning before school and getting on my way.
I wear a disguse, I’m not just your average Jane. The super doesn’t stand for model, but that doesn’t mean I’m plain…
Hah. Funny because it’s so appropriate! One girl revolution. That’s me. If you ignore all the rest of the people that my revolution got lumped in with. I can’t really say they joined mine. Pretty sure as far as the hierarchy of Gotham goes? I’m trumped in basically ever sense of the word. I walk quickly, because it gets the blood going faster, and because if I want to have any prayer of trimming my ‘commute’ I have to hustle to get to the bus. One short detour down this alley right here and…
Neeeope. That’s Big Red. I assume that’s someone Big Red is treating to the five dollar special. But does Big Red’s customer know that Big Red isn’t called that for ‘her’ hair color? Burning questions… probably answered at someone’s visit to the clinic in a week or two. Gross. Spinning on my heel, the pivot that I’d only just started to take my short cut sends me right back the way I was going in the first place. Time to walk even faster. Without that, it’s double or nothing that I get a ride.
Tim: Yoink!
Criminals have felt this sensation before. A sudden reversal of their gravity. Up is down, down is up. It’s hard to distinguish between the two until your mind wraps itself around the fact that you’re not just upside down. You’re upside down and hanging twenty stories up. Suspended via a tether line of nylon cording that has just enough bunjie effect to it that you’re not immediately needing a trip to the hospital for something being dislocated. The sudden acceleration makes for disorientation on top of the upside down, topsy turvy world you’re living in for about ten minutes.
When this happens, it’s quick. Sudden. Often planned around when would be the most surprising moment. Not merely for you, but for everyone around you. One moment you’re there. The next moment you’re gone. Vanishing, not unlike the Batman, but without the dignity of it being within your control. The blood rush of the experience is nothing next to the terrifying realization that you’re face to… upside down face… with a vision of terror for most Criminals. Those who find themselves in this position are rarely left with their bodily functions.
She isn’t left hanging there for long. This isn’t about torturing a criminal. I’m also not one to make an effort of abusing her, like Dinah does. Not that I’m even old enough to be a teacher like her, but I’d like to think I would be able to impart knowledge without beating the unmitigated fuck out the person I wanted to teach. Scare them? That’s another matter entirely. Once I’ve hefted Stephanie up high enough that she can see me?
“This is when you’re at your weakest, when you’re pretending to be Stephanie Brown. Student. Daughter. Once your Father realizes who he’s dealing with. This is when he’ll come for you first.” Lifting the cable closer, pulling her in like a fish on the line until I’m nearly looking her eyes to upside down eyes. “And if he thinks that you’re not weak. He’ll find someone you care about that is. Not someone Spoiler cares about. Someone you care about.”
Steph: Don’t scream, Stephanie! It only eggs them on if they know you’re scared. Totally ruins all your tough girl credit, plus this close to school chances are someone saw what just happened. There’s only so many safe bus stops, and so many routes that don’t have skeevy drivers that lead to ‘show me on the doll’ conversations. Play it cool. Even though your feet just yanked out from under you and you were pretty sure that you were just about to smash your face on the sidewalk and…
“Auuugh!” Yeah. Nope. That was a totally and completely undignified sound that you just made. “..ggggh! My bag!” Nice save.
I keep my arms tucked in, in an effort to hang onto the thing for one of two reasons. A: It might make a pretty good bludgeoning weapon if I need it, and B: I kind of doubt my books would survive the fall. Plus someone would probably steal them, which means extra hours borrowing one from the chained up copies in the school library and that’s wasted time. All thoughts actually running through my head as I spin and bounce on the end of the line.
Tek.
Not so much, unfortunately, on the phone that was in my pocket. Clearly the earphone jack isn’t up to the task of catching it, leaving me to watch it tumbling towards the ground, the last little bit of the song in my ears. And I’ll be everything that I want to be, I am confidence in insecurity… ironic? Appropriate? Who knows. The weird angle of the diminishing sidewalk, and the now lonely end of my headphones that go to nowhere, leading me into letting out an enormous sigh. It’s not that the tumble of the phone and my tunes sobered me up so much as… my brain’s finished doing flips in my skull, settled into being upside down and… it’s really not as novel an experience for me as it probably should be.
What? So I snagged myself on my own grapple once or twice (…it was definitely twice…), and who else uses those things around here? Not as many people as you’d think, because while they’re pretty damn awesome they’re also borderline suicidal. I’m just not actually totally sure why this is happening right now. Guess I can throw out the window the whole ‘maybe they at least don’t know what I look like thing.
“Heeeey… Batman…?” Like it’s a question, though I crane my head sideways to try and get a less upside down look. “Fancy meeting you…uh. Here.”
So much for Bats being the one not into traumatizing me as a learning experience. He’s just bypassing the physical, despite the whole blood rush and adrenaline punch in the gut I’m definitely not hurt, and going straight for psychological object lessons. Which. Really could have been delivered and understood at a different point in the day. So. Why now? Did I mess up somewhere that it became necessary or is this just normal welcoming procedures?
“Pretending to be… look. I don’t know how it works for the rest of you but.. I’m not pretending to be Stephanie Brown. And not saying I’m calling like… BS on you but there’s not much he could do to my Mom that he hasn’t already done to her.”
I guess it’s not just her though. I definitely never brought any friends home to meet my folks in elementary school, but I still have them. There’s the possibility he might figure out who one of them is.
Tim: “Yes. Pretending.”
She’s strung upside down and that puts her in a serious disadvantage, but it’s also one that she’s handling pretty well. This isn’t what I expected, but I should have. I saw the way she handled herself that first night. It was pure spite, the way she ignored her near-death encounter with a wall-line, getting down off that building the first time. How many times has she been trapped, either just like this or close enough? Those white slits of the Batman mask actually narrow in accusation that she probably takes back to my words. Pretending.
“One day you were Stephanie Brown. Young woman, with a hard life. You lived through the Narrows. You survived. It made you tough, durable. Not like the other people in Gotham. But you were still a young woman. A girl. You lived in a world where your Mom spent every night looking for her next fix and her Dad was having his teeth knocked out by Batman. Your’s was world of tumult and turmoil, but it was a life that took you from Durable, Tough, to something else.”
With a tug, she’s brought over the edge of the roof and let down far more gently than Dinah would do. Released, but as bound as she was at the end of the tether. “One day you saw it. You caught the pattern. Maybe it was a stroke of luck. Bad Luck. You saw something you shouldn’t. Something you couldn’t un-see. Whatever it was. However it happened. On that day, you started putting the pieces together differently. You were tough, durable, but suddenly those street smarts you got from the Narrows took a leap forward.”
“When your Father got out of Blackgate, he promised that everything would be different. Your Mother got cleaner. Things took a turn. But you couldn’t un-see the patterns. You couldn’t escape the simple fact that you were seeing the world differently. That you saw through the Clues and got a glimpse of the Game he was playing.”
“It doesn’t matter Why, Stephanie. It doesn’t matter When or How. Maybe I’m off by an inch in the deduction, but the logic is firm regardless. The day you saw the pattern, the day you recognized what your Father was doing? You stopped being a scared, durable but little girl. Maybe you made a choice or maybe it was made for you, but the moment you put on a Mask and decided to take a stand? Little Stephanie Brown, the Victim. Became Spoiler and now you pretend to be here, to make it through the day. You pretend to be normal, to get your homework done. To hustle to lessons with Canary.”
Looming over her more and more, as if emphasizing that point. That she isn’t the little girl anymore. “Argue with me. Tell me I’m wrong. Then think back to that day. When I came in to your House. When these fists beat your Father for his crimes, right in front of you. Remember how scared you were then and think about right now. Right this second. When anyone else in this City would have pissed themselves three times in the last couple minutes. Tell me again about how you’re not pretending to be someone you’re not anymore.”
“Then. We can get back to why I’m here. To the people you care about. To the things in your life that aren’t quite so durable as you. What do you do, Stephanie, when your Dad realizes who’s spoiling his fun. When he puts the needle back in Mom’s neck, to make her help him get to you. Stop pretending to be Stephanie. Be the Spoiler. Look at the angles. Who can he hurt to get you?”
“Then we know who to protect.”
Steph: The Narrows does that to you. Makes you into something I guess. There’s a pretty wide variety of options, with the most polar opposite being ‘dead’ or ‘motivated to gtfo.’ Some of the inbetween ones are things like brainwashed, addicted, or recruited. I like to think I’m on the most chippy, cheery side of the scale. Only a certain kind of person wants to stay in that kind of Hellhole, and that’s someone that’s benefiting from it. Which is why I’m fairly sure that’s why my Dad still lives in the same place that Bats kicked his teeth in, before sending him off to jail. Again. I guess he needs some memory motivation. Or revenge.
Clearly he doesn’t believe me that I’m not pretending. His face just got all squinty in a way that a mask that covering shouldn’t really be able to do. Batmagic, I guess. Or more likely, after spending a lot of time messing around with my own suit, something in the built in tech. Still. He’s being almost complimentary, which is not really what I would have expected from Batman a couple weeks ago. Weirdly enough, he’s been the most encouraging and least punishing out of the crew in that basement that I’ve met so far. This kind of seems more like a Canary move to me. Usually her ambushes are limited to practice time, but I’ve kind of wondered when she’s going to turn up, trip me on the sidewalk and then Nelson laugh at me and vanish.
This kind of upstages that by a wide margin. And as I’m swung over the roof proper, the way that I tuck and duck my head? Says I was clearly expecting him to do what Dinah probably would have and just let me drop like a sack of potatoes. Potential concussion be damned, right? Some squirming gets me sat in a more upright position, and I let go of my fingers’ death grip on my backpack straps to flick the useless earbud out of my ear, and out from under my knit hat.
“Uh… not really arguing but you do know what happens to you if you don’t hustle to lessons with Canary, right?”
She finds new degrees to make your night miserable, that’s what she does. And also teaches you to not be late ever, ever again. That’s kind of her modus operandi as a teacher, I’ve learned. Making your body, on instinct, want to never, ever, ever repeat a mistake again. Because mistakes hurt. I actually have let him monologue at me with very little interruption though. I may be sassy, but I’m not stupid, and he’s clearly got something he wants to say. Hence. My rude and sudden removal from the sidewalk and the way I’m being treated. I’m also not entirely sure that telling him he’s not totally right is going to matter a whole lot. Maybe they think I’ve got some longer reaching plan than I really do. I want to mess up my Father’s plan. His life. I want to make sure he goes back to jail and stays there. For. You know. The maximum time allotted until the place is full and they let him go on good behavior in favor of someone more outwardly psychopathic. Spoiler was supposed to be a tool, what I was pretending to be and not the other way around.
“I did go to the bathroom before Math. So. I’m okay in that department…. you didn’t need to know that… I was also like… eight. It was my birthday. By the way. So. Thanks for that.” My tone says there’s really no blame or hurt feelings. Really. There’s not. It was kind of par for the course even then. “Also not… really the point, huh?”
Whether I agree about what’s pretend and what’s not, really doesn’t matter because I do agree that there’s the potential there for other people to get hurt. Which I knew. Hence the mask and the name. Shrugging my shoulders is an unconscious gesture as I think.
“I mean. My Mom. The obvious one. Random Gothamite citizens because I don’t have to care to not want them hurt.”
That was the point. To keep him from hurting anyone else. It sounds better than saying I was doing it because I was mad he broke one too many promises, and I was going to punish him for it. This mental inventory isn’t making me feel super great though, let me tell you. Not out of worry but because it’s kind of bringing to my attention the lack of super great besties that I may have.
“…I feel like I should point out you can be a cool kid without having lots of close friends for my ego’s sake. My friend Harper? Maybe her brother.”
Tim: “No, because if the Canary was training me I wouldn’t be late enough to find out.”
There’s looming for effect and then there’s a point where you’re doing it more to scare someone than make a point. I’m not trying to scare Stephanie. If anything it’s quite the opposite. I wanted her to come to terms with the realistic point of view that she’s pretending to be Stephanie Brown. The girl next door. If you live in the Narrows and Mary Jane happens to be the girl that can bust your nose if you look at her wrong. I wanted Steph to take a look at the world around her. To see that she’s created Spoiler, become Spoiler and that so long as she is Spoiler the best way to hurt her is through hurting the people she cares about.
The way I’m offering my hand to her is also something the Canary wouldn’t do. Or at least, if she did it there’d most surely be a sweep kick to follow it up with. I’m all too well acquainted with Dinah Lance. She never trained me, but I’m the observant kind. “A life of solitude may insulate you, but it doesn’t protect you. In fact it could be even more dangerous than having weaknesses to protect.”
“This life? It is a juggling act, Stephanie. We dance between keeping our loved one’s safe, through secrets and deceit and needing to keep our loved ones close so that we have a reason to keep struggling.” Once she’s on her feet, instead of knocking her down as Dinah might do, I take her by the shoulders and square her to me. “I asked you what happened when you solve the case. Do you go back to being Stephanie Brown? Can you lay down the Mask? Or does that desire to protect others call to you? If you keep going down this path, it isn’t going to get easier.”
“You might be a solo act at School, but you’re going to be part of something in that Cape. Something larger than just being a vigilante, clue catching, case solving ‘Spoiler Alert.’ You’re going to be a member of a team and if you’re on the team you’re part of the Family. That’s going to mean something to the rest of us. It already does.”
“Which brings me back to the point. The real point. Stephanie Brown is tough, resilient, durable and street smart. The people she loves are what root her in reality. They’re what keep her from becoming her Father. Spoiler, has those same people. But the people she loves are weak points. Shatter Points for people like Cluemaster to attack. To exploit. They are the people who will drag her down. To be the Spoiler, you must learn to dance between the Cape and the Mask. Especially if you’re going to be one of those weak points for people like Dinah Lance and Timothy Wayne.”
Steph: “Because you know what would happen.”
I mean, Batman strikes me as a ‘Batman is never late, he arrives exactly when he means to’ type of guy. But clearly he knows the Black Canary or I have to assume they wouldn’t be working together. Probably has the whole rundown on her, just like they did on me, and have been working together a while. There’s a kind of familiarity you get with a person after a while, even if you’re not close to them. That’s like how you interact with people at school, or probably a job. They’re something else, like what I’ve never really seen before myself. Not in person, anyway. Television is a much better place to see working relationships for me than in my own life.
And. Yeah. I’m totally eyeballing that offered hand with a look of high suspicion, even as my hand starts to move to take it. Then stops, remembering how, y’know, he just yo-yo-ed me up off the street. I’m totally missing the bus now. This is about where it would get whacked during practice. Or I’d get swung at. Or if I didn’t have my feet under me enough to support rising, when I’m part way up she’d let go. Or kick. So many variations, and every time I start to expect one, she comes up with something new. My life is basically like one of those awful, punishing video games that Harper and I would play sometimes where it’s just dying over, and over again until you learn all the things to do or not do.
Except it’s just hitting instead of dying. Small mercies, right? I’m being turned to face him head on. And right side up, and I adjust my slightly skewed hat as I am Telling me some stuff I knew. Or that I was starting to figure out, and then some others that didn’t really occur to me. You have a big head, Stephanie Brown. And little arms. And I don’t think you thought this plan through… I don’t think that was totally the message. But it’s definitely what I’m hearing right now.
“I. Um. I guess I didn’t think it that far out. I saw something and I wanted to stop it, and I didn’t expect anything else during or after it.”
I mean, who goes out there all notice me, senpai! and expects that the Bat’s going to pick them up? Or one of the Bat’s Batbuddies (…actually the more I think about it, all the other people kind of have a bird motif going on. Boy. Does the name ‘Spoiler’ sure scream NOT AFFILIATED…). Especially when they know upfront that your father is one of the city’s repeat bad guy offenders. Friends close and enemies closer, or do they just think that whatever risk I might pose to them is mitigated by how easily they could remove that problem?
I’d be offended but. Come on. Batman just fished me out of the sidewalk in broad daylight (…eh… I guess sun’s kind of going down. Ish…), and I’m stupid or unobservant enough to think that Black Canary is actually fighting full tilt with me. Yeah, she hits hard, but she’s only hitting hard enough to hurt. I’m pretty sure she could end me with a pinkie finger applied to the right place. I know where I stand there. Or. I thought I did. It already does? Now, that I didn’t expect and the way my head cocks like a big eyed puppy that’s just heard a sound it doesn’t understand probably makes that pretty clear. And. I don’t actually know what to say about it either. I just figured I was…well. Not that. For sure.
“So. It’s more Pandora’s Box than when one door closes another opens, huh? What do you do then? Just not make those friends? Cut off from them for their own good? That sounds crappy. And lonely. While being constantly on alert for…wait…”
He said Timothy Wayne and not in the terms of no Stephanie, this is my firm trying to convince you you’re wrong about something voice, but like. Conversationally. Like Timothy Wayne is someone who’d give a rats ass about me and my life, or would even know me, like Dinah the Black Canary does.
“HaHAH!”
Oh. Well. Hey. Both fists up in the air, and sounding all triumphant a little louder than I should have are… a thing right now and after a blink or two I lower my arms and flush, looking a little sheepish but… still freaking triumphant.
Tim: Because I know what would happen.”
This is not so much a repeating of what she says, but a confirmation of her being right about that too. Black Canary isn’t so much just teaching Stephanie how to fight, but how to survive. Which is really just an addition to the traits she has picked up on through life in the Narrows. Learning to fight is a natural step in to survival, but so is meeting expectations and confirmation of the drive needed to succeed. Each thing Canary does has a purpose, though some of them may be veiled in meanness or spite or even mockery. They’re each a step towards the overall goal of Stephanie Brown living to joke another day.
If that meant Canary had to dissuade this girl from doing this? She would. Vehemently. If it meant encouraging her, Canary would find a way to do that too. Steph doesn’t need encouragement though. She has that in spades. Just as she has this sense of miraculous adventure and inner monologue. Tools that will help her beat out the fatigue on a mental level. Which is why Canary actually lets her run her mouth as much as she does. She sees that as a tool to be used later, cultivated and grown in to something as potent as a Canary Cry.
“You acted on an instinct,” once more confirming what she has said, more so than adding my own impressions to it. “That instinct is going to either wither away or bloom. I’ve been watching you. Closely. But even if I hadn’t been, you already told me what was important to you. Everyday. Average. People. Because you don’t want to see them hurt.”
“So if you could intervene. You would. So, this is where you can mull it over all you like but the end result is simply the same. When this is over and the dust clears. You’re never going to be able to let go of these tools you’re being given. Because doing so is going to mean doing nothing, the next time you’re faced with the choice of whether to act, to save a life… or keep listening to the music and tune out the world. It sucks to be a one-earphone kind of girl. Never being able to tune out the world, for fear of missing something vital.”
Once more she’s picked up on a thread. A hint that I’ve sat before her. This time the clue had been to the life of Bruce Wayne. “That is actually one road to travel. Isolation. Cutting yourself off and away from all the people who might suffer for being near you. Spending your life in the constant agony of paranoia. For a long time that was the Way of the Bat, but I’d like to think that somewhere along the way he began to turn the corner. To see what it was to have friends and family. To embrace them, not as weakness but as the strength that they can provide you.”
“Yes. Cutting yourself off from the world keeps the world safe from those who would take aim at it. But it isolates you away from the very thing you’re protecting. It robs you of the motivation, I think we all need to persevere and continue to fight when there’s nothing else worth fighting for.” Pausing at the adjacent edge of the building that I’d pulled her up to, one foot braced to step over the side. “When Bruce Wayne wore this mask, he spent years keeping the world at arms length. All the while this world fell apart around him.”
“I’m not going to be a better Batman than my father was, I’m just not good enough, but I am going to be a better Man. I’m not going to keep the world or you at arms length, while it all goes to hell around me. I’m going to make the world a better place, by keeping my friends close. By embracing my weaknesses and making them a strength to rely upon. My father made mistakes that I’m not going to repeat, I see the same drive in you.” The same grappling line that was used to snare her is fired off towards a building across the street. “Timothy Wayne wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He too was born in the Narrows And he isn’t Red Robin.”
“I’m Batman.”
Steph: “If I’m being honest…” And I mean. It’s Batman. He’s kind of meant to scare the honest out of you. Into…you? “… that sounds awful. The withering away part.”
Because that means, what? That eventually I’d just stop caring if I saw something wrong? Like turning a blind and yicked out eye to Big Red and the venereal ‘sharing’ she does to dumb dumbs that come down here thinking they’re going to get something cheap, but on a bigger scale? How do you even balance that when you live in a place like this, where I passed at least fifteen crimes of various severity going on since the last school bell rang and I’m barely into my trip home. And it’s not dark yet, when the real bad comes out to play. But decent people intervene, when it’s something they can make a difference in, right? The good Samaritans that throw themselves at robbers, or to push people out of the way of something hurtling at them.
They also get themselves killed a lot, too. Guess it’s a good thing I’ve got a fancy suit with some built in body armor and a whole lot of keep you alive kind of gadgets. But I don’t always have the suit. Like now, or the rest of the bulk majority of my day. That was the point he was making.
“Okay, but the music could make for a kickass soundtrack in some sort of crime fighting montage. Just saying.”
Or, you know. It would have, before it was shattered into pieces on the pavement. And then the husk probably stolen to try and scam for parts or an insurance claim. Jokes on them. Probably still not worth much even as parts. Also… how long as he been watching to have caught on that I only actually put in one bud? Clearly since I left the front steps of the high school. That’s not the only thing I’m picking up on though. Talking about how crappy being alone can be, and referring to himself as… him. Third person. Not actuallyhow the Bat has talked like. Ever. He’s not talking about himself. He’s talking about someone else. A different Bat. No wonder he seemed shorter, because Bruce Wayne was…
“Holyshitballs, Bruce…” My voice is climbing in pitch and excitement and subsequently volume before I rein that in by clearing my throat and continuing as I turn to face him again. “…Wayne was Batman? That… explains so much about…”
Where the Batman had gone lately, for one. The height is secondary. Why I’d thought he was dead, because he was. All of the subsequent weirdness and maybe even why my stupid, stupid Dad had chosen now to try and strike up some capers again. Also, all of the money that had to be required to fund stuff like the Batmobile. And Timothy Wayne being Red Robin of course makes that much more sense. Does that mean that the rest of the ‘Wayne’ heirs are in on it, too? He’d talked about a family, I’d thought that was proverbial. Maybe it’s totally literal. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait…
I’m hearing what he’s saying, even as my brain’s speeding a mile a minute through what he’s saying. His Father? Oh crap. Oh crap. Which way is this going? Now we’re back around, actually talking about Timothy Wayne, who I didn’t know was from the Narrows, and I guess we’re going to go through this no, he’s not Red Robin even though…come on. With that jawline and that dimple, I’m not stupid. I realize I’m standing there looking a little dumbly, eyes tracking the fired grapple almost absently. Jesus, Stephanie. What do you even say to that? You should probably start with a ‘I’m really sorry to hear about your Dad,’ or a thanks and a thumbs up for the After School Special Batervention. Which had info I needed to hear.
Instead what comes blurting out of my mouth is…
“But he was Red Robin! I knew it! I mean. You were Red Robin and…”
One fist is tapping absently on my hip as I blow out a long, slow breath of air.
“Aaaand…I’m going to finish walking home now and rehashing all the really potentially embarrassing things that I didn’t realize I was saying the last week. Awwwwwwkward…”
Out loud voice, Stephanie. Like the whole discussion about who Tim Wayne would or would not date. But seriously. What the actual fuuuuuuuuuuu just happened?! I feel like I passed some kind of test, and slipped another ring into some circle of trust thing, because I don’t understand why I was just told that. The last part. That is. Not the first parts. So I wouldn’t keep digging? I wasn’t really trying to… you know what. Just go with it.
Tim: “It does sound awful, doesn’t it? We’re not talking about morality that you can put in a jar in the back of your fridge. This is something that doesn’t survive living in a world where you accept the terrible things all around you.” The Batman does scare a little honesty out of people, but then he also gives it back in spades. Sometimes even more blunt than a Black Canary fist. “It withers literally, until a part of you dies. Everything good goes away and then what are you left to live for?”
The grappling hook has found purchase on the building across the way. Higher than this one. Giving both clearance and room to swing from. The sound of it clasping upon the frame is a tell-tale one of my being ready to move on. To leave this place and let Stephanie get back to her walk home. She’s talking about music and fight montages, but I’m not clowning around about this. For once the Batman has it’s teeth sunk in deep, I’m not playing around about what we’ve been discussing. I’m making a point, several of them in fact, but one prevailing thought that I want to be utterly sure she doesn’t get the wrong clue about.
“That is difference between people like you and people like your Father. You see a weakness, a failing and you want to fix it. To save people. Your father, people like him. They want to exploit it. To use it for their advantage. When I asked you what happens after you’ve solved this Case, I wanted to know if you were doing this for a good, but selfish reason. You couldn’t answer me. So you weren’t ready to know, even though you thought you had it all figured out.”
“Today? When faced with fear, when confronted by the prospect of someone else exploiting your weaknesses, you knew who was important.” That gloved free hand extends, gesturing out over the skyline of Gotham City before us. “The everyday, average citizen of Gotham. You said you would want to save them from being hurt. You named your Mother and them.”
“You followed the clues. They lead you to your Father’s current antics. You followed the clues. They lead you to Timothy Wayne. What does your answer, today, tell you about the future, Stephanie? Where do the clues lead you, when you think about what happens after this case?” That same hand which was making some gradiose gesture out over the city, then comes full circle back to her. Palm out, waiting in offering. “It’s a simple choice. Take the blue pill and the story ends. You father goes to jail. You give back the suit. You go, take care of your mom. Turn away from your gifts, the training you’re enduring.”
“Or you take the Red Pill and who knows? Every Batman needs a partner. Someone to watch their back. To see the clues in a different way. To keep the darkness from consuming them. Someone who will tell them when their horns are too long or calls them for tripping on their own cape. It has to be a partner that can’t or won’t keep their mouth shut.”
Steph: Is that really what it comes down to? The difference, in a nutshell? I mean. Batman was, and clearly still is, a scary dude. Even though it’s apparently been different dudes. These guys don’t exactly go out wringing their hands and asking nicely if the bad guys would maybe, possibly, just this once consider not doing whatever it is they’re doing. They’re knee deep in the violence that gets doled out as deterrent and punishment, and as a means of stopping people that have no problem with hurting someone else to get what they want. It’s a simple enough distinction of ‘us’ vs ‘them.’ With ass, and life, on the line. Sometimes probably even for people who don’t give a crap about you, or what you’re doing for them. Maybe they don’t even know.
“Huh. I guess I did.”
Well. That was nice of him. Spelling out the test that I did, in fact, pass. Without even trying to, which I guess makes it an even better one. You can always lie, and cheat, on tests if you know that you’re taking one. I don’t know that this is the kind of life that I would have picked out. What they do every night. But the way that he’s phrased it I guess that I did. Accidentally. A wrong thing for the right, and also wrong, reason that’s opened my eyes to that other side of things. You can’t unsee it. You can’t ignore it. Like knowing a magician’s trick and never being able to enjoy it for the showmanship it is once you’ve caught on.
“The little guy kind of gets a raw deal around here. Someone’s gotta stick up for them. Preaching to the choir I guess. Anyway. I was told before that the red pill might come with a bike soooooooo…”
Adjusting my backpack straps again, and jiggling the contents to get them settled better after their upsidedown trip up the building (…man am I glad I fixed that zipper this morning…), I purse my lips a little. I’m not sure that I take care of my Mom, so much as I’m not at home when she is, and sometimes I share my waffles in the morning (..who’m I kidding. I don’t share waffles. You never touch a girl’s waffles..) when I pretend like I only just got up, while periodically sweeping the house for any kind of drug paraphernalia. The wagon’s clearly a very easy thing to fall off again, as I’ve seen from my parents. Repeatedly. In Dad’s case, I think it’s more like sabotaging the wagon, parachuting off of it and shooting it with a rocket launcher on the way down, though.
“… you tripped on your cape and I missed it? Augh! It’s definitely a won’t. I mean. I can keep my mouth shut. Sometimes. If I want to. Obviously I’m in total control of what comes out and doesn’t come out and…yeah. Okay. You look ready to go. Positive outlook, and a running mouth, though! I’m your gal.”
There’s a pair of thumbs up flashed, as I realize I think I just threw myself out as a Batman Sidekick and I can’t decide if that’s the single most awesome thing I’ve ever done, or if it’s the dumbest sounding one but. Hey. He brought it up. Not me. I’m not actually sure which version of this guy is the one to expect going forward. He kept up with the pep talks, even after the spilled identity which is a pretty drastic change from every interaction I had with him when he was wearing red. Guess we’ll find out shortly, won’t we?
by Michele | Oct 29, 2017 | Chronicles
Tim: Those gathered in attendance range from political dignitaries to press box sweet hearts. When the Wayne Enterprises called a Press Conference the world tuned in. As one of the founding members of Gotham City the Wayne Family has a long history in the United States. In olden times they were among the front to come to the New World. One of the first to stake a claim in the Americas. The first brick ever laid in Gotham City was put in place by a direct Ancestor of Bruce Wayne. While in more modern times the Wayne Foundation has been a world-wide leader in charitable organizations. The Applied Sciences division of Wayne Tech has patent on well over a thousand different advances in the fields of medicine, electronics, technologies. Not to mention that with the divesting of Luthor Corp’s holdings by Lex Luthor, the Wayne Industries division now supplies more than fifty percent of the U.S. Militaries drone, flight, radar and anti-missile defense systems.
At the podium is Lucius Fox. Under Bruce Wayne he was the Chief Executive Officer of the company and has continued in that role with the three Sons inheriting the majority share of the publicly traded Wayne Enterprises. With the public accounting for a mere fifteen percent of the company, the will of Bruce Wayne was specific. In that it gave a slight majority of the company to Timothy Wayne. With the allowance that if his brothers were united against him, it would prevent the youngest, albeit more business oriented, son from running roughshod. Today marks the first time since the ‘Death of Bruce Wayne’ that any of the sons have spoken publicly. Another tick in the counter for why this would be a news worthy moment.
“Welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen. I won’t keep you in suspense this morning. Allow me to Introduce, Timothy Wayne.”
It’s easy to see as I step in to the podium and the microphone that I’m the youngest. Dick certainly cuts a far more handsome figure and Damien is far more imposing. What I’ve got going for me is a brash smile and a whole boat load of charm. At least, that’s what I tell myself when I’m standing in front of the mirror reciting my lines. At one point Dinah had offered me a drink, that I’d made it as far as bringing it to my lips before I detect a not-to-faint hint of scotch in the glass. She’d been intended to settle my nerves and prod me for information. Neither of which really worked. A rare failure on the part of the Black Canary.
“Hello,” the slight cricket of silence, other than a flashing bulb is enough to make me re-think my original pod-cast intentions, but I press forward. “As many of you know my Adoptive Father was an avid supporter of peace and justice. Like his Father before him, Bruce Wayne took to the streets in order to fight crime in the City of Gotham. He campaigned relentlessly for those he believed could help our city. He donated, held fund raisers and brought volunteers in to the field. Many of his initiatives are in place today to give those effected by the criminal element of our city a second chance. It gives homes to the homeless, food to the hungry. His anti-drug initiative is one of the many reasons Gotham was able to reclaim the Narrows from No-Man’s Land.”
“It is for those reasons and in his honor, that I would like to announce a new initiative to Wayne Enterprises. In time we hope to make it a global initiative, but for now we felt that it was time to take Gotham’s Strength and lend it first to the place that needs it most. The reclamation of Coast City. A project that has long been on hold. Held up in Senate Appropriations. Funding. And political agendas. This past week, with the assistance of Lucius Fox, Wayne Enterprises has begun buying much of the land in the former great city of our nation. With no intention of profiting from these purchases. We will begin the rebuilding and it will start first with a memorial garden.”
“Then it will take the shape of a single building. A monument to Hope.”
“I’m sure many of you have seen the News lately. A new generation of heroes has started to rise and if we ever hope to help them out perform their predecessors, we need to give them a foundation to build up. It is with that in mind, that I would like to announce in contingent with the memorial to the Heroes lost defending Coast City and in the Hope of teaching our new Heroes how to be better than those that came before? Tonight marks Day One of the first building in Coast City.”
“Tomorrow we will break ground on a new beginning. The first stone put in place, to provide the foundation for the future of our country and the healing these new Heroes can help us with. Tomorrow, Coast City will be the new home to a memorial Tower.”
Steph: You know, I bet there’s some classrooms out there somewhere that would actually have stopped with their usual scheduled function in order to share important news in the making. They just aren’t my school. First off, they would have to kick a couple sardine packed teenagers out of the room to make room to wheel in a television. No small, nimble little flat screen, oh no. We’re talking hulking CRT, with fuzzy off color picture that doesn’t get reception anymore, since the time the whole thing tipped on account of the wheel that’s been sticking since 1973 and no one cares to fix. It’d waste of a lot of valuable time, and effort, that could be used instead for yelling at all those sardine teenagers that are too irritable and hormonal to really pay attention anyway.
I pay attention. Because I’m no genius, but I’m smart enough to figure out that where I am now? Is not where I want to spend my life. I mean. We upgraded out of the Narrows a couple years back and all, but what can I say. I’m a dreamer, picturing myself somewhere that only has one drug dealer per block (down from one per corner like I’ve got now), and slightly less cramped quarters. My options for upgrading my situation are either working hard, or working the wrong side of the law. Option B is more attractive to most people I know, but I happen to know better. I’m not spending my life like my Dad. Or my Mom.
I don’t see or hear about the announcement until the 8th or so replay of the day. When they get done rehashing the 80 bad things that happened in the area since the morning news, and wind down into something good. I used to just turn on the news because it happened to be on right before the night’s Game Shows. Which I watch because I view it as a personal middle finger to my failure of a Dad, and because…learning things. It’s about the closest I’m getting to educational television on our channel selection. We do actually have a flat screen. I suspect my mom picked it up from someone skeezy, at a ‘Looter’s Special Discount Price’ sale. At least she didn’t steal it herself, I guess. Larceny wasn’t ever really her vice, though.
Working my way through my Math homework, with my head propped in the palm of one hand, I bounce back and forth between two papers. One with the assigned problems. One with the rest. We’re only supposed to do every third. Less for the teacher to grade. I need to do every one to make sure that I get it. I’m only half listening to what they’re talking about, the newscaster talking about one of the Wayne heirs and blahblahblah. Something about rebuilding and an example of getting stuff donecoming out of Gotham, to show the world that not everything that comes out of here is a giant garbage fire. Finished with the next problem, I lean back in my chair at the small kitchen table. Tipping it onto its back two legs, so that I can reach for the coffee pot that I’d whunked a few times to get going when I’d gotten home. Still balanced there as I refill my mug, replace the pot, and then start to take a sip.
The voice has switched, it’s a sound bite of the all important, not Garbage Fire announcement, made by the Wayne Heir himself (well, one of them), and I go still on my precarious perch, eyes wide as I actually look at the image on the television playing to the side of me in the ‘living room,’ i.e. space between front door and kitchen where the couch sits. Then look at the name on the screen. Timothy Wayne. Then back at the face. The name. The face. The quick parting shot of the entourage leaving afterwards, all suave and put together and in sunglasses before noon…
“PFFFSHHHHHTTaugh!”
That, boys and girls, is the sound that one makes when they’re spitting lukewarm coffee in a truly impressive sort of spray, the momentum of the movement sends them into arm windmilling (and flinging more coffee on themselves, the kitchen, and their homework). That doesn’t do much good either, and as the chair topples over backwards, I’m ass over elbows but by golly, I roll with it, coming up on my feet like some sort of semi-stunned gymnast who isn’t sure what just happened to get them where they are. I’ve ruined my homework. Stuck the landing though, so there’s nothing for it but a celebratory fist pump for my smooth moves that no one ever sees.
“Ow! Shit!”
Less smooth when you bang your funny bone while congratulating yourself. I’m still rubbing it and whining a little while I got change out of my now totally coffee soaked clothes, not proud to admit I’m wondering if I can salvage any of it. No sleep and no coffee makes Stephanie Brown an even easier target for her ‘combat’ teacher. Black Canary isn’t really where my head is as I get to scampering out the fire escape though. Despite the wrecked homework, and the still tingling funny bone, I want to get to the Nest or Roost or…whatever they call it (it seems to change depending on who’s talking). I realize about the time I’ve gotten to where I hide my Spoiler suit, and I’m pulling my hair back to put on the mask that I reek of Corner Store Crappy Coffee. It could be worse.
I could smell like Garbage Fire. Maybe it’ll be a better perfume than sweat, bruises and humiliation. And yes. Those last two things do have scents. It’s not too far of a run from there, to where I’m headed. Yes, run. Not walk. Then I get to say I’m warmed up, and more time is spent training. Which I do actually want to do. When training’s finished, I get to move on to other things.
Tim: Meanwhile at the ‘Bat Cave.’ Formerly known as the Robin’s Nest.
Once the announcement had been made it was time to get to work. There was so much to be done and we’ve only just begun really. The idea for the Tower had not been entirely mine. The location had been something that I worked out through discussions with Cassie and later Dinah, but also came as a revelation after meeting The Flash. Seeing the man at relative peace with demonstrating his abilities had come as an eye-opening experience to me. I’d begun to wonder ‘What if?’ we could come to the point where more of those sort of people could work freely within the United States. I’ve seen the pitfalls first hand, I was taught them by Bruce who wasn’t exactly fond of their kind, but understood the necessity of them.
You see, the world isn’t always a nice place. Good people can and do die for the smallest things. Things that a Superman could save them from. Things that the mere presence of a Batman could dissuade as the boogeyman. Many mundane things would be a worry no more if more people like the Flash could operate in public. The pitfalls are numerous, of course. Not everyone will be as responsible as the young Flash. Nor will they be as inspiring as the Wonder Woman. For every good apple we find there will be ten more that weren’t even considered low hanging fruit. But the alternative is that we are going to live in a world where an entire segment of the people must live in fear. Cower in the shadows and conceal the gifts that could better mankind. That isn’t a world that I want to live in and thankfully, I think a lot of others agree with me.
After the speech, I’d come here. To the make-shift Bat-Cave. Where I’d went to work on the designs for my idea. It would feature a large open-air memorial on the ground floor. Something for people to come and see. A tourist-like sight for people who sought a little inspiration. Then there would be the Tower itself. Built to endure, but not to intimidate. A modern marvel of technology set in the backgrop of a City that needed to be rebuilt. Enough land had been bought so that if this all went as according to plan, the Tower would be set apart from the rest of the rebuilding. Allowing it some comfortable insulation from being a danger to the population.
I’m starting to tackle to theoretical solution to a totally missing population when I notice the arrival of Spoiler on the internal sensors. This is the first I’ve seen her since the ‘Stake Out,’ and the first I’ve seen her since the Batman appeared on the News alongside the Flash and Wonder Woman. Maybe I’m expecting too much, but I’ve come to believe that Stephanie Brown serves a purpose in all of our lives. She is the voice of the voiceless. A spoiler for all those whom we didn’t know their opinion.
“The Canary is visiting a friend. She will not be here for your lesson today,” hopefully she’s not at the Manor breaking Dick’s face right now. “I thought this would afford us an opportunity to check on the trap we laid.”
Steph: I’m all jazzed up like I’ve had too much coffee, which isn’t the case and I’ll probably regret it later. I’ll have to stop on the way home and pick up more cheap, crap grounds to replace all the cheap, crap grounds I already used. Using up all the coffee in the morning? Fine. That’s normal person behavior. I don’t want to answer to why I’m guzzling it after school in an effort to keep myself awake and perky all night long. Perky isn’t usually a problem. Midway through the week, the awake part gets harder though. You can’t let Black Canary smell any weakness on you, either. It isn’t caffeine that has me going though, it’s the buzz of discovery and I’ve been running through ways to phrase it in my head, while physically running here. Part of the way with sensors running, and part of it without.
I’m kind of worried I might break something, but that’s not the real reason why I don’t go full time. They supply trajectories and height, tell me when I should jump and where I should land, and that’s awesome and all. Makes you look like a total badass when you pull it off with no hiccups, because you don’t have to worry about whether or not you can. Except I don’t want to get used to it. I don’t know when they’re going to just decide to take the suit away from me, or if they will.
I come skittering to a halt, for the second time tonight arms windmilling a bit for balance as my feet grip more quickly than I was ready for.
“Uhhhhhhi, Batman. Again. I didn’t …expect to see you here.”
I almost look for all the others anyway, even though he’s just told me Canary isn’t here. Those aren’t the only two though, sometimes Arsenal is here, and then there’s Red Robin. Who is who I really wanted to see.
“Where’s Red Robin, anyway? I wanted to ask him something about my suit and… it’s not important.”
Well. That sucks. All those mental plans, and inner maniacal giggling, all for nothing. But seriously. Where is he? One week he’s intruding on all my nightly activities and badgering/bribing me into coming here for training and then he’s gone. At least I know Batman isn’t a figment of my imagination. And very likely not a ghost anymore, since other people have seen him, in other states even. That part was kind of weird. But filled me with sooooooo many questions.
“That does sound more fun than Blocking Punches with Your Kidneys 101. They moved the van to another spot. Or maybe got a second van, but they look the same. Also over a manhole cover. Half block east and a full block north. I didn’t get close. I did get the plates though! Not that it’ll matter much because it’s probably stolen. Has that whole…vibe going on. You know…like someone at anytime is going to poke their head out and try and do something illegal with or to you? Uh. Anyway. So. Great. That’s a yes.”
Tim: There is no cant to the head, no smirk of appreciation for her being obviously off balance. Just a stoic gaze of the Batman that I’ve affixed her with as she babbles. This is something she has no doubt gotten used too, but now it’s all the more useful because I think she knows when this face means she’s babbling. Except that this is Batman’s always face. Ergo, she is always babbling. This time around though she has at least said something mildly interesting, that isn’t case related. She was looking for Red Robin?
“Robin is working a different case currently,” this might normally be all that I would offer, but there is actually something more to it that I think should be spoken of. “He is managing a project. Bringing heroes of youth together. Over the last several years the world has begun to see people of a certain ilk or those with powers as inherently evil. This ‘Wonder Woman’ and her ‘Superman’ have opened a door that we can’t afford for the world to close. We do not know when it might get opened again.”
“I’ve asked Red Robin to put his proverbial foot in the door. To gather potentials together. In many cases. Such as your’s, it’s simply a need of training. But others… others need rescuing. They need to be protected because their powers, without training, make them a target.”
The Batman does not usually spend so much time explaining, but that was Bruce. Keeping everything close to the vest. He didn’t trust people as much as he should. Then again he learned the hard way that sometimes even your most trusted friends betray you. I know why Bruce allowed himself to get so jaded to trusting people, but I’m not the same person as he is. Taking the ability to trust others away from me is akin to losing one of your major senses. I’m already behind the 8-Ball with this gig, I can’t afford any more handicaps. I have to trust people and it always starts at home.
“We spoke about what you would do after you’ve dealt with your Father. This door that the Red Robin is holding open? Will be there for you to step through. If that’s the direction you decide to go in. People like you are why he’s doing it.”
Sweeping past Stephanie as I finish speaking and making my way towards what is now an alcove for the Batmobile. It revolves, turning the car around so that we can exit the ‘Robin’s Nest,’ but also gives the illusion of my having driven it in recently. “Did you tag the van with the tracers from your gauntlets? Or have you not made it to the T-section of your manual.”
She’s a very observant young lady, so I’m also testing something. I changed the profile on the suit. Etching the ‘horns’ to be longer, more pronounced. Using them, in combination with thicker soles to the boots I’m wearing, to enhanced my height. Though it isn’t quite as much as Bruce, it’s as tall as I’m able to account for without sacrificing stability or movement. I’m learning, with help from Dinah, that everything I do to keep the illusion of being -The- Batman, that I’m also lowering my ability to actually survive as Batman. So the changes are cosmetic only, but I’m hoping that they serve some semblance of furthing the illusion.
Steph: “For powered kids? Or just stubborn ones with an axe to grind?”
A different case. Right. Because why would you need Robin on my case, when you have Batman working it and frankly I’m kind of shocked that it’s even getting that much attention at all. Honestly? I’d gotten the impression I was one blip on the condescension scale away from a head pat and a ‘yeah, sure kid, sure your Dad is ‘up’ to something.’ Not that it was going to stop me, I knew something was up, and I was right. They just know it now, too. Also… he’s busy because he’s been doing press conferences. A point of fact that I want to squeal about right now, but lets face it. Batman probably already knows, and I don’t know that I’m enough of an asset (or at least not a liability to their secrecy) to get shanked for letting him know that I know.
I guess that’s the reason for the whole Coast City thing. Which is so far away that it may as well be another country as far as I’m concerned.
“Fortunately for all of us, there’s a passing blip of a reference to them under ‘gauntlets’ so I skipped ahead a little.”
Also. Penny-One’s a lot more flippin’ helpful than the manual. Something they should probably work on if they’re going to continue passing suits out to shmucks like me. I’m flashing a double set of thumbs up as he looms past me, but I cock my head at the back of him as I get into motion so that I don’t get accidentally left behind now that he can find the van without me. I like to think my entrance into the passenger side is a little bit smoother this time, still not nearly as practiced and ‘with it’ as his is though. I mean. It’s his car.
“Soooo, doing a little something different with the cowl today? A little myyy, what big ears you have/the better to hear you with my dear. Or are we just using a little better posture?”
He’s taller. I assume it’s the ears ,though that make him look that way the same way I’d be on the five foot, closer to six if I fluffed up my hair and put it on top of my head. Not that it’d show with the hood. Or maybe heels but Batman clearly doesn’t wear heels I mean. That would be weird. Settling in, and fastening in, I don’t figure he needs me to tell him how to track the tracer on the van. Probably all goes to the same Batcomputer for easy access and information sharing. With the people that they actually want to share information with. The tiny little chip, which I’d barely been able to see on application and had thought at first that I’d done it wrong, or dropped, leading to a lot surrounded by a tall, wire topped fence, that’s filled with vans. All very similar, though some of them have decals for various trades. Legit ones, and a few that don’t match up to anything in the area. Some of them are also riding low in their parking spots, demonstrating weight of some sort inside.
“Soooo. You and Wonder Woman…?”
Yeah, I’ve got my arm propped up on the door, torso twisted towards the Bat like I’m sharing juicy gossip with a friend. What? I saw the news. Everyone saw that news, or read about it I’m pretty sure. The Batman, out of Gotham and working with her. Usually that’s Superman’s gig. Who was nowhere to be seen at the time.
Tim: “Having powers does does not make someone a Hero and it certainly does not make them a superhero.” Nor does it make them a villain, necessarily. “That is more a state of mind and being, than anything else. Heroes do things that make a difference. They come in all shapes and sizes. Super Heroes just do it more frequently. Red Robin is looking to cultivate that ideology.”
This discussion isn’t nearly as strange as you might think for me. Talking about my alt-ego is sort of normal at this point. Timothy Drake had to talk about his hero the Robin for years. Now it’s merely me talking about the Red Robin. Keeping up the charade is normal and I don’t think twice about the ramifications of insanity that it leans toward. None of us do, I’d wager. We have people in our lives that we want to protect. People who’s lives would be in imminent danger if word got out who we are. Dinah walking in unannounced had been unfortunate, but then I compounded it by referencing Tim in a discussion with Stephanie already. But we already trust Stephanie. Perhaps more than we should. Given her relations.
“There is nothing different with the cowl today,” I might just be using a Jedi Mind Trick upon Spoiler, if not for the way the top of the Batmobile’s canopy thumping the elongated ears, since I’m not used to them and forces me to scoot lower in to the seat. I don’t even make a sound, before punching the gas and sending us careening through the Nest’s subway entrance.
We have a few moments to talk during this and normally I would leave it to be done in silence. Silence from me, at least. I’ve yet to find her off-button. For once she’s asked a question that I’m passionate about. It is hard to resist opining. “Wonder Woman came out to the public months ago. We’ve been in contact. I believe her ideals to be sound, her principles to be in line with my own and her intentions are something I’ve been working toward on my own for a long time.”
“She believes in doing the right thing, solely because it is the right thing. That is a view that I’ve seen in very few people. No axe to grind. So far, no skeletons in her closet.” The cowled head never turns in her direction, but it would be hard to miss that my focus is more so on Stephanie than normal. “So. You and the Boy Wonder?”
Steph: “Definitely not a bad goal. I bet the logistics are gonna be a nightmare though.”
I mean. Look at the problems just in Gotham with stepping on each others toes, at least up until we were brought into the fold I guess. Now that I’ve ‘met’ Penny-One I assume there’s some organization among all the Batcrew so that doesn’t happen. Diversifying. Unless it needs to happen. But we don’t have superpowers. Or at least, I don’t think we do. Unless you count all the gadgets. Wrangling that many superegos, with a side of property destruction that comes when metas fight? I can’t really speak to my personal involvement. I’ve got a goal. I don’t know what I’m doing when I done because I was focused on one finish line at a time. I’m not totally sure that I’m a hero of any stripe though. Super or otherwise.
So, what I said about smooth entrances into the Batmobile? Today, I actually win the prize. I end up sitting there, eyeing the Bat sideways because…I think he just hit his head. No. His ears. On the way into the vehicle. So much could be said about that… and instead there’s just the sound of me sucking my teeth for a second.
“Whatever you say, boss.”
The forward acceleration presses me back into my seat, and I’m inclined to just let that one go and enjoy the ride. As I learned last time I spent any amount of time in this seat, his conversation skills are not quite at the same pace and speed as mine. Or alternately he just doesn’t want to talk to me. All business, no pleasure, makes Bats a scary, effective dude. So I’m a little surprised when he actually kicks in again, that gravely voice actually managing to sound excited about something. It’s weird. I kind of want to laugh over the ‘we’ve been in contact’ part because…obviously they have been, and it sounds so formal. I also had no idea that Batman had any ambitions outside of kicking the collective ass of Gotham’s underbelly. I don’t think I’d really ever seen or heard about him turning up outside of the city.
And I’d know. I keep an eye on this kind of stuff. Call it an interest inspired by a childhood experience in my living room.
“Well she sounds. Great. Is she really that sparkly in person?”
Camera can do weird things. I’m in the middle of thinking over what to tease him about to provoke more conversation, there’s the whole enthusiastic about Wonder Woman part (and I mean, every boy in my class is so who can blame him, apparently?), so when he asks about me and Red Robin in the same way I’d prodded about the spangly superblonde? I can’t help the little too loud snort of laughter, that gets to go a few beats before I cut it off.
“Me and Red Robin? Oh. Boy. What about us? I’m pretty sure Waynes don’t date chicks from the Narrows.”
…yeah so much for not spilling those beans Stephanie. Awkward. Ahem. Clearing my throat a little forcefully than really necessary I go back to the tack Batman had taken about Wonder Woman. Just. Less enthusiastically than he had sounded.
“Uh. I think he thinks I’m a pain in the ass, but clearly means well. In that thinks I’m going to get myself killed, and is trying to get me and my imaginary Dad problems out of the way kind of way. I don’t know. I haven’t exactly worked with him outside of one time. Not a lot to make a personal opinion off of, y’know?”
Tim: The logistics of such a thing -are- a nightmare, but that is why I’m doing it as Timothy Wayne and not as Batman or Red Robin. This is something that requires time, energy and money. All of those I have, but the resources of the Wayne name outstrip even those of the venerable Batman. I’m afraid a lot of Batman’s resources died with Bruce. The logistics of it aren’t really the scary part. It is how the U.S. Government is going to react. Luthor has all but embraced his personal Superman for the last year, but then Conner brought out the Wonder Woman. Not only did he unveil her, he said she was the leader of something big. Now you’ve got me out there, on television, legitimizing it for the Heroes all across the Country. This can’t be what Luthor wants. To have all of this spiraling out of his own personal control, after he’s stamped his name on it…
“It is my understanding that she is the Daughter of Zeus,” out of the corner of my eyes I’m awaiting how she reacts to that news before continuing. “Which sort of lends itself to glowing. The sparkles are from her costume. I’ve been meaning to ask her about that, now that you mention it.”
Stephanie’s response to my return query about her and the Red Robin goes about as I had expected. Other than, y’know, the moment when she says the Wayne name and I’m left thankful of my cowl to hide the way in which I’m narrowing my eyes at her. Although the Cowl is expressive, so she may notice that look anyway, but it’s dark and…
“You believe Timothy Wayne is Red Robin?” This is one of the times when I’m as well schooled as anyone else on the planet. I’ve been through conversations like this before. Keeping my focus on driving the car, putting us on the track of the Van’s GPS. “Spoiler. Tim Drake is not the Red Robin. I’m not protecting his identity. I’m telling you this with no reservations. I give you my word, he is not Red Robin. Nor does he have any qualms about dating ‘chicks from the Narrows.'”
“Honestly, your assessment is not that far off from my own. You are a well meaning pain in the ass. That is going to get herself killed if she isn’t careful -and- a good student to one of the best teachers on the planet. Where we differ in our assessments, is that I have seen your theories with my own eyes. You’re on to something. I could take over, exclude you from the investigation, but all that accomplishes is putting you in a position of desperation. You’d take chances that I don’t have the time to monitor and likely couldn’t prevent without putting you on a boat to Mexico.”
“I’ve met other pains in the ass, with something to prove and an axe to grind before. They proved to be invaluable allies, once they were tempered.” As well pull up a few buildings away from the Van’s location, I put the car in to security mode and make to exit. “Also. For the record. Wonder Woman is a goddess, but she’d still date a boy from Gotham. You’re selling yourself far too short. The moment you stop that, is going to be the moment you learn who you really are beneath that Mask.”
Steph: “… like. The Mythological God, Zeus? Huh. Well. Don’t know about all that, but I suppose their powers have to come from somewhere. Nuclear vat. Science experiment.Gods.” There’s finger quotes for that one. I don’t know that I’ve got a lot of stock, or faith, to put into something like that. People can say they’re from a lot of places. “I wouldn’t. I mean. Clearly she can take a hit, and it probably makes her a big distraction while you get to be all loomy and sneaky instead.”
Purple was totally my compromise. Doesn’t really show up in the dark, but I wasn’t going full Goth. As for his expression over my little revelation there, I was already looking away and out the window, covering up my own expression which isn’t nearly as hidden by my face mask and cloak.
“…uh huh, sure. He’s not the Red Robin. Gotcha.”
I’ve turned back for the exaggerated wink that’s going along with that. I don’t believe Timothy Wayne is Red Robin. ‘Belief’ implies some measure of faith and a lack of proof. I know that Timothy Wayne is Red Robin. I’m not going to get insistent about it, though, because again. Don’t want to be shanked and dumped in the harbor. Also because Batman in part gave it away, and I don’t want him to feel guilty, or shank me. Truth is, though? The name had just been kind of secondary confirmation. I recognized the voice, I’ve heard it enough in the Robin’s Nest, or when I ran into him on the street. This is also the reason why I’ve mentally mocked every hero I’ve ever seen with those little face masks on. They don’t cover anything that sunglasses don’t. And Red Robin/Tim Wayne has a pretty distinctive jaw. And a dimple. Right in the middle of that sculpted…ahem.
“What, you’ll discuss dating preferences on missions with the guys? I see how it is.”
I’m joking. Mostly. Seems kind of unfair. Not that I actually want to do so with Batman right now, or really. Any time. There’s more important things going on, it had just been so…absurd a thought to me that I couldn’t resist making the comment. The way Bruce Wayne behaved was pretty notorious, so it’s not real hard to guess about the same was true of his sons. Though who knows. Sometimes the apple doesn’t like the tree it dropped out of. As for being told I’m a pain in the ass, and all the rest. Well. I just shrug my shoulders. It’s not really defensive, or even dismissive. Not that I like hearing it. I’m trying. Even though trying mostly has consisted of some humiliation and a whole lot of bruises and very little sleep.
“Plus I don’t have a passport. Sounds like you’re making the right choice here all around.”
Allies? I mean. That sounds nice. I didn’t get into this looking for any, because I figured it’d just be me. I needed proof to give it off to the cops, and like most kids who grew up where I did? Knew they weren’t likely to be a whole lot of help anyway. Not unless I had something really solid, and that meant wrecking the plans myself. I’ve got much better tools now though, that’s for sure. So maybe a hand up isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Climbing out of the Batmobile, I make a much better hop this time than last time. See? I just need practice!
“Batman, anyone ever tell you you’re weirdly good at this whole fortune cookie of inspiration thing? I mean. You temper it with a dose of kid, you suck so my ego doesn’t get all big or something. Not really what I expected. But I mean. Admittedly I just had rumors to go off before. And that time when I was like. Six. But beeeeelieve me. What some boy, filthy rich or not, thinks of me and my dating potential has got basically less than zero effect of what I think about myself.”
Tim: “Yes. Zeus. Whether he is truly a god or just a being of such immense power and advance that he is akin to one? I think the point is moot. She is partially Divine Host. Deity. Whatever the case may be.”
Truthfully? Doesn’t matter to me. Like Stephanie, I’m not big on faith. Even less on omnipotent creatures claiming to have created the heaven and stars. I’ve written the code for entire Virtual Reality worlds, but that does not make me a god for creating it. I’m still pondering this when the comments about my alter ego are once again spoken of. It makes me pause long enough to turn to her, stiffly, but for one of the few times I’m not even trying to be ominous.
“Tim Drake is not any sort of Robin,” there’s no defiance or anger, it is simply a statement of fact. “Think this through. Why would I encourage you at every step, only to break you down here. You know Dinah’s secret. I even told you that there is a Tim in the Nest. Why would I lie about this to a woman trained to sniff out clues and spoil them? He is not the Robin, in any way. In fact you’re out on the town. Working a case with me. In the Batmobile. Right now, you are more Robin than Timothy Wayne is.”
“Typically, I don’t discuss dating preferences on missions with anyone. But given the circumstances. I’m willing to answer questions. If only to prove to you that I’m making no effort to deceive you. Because I know that I’m making the right choice, Spoiler. You deserve this chance and I’ve got no reason to deny it to you. You’ve trained with Canary as well as you can. You’re trying to learn the suit’s capabilities.”
“As long as you don’t continue to over do it, you’ll continue to work on this with me so long as it’s what you want as well.” Halting at the edge of the building we’ve hidden the Batmobile behind, I’m drawing out the grappling hook and taking aim. “You are, however, over doing it. We’re going to need to discuss that. Later. I won’t lose a partner, Spoiler. Especially not from their own lack of self-control and maintenance.”
There is a crook to my head that says I’ve listened to her thank you, but I’m not immediately rising to the bait of such an offering. I’m trying to inspire her, but also to inspire others. It’s gratifying to know that it is, at least seemingly, working out on some levels. There is just more to it than that. So before Stephanie reaches for her own grappling hook, I put my hand out to slow her for one more moment.
“You took the part about your self-worth slightly wrong, you know? Whether a rich boy would date you or not isn’t really the point. It’s that you don’t see the tools you actually do bring to the table. For every moment of humiliation at the hand of Canary, that you endure? You give yourself two others, because you don’t yet believe in yourself. Look at how you fell the first time you climbed out of the car, to just now. Look at how tagged the Van, when you wouldn’t have even thought to do so before. We all fail, it’s how we respond to failure that defines us. The Rich Boy and his dating preferences don’t define you, Spoiler. But. You suggesting that being from the Narrows makes you something less? Means that you’re not thinking about the advantages being from the Narrows gives you.”
“Now. Engage your suit’s stealth protocol. We’ll speak via comms only from here on.”
Steph: It’s true. Doesn’t really matter where her powers came from, she clearly has them. A lot of them. She can fly, hit like a truck, she’s strong and durable and fast, and has gravity control which may or may not be limited to keeping her costume up. Maybe that’s where the flight comes from, too. All I know is it’s superhuman. I’ve worn strapless tops enough to know damn well that it’s a feat to keep them in place just walking, let alone doing all the …other things she does while wearing it. At least from what I’ve seen on the internet and TV. Batman’s sharp insistence, his continued explanation, makes my bring my hands up, palms towards him to ward off the words, or maybe just a body language equivalent of a ‘woah, woah, down tiger, cool your jets.’ And quickly becomes a ‘woah, woah, no thank you!’ about the Robin part.
“I’m not swapping uniforms. I like this one. No offense, but skimpy boy shorts are kind of summer only wear for me.”
I still just don’t believe him. He’s trying too hard to prove to me something isn’t so. Why would Batman lie to me about who Timothy Wayne is or isn’t? Because he’s protecting him. Something I understand, and admire. Dinah’s identity getting ‘spoiled’ might have been a bigger deal but…honestly she actually doesn’t seem to care, like she’s got nothing to lose or gain in it. I also know fully well that trust comes in layers and levels. They all clearly know who I am under here, but the information was never offered in reverse. I’m kind of in the same boat as the Black Canary though. I don’t exactly have much to lose if someone finds out who I am, more than I’d lose any night something goes wrong out here with the mask on. Someone like that? With a big name and a known face? That’s a bigger deal.
“Is it. What I want, I mean.”
Overdoing it? Of course I’m over-doing it! How do you not when you’re doing the whole double life thing? Especially when you’re in high school, and there’s limited hours in the night where you can sneak out to pursue this brand of extra-curricular in the first place. I basically get a nap before I have to go to school in the morning, and maybe I can sneak in another one after Mom goes to work. If I came home straight away from class and snoozed she’d realize something was up. She did live with my father. She’s no genius, but she’s suspicious, and observant. When Batman lines up with his grapple, I’m getting ready to do the same. I mean, time to show off the practice I’ve been doing! Until he stops me.
“I am a bit of a learn by doing-er. And, thanks to the Narrows, what amounts to a bi-pedal cockroach. Takes a lickin’, keeps on tickin’. I’m pretty sure that’s why I still have my teeth after Canary Class yesterday.”
I can also thank that particular upbringing for the wide variety of ‘street smarts’ skills I’ve actually got to my name, and my left hook. The don’t know when to quit attitude. Also, emergency planning and food hoarding! Basically, it means I’m set for any future Apcocalypses’. I’ve already basically survived a couple mini ones.
God. I don’t miss that neighborhood.
“Roger that, Bat-leader.”
Snapping a half-assed salute, before I go to engage my…I have a stealth protocol? Stealth….stealth…stealth… fortunately my learn by doing-ness has kicked in enough that I know how to navigate the suit’s computer for the most part. A tap of the finger engages my HUD, and from there it just takes a little hunting. While I sing the Jeopardy theme in my head. Gotta find it before the jingle runs out…hah. There. Now. Grapple time. Honestly…this is the fun part. When it doesn’t lead to falling on my face, anyway. And climbing combined with daredevil acts of idiocy was something I already had going for me in the practical experience category.
It’s already here, the van. Obviously or we would have followed the helpful blip of the tracker elsewhere, and there’s a lot of them. More than I’d think would be hidden in a place like this. I guess it’s not hiding, the lot itself looks legit. A rental place, or just a paid parking/storage facility? Seems like an awful lot of vans to belong to one fleet, and from too many different businesses. Once I’ve scaled the building and scrambled up over the edge, I can hunker down and see it. Where the tracker leads. Squinting, and letting the suit give me a little vision ‘boost’ also says there’s not any plates on that van anymore.
“T-G-I-P-A-T-O-I.”
Tim: Allowing her to go up first is strategic. It means that if she falls I’m able to catch her. Not to mention, it allows me to watch how she handles this. I’m judging everything about her. Filming it too. This will all be something that Dinah gets to see later, so that she can use it against Spoiler in training. Emphasizing any weak points, so that they get better quickly. I wasn’t kidding about not wanting to lose a partner. I’m going to keep Stephanie from getting herself killed at the very least. By hook or crook.
She’s right about one thing. This is the fun part. It is also the part of being Batman that I can’t screw up, even if I did change my own aerodynamics. I’ve done this too much, too often, to not be able to account for some additional weight and height. Often I’m doing this with someone else in my arms. Saving them from burning building or gunfire or… when they’ve fallen on their faces from grapplehook failure.
“I never said anything about changing uniforms. Nor did I suggest that you were Robin.”
::Though you would most assuredly look quite fetching in spanks and pan-boots, Ms. Brown.::
“Penny-One. We’re in position. Are the drones ready?”
::Of course.::
Looking over the roof to the Van and it’s occupants. A hand is placed upon Stephanie’s shoulder, I want her to look where I point her. Not to the van, but to the nearest manhole cover, slightly down the street from the Van. Then to the storm drain at the corner intersection. “Send the Drones down the drain, PennyOne. Give us a visual on what they see down there.”
“The drones can go low, but we need to take one of the Van’s occupants for… interrogation.”
Steph: It probably also lets him look at my butt. I’d make a smart comment about that if this were Red Robin, or Arsenal. Not to Batman though. There’s a limit, clearly, where my filter kicks in just enough to not imply he’s doing such a thing. I mean. It’s about the only opportunity, since I’m all about the cape, but really not the point. Also? The grapple makes this so much easier than it used to be when I used a fully manual one. So much less work for your upper body. I can do it, and judging by the visible muscles so cat Batman, but why waste the effort when you might need those for…I don’t know. Punching people later?
“Not yet you didn’t. I figured I better throw it out there before you started getting ideas though. Cause I’m betting disappointment isn’t a great look on the Batface. Aw. Thanks, Penny-One, sounds kind of cold though.”
And way less effective at protecting me from mishaps, while simultaneously taking away a lot of pocket space. Neither of which are points I’d be excited about. Canary doesn’t need pants. I don’t want to copy her shtick. It wouldn’t be nearly as impressive of a show if I wore the corset, either. Not without a lot of extra help. … I guess that could be an area for replacement storage, and… head in the game, Brown. Down in the sewer there’s been some clear activity lately, judging by the pile of equipment. Most of it disassembled, likely because it had to be brought down through the manhole’s opening and that restricted the size. A metal drum, and what looks to be the rest of the parts for a small concrete mixer. Boxes of sealant, and Quikcrete bags. Or maybe this wasn’t recent activity, going by the condensation on the drum itself.
“Aw. It’s nice when they cooperate…Dibs on front!”
The sound of a door opening on the van heralds the cargo door on the back swinging wide, dislodging a man in nondescript coveralls from the back section of the vehicle. The driver still in place in the cab. Elevator, going down! Just as quickly as the grapple can bring you up? You can go down a whole lot faster. Mix of free fall, with stopping at the right time. I’m not up high enough to get going that quickly though. Plus, the suit starts telling me I’m being dumb about the time I engage the brakes.
Tim: It is probably for the best that Spoiler keeps her commentary to herself. It saves her from being coldly denied, as I would be honor bound to do in this particular suit. Oddly, the suit has impacted me in more ways than I’d ever thought. Because I actually haven’t scoped Spoiler out, not even once, since putting this on. Nor have I really made any sort of smarmy commentary to any of the others either. Maybe I’m starting to fit in to the role? Or maybe I’m doing exactly what Dinah said and I’m allowing it to define who I am. That’s a good way of getting myself killed, because I’m not the Batman despite the fact I’m wearing the suit. I’m Tim Drake, advocate of the little guy and the smarmiest smarmer in smarmville.
My only confirmation over whether I’m still me? Is when I spent half a second considering whether to cut her repel line when she leaps off to get in front of me. Lucky for her, I’m equally fast in deciding that would be a waste of resources, more so than a good lesson. I’m trying to empower this girl, but doing so is going to result in some situations like this. When she’s too confident. Now my only real choice is to make sure she doesn’t get herself killed. Hopefully while doing the same for myself too.
No repel line for me. I’m over the edge of the rooftop and in to the air. Extending my arms, unfurling the cape so that it catches the wind. Those same micro-fillament muscle fibers that enhance my speed and strength, also give the cape a sort of skeleton that allow it to temporarily become a glider. Spoiler and I arrive at the ground level at about the same time, but my descent is controlled, timed and tactical. Two booted feet will collide with the man exiting the back of the truck nearly in time with him trying to step out.
The recoil from that sends me backwards. If I weren’t in this suit, the effect would be this spectacular backflip that leaves me poising heroically. As it is I’m lucky not to land on my backside, because the cape is longer and ends up under my feet. Preventing me from sticking the landing. But. I’m at least moderately sure no one saw that slight stumble.
“Taser the engine, Spoiler. We don’t want them getting away.”
Steph: Gravity is both useful, and a cruel bitch. Fickle, too. She’s more on Batman’s side than the man exiting the back of the van, though. He gets a double helping, applied force and momentum transferred through the Bat-boots, and being off of his own center of gravity unable to really resist being kicked wholesale right back into the van. Halfway towards the ground as one leg was, his knee catches on the van’s floor lip. Serves nicely to shorten the distance he travels by sending him down, instead of back, with a van rattling whump as head hits metal.
Sadly? I miss the show. Both the kick, and Batman tripping over his own cape. Probably a good thing. I’d have to comment. True to my ‘dibs’ I was going straight for the front though. I wasn’t exactly worried about the man actually getting out of the van, so much as the one still in it. If the first saw me heading for the latter? Well. Batman was here, and I assumed he’d do what Batman does. The ass kicking. Not the tripping.
“..does that actually work?”
Okay. So I am questioning the Batman, but I’ve also already actually started to do it. It just wasn’t what I wanted to do. I’d been intending to demonstrate my super mastery of the knock out gas pellets that come in the suit by deploying one in the cab. I didn’t even accidentally get myself the first time I used it! (Yes, yes I did.) Instead of reaching for the handle of the cab, to open it and flick one in, I sidestep, aiming the taser.
“Ooomph!”
And promptly get knocked off my feet as the door’s thrown open. Jokes on you, asshole. Now I’ve got an even better angle, firing up under the wheel well with a satisfying sound of electricity. Victory that’s not exactly long lived as I get hauled bodily backwards by one foot, towards the driver who was apparently getting out when the door came open. Clearly, no one taught him about all the many reasons why that’s a bad idea. Like how he’s only got old of one of my feet. Which means that one is free to do a lot of kicking still. And that bending down to try to get hold of it only puts his chin in range a whole lot more easily for said other kicking foot.
Batman: A cursory glance inside the van will tell me that my target isn’t getting up immediately. While that might be a wasted effort judging by the initial attack, there are a lot of odd happenings in this city. The two seconds it takes me to get a cowl-scan of life-signs is well worth not having some cyborg jumping out of the van to kill us both while we least expect it moments later. Once that’s done I’m free to step around the side of the Van.
Frankly, Stephanie does far better than I would have anticipated. Of course I missed her being struck by the cab door, but she missed me stumbling on my own cape. That means we’re both alive and neither the wiser about the other’s miss-steps. Well, sort of. I’m getting a pretty good visual on her being drug across the ground by the driver. She is in no real danger, yet, but I’m unwilling to wait long.
The moment that her boot connects with the man’s jaw? I bring a heel down on the back of one of his knees. Then it’s time for the Batman to do what the Batman actually does. Another strike, this one is surgical and would likely make even Black Canary proud, to his C-6 vertebrae. Rendering his arms as useless as his broken knee. Leaving me to hope Spoiler didn’t break his jaw.
“The faster you talk, the less likely I am to break something else…” Hey, this is the Batman. I’m playing on the simple math here. People like this cheese their pants at the presence of Bruce’s Batman. So far I’ve done nothing to give anyone the impression that I’m -not- that same sort of Batman. Maybe I’ve been studying my brother Damien too much? “… why are you here? Who do you work for? Give me a contact name or I start with your other knee.”
Steph: There’s no one else in the van, at least not anyone with a heartbeat and the only movement is the swaying of some of the interior contents. By now gentle, since things have settled a bit from both the kick, the fall, and the other passenger jumping out. Rules out a killer robot making a leap at him, too. For the moment. As for the other poor shmuck, if I did break his jaw, I didn’t break it well enough to prevent him screaming like…um…well someone who has just had his knee kicked in and broken, followed up with the special kind of gurgle that comes from damage to your back and the realization that nothing’s really working like it ought to anymore.
I don’t really get to see the violence in full detail. I’m at the wrong angle, but I definitely see and hear the effect. Damn, Bats. Clearly I wasn’t blowing things out of proportion from my childhood memories with time, and darkness to inflate them. Hopefully they’re both distracted by each other, and not by me, because when I sit up I do so right into the bottom edge of the door that had knocked me over in the first place. The thunk, and the mewled ‘owie..’ not as quiet as I might have liked. I correct and roll over a few times. With one more for extra measure, before I try to get up again. A doubly good idea I see, and quickly yank my cape the rest of the way from the crumpled man who probably would love to clutch his broken knee. Or face. And can’t, and lacking those options has, in fact, pissed himself.
It’s a little pathetic, honestly. Or it would be if he didn’t have Batman looming over him. Can’t say I really blame the dude who apparently has no compunctions against sharing. Maybe a little unintelligible from fear and …well, I didn’t break his jaw but it looks like his dentist is going to have a lot of work in front of him. Through the slurring and stammering and begging, he definitely seems to be trying to be helpful. Insisting that he was just paid to put up a wall, given a place and a time.
“…did he say Drury Walker or … Darry? Barry? I can’t understand him…”
Tim: “Penny-One. Search the GCPD database for Drury Walker. Known alias, co-workers, friends, family. Everything.”
Even as I’m saying this, I take the man’s ankle in the same way he’d done to Spoiler. He can’t fight right now and that’s going to add to his humiliation while being pulled to the back of the Van. Once there, I’m able to take the other unconscious man’s other leg to pull him out of the Van like a sack of potatoes. One unconscious, one paralyzed, both of them are bound together with a zip ties. Neutralizing their hands and with one of them unable to walk they’re not going anywhere.
“Alert GCPD to pick these two up. They’ll find the crime scene once they arrive. The drones do not detect any booby traps. Have the computer begin to analyze the sewer images and recall the drones.”
True to my word I’m not interested in torture. Both men will live to fight another day. Even if that’s a day in the Police Holding or the Hospital at this point. Leaving only the mystery of whether I’d seen Spoiler’s thunking herself on the door. The answer to which is, whether I did or not, I’m not going to draw attention to it. She did what she was supposed too. Plus she defended herself amiably. Unlike the two mooks, I have no reason to humiliate her. Especially when I almost fell over my own cape a few moments ago.
“Drury Walker,” whether I heard the name properly or interpreted what was said through missing teeth, it seems that I’ve at least recognized the name. “Small time crook, with big aspirations that never pan out. We have a date on Drury lane, Spoiler.”
The Batmobile is actually already pulling up. No need for us to hike back to it or make some sort of dramatic disappearing act. “You will brief Commissioner Gordon enroute. Put your gameface on.”
Steph: “…huh, that’s an actual person? What kind of dumb name is Drury?”
I actually assumed I had to be misunderstanding the guy. It happens. Without your front teeth it’s clearly pretty hard to enunciate much of anything. It only got worse the more he tried to make himself clear, too. Probably fearing for his other knee. Or his life. He’s still babbling as Batman drags him around the back of the van, he just can’t kick like I could. Poor sap. No, actually I don’t feel bad. I just watch for a moment, before climbing into the cab myself. Kneeling on the seat and hanging upside down as I rummage around underneath it. It’s amazing how much junk ends up underneath the seats in a car and totally forgotten about.
“Sounds like someone else I know. Okay. Listen, Batman. I can’t even with …all of that. Like, do I riff off the Muffin Man thing because…God that was totally going to be my line and one of us has to be the straight man.”
Also. Date? I mean. Again. If this was Red Robin I’d be all over that, but it’s Batman. Batman was Batman when I was eight. And before that, too. Which means that dating? Yuck. No thanks. Leaning out of the cab door, I thrust out a hand with the spoils that I’ve found. Then cock my head, realize it’s not the hand I wanted and crumple up the fast food receipt and toss it back in behind me. Swapping to the other hand as I bounce out again, skipping gingerly to avoid the…general mess that was the area right outside the driver’s side door.
“Cell phone. Not even a burner. Talk about dumb. Or just really new at this. What’s company policy on trading up, cause…this is like. Two gens newer than mine…”
I’m kidding. Mostly. I’m also shooting him a blank look that goes basically completely unseen because my visor’s up.
“…wait. What? Why me? I dont’ have a gameface!”
Tim: Instead of answering her immediately, I’m waiting for her to slip in to the batmobile. This time there’s no screw up on my part and Spoiler has been getting better at this each time as well. Assuming no further misshaps that I’m going to have to hear about later, I’m going to put us in motion towards our next destination.
“We don’t steal from the criminals,” actually some of us do, Catwoman to be specific, but she’s something of a different animal. “For a lot of reasons. The most important at the moment has nothing to do with ethics. There is a serial number for that phone. Currently it is attached to his account. If you took it for your own, when the Cops get to looking in to him. They would discover a connection to you. Given your Father’s past…”
She likely wouldn’t want someone connecting her to organized crime. Not to mention it would also put her name out there. With the corruption in the GCPD, there’s no doubt in my mind that someone would connect Stephanie Brown to the account that was using the Cell Phone. Which would in turn tell them who the rookie was that stole it from them. She already lost her ‘Secret Identity’ to me when she let me get too many details after our first meeting. That took some effort on my part. This is as much about teaching her to protect herself, her family and friends, as it is about ethics.
The grim smile on my face tells of the pleasure that is garnered from stealing her line though. Straight man? God this kid has no idea what I’ve been doing for the last ten years of my life. All of my teen years. Being the wise-ass sidekick was my life. Whether being Robin or Red Robin. It’s taken a lot of effort not to give in to that old role. But like with my staves and fighting style, I’m working to keep the myth of Batman intact until Damien or Dick take it from it. One more step out of my comfort zone isn’t going to kill me…
“You’re making the call because this is your case,” there’s no hint of punishment to this, apparently what I’m saying is actually meant as some sort of reward. “Besides. If you’re talking to the Commission, it means you won’t be talking to me while I’m driving. Make sure to say something funny. He likes jokes. It breaks the ice.”
Steph: “…yeah, I was totes kidding. The whole Powerman5000 suit may be taking me a bit to get used to, but I know cell phones.”
And I know what’s likely to get confiscated by police who don’t care where you bought it from, or from who, just that it’s been stolen. Hasn’t happened to me, but I’ve seen it enough times. Leaves a lot of kids out the money, and double screwed because chances are they don’t want to rat out the person that sold it to them in the first place. That’s how you get your ass beat, or dead. You just learn step by step who not to buy from, and how to not fall victim to the next scheme. At least, if you’re smart.
I actually go to the effort of putting the visor down once more so that I can scowl at him just a little bit. Dude looks pleased with himself, and hell if I know what I’m supposed to do with that. Goes right in the bank of faces that I didn’t think could ever show up on Batman’s face. Expressions and my face are best buddies though. Eyebrows and eyes give away a lot, so even though my mouth is covered it’s pretty easy to guess I just went from grumpy at the line theft, to surprise at the reason why I have to talk to the Commissioner, and then right back into a little bit deeper of a scowl. So. Rude.
“…you just have to rely on your looks for that part, huh? Fine. I’ll call.”
Hi, Commish! Friendly Neighborhood Spoiler here. No. Not the car part like…Spoiler Alert! You don’t know me, but I know you and… there’s no way this is going to be humiliating or weird at all. Nope. I guess it’s just going to have to be time to play ‘professional.’ I think I’d rather go back to the kicking people in the teeth part. Maybe that’ll be what we get to after the phone call, and we run down the list of information that Penny-One gets us.
by Michele | Oct 11, 2017 | Chronicles
Stephanie: You know what? Eff these guys. Seriously. Eff the Black Canary. Eff Red Robin. Eff Arsenal and whoever else is skulking around the streets nowadays. Ordinarily I could probably have given you a pretty good running total of who’s active and who’s not. Not because I’ve got fancy gadgets or a Batcomputer (I guess technically my phone is a fancy gadget by like. 1990’s standards), but because I pay attention. Even if you don’t want to, it’s what people talk about. Who haven’t they talked about in a while? Not active. Maybe dead. But dead is usually something you hear about, too. The sheer number of vigilantes took a sharp uptick the last few months, but it wasn’t that hard to figure out why.
I’d figured I would blend in. What’s one more, when all the sudden there’s a Robin, Canary, Red Hood and all the rest around? Apparently it was working pretty well, too. Except when it came to the Batfam. They, of course, noticed. And I guess it answers my question of why there hadn’t been more vigilantes around before now. Before the Bat was gone. Before everything started going crazy in the least crazy way you could imagine for Gotham. It’s actually been downright peaceful. If you ignore the Joker’s murder rampage, but since those have all been directed at not so innocent people?
Maybe we’re a jaded lot, us Gothamites. Or maybe they’re just glad when it’s not them, in the way you can’t say out loud.
That’s not why I’m saying eff these Capes, though. That’s got a lot more to do with the fact that I’m in this weirdly awesome high tech hole of a hideout. I’m not out doing any good, though as I”ve been repeatedly told I wasn’t doing any good in the first place. Yeesh. Ouch. Right? My problem isn’t really even a problem, because it’s chump change compared to everything else that’s been going on. The lull. The murders. And the murder that’s on all their minds here.
1,1,2. 1,2,3. 1,2,3,2. 1,2,5,2. 1,6,3,2.
Well. I have one thing to say for all of this and the effing. I damn well know a whole lot of boxing combinations, now. I don’t even have to think about them as fists meet punching bag over and over. I may not have put up a cartoony doodle of Black Canary’s smug knowitall face on the bag, but I can sure imagine one. That might be a project for tomorrow.
Tim: There is any number of ways in which one can successfully make an entrance. Through a skylight, crashing down in to the middle of a group of thugs you wanted to take by surprise. Appearing out of the darkness, stepping in to the light just as someone rounds a corner. Zip-lining someone from below, then wrenching them in to the air so that they evacuate their… okay, maybe that one is more gross than impressive, but it certainly sets a tone. The point of any entrance is to make an impression. To put someone off-kilter in such a way as to inspire a certain emotion, a specific reaction, that utterly knocks them off balance. Giving you the advantage.
While I may not need such a thing with Stephanie, she is the perfect candidate to test the new suit out on. Because she is essentially an untrained, but slightly seasoned amateur wanting to make it big and go pro. She is representative of the majority. Those whom will see the suit and need no further convincing, so long as I don’t trip on my own cape. In addition, this also gives me the opportunity to test her own reactions. To see if she’s managed to grasp some of the lessons that Dinah has taught her. Maybe she’s even added them to my own lessons about what she can and can’t do with her own suit.
“Tell me about your Father,” comes the voice from directly behind her.
Not the constantly teasing voice of Tim Drake. Nor the high fashion voice attributed to Timothy Wayne, at a board meeting. Not even that modulated deeper one that comes from the Red Robin cowl. No, I’ve gone the full monty here. Deepening my own voice, then enhancing it with a gravelly synthesis of my Mentor’s own voice. Part tribute, part technology, all necessity. I’m positive that, without seeing me, even Damien would think himself in the room with his father. Mind you, that’s as far as the effort to simulate the Batman as I could effectively go. There’s simply no way to function effectively -and- add thirty more pounds or four more inches to the costume.
That said, I’ve taken the Bat-suit and made it my own. I’ve got no illusions of being Bruce Wayne’s equal in a fight. Hell, I’m not even Damien’s equal in a fight. Nor am I going to be the total package that Dick is. What I have going for me, is enough skill to play the role convincingly if I can get the right help to balance it out. That first step is adding my own technology to the suit. The next step… I’m not going to be able to carry this city alone. Not like Bruce could. I’m not going to be able to do it, even with just a single partner. In the grand scheme of things, I figure that if I’m half the man Bruce was? I’ll only need five or ten partners to make up the difference.
The other thing I’ve got going for me? Is that I’m good enough. Most people. Even most of the rogue’s gallery Bruce amassed. Aren’t going to know the difference at first sight. Maybe not even until it’s too late. Which is part of what I’m putting to the test with Stephanie. The ‘Bat Approach.’
“Tim tells me you’re on to something. What do you think you’ve found.”
Stephanie: Lighter with the left, harder with the right. Save the energy and effort for more powerful punches on the follow-up. Not a hard theory, I’ve seen enough action movies to have picked up a thing or two. In theory. In practice it takes a lot more effort, especially because my right hand isn’t my strong hand. I’m left handed. Something Canary had proved to be quite unsympathetic about, if anything I’m pretty sure there was a demonic sort of gleam in her eyes at the idea. So here I am. Reining in my left. Hitting harder with my weaker left. Not the most effective, or at least it wasn’t a few days ago. I feel like it’s getting better. Muscle tone. Practice. Maybe someday I’ll sucker punch just as hard with my right. That’s my assumption for her ‘method’ anyway.
Schoolyard already taught me along time ago most people don’t expect a strong left hook. Yesterday I was actually starting to feel good about my right. Then she clipped my ankles out from under me with a sweep kick. Thank God for high quality training mats. If that had been at school in the gym, my ass would be as bruised as my ego.
I’ve been alone in here for the last hour and a half, I trickled in after school. No, I’m not Brown-nosing (hah), I just don’t actually enjoy being humiliated. And this much I can work on solo, just like the effort I put into running here. And grappling. With only three mishaps this time, down from yesterday’s total of seven. Honestly. I got around like less of a noob without gadgets than with. When it was me, my borrowed high school drama costume, and usually a brick. But seriously. I look so much more badass. And there’s an iPod jack built into this one. I have a sneaking suspicion though that Red Robin’s deactivated it somehow when I’m outside or fighting. I haven’t asked. Maybe I could claim his suit’s faulty but yeah. First option’s more likely.
I’m in the middle of dwelling on how I feel about someone having that much control over something that I”m wearing, and also how much better this workout would be with a playlist piped in, and how much easier this facemask is to breathe through when I’m rudely interrupted. By rudely interrupted I mean had the holyshit scared right out of me. No. Really. Right out of my mouth.
“Holyshit!”
It’s not a voice I recognize. I mean. It is, actually. Just not a voice I’ve heard lately. I’d say that you live in the scummy parts of Gotham and you’ve heard it at some point. Probably because Batman’s just saved your ass. That’s not actually why I am hauntingly familiar with the sound of that gravely Dark Knight voice. I spin around, startled and then even more startled judging by the saucer size of my eyes over the edge of my face mask, at who’s standing behind me. Instinct had the arm I’d just been about to hit the bag with swinging wide to connect behind me, only I pull i up short because… well.
Only crazy people try to punch Batman. Overcorrecting, I take a step backwards into the bag, and then look over my shoulder at it, as if it’s the bag’s fault somehow.
“I mean. Holyshit aren’t you dead? I mean. You’re standing right here so… Jesus. GhostBatman’s not a thing is it? Uh…”
Ghost Batman? That’s some scary shit. And he’s asked me a question that my brain kind of skipped right past, and is barely managing to circle around now, like water going down the drain. Uhhhhhhhhh… Oh. About the Douchebag. I open my mouth ready to spout out all kinds of useless information like how he got arrested on my fifth birthday. And my eighth. And my twelfth. But I manage to summon what little filter I have, and redirect myself back. Mostly once there’s the addition of Tim thinking I’m onto something. Wait. Do I know a Tim? Is there even a Tim at school? It’s not the coolest of names…
“….Tim? Is that Red Robin’s name? Tim? Ahahaha….um. Sorry… my Dad. I don’t think I found anything.”
I know. Sidling to the side of the bag, I lean into it, only for it to sway a little more than I”m ready for like yeah, I’m cool. Just.. talking to Ghost Batman and… you’re not cool at all right now Stephanie. Not the tiniest little bit. So I clear my throat, straighten my stance, and push on through some more pertinent details.
“He’s goading people into small stuff. Not moving himself, but putting out tiny crime feelers to see what gets attention. I actually thought there was a point to it at first, but he’s testing the waters. To see if Joker bites. To see if…uh. Well. You, I guess bite. Or your little club. They’re getting ballsier though. He’s trying to get the bigger fish in on it. Except he’s not doing anything himself. Yet.”
With something else besides my shock, the holyshitGhostBatman, and my looking totes uncool to focus my attention, I take a moment to look. And I mean actually look. Pursing my lips under the mask and cocking my head at the Batman in front of me.
“…I remember you being a lot taller.”
I’m being super restrained here. Really. I didn’t even point out he’s kind of short for a Stormtrooper once.
God I want to point out he’s awful short for a Stormtrooper. But I don’t want a batarang in my face. I’m pretty sure my face still isn’t batarang proof.
Tim: Oh, right. She doesn’t know who Tim is. How would Batman handle this? Easy, dumb ass. He wouldn’t have said Tim’s name in the first place. God, he only taught you that as rule numero uno on day one. What the hell were you thinking, using a name like that? The real question is, how would Bruce turn a mistake of that sort around on you? Because let’s just be honest here. Bruce made mistakes. He just always found a way to make someone else pay for them. Normally. Until he, obviously, made one mistake too many. Seemingly.
“Mm. You have a habit of taking advice, training and equipment from people you don’t even know?”
There. That works. Put the onus of expectation upon her. Yes. This will work beautifully. Right up until she notices the height. Then I’m forced in to doing something else that I’ve seen Bruce do a million times before. Looming. Making yourself seem much larger than you are by placing yourself in to optimal position to allow the light to cast your shadow. Police do it too during interrogation. You’re always positioned to look in to the light. Giving them the benefit of sight, as well as the shadows enhancing them and scaring you. A step closer, as she steps back and it all but completes pinning her in. Leaving Stephanie to peer up, in spite of her own comment about my being shorter. The cape does the work of hemming her in, as it swirls around the two of us.
“You’ve been watching him. Tracking his ‘feelers.’ You’ve been watching the clues.” There’s no acknowledgement of the idle comment on height, just laser focus upon the topic of her Father. “Grab whatever gear you need. The car is outside. I’m leaving in two minutes. With or without you.”
That next swirl of the cape is a side-effect of the sudden turn. Normally you wouldn’t want to turn your back on someone, but this is clearly a friend of the “Family” so to speak. She’s in the Robin’s Nest. Working with Dinah. I’ve got no reason to treat her as Hostile, as Batman, so I don’t. I promised her, if she worked on her game that I’d help her with her investigation. I’m keeping that promise, with the added benefit of taking a case as Batman that isn’t exactly massive in profile. There is a very good chance that we’re going to be able to look in to this and make an impression. Tell the City that Batman is back. Without doing jumping in to the deep end and getting myself killed on the first night out of the Cave.
With any luck. I won’t even get Stephanie killed either. Well. Unless she makes the Stormtrooper joke. Then all bets are off.
Steph: “Mm. Now that’s a non-committal sound. I think it has to be a repeat thing to qualify as a habit, but…You live in Gotham long enough and you get kind of a vibe alarm. Since it wasn’t hey kid, you want a piece of candy? Just get in my van… then…hell yes I do.”
Hoo. Boy. Did he just get taller? Nah, I mean logically I know he didn’t. I’m pretty sure Batman didn’t ever have height control superpowers, and using all those fancy tech and gadgets just to put pneumatic lifts in your boots to menace people seems like a waste. And what if they malfunctioned? Hilarity and stilts do not a great scary vigilante make. Not. That I’d really know anything about being particularly scary. Shorter than I remember or not, though it’s been maybe… eight years since I was up close and personal with the Batman. I was a lot shorter then. It was also the middle of the night, and he was in the middle of beating the snot out of my father. Not something I hold against him. Really. Totally deserved it. Then and now.
Part of me just wants to be the one to do it this time. No. Not part. Like, all of me. Even though I’m not really prone to all that much violence, and my plan mostly revolved around making his blow up spectacularly. I want the Cluemaster to fail. I want him humiliated. And I want him to go back to jail for like. Ever. The last part isn’t real likely in Gotham, if the previous revolving door policy is any indicator. But this time? He might be up to something bad enough. One blue eye squints almost closed, and I draw my head back not because I’m intimidated (…I’m totally intimidated though…) but because I’m giving the Bat a bit of a sketchy look.
“…ooooor there was no van and candy vibe until riiiiight now.”
My step backwards is really just to take me closer to where I’d left the telescoping staff that I’d been given, and even if my ‘combat training’ with that isn’t yet anywhere near up to par according to Black Canary? I play softball. I know for a fact I can crack something with it. Fast moving or not. What else do I need? Is this a test? I don’t think I need anything, and I didn’t bring anything else and I’m not super sure if Red Robin was kidding or not when he was talking about taser traps in the gear that I’m not ‘cleared’ for. Which leaves me scrambling in the direction the Bat stalked off like some grumpy, loomy, angel of Ghost Vengeance. Seriously. Batman’s supposed to be dead. It’s why the Joker’s out terrorizing. And why no one wants to stick their head out far enough in the game of criminal underbelly whack-a-mole to make a target of themselves.
Holy shit, Stephanie Brown. Are you about to go for a ride in the batmobile?
Pinch me. That’s really the Batmobile. Or a Batmobile. You know what, it could be a Batprius and I’d be just about as jazzed as I am now. Even though two capes probably wouldn’t fit super well. This is me. Climbing into the batmobile. Candy and creepy loomy Ghostbatman or not. Eeeeeeeeeeee. Oh. God. I think a little bit of that squealing was out loud.
“….ah-heh-hem… It’s mostly been texts. Burner phone convos. A couple face to face meetings. The by far weirdest was stealing empty crates and replacing them with boxes full of … I don’t know what. I didn’t get to check.”
Yeah, thanks for that Red Robin. Hrmph.
Tim: Yes. Stephanie Brown is getting to ride in the Batmobile. Not just any of the Batmobiles either. This one was, once upon a time, the very same one that I road in with Bruce. How could it be any different? On top of it being something that I know, it also feels right. A touch retro, yes, but again it is the one that I know. Comfort is something that I’ve got a specific desire for. Anything that soothes my nerves in this entire debacle, is a win. Honestly. The sleek curves, sloped dome that drifts back in to speed fins that resemble bat-wings. It has all the halmarks of a futuristic jet-engine that’s about to take flight, while retaining the dark and intimidating guise of the Batmobile. My favorite touch is the red gleam that makes it look like a demon coming out of the smog of the night.
Inside is another story. Well not entirely. There is a certain feeling of being inside of a jet, but just more in order of it being a cockpit and not a luxury vehicle. Systems line the interior every where that the eyes can see in the dark. Much of the systems are voice activated, but I’ve upgraded the data-screens to be three dimensional holographic displays. As such there’s a certain technological enhancement that says ‘Tim Drake,’ but the functionality though is one hundred percent Bruce Wayne. Because this baby is as much a tank as a jet. Power throbs in the beast the moment the engine roars to life and we speed off out in to the alleyway exit from the Nest.
“You didn’t get to check,” a gesture towards one of the consoles will bring up the details of Red Robin’s sophisticated scanning technology, that was used on the crates. “Texts. Burner Phone conversations. Observed face to face meetings. Clues, Stephanie. That have lead you to the idea that he’s put feelers out. That he’s judging responses.”
“Your Father’s motif is never something so overt. Whether by design of calamity of error, your Father made himself in to a cheap knock off of the Riddler. He has been driven by the necessity to give clues to his crimes. The truth is, if he didn’t do that. If he he wasn’t compelled by the need for recognition, he’d have been a better criminal than Nygma ever was. The real question isn’t what is he doing. It’s why are you the only one who found the Clues?”
“He’s testing you,” and how do I know that? Because it’s what Bruce did to us. It’s what I did with Cassie. “The only Mystery for me, is what is he testing you for. I suspect it’s something larger and you’re only scratching the surface. That his test is whether you’re worthy of being brought in to whatever lays beneath.”
“So. What’s the next step? Where do we begin?”
Steph: Talk about a pre-pubescent dream come true. What kind doesn’t fantasize at least once or twice about screaming around the streets of Gotham in this thing, or some version of it? I sure couldn’t tell you which was which, though there’s differences. What matters is whose car (is this even really a car?) it is, and what that stood for. Someone about to get their ass kicked. That’s what. If you come from where I grew up (I get to say past tense because we’re at least in a slightly better part of the city now. D+ instead of F.), maybe it was someone you knew or had seen. Maybe that’s just me. I’m pretty sure the highest any of my friends parents got was mook or side henchmen. And my Dad’s just…well. Cluemaster.
“…pool chemicals? Who the freak reverse steals chlorine and algae killer?”
People guided by said lame Cluemaster, apparently. Pinching the bridge of my nose, as I lean in closer to the display like a slightly more direct examination is going to display something different. I don’t understand. There has to be something bigger at work, right? That’s what the gut’s telling me, but it’s also telling me that I would be totally down to sabotage Arthur Brown by hitting the add 30 seconds button on his microwave two times and making him burn his late night popcorn. I’ll take what I can get, at this point.
“…wait. Who’s testing me? Boy Wonder, or my dumb Dad? You can’t be ser…..”
That face looks like it’s never been not serious in ever, and that it never ever will not be serious so I trail off and go back from looking at him in disbelief to squinting at the screen in front of me. A jewelry heist, which wouldn’t have set off any alarms had I not thrown a brick through the window. Taking empty crates, from what apparently was an entire warehouse of nothing but empty crates and bringing back ordinary pool chemicals you could probably buy anywhere. Just. Like. A whole lot of them. Maybe they were amassing something? Maybe they were unrelated and he’s just gone kooky control freak to test if he can. But testing me?
“I mean. Yeah. He used to do that. He’s been different since his last round in Arkham, though. Hence why he’s got parental rights again. For now. Until he borks that again. I left something at his place and I broke in.”
I’m not going to launch into the sob story about how I didn’t want to see him in the first place. That his messed up crap only messes my Mom up, and she’s just barely managing to cling to the clean and sober train as far as I can tell. I mean, I guess he’d drive me to drink, too. That’s Gotham for you though. Doesn’t matter if he’s a repeat wannabe nemesis to the city’s vigilantes. He’s reformed, everyone. He’s cured. Lets carry on like nothing he ever did has hurt anyone and that he deserves…. erk. Stephanie. Rewind. Focus.
“…you’re asking me? Batman’s asking me? Uh. Well. I’ve been following around one of his ‘friends” undergoons. He was really interested in the City Planner’s office. Either that or the donut place across the street. That’s not real nefarious though. So I’m guessing the Planner. Van parked there for hours every night. Seems like a pretty stupid place to break into. You can just walk in and request plans for pretty much any city project.”
And late night raiding of a donut shop… please. There’s not even any donuts left that time of night.
Tim: There are a lot of things you can get from the City Planner’s office. Most of them, like Stephanie says, are things you could get with a written request in about ten minutes. However the City Planner has access to some information that people outside of that officer would never have a reason to know. For example, the schedule of stop lights all across the city. Routing forms for the subway -and- rail stations. Essentially the Planner’s Office has access to anything they need access to in order to plan the strategic growth of the City.
“There are any number of things in that office you can’t just request. The Sewer System access points. Power Grid information. Water Supply, Treatment and even storage. Just to name a few things of vital importance that someone like your Father might make use of in order to pull off some scheme or another.”
Joker once tried to poison the Water Reserve with Joker Toxin, he started at the City Planner’s office. There was the time that Penguin’s people tried to hold the City Hostage with explosive penguins in the gas mains in the sewer system. So many things are at that location, that might serve as signficant to someone like Arthur Brown. Once more though, I’m not asking myself ‘Why’ or ‘What’ this guy may be up too. I don’t have to figure that out for once. The more important part of the mystery is, that if Arthur is doing something? He’s hiding it from us, but not his own Daughter. Nothing I know about Stephanie suggests that she’d be able to keep her feelings for her Father quiet entirely. Meaning that I’m stuck, trying to understand why he’d let his daughter get the clues.
The trip to the Planner’s office is a short one when you’re riding the rails of a car that is literally jet propelled. We make good time, especially with the computer acting as a very amped up version of Google Maps. Bringing us right up to the point where she said her Dad’s people watch that office.
“I’m asking you,” easy to confirm that much, isn’t it? “Why would your father tip his hand to you? Why not follow his normal motif and leave clues that only the trained eye could find? Unless he’s doing it to see if you, specifically, can follow the breadcrumbs.”
Steph: “And some of those you can figure out with eyeballs and legwork.”
Not all of them, obviously, but I’d best most kids in my neighborhood I grew up in could have told you where a lot of those things were thanks to exposure to something or other over the years. Education through attrition. I’m pretty sure that’s about the only way to really get ‘street smart.’ I guess it’s not the only way. Black Canary has it. Red Robin (who is apparently named Tim? thanks GhostBatman!) does as well, and I don’t know if he gets his from experience, or from all the computer stuff he carts around at all times. He doesn’t talk like someone who’s grown up in any kind of way close to the way I did. Another of those things you learn to pick out even if you don’t realize it.
I try really hard to not enjoy the ride out loud but. Cripes. That’s a big fail. If I weren’t buckled I’d be bouncing in my seat, because I’m pretty sure I’ve never been in anything that moved this fast in my entire lifetime. No. Actually I’m totally positive. Definitely faster than I would have gotten here on foot, even starting from a whole lot closer to where we are now. Narrowing my eyes to peer out the window isn’t necessary, I see just fine, it’s more an extension of my annoyance that’s resurfaced now that I’m not on something better than an amusement park ride.
“Because he was supposed to be over that. Cured. That’s why he was released early. Model Gotham Citizen that doesn’t feel the need to be awful and leave clues everywhere he goes like someone that wants to be caught.”
And some stupid, stupid part of me had actually dared to hope they were right. That he wasn’t going to be that guy anymore. No more plots. No more elaborate heists. No more having to adult because my Mom’s gotten herself too doped up to do it herself, after finding out he was in jail yet again. He hadn’t gone immediately back to it, either. It’s been almost a year since he was released from Arkham. At least, it was a year until I noticed. So was he doing it quietly the whole time and I only just picked up on it? Really not leaving clues, which is why none of the Bats had caught on? Or is this really all new?
“So either he suddenly decided it’d be cool to show me that I was right to think he was still an epic douchemonster, it’s not on purpose and he got sloppy in his house, or… what. He thinks that he’s going to provoke me into following in his footsteps? I don’t think that’s working.”
Tim: “Yes, you’re right. That’s exactly the point though,” and it’s why the Batman is looking at her instead of one of those fancy screens on an even fancier Batmobile. “If we remove the things from the list of potential reasons for him to need that office. Then we learn something by process of elimination. The most rudimentary form of deduction.”
That also happens to play in to why she’s here though. Not merely for the education or even the training. This is as much about getting to the bottom of the entire situation as it is about honoring a deal made to Stephanie at the beginning. Helping her get through this, also means having her expertise in the one thing that she can actually contribute on immediately. Her father. She knows him, so she knows the intimate details that Bruce would have known through study and past experience with the Cluemaster. I could (and have) read files, but Stephanie has experience. That means a lot.
Plus, there is also something more. The thing we’ve only now touched upon. I can’t believe that someone like the Cluemaster would go ‘straight’ so well, for so long. Only to begin leaving a breadcrumb trail for his own Daughter. Unless, it was at least marginally intentional. The Cluemaster is a creature of logic. His clues are meant to test an adversary. There is absolutely no other explanation for Stephanie finding the Clues, than he is testing her in some way. Well, there’s one other explanation that I can potentially accept: Stephanie got lucky, unlucky perhaps even. The problem with that is, she’d have to be exceedingly lucky to stumble upon as many clues as she has by happenstance. Which only brings me back to the original conclusion, that even if she got lucky with one, maybe two, eventually when her Father caught on to her awareness? He most likely started to test her, to see if she was naturally skilled or dumbly lucky.
I admit, I’m curious as well.
“Your Father was never actually wanting to be caught. His motives weren’t as simple as greed. I’ve met a couple people like him. It starts with boredom. A lack of challenge in your personal life or your professional life. A realization that you’re simply better or smarter than those around you. Enough so that you decide at some point to take a rash step. Maybe it’s parkour or sky-diving for those of a physical bent. Those of the mentally adept might look to hack a friend or build a better mouse trap. Eventually that is just a gateway in to something larger. Because eventually you need bigger challenges.”
“It grows. It takes a life of it’s own. A life that needs a name. Whether it’s Cluemaster or Riddler. You something or someone to challenge you. The act of a crime isn’t a challenge in itself. The dare of competition. ‘Catch me, if you can’ is the only thing that can give your existence meaning.” All of this is spoken of as if it were something I know about intimately. And it is, isn’t it? Whether it’s a man driven to avenge the Death of his parents or a boy driven to put his mind to a good use. Either case is an example of excellence needing a challenge. Just as much as the flip-side of the coin. “A man like your father needs a nemesis, someone to play chess with. But there is almost always one thing that people like your father like as much as a challenge.”
“They love having a partner. Someone equal to them or close enough. Bound to them in a way that bridges the gap in trust that criminals otherwise have trouble with.” Bringing us to a stop, I pause only to look across at her before hopping out. “You should also consider, if only for a moment, that there is a significant chance that your Father had truly gone clean. The clues you have found are subtle enough, that there may truly be nothing at work here other than him testing a potential partner.”
“If that’s the case. Then there is also the possibility that you could save him. By giving him a healthy reason for his mind not to be bored.”
Steph: My money’s on power grid. Not that it means much. My money, that is. I mean. Who’s going to take a twelve dollar and thirty-six cent bet? Probably not Batman, Ghost or otherwise. Clearly he’s got the cash. Because whether it’s him that’s funding all of this? And I mean the BatJet on Wheels here, Red Robin’s Cave of Wonders and Torture and whatever else they’ve got around the city. Or someone else? There’s a lot of money involved. I may not be some kind of tech savant but it doesn’t take one to know just the suit I’m wearing alone is $$$. An iPhone runs around $1000 bucks. Now multiply that times every weird little gadget I’m carrying around and… you’ve got the point. Which. Wasn’t the point. The point was the power grid. I know I could figure out nearly everything else named.
“I think you just described the mental outlook of like. Every teenager ever. Well. Except maybe the wallflowers. I don’t really know any of those.”
It could also just be called a drive to succeed and/or achieve. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Depends what you do with it, I guess. It’s not like I want to stay in my crummy neighborhood forever. I want to GTFO at some point. There’s two ways you do that. Keeping your nose clean and getting someone to pull you out via scholarship, or… see example Douchedad. But he never really got out either. I’m not saying Bats here is wrong. He’s a whole lot more right than anything else. It fits. I also don’t know if I should be insulted or not. I had to hunt for everything I’ve found so far, sometimes across multiple break ins (if it’s really breaking in when you’re technically allowed to be there), after that first accidental run in. It actually makes me a little internally grumpy-faced to think I only did that because someone let me.
Only a little grumpy-faced though. I’m still sitting in the Batmobile wearing a kick-ass suit.
“He’s more into flunkies and minions. Not the yellow, googly eyed kind. I mean. None of these guys so far are really on his level, and his level’s not really high. And if he’s angling for sidekick… I’m super not interested. I just want to stop him.”
There’s a pause, while I look sideways at the caped and cowled man sitting in the driver’s seat.
“…or. Save him. Thats’ an option, too. I guess.”
My tone of voice says it wasn’t my priority though. Or really anything that’s crossed my mind at any point leading up to this. Like. Redeem him? Arkham was supposed to have done that already. His repeated trips to it and other lock-ups should have. Saving wasn’t my goal here. It is, and always has been, sabotage. Bringing him down. Sending him right back where he clearly belongs and that’s not out here with court mandated bi-monthly visits with me.
Tim: The way in which I exit the Batmobile is something you have to learn. I had the opportunity to do so from Bruce. A hand upon the hatch that opens over our heads. Leverage provided by the seat which moves to accommodate when properly activated. The entire affairs reads and looks like a graceful moment of the Batman taking flight from the vehicle. Landing, just as gracefully, a few feet away. Which easily transitions in to my taking the first few steps toward the building we’re here to access.
“Perhaps. Though there is a level of acuteness that grows with age. Teenagers tend to grow out of that feeling or find it more easily satiated. People like your Father tend to be the ones who either don’t or can’t find something to satiate that feeling of boredom. That sense of no one else being on their levels.”
What are we looking for? I don’t know. We’re here as much out of a necessity to put Stephanie in to the field and test drive my suit as we are out of some hope that there’s anything to find here. As Tim Drake, I could have pulled the power grid remotely. I’ve therefor got to believe that her father could have as well. The thing is, her father hadn’t. He went to the trouble of actually setting up meetings. Whatever he wants isn’t something he could get easily another way. Something that he couldn’t know from another source. Logically whatever he was after with this connection is here. In some form. Whether physical evidence that Stephanie might be able to catch the scent of or perhaps a connection to someone else that we’re unaware of.
Much like the crates, we won’t know unless we actually do the leg work. As I’m making my way forward, I look back over a shoulder to her with an almost-but-not-quite shake of the head. “Mmm. Having a partner isn’t always about what we want, at times it is a matter of what we need.”
This? I know first hand. Dick was Bruce’s partner, but he didn’t come about initially. Batman was solo at first. Dick came about as a necessity. Someone that balanced the Dark Knight with light hearted humor and a sense of joy. Jason had been the one that kept Bruce centered, after losing his smile. He was the one that brought Bruce out of the fog, back in to the light. Damien then gave Bruce a reason to keep fighting. Bruce would never have said he needed any of those things, but that’s why I was his partner. A grim reminder to the Batman that he wasn’t a solitary soldier, but the sum of the many parts of our ‘Family’ that made him what he was.
“Your mask has a hidden button along the jawline. Activating it will bring up a faceplate. Goggles. Heads up Display. An interface with our computer system. Your access is limited, but you should be able to get a read on this building’s security. With the computer’s assistance, given how rudimentary it is, even you should be able to hack in. Once we’re in. Treat the place like a crime scene. Touch as little as possible, but let’s see what we can find that might interest your Father.”
Steph: …yeah, okay. That was pretty smooth. The exit. As much as I’d love to be able to duplicate it and look similarly badass, I don’t even try. In my head, even as I leverage myself out of my seat a lot more like climbing in and out of my friends’ overstuffed junkyard cars, I can see the chibi-cartoon version of events that would have me catching my cape on something, making a swan dive leap off the hood and landing face first in a heap of limbs, purple, and swirling grumble emotes. Not trying to look like an epic fail, here. Fortunately I can manage to get from vehicle to street without any incident that I would have had to blame on nerves. I don’t exactly go out with a ‘partner’ normally. On purpose. Let alone GhostBatman.
“Huh. That was an awful cryptic nugget of wisdom there. Possibly also passive aggressive.”
What my Dad always seemed to ‘need’ was someone to beat. Some degree of fame. A way to demonstrate his intellectual superiority. Something to make him feel better about being a total failure. So the goon squad fits that. The theory of him testing me works, too, in a way that still doesn’t really make me feel great on the inside. Then there’s applying that little fortune cookie line to right now. Somehow I kind of doubt Batman (ghost or otherwise) needs me. There seems to be a whole flock (are Bats flocks? Flurries?) of way more experienced choices. So this just boils down to what the Douchebag is up to. What I know.
“…seriously, why does everyone know more about how my suit works than I do? Did everyone get copies of the manual? I am reading the manual. It’s just got more pages than my Bio textbook with a lot more opportunity for disaster if I don’t quite ‘get’ it…”
It’s muttering to myself, only out loud, but definitely loud enough to be heard as I find said button, boots pausing in midstep on the pavement as the HUD slides into place and I take it in with an also not exactly quiet ‘wooooah.’ In my defense Grappling Hook comes before HUD in the alphabet and I’m still working on mastering that one before I move on. Mostly for the sake of my bones. On the plus side? I’m pretty good with computers, and figuring out how to get at what’s on them. Rudimentary. Hah. Well. I guess in comparison it is, and the computer in the suit makes it about like color by number, connect the dots or training wheels. God. I’ve got a supersuit with training wheels.
“So, since this place has so much vital information and it gets broken into so often… why haven’t they fixed that? General state of we don’t give a fuuu… oh. Jeez. Dumb, Spoiler, dumb, dumb, dumb…”
I about smack the heel of my hand into my forehead, pulling up short as I remember the display that even now is showing me all sorts of juicy details about the government building in front of us, full of blueprints and documents and relics of red tape and permits. Entrances. And how literally none of the windows at all have any sort of barrier on them. Then there’s the area around us. The van’s not here now, but I watched it enough times the last few nights to wish the donut place was open, and to remember where it was parked.
“Manhole cover. They were using the van to block the manhole cover. Right there.”
Tim: Does Batman do passive-aggressive? Heh. Bruce would have said no, but I know the truth. He did it better than anyone. If you knew where to look for it. Me? I’m a little less likely to hide it than him, but I still play the cards close to the vest. You’d never know by reaction whether I meant it that way or not. Especially given that we weren’t talking about me. Were we? This is all about her Father and her. A little more the latter than the former for once. I’ve given this a lot of thought and I’ve come to decide that I too am interested in whether Stephanie would take her father’s side if she thought he would accept her. Put her talents to good use, by way of using them for Evil.
Then I remembered that she’s got about as much skill to lend to her father as I have free-time. It goes a long way towards soothing my worry that I might be aiding and abetting a future super-villain. A real Obi-Wan to Skywalker level of worry there. But my stray thoughts are brought full circle when she does it. She actually puts pieces together, like I had hoped she would. That’s when I’m swept back in to thinking she might have some natural talents after all. So. Potential Super-Vill…
“Spoiler? Like the fin on the back of a sports car, for reducing drag? Good job, Spoiler.”
She gave herself a codename. No. One look at her tells me the truth of it. Super-Hero Name. Ugh. There’s a very real desire building within me to facepalm right now, but the Batman does not do such things. He scowls. Menacingly. Especially when faced with the prospect of going in to the sewers. Double ugh. A quick once-over of the Manhole cover for boobytaps, before pulling it up and out of the way. As I’m dropping down into it there’s a whirring sound of the Batmobile locking down in to anti-theft mode while we’re gone.
I don’t even ask if she’s coming with. I know she won’t be able to stay back, so I don’t bother even hinting that she should. The Batman would probably have tied her up, stuffed her in the Bat-trunk. I’m realizing as I land in the muck, that I probably should have done just that myself. Given that I -am- the Batman for now. But, I can’t shake the feeling that Stephanie needs this a lot like I needed it. Like Damien needs it now. So if I can’t help Stephanie with Cluemaster, how am I going to help Damien with his trouble?
“Goggles. Nightvision. Be careful, don’t underestimate your Father,” am I saying that for her sake or my own? “And stop under-estimating yourself too.”
Steph: Since I couldn’t smack my forehead, I’d settled for pressing my palm to the top of my hooded head. How had I not noticed that? Well. I guess to be fair, I hadn’t noticed the manhole because the van had been parked over the top of it every night, and I’d arrived after them, and left before. Except one night and I’d spent more time looking for a reason why the van wasn’t in the now normal spot than picking out things that may or may not have been on the ground. I have a feeling raising all those objections would only get the fact that I’d had the tech then that I’m running now, only I realize he’s not actually saying anything about that at all.
Batman’s making fun of my freaking name. Sure. The words might seem like someone looking for clarification, and offering congratulations on finding a connection, but let me tell you. Gravely voice or not? It’s still perfectly capable of conveying sarcasm and general judginess. Spinning on my heel, with hand still in place the other one jabs a finger at him.
“No. Like something that gives away important details in a plot. Or ruins something. What? Clearly being incredibly literal with your name is a thing around here.”
The jabbing finger starts making circling motions to encompass all of him, from pointy eared cowl, to that big cape he just showed off in his epic car dismount, to the symbol on the chest. Which I’m still doing as he sizes up the manhole cover and starts to move it, only the fact that he drops from view and I can hear noises from the Batmobile behind me that stops any further huffing on the matter. What was I supposed to call myself if anyone asked? And someone already had more than once. I can’t just say ‘Yeup, Hi! I’m Stephanie Brown! Nice to meet you!’ Making fun of someone’s codename… sheesh. Isn’t there some kind of rule about that?
Crouching at the edge of the open sewer entrance, balanced on the balls of my feet, I spend a couple seconds very seriously considering my options. Like pulling the cover back into place and seeing if maybe the suit can still get me into that fancy rocket car. Or jumping into the sewer which….ew? The nightvision I’ve already switched on, surprised and a little impressed with either myself or the system as a whole as to how easy that was to navigate. And now looking at an overlay of the directions these sewer systems run from here. Maybe I can just follow up here on the street. Eventually with a sigh, I drop down into the hole as well.
“….eugh… is there like. A company dry cleaner you take your suits to after this? I don’t think this is a smell that is ever going to just air out.”
Well, dummy. You’re down here. It stinks about as much as one might expect. Actually. A little less. Maybe that’s the face mask at work. Either way I’m reining in any sighing or huffing just the same. Since he waited for me, I have to assume I’m expected to do some more ‘super-pro’ detective work here. Making me more and more sure this is a test for whether or not I’m about to get kicked off the Island in the next Survivor’s Council. Following to where the City Planner’s actual crap enters the sewers doesn’t really need any techy kinds of help. Not only does it not really look big enough for even me to wiggle through (yuck?) but the grating shows signs of not being messed with in a really long time. So unless someone intentionally reapplied some ‘muck’ and spent an awful lot of time hiding their tracks… in a sewer… this isn’t it. Maybe they really weren’t even here for that stuff at all. So what else is nearby to be a potential? Back tracking, I head for another junction. Muttering out the side of my mouth as I go past.
“Maybe you could use something to reduce being a drag though. Just sayin’.”
The jewelry store is near here. Reasonably near here at least. It’s the closest of the places I’d been lately, and that’s really all that I’ve got to go off of. Walking fast and with a purpose, mostly because after that little snipe who wouldn’t want some distance between themself and GhostBatman (who can surely keep up but hey), and because I want to figure this out. And GTFO of the sewer. Another turn takes me to the junction I want and maybe it’s the mask. Maybe it’s my positive outlook. But the smell’s definitely improving.
Or maybe it’s the noticeable reduction in raw sewage. Now that doesn’t seem likely except..
“Uh. Dam.”
Well that’s not in the schematics. Unless the city has suddenly started spending money to erect almost pristinely new concrete barriers in the middle of their sewage canals, the only opening a small pipe at the bottom which is only allowing a small trickle of waste through. Easy to step over, as I peer up at the wall.
“No. Really.”
Tim : As Stephanie speaks to the actual naming convention involved with her code name, I’m busy with something other than actually paying attention to her. Wrenching a manhole cover from it’s moorings is no easy feat. Luckily the batsuit is slightly reinforced, with spring-loaded muscle fibers. Moderately increasing the strength of the user. Other than height, I don’t want to hit lighter or move slower than Bruce. There’s no reason to give someone any reason to believe that I’m anything other than who I appear to be.
She’s only begun swirling her finger when I plunged in to the darkness. By the time she’d joined me I was already mapping out the sewer system on my own and had come to a very similar conclusion about the Office sewage evacuation system. But, to be fair, I’d actually come to that conclusion before we got there. Though I hadn’t discounted the potential of them wanting something about the Gotham Underground, I was fairly certain there was nothing else of long term value inside of those offices. What we end up with isn’t exactly what I had been forming a hypothesis about though.
“Mmm. My other costume has smaller horns and a glider cape.” If she thinks even for a moment that I’m allowing her sarcasm to gain traction she’s in the wrong business. “Your suit’s mask is designed to function as a gas and toxin filter, in addition to a small oxygen storage system. Enough to survive submerged for perhaps an hour. Depending entirely upon oxygen expenditure.”
That grim look never changes, but if Dinah were here she would hear the smirk that is implied in those comments. Telling someone they might get an hour out of their air supply if they could manage to shut up, is about as smarmy as I’m apt to get while wearing this cape and cowl. Banter is natural though. Bruce and I did this all the time. I’m told that he and Dick did the same. Those rare times I was able to go out on the town with Grayson, were some of the most fun experiences I’ve got memory of. Dick made it fun, by leading the banter and not just participating. Which only made it more fun for me to imagine Bruce and Damien. What was banter with those two like?
“All of our uniforms are maintained by Penny-One. Though there is also a limited self-cleaning and repair functionality to the newer models. Self-repair and Penny-One are both functions that come after Grappling Hook in the manual. Really, hasn’t Red Robin or Canary asked you to read the manual?”
Banter. This time it’s a cover more so than actual teasing. As she speaks I’m having my own cowl connect to the Batmobile’s mini–computers in order to compare various blue prints. New. Old. Approved future ones. Work orders that have come through. This is new. It’s clearly not meant to be here. We’re going to investigate, but I want to know all we can as we’re in motion. Who might be connected to this? Where do the threads tie off?
“Spoiler. Are you ready to keep going or do you want to wait by the Car?”‘
Steph: “Well, right. Why wouldn’t it?”
Whether that’s about his tiny eared, glider cape suit or my face mask’s extra built in awesome features is debatable. It works for both. I’m the Swiss army knife of commentary. It could probably be argued that his not engaging with the sass makes it a lot less satisfying. That’s just not an argument I would ever make, I can talk to myself quite happily for a good long time. Besides. Lack of comment on some of it or not I know he heard me, so mission accomplished.
“Penny-One? Is that like. A roomba for vigilantes or a person? Right, right. Read the manual.”
Hands on hips, I’m doing some of my own looking. I just don’t think to look up the same things he does, because I assume more than seek to have what I think confirmed. This is new. It’s easy to tell by looking at it. Even if it weren’t next to the otherwise aged and scummy sewer tunnels, it would look new. New concrete has a different color to it than old does. I also assume that the city head shmucks who can’t be bothered to fix the three foot, man eating pothole on my block probably didn’t cough up the time and effort to erect what looks like a pretty well constructed and sealed wall into place in a sewer. It’s a much more visual experience for me, with the distraction of the HUD’s info that I’m not used to having displayed in front of my field of view.
“Red Robin only does it like. Every time he sees me. Canary doesn’t. She’s more of a thumper than an asker. And she hates the techy stuff, making my suit the onlything she doesn’t thump me over.”
Again, not something I’ve had told to me or confirmed. Just something I assume based on watching her work, or watching her interact with other people or things in the Secret Lair. Besides. It’s not like I’m not reading it to be an ungrateful dummy. I don’t like looking like a dummy. But whoever wrote that manual (my money’s on R.R.) was clearly not writing it for non-big brain science nerds. So I’ve been working on it! Working on it just also includes practical use since I’m a hands on/visual learner, and I’ve only got so many hours in the day that I can currently devote to being a caped and masked badass.
“Seems like that would have been a question to ask before I came down here.”
But I step back away from the new mystery wall, and start walking the way I’d come. At least until I reach the next junction, and can hang a right to angle my path towards what should be the other side of that wall. Only before we are able to reach it, it’s much the same situation. Reduced sewage. Shiny new wall, with another little opening that’s allowing only the tiniest bit through.
“Hookay. Well. My money’s on secret off the grid, under the grid, in the gross grid housing for evil people. Also in the running is nefarious sewer flooding. Magic Mask says these last two tunnels should have led to a larger spill-off area. Do you want to check…all of them?”
Tim: Her question about Penny-One is more or less left unanswered. Oddly enough, in this case I’m not being standard issue Batman. This is more silence because I’m focused on everything we’re seeing. In turn that comes off as the big bad Batman standing there in brooding silence. Internally though I’m looking at a much more sophisticated version of Stephanie’s heads up display. No training wheels here. Visual indexing, flicking between various reads on the tools available through the suit. This suit, much like the one I wear as Red Robin, is meant to enhance my given tools. Bruce would have had to take samples, go back to the Cave, do his research and testing there. I’m able to do much of that work here. So long as the mobile unit is within range and the sewer system doesn’t cut me off from the relays. Cell service is notably shaky down here, but we haven’t gone deep enough to be cut off just yet.
“When you’re following the trail of someone like your Father it pays to be thorough. So there is no harm in our checking all of them. But. I don’t believe it is necessary. There is a pattern here and nothing to suggest that my own on-board systems are being obscured or blocked.” Instead of telling her what her own suit can and can’t do, I’m giving her some insight in to what mine is doing for me. Giving me the ability to look beyond this first series of walls. “We need to ascertain if the sewage is being routed to or away from a particular point.”
“There is also an opportunity here for us to lure someone from your Father’s employ here. In the Batmobile, I carry a small amount of deployable acid. We could apply it to the sealant for one of these walls. Cause a simulated natural critical failure. Someone would come to repair it. Since most of this is happening off the books, whomever comes would have connections that we could exploit.”
“The question before us, Spoiler, is whether you want to play the long game or the short game with your Father. I think this is your choice,” for the first time since we left the Robin’s Nest, I make an effort to turn to Stephanie directly. Up until now I’ve left to wonder if she was here as a side attraction. Maybe even bait. A pawn in the game or someone being tested by more than just her Father. This question, put to her, is meant to ‘clue her in’ to the fact that I’m actually here to fulfill a deal she thinks she made with someone else. This is her Case, for now. I’m helping her. Not the other way around. “What’s the play?”
Steph: I hadn’t really expected an answer. Maybe another not to helpful reminder to read the manual that’s not going to do me any good down here. Not unless I start packing the thing around with me. Hrr. Am I packing the thing around with m…ooh, hey. Well. There we go. A flick of my eyes in one direction and another to peruse the menus and options and there it is. All the wordy and technical ‘tips’ for how to use my suit’s various features in front of me. Explains why they’ve all got the shaded in eye sections of their little masks. To hide the twitchy/tweaker eye motions. I don’t buy that it’s really for a disguise though. I mean. Come on. Covering up just someone’s eyes doesn’t do a whole lot to hide who they are. Now I guess I don’t have an excuse anymore for my lack of downtime to study, though. Dang it, Steph. There’s time while we’re walking and I’m not being answered for me to read the manual right now. So I do. P…P… P… Penny-1. Aha!
How can I assist you, Miss Brown?
HOLYMotherof… the startled sound I make is just as much because I’m startled at the very prim, proper (..and kinda sexy…) voice that sounds through the tiny little speakers in my face mask, and to cut off the exclamation that clearly had begun as out loud judging by the echo in the tunnel around us. Clearly it’s good for a lot of things. Like scaring the crap out of me, and covering up the way my face flushes over my super-uncool outburst in front of an audience. I accelerate my pace more and duck my face down as I clear my throat and mutter a response.
“Um. Hi. Nope. Nothing. Thanks. I’m good. I…actually. Are you a person?”
I mean. While I’ve got his…its’?… attention what does it hurt to ask. Then I’m back to paying attention to Batman, after clearing my throat once again. Dragging my attention from the information displayed across my field of view to what’s actually present. Boy. Talk about distracting, though I’m sure it’s something you get used to. And I have a feeling what I’m being told is something I should actually be paying close attention to. Unlike how my history class went today. Which I may or may not have slept through.
“Away from doesn’t seem real likely. I mean. What would lessening the crap in any given area be doing except a favor to someone? So. Does that mean I was right? Which one? Lair or Awful Stockpile?”
Clearly being right about anyting is a very exciting prospect when you’re me. At least in this department. More than a little exciting actually. Being onto something and not just stumbling into it on accident or by happy (?) chance. Maybe that’s why they do this. You know. Other than out of some sense of justice and whatnot.
“I was kind of led to believe that long game, which was my play before, may not really be an option. As long as ‘critical seal failure’ doesn’t mean ‘wall implodes and we’re going swimming in something that no amount of air filter is going to make less nasty’ I think that works. Should give time to figure out the other burning questions there of what this might be for.”
Tim: Penny-One. Alfred Pennyworth. The man behind the Bat. Whether it’s Bruce, Dick, or me in the suit? The many faces beneath the cowl report to one man at the Cave. It has been that way since before I was here. Before Damien was here. Before Dick was here. It will likely be this way after we’re gone. Alfred is more than Butler, man-servant or nanny. He was a Father to Bruce, a grand-father to Dick and I and he’s more or less all of those things combined for Damien. None of us have ever had to operate without him, yet no one outside of that circle knows who he is. More people know about Bruce than know about Alfred and the irony is…
Alfred Knows Everything.
When he answers Stephanie, I almost laugh. More so at her response than anything, but mostly because you don’t have to be a detective to know that he’s enjoying this. While he might sound sophisticated, suave and remote, the far more likely truth is that he’s taking a sort of sadistic pleasure in Stephanie’s reactions. Her introduction in to this world is a thing of interest to Penny-One, for many reasons of course, but none more so than his desire for us to ‘Heal’ after the loss of Bruce. He encouraged Bruce to adopt me after I lost my parents and that logic only serves to play in to adopting Stephanie in to our family to help heal the loss of someone else.
Unlike the half-mask or the little eye covering one, the full cowl conceals my brows as they arch in her direction. She’s working through this. Making the connections. I can, actually, see her mind going to work on this. The more she talks, without the sarcasm, snark or jokes, I can see what her Father no-doubt sees as well. She’s got the gift for sniffing out the clues when they’re in place. She may not have the tools of a detective, but her mind seems to work like a gifted cipher. Naturally allowing her to make leaps in logic that scientific deduction would do for Bruce or I. Those are tools that can be molded, shaped, honed…
“Penny-One. You heard her. We’re going to dissolve some of the sealant one or two of these dams, from a safe distance. You’ll need to monitor dispatching protocols to this area. You will want to trace anything official. While we await anything unofficial.” As I deliver the final steps of our plan, I’ve turned to make my way back to the Batmobile. “Spoiler will be assisting me. Notify Black Canary that she will be missing her work-out.”
Ah. Shall I prepare a go-basket for the stake out festivities or arrange suitable excuses for missed classes for Ms. Brown? Will she be needing the red and yellow costume soon, I will need to make some cosmetic alterations…
“No. Canary has forbidden her from missing classes,” a pause at the cusp of the ladder up to the street, long enough for me to give Stephanie a longer appraisal before finishing. “We can discuss the other costume when she finishes learning how not to get herself killed in this one.”
Steph: How many of them are there? I mean. It makes sense. There’s got to be someone coordinating so they’re not running all over the top of each other. Y’know. Like how Arsenal and I keep stepping on each others’ toes, i.e. he keeps ruining all my perfectly good set-ups and traps and then getting punched a lot when all the violence could have been avoided in the first place. Maybe for all the vigilantes you hear about, there’s even more that you don’t. I’d say they’re all related but there’s a definite theme at work. One that Arrow Dude and I don’t exactly fit into.
Also. I bet carrying on a conversation with Penny-One makes you look like a certifiable cuckoo if anyone else is watching. Kind of like one of those people who insists on walking around the grocery store talking on a bluetooth headset like some kind of grade-A tool. Only in costume. At night. Without any visible earpiece to at least have as an excuse that you’re just inconsiderate and not crazy. When Bats turns and heads back the way we came, something I don’t need any map or display to tell me since I remember the turns we took, I’m quick to follow. I’m not trying to get left down here around any compromised poop dams, that’s for sure. Safe distance or not.
“…waitwaitwait. I can’t miss my nightly asskicking. Or it turns into double asskicking with a side of sadistic throttling.”
It might be the only thing I’ve sounded semi-frantic about all night. I mean. I’ve handled jetcar rides and trudges through sewers and voices in my head that aren’t just in my head with pretty great equanimity. If. You can be equananimous while squealing with excitement and/or surprise and/or disgust anyway. So there’s a sigh of relief that I won’t be missing class. Hopefully. Now I’m not sure, but I do know that Teacher’s got a nasty mean streak. Frowning behind my mask, I put hands on my hips and wait for him to make up his mind about going up the ladder or not, and getting out of my way.
“Other costume? How many costumes are there? I’m kind of attached to this one, though.”
It’s like a better, more badass version of what I’d worked up for myself in the first place. And it’s awesomely eggplant colored.
“Which I might add I have a one hundred percent success rate of not dying in.”
Tim: “Canary will understand the importance of your first stake out, trust me.”
There is an almost grim sarcasm about it. Such as to suggest that Stephanie doesn’t quite understand the torture of what she’s in for. That half-laugh, half-warning chortle from Penny-One probably does nothing to instill confidence in her that this going to be any better than a sparring session with the Canary. One that is only marginally topped by my leaping nearly all of the way up the ladder than any normal person would need to climb. Like many things this is as much smoke and mirrors as anything else. With the micro-filament musculature in the suit augmenting my normal agility just enough that it gives the illusion of being more than just some not-legal-to-drink kid in a suit, but the very same Batman that took her father apart when she first saw him.
By the time Stephanie catches up, I’m already gathering what we need from the Batmobile. Thus giving me plenty of time to plan what I’m going to say to her in response to her own commentary. “You have a lot to learn Spoiler. A fact that people keep reminding you. Over and over. From your father, to Red Robin, to Canary and myself. In at least my case, and I would suspect Canary’s, telling you that is not some form of a rib upon your inexperience. When I say it, I mean it literally. You have a lot to learn, but you have shown me tonight that you’re capable of doing it.”
“Penny-One is someone that we all trust and he knew what I’m learning tonight, the first time he saw you. He saw the same things in me. He saw them in years ago. Red Robin, Nightwing and Red Hood. He’s seen the qualities you posses in a select few people. We all began as something else, but Penny-One was the foundation of helping us each become something more. Gaining his trust, his approval, is a like opening a gateway. Tonight, you might be Eggplant Tailfin-Girl, but that doesn’t mean it is who you will be in a week or a year.”
“That sounds far more cryptic and sarcastic than I mean it to be, but you’ll understand soon enough. You’ve taken a big step. Accepting Red Robin’s help. Canary’s training. Those things lead you here, tonight, with me. Your choices, not your Father’s, are defining you. With each new one you’re becoming something new, something better. We all faced a challenge when we first started down this road. We all changed, we all became something else. Some of us became things we didn’t want. Don’t lose sight of the aspiration to be … more… than Eggplant Tailfin-Girl.”
Whether by design or pure coincidence, I happen to finish talking just in time to also be done collecting the solvent and attaching the vial to a batarang housing. I’m about to whirl and head to the manhole cover again, when I come to a stop. That long, flowing , tapered cape rests upon my shoulders and swathes me in darkness for that moment’s hesitation. Then a single hand protrudes in offering of the batarang to her.
“Use your mask’s H.U.D. when you throw it. You’ll be able to remotely control it’s flight to one of the dams. Once you’re done. We disappear and wait, I’ll be in the Batmobile.”
STeph: “Uh huh. Yeah. I’m sure she will, but understanding doesn’t mean she won’t still make me sorry and call it a lesson in how doing the right thing in the moment can still have super, super sucky consequences, and blah, blah, blaaaaah… talking to myself again now.”
Since the Bat just took all the rungs in the ladder at the same time that might have almost made me believe he could actually fly, in the middle of my complaint/rant/whining. It’s going to happen though. I can feel it. I’m a quick enough study when I try to be, which means I’ve picked up pretty quickly on a lot of things. Like how the Black Canary is a giant fan of exploiting any and all weaknesses. Which is awesome and impressive when it’s not directed at you. Not as appreciated when she’s taking your knees out during your allotted drink break, to demonstrate how attacks can come at any time.
“Orrrr. Myself and Penny-One. That might actually be worse. No offense Penny-One.”
With a heavy sigh I start scrambling up the ladder like I can escape that particular conversation, and move past the rather ominous feeling I’d gotten from the sarcasm and laughter from the nights’ partners, both present and remote, it’s a little irritating to be left that far behind. He’s already back at the car and rummaging through God knows what is stashed in that thing. A nuke maybe. At this point I don’t think I’d even be surprised. There’s also apparently some extra volumes of lectures and sage advice in there. You have a lot to learn Spoiler. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know is what’s about to come out of my mouth, but he goes on to something that for once slows my tongue that was getting ready for a retort.
“Uhm. Huh. Well. Thanks. That’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s said to me this month. Even with the continued mocking of the codename. But I’m giving you some wiggle room on account of how you at least properly got the color.”
I’d kind of argue that my Father’s choices have actually defined me pretty hardcore. If he wasn’t such an epic, criminal douchebag I wouldn’t be out here. That’s for sure. I don’t even have the slightest clue what I’d be doing, or who I’d be. Stephanie Brown, Honor Student! Stephanie Brown, Virtuoso Piantist Wizkid! He’s always been what he is, long as I’ve been around. And his crummy choices and ‘career moves’ have shaped everything about my family life and a whole lot about me.
“So Penny-One is the Boss. Got it.”
Flipping both my thumbs up, as I hunch my shoulders in a gesture that would probably be better if the mask wasn’t hiding the cheesy grin I’ve got going on in here. Not really a joke though. Everything about what I’ve just been told tells me that’s the truth. Even if someone else is the actual on the ground boss, or the ringleader of a crew if there’s someone that they look to for advice or approval? It means that they’re not really the one who’s ultimately in charge. And theirs is someone who clearly’s got his eye on everything if he knows all that. I’m also kind of worried they think I’m out to get more from all this than I really am. The motivation had been so simple starting out. Do I actually want more than what started all this?
For a moment, I’m standing there with my thumbs still up, looking at the batarang that’s protruding with part of an arm from that loomy cloak of his in what has to be the most awkward/weird/hilarious tableau that’s ever been seen on this street. The way I take it is almost tentative, but that’s more because I’m stopping myself from snatching it before he changes his mind like a kid going for candy in a jar. The first one. That’s the one with the least turns from here. Not that I don’t think I can pilot the thing. Remote controlled vehicles are maybe my only positive childhood memory with Arthur Brown. Doing it from a HUD may be a different animal entirely though. Which is why I actually go back to the manhole to lob it as well, leaning down in a much less impressive swirl of cape.
I’d like to brag about how I don’t ‘crash the thing even once but there were a couple near misses that somehow i’m sure he saw and I just don’t want to present an opening. Pushing up off the concrete, I dust off my gloves that don’t actually need dusting.
“Are you just going to leave the cover off or… right. Already gone. Fine, I’ll do it myself!”
Guess what kids? You know how we all know that manhole covers are freaking heavy? They feel a whole lot more weighty after you’ve watched someone else handle it like it’s nothing, even though the damn thing probably weighs not a whole lot less than I do. I mean. I get it eventually. It just feels like an embarrassingly long amount of time, before I flick the collapsing staff out and use it for leverage. Good thing it didn’t bend. I’d hate to have to ask for a new one before I’ve actually really learned to use the first one. I’m telescoping the weapon back down into it’s smaller state as I scrabble, puffing a little, into the passenger seat.
“Okay. All done. Which you … probably already know. But. Really. Um. Thanks. For what you said.”
Tim: Whether I’m watching or not is actually answered by her settling back down in to the Car. Once she’s inside the hatchway, she’ll see that there was a monitor in the car displaying the remote controlled batarang. The same sort of monitor that I would likely have seen in my cowl, like her mask. Much as the man called Penny-One was likely watching remotely. So I don’t even bother commenting on it. That would only further cement that she’s got a lot to learn. Like I said before, everyone knows that including Stephanie. There’s absolutely no purpose to beating that dead horse, other than hurting her morale. Demoralizing someone is not what I do. Maybe it’s what Bruce would have done. Testing her metal, seeing if she would bend easily or sway from her course with some discouragement.
Not me. I know how that feels. More importantly, I have a keen reminder of how it plays out if you do it to someone that’s willing to call your bluff. Maybe Stephanie wouldn’t miss her parents, but I don’t want that responsibility -or- guilt. So what do I say to the second series of thank yous in as many minutes. “You shouldn’t take it as mocking your ‘code name.’ You’ve picked a code name before you’re ready to have one. When you’re closer to the point where you are ready to be out here alone… are you going to be Spoiler then? Spoiler is who your Father made you in to, but is that who you are?”
And, perhaps most importantly, Miss. Is that who you want to be?
That slight crinkling of the cowl’s eyebrows might be suggestive of some emotion when Alfred chimes in. She doesn’t know that I’ve been where she is. Recently. Very recently, in fact. Twice over. First when Bruce asked me to return as Robin. Then when I realized that I was going to be Batman, in spite of everything I’ve ever said. Two times over I’ve made decisions about who I am, who I would be, based upon the needs of someone or someones else. I know where she is and I know where she might go next. And most importantly, I know who helped me through those times. Who guided me in the decision process.
Alfred Pennyworth.
“He’s more Jiminy Cricket, than Leader,” that grim smile returns because I can already hear him ruffling up, Must we compare me to that overblown Disney Fluff…
“Everyone you meet. Everyone you let take part in your life. As we let them, they influence us. They mold us, shape us. We are the sum of our parts, truly. Defined by those whom we bring in to our lives, if we let them. The hardest truth is one you’ve clearly learned already. We can choose to let that influence define us for good or bad. It is a measure of you, Stephanie, that your Father’s influence has brought you here. Instead of somewhere far, far darker.”
“That measure? Is something you should carry with you for the rest of your life. Because if he. This man who is your life-blood. Your Father. If he did not break you down, did not make you in to something vile and contemptible like himself. If your own Father could not make you in to something Evil? Then who can?”
“Once you accept that. Truly accept that. What’s a little beating by Canary or heckling by Red Robin? What can anyone do to you that can break you, when the Cluemaster hasn’t succeeded and he’s had your whole life.” This life-talk, coaching session or whatever it is, comes to a small half when I fire the engine of the car back up. Another half-second later the vehicle is rolling to life and pulling in to the secluded shadows of an alleyway across from the Office we came to at first. “At any rate, you don’t need to thank me, Stephanie. Everything I’ve said, you already knew. You just wanted someone else to confirm it.”
“Now. The car has a light refracting exterior that can be turned on in a simulation of a… cloak. We may here a while, but this monitor here is from a thumb camera that I put in the alcove. You should nap, while we wait, I don’t sleep very much.”
Steph: What the heck is going on tonight? I mean, seriously. This is like an After-School Special and a Parental Intervention all rolled into one, only I’m having it with Batmanand Penny-One. Neither of whom seems to be playing Bad Cop which is a lot more how I personally would have guessed this would have gone. Guess the Bad Cops are back at the hideout tonight. I’ve ended up pressed more and more back into the passenger seat, body tilted slightly to the side and away from the person I’m eyeballing sideways like I’m questioning who the hell they are, and what they’ve done with…well. Batman. Maybe in hindsight that’s not actually a question I want answered since Batman is supposed to be dead, and I know of a lot of people who’d be pretty confused to find out that’s not the actual truth.
“It was that or introduce myself by actual name. Which you guys all found out with apparently zero difficulty so I guess I could have just led with it instead of making up something on the spot.”
Still. I like the name, and think it’s pretty darn appropriate. I’m probably spoiling someone’s night right now! It’s an important question though, am I going to be Spoiler whenever this ends? I had a really clear goal and purpose in mind, and that comes with a finish line to chase. When and if I manage to cross that, what then? The plan was just to go back to being Stephanie at that point. This wasn’t exactly a long term career choice.
“That sounds like something someone who’s not really the boss would say about someone that is the boss.”
The smirk is evident in my tone of voice, even if it’s hidden by my face mask as I wriggle my hips to settle a bit more comfortably in the seat now that I’m no longer eyeing him like some sort of weird batbug that I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with, or where it came from. I’m pretty sure I didn’t expect to be getting kudos for not turning into a supervillain or something similar yet. I had pretty lame examples when it came to parents, and my father was gone more than he was around. Just enough to make me hate him and everything he wanted.
“Oh, I know they’re not going to break me. Hold up. That sounded waaaaaay cockier than I actually meant for it to. I mean. That’s not a concern for me. It might hurt a whole helluva lot, but there’s a big difference between smarting and broke. When your Dad is someone who goes by Cluemaster you kind of learn to grow a thick skin. Kids are assholes.”
You also learn how to duck punches and answer them with a really solid left when said other kid had a parent who also was in jail thanks to something your own idiot parent had gotten them to do. Just look at all these life skills I have him to thank for. Not that I ever would. I’m not sure that I was really looking for validation but… maybe I was. I didn’t start this looking for some back patting, or even people to go in with, but it’s hard not to want to be on the level of the people that you see out here doing this and doing it well.
“Uh. Nap? Are you kidding? I had a caramel dead-eye less than an hour ago. There will be noo-o-oooo napping.”
Because when a double espresso just isn’t enough to keep you up and kicking on not a whole lot of sleep, you go for a third! Admittedly two would probably have been sufficient. Or maybe even going without. Adrenaline is a helluva drug, honestly. Still. Just in case. But perky and chattery as I may be, dense I am not. Somehow I think ‘nap’ might be keyword for we’re going to be here a while, shut up and don’t bother me. So I dig in my belt for my phone.
“…yeah, okay I’ll be over here playing Angry Birds.”
by Michele | Sep 28, 2017 | Chronicles
Dinah: All in all? That could have gone better.
Mission accomplished, though. I’d made myself a nuisance, and a sizable one at that, hopefully for long enough to get the job done. I hadn’t exactly gotten a precise timeline for how long I had to keep Superman’s attention pointed at me instead of anywhere else, so hopefully Tim’s friend had skedaddled and gotten on with what she needed to do. I’d anticipated getting back a bit later than I have, but I also figured I’d be taking conventional travel back to Gotham. Or alternately doing a little swimming and then calling for a ride, depending upon how things played out. Getting flown without an aircraft? Not actually something I’d care to repeat anytime all that soon. Maybe because I wasn’t entirely sure the guy wasn’t just going to drop me. Sure, he’d been trying to act good but it could have been just that. An act.
My jacket was still at the nightclub, and along with it everything else like my phone. It meant I didn’t really have any means of radioing in, or calling to let my roommate know that I was okay and I’d done what he’d asked. It also means that once I’ve been dropped off at the harbor? I’ve got a bit of a walk ahead of me. I don’t mind, lets me clear my head and work off the steam I’d build up in Metropolis. Gotham would probably be about the worst place to have to do a walk of shame, but there’s not one ounce of that in me, nor a reason to be ashamed. Plus I actually almost feel sorry for someone that sees this particular skimpy dressed blonde and thinks she’s going to be easy pickins. But being confident in your skills, knowing you’re more than a match for pretty much anything the street has to serve up, doesn’t mean you can be careless either.
The alleys, and back ways are more natural and normal to me than sidewalks at this point. It’s that proclivity that actually nets me a bit of a detour. A detour that sends me up a fire escape, and into the shadows where I can watch unobserved. You see. Normally there’s only really one reaction when you see a crime in progress, or just know there’s about to be one. We’re vigilantes. We do certain things a certain way. But I’m without my gear. More importantly, without the coat of makeup I wear to alter my features to the point of barely recognizable. It’s also not just anybody going into that Public House. It’s the Joker and his Loon Squad. I don’t need to be a tactical whiz kid to know how this is going to go. Even before the screaming and yelling starts.
Do I feel even a little bad about not interfering? No. I know exactly the sort of people that are inside that building. Most days it’d maybe be me kicking the everliving shit out of them. It’s the second party that has my attention and concern. Cocking my blonde head to the side, it doesn’t take me more than a moment to pick what I’m looking for out of the night sky. Once you know they’re there, it’s easy to spot Red Robin’s drones. Well. Guess that means he knows I’m back. Leaning against the railing more as a perch than a real hiding spot, I’m debating going into the building anyway. Just in case he’d needed help. The slow count that I’d begun in my head isn’t finished by the time I see one party…and then the other emerge. I don’t know, honestly, if I’m more relieved, or grumpy. That throttling can wait until another night though. Not that I couldn’t do it in my boots and mini skirt.
Kicking a leg over that railing again, I drop down to the concrete, bending my knees to absorb the impact as I bring my hand up to my cheek like I’m holding something in place.
“Kssssssht. Red Robin, are you aware that Red Hood seems to be making nice with the Joker-over. Kssssht.”
It’s that kind of night, isn’t it? I’m going to keep amusing myself by talking in my imaginary walkytalky the whole way back I think. Because Gotham and Crazy go hand in hand, and I think it’s really damn funny. It’s that or humming to myself.
“Kssssht. On my way in. Also your friend wasn’t very nice to me. Over. KSsssht.”
Tim: To say that I had been worried about Dinah is an understatement. We had done our homework. She had studied up on the target. When I asked Dinah to do a favor for me, I didn’t intend to send her in blind. So I opened the toolbox. Gave her every scrap of information on Conner Luthor that I’d put together, at Bruce’s direction, over the last two years. She went in armed to the teeth with enough tactical knowledge, that I was positive she would survive. Almost sure. Well, it was more like playing the odds. They were in her favor, because the deck -and- Dinah were stacked against the subject of her wiles.
Once the reports from Gotham had come in? I’d feared the worst, for about an hour. In that second hour, I’d begun to formulate multiple plans. From extraction, in case of capture, to vengeance in case of the worst. Not one of those plans, sadly, had involved ‘Pick me up at the Harbor.’ Whatever happened. However it came to be that Dinah was dropped off at the Harbor by the very person she was sent to distract? That’s a story I’m interested in. All I really know is that if the seismic activity in Metropolis was anything bad, she wouldn’t be walking back like she seems to be doing once my pretty little birds actually zero in on her.
Drones. They’ve been circulating around the City for weeks now. A contingency plan that Bruce and I had conceived a couple of years ago. We just never put it in to action, because Bruce thought it violated all sorts of privacy ethics. I’d agreed at the time, but re-thought my position after he was gone. Not because I thought we were wrong originally, but because I needed something to help me find the culprit. As time marched on and I became desperate for answers, I’d turned to the little drone army. Eyes in the Sky, that could help me a little more to be ‘Everywhere, all at once.’ These days, Dinah rarely sees me without a computer going. Constantly sifting through the drones information. Even though there’s very likely an app for that.
“Ugh. We spent millions of Wayne R&D budget dollars on those drones. They simply don’t do static.”
Oh, I’m not talking to Dinah. You see the little drones aren’t equipped with the ability for two-way communication. Although, in retrospect, that might actually be worthy of an upgrade. Instead I’m talking mostly to myself. Stephanie certainly has no idea what I’m babbling about. She hasn’t a clue that I’m listening to my little birds, whom are spying upon Dinah and Damien (not to mention the rest of the Bat-family and any criminal they can find). Now that I think about it though, I’m glad that I can’t communicate directly with Dinah right now. It saves me from having to answer Dinah directly. I’ll worry about that later, when I’m not demonstrating the basics of how to throw a punch.
By way of first letting Stephanie try one of her own, blocking it and then showing her how to do it for real. Over and over, until she manages to do one without locking her wrist. I’ve got some hope for Steph, actually. It’s only taken her the entire night ( of which she has been thrown, punch, kicked, tripped and choked more times than I think I want to admit ) to figure out finally how to throw right hook. Without breaking her own hand, wrist, fingers, or potentially just hitting herself. ( That only happened once, but it now lives on for ever by way of the screens that replay the video every few minutes. On a loop. )
“Take a break. We’re about to have company. The kind of company that might take offense to the fact you’re still not moving your feet the way I told you to four hours ago.”
Dinah: It could have taken longer to get there, but you get to know the shortcuts like the back of your own hand when you spend enough time making use of them to cut off criminals and lowlifes. It’s likely even faster when you use one of those computerized maps like Tim enjoys so much, but it’s cheating and I just don’t like them. Computers are his thing. A memory like a steel trap is mine. I probably should just go back to Pretty Bird’s. At this point in the night, the place will be full and loud and no one is going to notice me going up to my apartment over the bar’s second floor. Except I’m willing to bet what little money I have that it’s not where my partner in ‘crime’ is, and that he’s instead holed up in his little cave. I’m sorry. Roost.
There’s letting yourself in to a secret lair, and then there’s knowing you’re being let in and if you weren’t invited there was probably some elaborately abrupt defense mechanism that would have knocked you on your ass. By the time I waltz in, whistling like I’d been doing since I got bored of my staticy one sided conversation, I’m pretty happy to finally have arrived. Times like that makes you really appreciate your motorcycle for getting around Gotham. I really don’t know how those dummies who do it on foot manage, sometimes.
“Luuuuuucy, I’m home!”
The sashay is only partly for his benefit, the truth is it’s just kind of how I walk and being out at night only makes it worse. Habit. Part of the persona that’s really more me than Dinah Lance is at this point. There comes a point in a life like this where your secret identity is more like the costume than the name you picked out for yourself in the night. Being away for a few years hadn’t changed that, but then, the Canary hadn’t stopped stepping out just because she stepped out of Gotham. It, the strutting, comes to an abrupt halt when I see we’re not actually alone though. The purple clad girl’s slumped against one of the walls like she’s concerned at any moment someone’s going to make her get up again. It doesn’t take that practiced of an eye to figure out what they’ve been doing, and it’s got a lot more to do with punching than it does with anything naughty. Still. Can’t help the teasing. It’s my nature.
“Sheesh, I’m gone five minutes… what is it with you and blondes?”
Tim: The ‘Roost’ (it’s not a cave, damnit), happens to be buried beneath an old Warehouse. Owned by a subsidiary of a subsidiary, of another subdiary’s subsidiary. Once upon a time it was an R&D dump for retired equipment that Bruce either upgraded or did away with. Sometime later, it saw a little used as a backup point to house the Jet, Boat and Mobile. I’ve taken it over as a remote base, because the Clocktower is likely too busy and the Cave just seems… Empty without him there.
Ordinarily the place is little more than it’s original intent; a hidden safe house. Tonight though it’s playing host to Stephanie Brown. Recently it’s seen a bit of a make-over. I’ve been updating the place. While Bruce and Alfred created the place, I’m not sure anyone outside of them and I knew it was here. At least, until I let Dinah in. Then later Damien, so that I could get him outfitted in something that wouldn’t land him on the News as a masse murderer the first time someone with a smartphone got him on camera. Tonight? Well, tonight I put some of the out-dated training tools stored here to work. Much to Stephanie’s chagrin.
“It’s a lot like pok-e-mon, gotta catch’em all,” comes a tongue in cheek reply to Dinah’s teasing, “This is the one I asked you about. The one who is going to get herself or someone else killed if you don’t help her.”
Now that’s an introduction. It also happens to be a means to an end. Swerving Dinah a little off course, so that she doesn’t immediately go in to the litany of discussions we need to have. I need a minute, no more than that, to take stock of her. She looks alright. Better than alright, honestly. Which means that she’s not physically hurt. I have to be honest, with myself mainly, I’m having to stop myself from hugging her. Part of me also wants to apologize. Whether for what ever happened or asking her to go in the first place. Instead of doing that, I give her something that she will actually appreciate far more than a teenage boy’s hug or apologies.
“Wonder Woman made it to Fawcett City, she was able to make contact -and- she somehow managed to stumble upon a bank robbery / hostage situation. Whatever you did with Superman, you did it pretty well. I’d say mission accomplished, but.. um… you got a ride home from your target. I’m not the expert of course, but is that how this sort of thing is supposed to go?”
Dinah: And it also happens to be conveniently close to my Grandparent’s bar, which became my bar when my Grandfather passed. Managed by old family friends, and left to their care. I hadn’t known what to do with the place, and it made me a little sad honestly. It proved convenient enough to come back to though, a place that I could crash anytime I was in the city. That just hadn’t happened until Bruce had died, and Helena had called. Maybe it wouldn’t have for a while still if things had been different. Coincidence on the location? Maybe. But having met Batman I kind of doubt that.
“Hey! I am… not..!”
I don’t need to see be able to see all of the girl’s face to make out the expression she’s got under that half mask, the hood of her cloak is pushed back away from decidedly disheveled and sweaty blonde head. She’d probably be a whole lot cooler and more comfortable for practice if she took it and the mask off, but I’m actually assigning her micro-props even as I judge her on nearly everything else that I can see. If you’re going to insist on wearing something out on the street? You have to be able to fight and move in it. To know what you’re doing enough to not get fouled. Take my high heeled boots. They could be a liability, but I’ve practiced in them enough to make them more a weapon than something to trip me up. I should probably be a little annoyed that she’s here, and that I’ve walked in very much in Full Dinah Face. I have to assume, however, that if Tim thought she was a risk for tattling? She wouldn’t be here in the first place.
And if she does? Well. I know where he sleeps. Leaning over, hands on hips puts me pretty close to nose to nose with Red Robin’s stray.
“Well, hey kiddo. I’m Black Canary. I suggest you eat your Wheaties every morning, because I’m going to kick your ass. And then kick it while you’re down, because if I don’t do it, someone out there will. Difference is, strong chance I won’t make you dead. No one out there’s going to do you the same favor.”
Grey blue eyes, which are about all you can really make out of her face go wide in surprise, and it’s a little comical because she looks like she’s trying to decide if I’m kidding, and maybe Tim had told her before basically the same thing but she thought he was kidding, too. Nope. Not kidding. Not joking. There’s not much of a better motivator than pain. When you’ve got a younger pupil, sure you do things a little differently. Their bodies are still growing and muscle memory is an easier thing. Ted Grant didn’t start out beating me bloody when I was six years old. That waited until I was a teenager, should have known better, and had to get the lessons the hard way. It’s definitely not going to feel like it, but she wants to do this? I’m doing her a favor doing it my way.
The shock is short lived, before a gloved hand is lifted in an A-OK symbol and a chipper voice makes me snort. Well. At least she’s got that going for.
“Sure, no problem, breakfast’s my favorite. Breakfast four meals a day…”
Straightening upright again, ignoring the show I might have just been giving and frankly not really caring. I might be wearing not much but I wear even less a normal night. And I kick people in the face while doing it. I don’t plan on kicking anyone in the head right now. Certainly not Tim, anyway, who I’ve turned on a bootheel to face and approach, leaving his still winded sparring partner in the corner. For her sake? I hope they’d been going at it for hours or I really might accidentally end up killing her.
“I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.” Waggling my eyebrows demonstratively, and rather suggestively. “Which he was all over and then refused. He then proceeded to try to save me from my life of mediocrity, threatened me with N.O.W.H.E.R.E., had a bit of a fit after I yelled at him for it, then we made very nice and brought me home. I’ve got some additional notes for your little fun files.”
My tone is sing song in relating the bare bones of the evening. I’m all for him interpreting and guessing a little. I might spell it out more, or maybe tease more, if we didn’t have extra company but either way I’m entirely cheery about it as I move to commandeer a seat and kick my feet up on the closest flat surface.
“The suit? Records everything. Also he recovers from double ruptured eardrums disturbingly fast. And while he was with me he was not in Fawcett City, and paying direct attention to me and nothing else, so I’d say that was mission accomplished indeed. You’re welllllllcome.”
“….heh, I love that song.”
“Right? Me, too kid.”
Tim: It’s all too easy to figure out why Stephanie is here. Other than the fact that she needs the help. I mean it, she really needs the help. Like more than anyone I’ve ever met, that wasn’t a toddler. In fact she happens to be a lot like a toddler. Helpless. Drooling. Flailing around blindly. Not really accomplishing anything. But being very fulfilled not to have died while doing it. Yeah, that’s about how I summarize my meetings with her so far.
She also serves as a bit of a distraction. I could have sent her home when I heard the comments about Damien on the drones, but I didn’t. Because this very much keeps the things Dinah verbally abuses me about to a minimum. For now, at least. I’m a little thankful, honestly, once I see her eyes waggle. Offer he couldn’t refuse? But he did? Or he didn’t? What does it even mean?! He ‘report’ about the mission is little more than gibberish, honestly. I’m about to tell her so too, when I pick up something of even more importance.
“You ruptured his eardrums. Dinah, I thought we agreed you weren’t going to beat up Superman unless you had no other choice?” Now it’s my hands on that are on my hips, my tone that takes a bit of a lecturing one and also happens to project just a little more so that Stephanie can hear what I’ve just said. “Okay. Actually, I’m going to assume you didn’t pick a fight with a Superman. Instead, I’m going to focus on … you know what? I’m completely confused. He tried to save you. Then he threatened you. Then he saved you. All the while he refused your overture. Until you made nice, excuse me.. very nice.. and he brought you home?”
“It’s times like these, that I understand why you drink. None of that mad…. holdup… did you say his suit records everything? Or were you telling Stephanie that mine does? Because if it’s the latter, you should know it does actually. If it’s the former? Then it means he’s being monitored.”
Dinah: “I didn’t beat up Superman. Sheesh.”
The scoff in my tone says it would be very hard for Tim to have said anything more ridiculous than what just came out of his mouth. And the way I absently bounce one booted foot, and check under my nearly non-existent fingernails could almost say that I’m playing coy, or even a little shy about what I’ve done except two of us in this room know I’ve got little to no shame, and if I’ve actually done something? I’m just going to own up to it, because I don’t act on something unless it’s really what I felt I needed to do in the moment.
“It’s not like I capitalized on him being down on the floor with his ears bleeding to inflict more damage. I bolted. Or I would have, except he threatened to bring the building down on everyone’s heads unless I came back.”
“What the fuu..”
“Right? I know. And I didn’t feel like I had any other choice. It was go along with what he wanted, or incoming NOWHERE in three minutes. So I acted. I wasn’t going to divulge your little secrets until at least our third date but if that’s what you want we can just all play Truth or Dare right now.”
I’m all over the place, and it’s entirely by design. Mostly because there’s a third set of ears here, or I would have told him that I’d assaulted Conner Luthor, not Superman, just for a little more background to the actual story. Or I might have spelled out further how I’d gotten Superman’s attention in the first place, and how there was an open ended offer for shenanigans that definitely shouldn’t take place when you know that under the suit? The other person’s in high school. Which he still made very clear he wouldn’t be necessarily opposed to at a later date.
“But yes. Bingo. The latter. He pegged me as a meta, but not a recognizable one with their database. He was trying to offer to help put me in touch with someone who could train me …haha right?… and then he was trying to connect my band to his family to protect me… all in all, that intel you gave me kind of left me woefully unprepared for the guy that I actually ran into. Well. Up until the death threats.”
“…I thought Superman was the good guy…”
Dropping my feet to the floor, I lean forward. Propping elbows on my knees to look up at him with a degree of actual seriousness, I start ticking off talking points on my fingers.
“Suit monitors everything, unless he’s up in the stratosphere. And either that girlfriend of yours has Supes wrapped around her pinkie finger so tight that he’s acting against his nature for her…”
“..there’s a girlfriend? Er. Just. Asking. For a friend.”
“… or you’ve pretty seriously misjudged your buddy. Maybe both. I wasn’t actually settled on which option I was going with before he brought me back here to keep me away from the incoming Big Brother Swarm.”
Tim: “My intel is good,” there’s a quick response if ever there was one, without an ounce of offended tone. “He’s self-centered, even self-absorbed. Little or no emotional attachment to the concepts of right or wrong. He acts without thinking, normally, then deals with the consequences by daring someone to put a stop to him.”
Truth be told? I’m torn. It makes sense that Conner’s dedication to Cassandra Sandsmark would play out in to a desire to please her. However I’m a little surprised that someone like Dinah couldn’t persuade him to do something that he would surely be able to get away with. Either she didn’t try very hard or he was a little more dedicated than I’ve given him credit for… or he’s working an angle. Maybe he thought that by rescuing someone, like Dinah, he’d earn some sort of reward. From Luthor or Cassie or both. That sounds more like the Boy that I know. It also fits perfectly in to the mold that I want to cast him in. Which makes me feel just a little bad about it, maybe I’ve not given the guy a fair…
Oh. There it is. Death threats. Right, bringing the whole place down unless she doesn’t run away. That sounds like the guy I’d gone to school with for a couple of years. “Mm. Alright. I’m seeing the pattern here. You made contact. His suit records it. Now he knows that they know. Which means he either had to help you or let you get scooped up. He didn’t have any way to know that Wonder Woman was out of town yet, at that point. So he assumes that she would find out. You put him in to a position where he had to act in a manner fitting to Wonder Woman’s vision of him.”
“It makes sense, but if there’s even a chance that Wonder Woman has succeeded in curbing him?” It doesn’t take an expert detective to see that what I’m about to say takes some work, apparently it tastes bitter. “Then we need to find a way to cement that.”
In that moment I was talking out loud, but not really talking to either of them. This was something that hadn’t truly ever crossed my mind. I thought the super boy was just about as irredeemable as possible. My only hope had been to somehow break the control over him that N.O.W.H.E.R.E. had. Maybe even neutralize that control Luthor had, so that it would in turn take away tools at the disposal of a superman. I hadn’t even really considered that it might be plausible to save the actual Boy himself. If Dinah had seen the things I’ve seen, I’m sure she’d think the same thing.
“He’s dating Wonder Woman,” growled over at Stephanie, on my approach to Dinah so as to put a fingertip upon the tip of a bouncing boot. “You’re good at this. Reading people. Plus, you’ve had time to think about it on the way home. Was my intel bad, outdated or does the girl have her hooks in him deep enough to make a difference if push came to shove?”
That other gloved hand rises in a silent signal to Stepahnie not to make a joke, yet. “Oh and uh, slightly more pressing question. If all of this went sideways, does that mean you’re on the database now? Do we need to get you out of the Country? And, yes. She babbles like that, non-stop, but she’s actually got something. Maybe intuition, maybe luck. Either way, she’s going to get herself or someone else killed working it through.”
“She’s also got a family history, like the rest of us,” lowering my voice to a mere stage-whisper. “Spoiler alert, Canary, her father’s on page three of her file. You might want to skip ahead.”
Dinah: “I don’t doubt that it was. I just think you may have undersold slightly the kind of influence a good woman can have on a royal douchebag if he actually cares what she thinks. Or at least that you didn’t translate that knowledge into concrete words in your files there.”
Really. I need to meet this girl at some point just so that I can truly understand what she’s working with. Maybe it’s the whole literal goddess part, because blonde with a body I’ve already got down. Sass, attitude, check. Not because I want to compete with her, I don’t need to compete with anyone. It’s curiosity more than anything, because I really don’t doubt Tim’s observations. Even factoring his own feelings in, he’s perceptive enough to be able to set things like that aside for the facts of a matter. But I won’t lie, the way he growls at the girl that’s looking like she’s at least recovered some oxygen enough to sit up a little more straight and gather her feet under her in a cross legged position I almostlaugh at him. Almost. My foot kicks a little bit harder under the tip of his finger just to make it bounce once before I subside, and there’s a muffled little mutter from across the room.
“…is he talking in third person now or…oh Superman. Yeah. No. My friend was talking about….nevermind.”
But as to his question about Conner Luthor, our current Superman, and his motivations?
“Look, I may not know him like you do, but I do know bullshit when I hear it, and he seemed pretty legitimately angry because trying to do something her way, and help someone, was backfiring pretty spectacularly on him. And putting her in danger. I think he actually wants to try to believe her way works. Do I think he’s there yet? No. But I’m pretty sure he’s going to do whatever the Hell he has to in order to keep her safe. Even if it doesn’t make her happy. Red, it may have been legitimately the only time I have ever felt bad about screaming in someone’s ear. Especially … er… point blank. I think not disappointing her a real motivator for him. Which works for us, unless keeping Wonder Woman safe is ever going to require working in opposition to us.”
I also legitimately don’t want to make Tim feel bad. Correction. Worse than he probably already feels about having to say out loud he needs to make sure the First Hottest Blonde’s relationship with his psuedo-best friend stays happy, healthy and lasting. But from my run ins with Superman? I think I can pretty safely say Wonder Woman is the only reason we’re not seeing a whole different sort of monster in that Cape right now. You don’t need to see Stephanie’s mouth under that mask to know she was about to say something and is only held off by Red Robin’s hand. But only for a few moments. Long enough for him to finish anyway.
“…She she or she me? I’m so confused…are you complimenting me or insulting me? Or she? Wait. Who’s file? My file?! I should get to see my file! Why do you have a file?!”
At this point, Spoiler’s getting up and with much less wobble in her legs than I might have expected. She is blonde and she is a girl though. Chances are Boy Wonder may have been taking it easy on her like I’m not going to. Maybe that’s why I got recruited for the Fledgling Vigilante Reformation Club. I still more or less ignore her though, to answer the actual important question in what he’d said.
“Yes, but I led him to believe I had a super minor whistling louder than average power with little or no training. The volume part he doesn’t believe, but the no training part he may have. He seemed to think he could handle it by checking up on me. Which means we can plan on a visit in the future…sometime. Might I suggest that by then you cook up one of your little doohickies to block out his suit? I think it’d go a long way for everyone’s interests. Either I can give it to him, or you get it to his girl to pass along.”
What else was there that I’d deemed in my own personal debriefing as I walked across Gotham as important, in between inappropriate ‘radio’ transmissions to his drones?
“Oh. When I told him I’d be safe here, there was a very obvious and clear lightbulb moment and gears turning in that dense skull.” Not even being rude. It is incredibly dense. “He knows he wasn’t supposed to come to Gotham, and now an undocumented Meta thought she was going to be safe from NOWHERE there. I am betting he put two and two together, but he got six instead of four.”
Tim: Ugh. With every single word Dinah says I’m getting a far worse feeling in the pit of my stomach. It’s a really good thing I’ve kept the suit on. That may be the only thing keeping both women from seeing me turn a little green. The irony in all of this is that I like Conner, that’s the truth. The parts of him that are normal, are actually great. There just happens to be so few of them. When we first met, I could not for the life of me understand why Bruce insisted that I visit that particular school. Make those particular friends. If anything, he was a standard Luthor. He was all the things I said he was moments ago, but in Luthor-mode he also intentionally dials all those personality quirks up. His secret identity? Is all about being the worst possible person, so that no one would ever suspect him of being anything good.
Frankly? It works. Because even now, right this second, I’m hard pressed to think of a single redeemable quality about him. He’s a blank slate though or he was. Which leads to that singular saving grace; he didn’t know what love really was. His meeting Cassie had gone poorly at first. Continued that way for a couple months too. Somewhere around Homecoming our first year at St. Joseph’s, the two of them clicked and it stopped looking like a hostage situation and became a Stockholm situation. It was only because of the strict orders from Bruce that kept me from intervening. Now though, right now, I’m once more rocked by how good at this Bruce was. He knew. Somehow he saw it in the cards, forced me to play the hand. Now, if what Dinah says is true, there is a real chance that Cassandra Sandsmark might actually save the world from a threat she keeps from every materializing.
“That’s a puzzle for you to work out,” is the only real comment for Stephanie, as to whether I’m insulting her or complimenting her. “Everyone has a file. You can see them when Canary says you can handle seeing them.”
For a time then I’m quiet. Leaving the ‘Roost’ to the sounds of Stephanie and Dinah, while I look absently at the methodical way my hand bounces under the force of Dinah’s movements. It’s soothing. Having that point of focus as my world spirals out of my pretty little box that I’ve put it in. Damnit. Everything fit so well. Everything had a place, every place had a thing. Now I’m faced with the very real reality, that I’m going to have to sacrifice something important to me personally, to someone that I was pretty sure from the start was a monster. How can I do anything else? There’s a very real chance Dinah’s right and that disappointing Cassandra is something important enough to forge a real Superman out of Conner Luthor. How do you turn away from that possibility? Especially when you know the world just lost a Batman. The Batman.
“Stunting his suit shouldn’t be that difficult, but if they’re monitoring it? We need to do something better than block it. We need to make it so that they’re unable to monitor him, but don’t actually know they’re not monitoring him. Until…” Taking a deep breathe and a step forward, trails that fingertip down her boot until it’s about to touch Canary’s actual skin. Then I give it a gentle nudge off of the computer terminal. “… you think Superman doesn’t need to be monitored. You’re going to be meeting with him again?”
A jerk of the cowled head in Stephanie’s direction, if only to make a point. “If Wonder Woman has her hooks in him and he thinks saving you is a good way to get in to her graces. Maybe you can work that angle. Show him the benefits of doing things Her way. You’re already going to be teaching one Stray, why not two? Reinforce Wonder Woman’s point. Let’s give him as many reasons to buy in to Wonder Woman’s philosophy.”
I’m about to go on, say something more when I find myself staring at Dinah for a different reason. Recognition. She already thought about that, didn’t she? It’s why she had him bring her to Gotham. Because it gives her a chance to follow through on meeting him again. Instead of it just being a ploy before she disappeared. Dinah was working the angle, before I even knew there was one.
“You already think he’s ready to have it blocked don’t you? Huh, he turned down sleeping with you to impress her. That’s not exactly the empirical data, I normally like to work with but… I’ve got to admit, it’s compelling. I’m not sure I would have turned that offer down. Alright. I’ll work something up, you can give it to him. If Wonder Woman gives it to him there’ll be more questions than I think she’s ready to answer.”
“In any case, we’ve got some more immediate problems to work through. I heard what you said. About the Joker. There’s something I think you should know…” She’ll understand then, why I nudged her foot off of the edge of my desk, when I tap in the command to show her the Roost’s internal cameras. Playing back Damien’s visit for her. When he picked up his new suit and hardware. “. . . so . . . this happened.”
Dinah: “Ugh! If I wanted to be confused and yet still soul crushed I could have stayed home and watched K-Dramas…instead I picked fictional study group with Mr. Rogers and the Chuck Norris of vigilantes… not that I’m not grateful for the opportunity to be. Y’know. Beaten up and downtrodden.”
I’m still not paying that much attention to Stephanie, though what Tim had said made me curious enough to want to dig her file up on the computer right now and take a looksie. Family issues, yeah, none of us enter into this business without it. In fact, I can’t think of a single person that I know in this line of work that took it up voluntarily, or not so voluntarily, that has a happy, safe, sane childhood. And frankly at least one dead parent. It’s a little shocking that there aren’t more of us for that reason alone, especially here in Gotham but maybe it takes a certain suicidal bent to a personality to get you here. Or we were just some of the few who were lucky enough, had enough skill, to make it until Bruce took us in. Tim told me he didn’t want this one getting herself killed, and that it’d be his fault if he let it continue. I’m sure that’s true enough. I can’t help wondering if it’s also because it’s what Bruce did.
“I assume I’m the Chuck Norris. I look horrible in cardigans. Covers up everything important and exciting. I’ll remind you how grateful you are when we’ve gotten you a little more trodden though.”
That, however, isn’t something I’m going to ask him. As I demonstrated with my abbreviated, field psych eval of his Superfriend, I don’t really need to ask many questions to put together the pieces and clues that are in front of me. Even if I don’t know the subject all that well, and I know Tim Drake a great deal better than I’d gotten to know Conner Luthor in half an hour. Or maybe he sees something in her besides a utility belt full of optimism and a woefully blank slate. Cocking a thumb and forefinger into a finger gun, I pull the imaginary trigger at Tim as he works out what kind of tech we’d actually need to accomplish what I was suggesting.
“Attaboy. A feed loop of some sort maybe, but nothing to make them think it’s broken and they need to fix it. Long enough for you to finish recruiting Red Robin’s Angels, and there’s enough of them that the scales can be tipped. At least, I assume that’s what the end game plan is here.”
He’s got the information. She has the status, and the ability to proverbially rub that status off on someone else. I assume by being seen with them, associated the same way Luthor was trying to get me to do with him. So that people would notice if they went missing, would ask questions that someone wouldn’t want to have to answer. And they’re going to have to do it at a pace that NOWHERE doesn’t think something is up and act before the setup is secure to wipe them out. That could mean slow and steady, one at a time, or maybe a group unveiling when it’s too late and unable to be spun anyway but what it is. A co-op of heroes, independent of Lex Luthor’s agenda.
“Yes. I don’t know when, but I don’t doubt he’ll turn up again so that he can show he was reporting and they still think he’s in line with the program.”
I can’t help laughing, as my foot hits the floor of the Roost with an echoing thump because I haven’t bothered to slow the descent from anything but a dead weight drop.
“He’s going to be a little confused when I switch tacks from ‘You’re Superman, you can do whatever you want!’ and ‘Is that a sidekick in your tights or are you happy to see me?’ to ‘Great Power and Great Responsibility.’ But I can give it a go. Sorry kid, not going to proposition you and boost your ego anymore. And not you either.”
“Uh.. yeah… boy. What a disappointment but… I think I’m good.”
Waving a hand absently in Stephanie’s direction, as I lean in to look at the monitor Tim’s nudged my boots off of.
“Yeah, I do. There was literally zero reason for him to be honest with me, I just ruptured his ear drums and made his day difficult. None. But he got me where they couldn’t hear, and did. You don’t have a girlfriend that can crush your skull if she’s angry with you. But you do know even better than he does how great I am.”
“…so there’s not a girlfriend…”
“If he doesn’t think he needs to follow NOWHERE’S orders all the time in order to protect Wonder Woman from their attention? I think he’s going to be a whole lot more likely to be…well. Superman.”
I think there’s something you should know. Literally nothing good ever follows that statement. Ever. Deaths. Disasters. Disappointments. That’s what follows. And what he shows me has me inhaling sharply through my nose. For a drawn out amount of time, that might indicate I’m about to use all that air for some lung power. Or, as it turns out, to let out an equally long and drawn out sigh.
“So you’re aiding and abetting even more idiocy? …no offense.”
“…none taken. I. Think.”
“Did you know he was using it to commit murder with the Joker? Or were you just thinking some solo action? Christ. I understand frustration and anger and not having a concrete way to channel it but Jesus. He’s going to get himself somewhere you don’t go back from.”
I’d know. I was almost there once, too. But I never went in on homicide with the other side.
Tim: “You can’t be the Chuck Norris,” said with little more than a wolfish smirk, “You are far too pretty to be the Chuck Norris. But there’s a certain Irony you can work in someone calling you Mrs. Rogers.”
While the clowning has it’s purpose; Distraction. I’m not overly keen on letting it through my thought processes. Which is why I encourage it, but I only indulge a little before I put myself back on the proper track. Making a loop of some sort that would block the true monitoring of whatever Conner was doing? That’s easy. Simulating something; something believable that only the best sleuth in the world would actually uncover as a deception? That’s a real challenge, but the solution rests in what I’ve just said about Irony.
“They raised him in a cloning tube, educated him with a virtual reality program. One of the first things Batman had me do, after meeting the new Superman, was to track down his true origin. It lead me to a little place in Nevada. Where a laboratory used to exist. I say used too, because the place was a heap of rubble. I spent three days sifting through it and by the time I’d left? All I recovered was some trace element programming from the tube that held him. It only survived because it was in proximity to him. It was the virtual reality program that he woke up from. I think, with some modifications, I could adapt it to project that back to his handlers. It’ll take me some time….”
Another look, flicked back over a shoulder to Stephanie, before returning my gaze to the busty blonde in front of me. “Time you can spend making sure she doesn’t get herself killed. I gave her a suit, but it’ll only protect her so far. It won’t likely protect her from herself at all… uh, wait, uh…you told him he could do whatever he wanted? With everything or.. you specifically?”
“I’d like to reiterate that I’m dumbfounded at his refusal,” the shake of the head is paired with the slow exhale of breathe that once more serves as my pulling my thoughts off of a track they’re threatening to go down and back to where they need to be. “Skull-Crushing Girlfriend sounds like either an excellent code name or the finishing move of a terrible professional wrestler. Though, I’m not sure that actually works out if you’re Superman. She can’t crush his skull…”
A quick turn in Stephanie’s direction let’s me take a sum of her recuperation. “She’s talking about Him not Me. I don’t have a girlfriend. Skull-crushing variety, most especially. But, I think she was also talking about propositioning Him and You, although if she were, I would more than willing to surrender the Roost to the two of you.”
“Call me a sucker for idiocy, but I can’t let Damien go out there and get himself killed any more than I can let Stephanie. The difference is that I could tell in a heartbeat that Stephanie’s too stubborn to give this up. Even though she’s so under-trained that she’s more likely to break her own neck on that cape she bought at a Halloween prop-shop, than to get killed in the line of duty. Damien’s almost the opposite. If I didn’t help him, he’d go out there and do the same things. He’d just do them without the Hood. What do we gain by that? Our Father’s legacy drawn in to the mud. Not one step closer to his killers? Plus, there’s a good chance he ends up dead, right along with Br…”
“Besides. You don’t get to lecture me on this one. What did you do to stop him? No, not tonight. I mean when you saw him on your return to Gotham. You just read a guy like a championship profiler, in thirty minutes. Don’t tell me you didn’t know Damien was going to do things the League of Assassins way. It’s Damien. But you didn’t kick his ass and put him in time-out. We’re both equally guilty of whatever he does when we chose not to stop him. I’m just hoping we can get something useful out of Damien being Damien…”
“It’s not just frustrating, to not have any movement. Dead ends at every turn. It’s damning. Because every day we go without a lead, is another day that the rest of the world goes down the tubes while we hunt for those clues. The world isn’t waiting for us to find out who killed our father. It’s moving on. Faster than I can keep up. As demonstrated by how woefully out of date my intel on my Best Friend was today.”
Without warning, I turn, flicking my wrists out simultaneously. Hurling two of the discs off my belt at Stephanie. “Clearly, I’ve been wrong before though. If you think Damien’s actually working with the Joker, as opposed to using the Joker like a rabid dog on a leash. Then let’s bring Damien in. Let’s talk to him. Let’s convince him that there’s another way.”
“But, I’ve got a strong impression that you know I’m at least partially right about this. Our choices are ‘Help him,’ ‘Stop him,’ or ‘Get the fuck out of his way.’ In no particular order.”
Dinah: “Are you telling me, a liberated free woman, that I can’t be anything I want to be? Tch. Someone probably should have raised you better than that. Someone definitely should have raised Superman better than that. There’d be a definite style to using something that used to be used against him to fool NOWHERE. Maybe he’ll even appreciate the irony. If nothing else, hopefully he’ll just appreciate the help, or at least use it for our benefit with no spoken thank you.”
I’ve got the vantage now that Stephanie’s moved to be able to see both of them at the same time without having to turn like Tim does. She’s in the process of spreading her arms out in a ‘hey, c’mon!’ gesture like all this constant dogging is actually starting to offend her a little. Or maybe she’s just unable to passively take the comments. I know someone else like that in this room, and they’re also blonde. Lot less fond of purple though. And while she’d insisted she wasn’t going to get herself killed, she’s also here. And still here after the threats, which tells me two pretty important things; she knows she’s not good enough for this, and she wants to learn. I can work with that. She just may not enjoy the pace.
“Everything, but the me was heavily implied. Especially when he started to pull the well, gosh ma’am I’d love to fuck you right over the … ahem. Children present… moving on… but I really probably shouldn’t. I was pretty flabbergasted myself. How do you know she can’t? Has she tried?”
“…what kind of relationships do you people have!? And that’s …too bad about the girlfriend. I mean. Unless you’re happy about that and… I’ll tell my friend. I’m going to stop now…”
Stephanie’s hands on hips posture has what looks a lot more to do with general awkwardness of not being sure how to stand in a get up like that, while not engaged in anything else, rather than because she’s still trying to catch her breath. I can’t hear her panting anymore, or see any shifts in the face mask that indicate she’s puffing. I take the time to size her up again a little more fully with Tim’s back to me. I actually let him carry on about his reasonings without interruption from me because I think I need to hear it fully to understand.
“…I did not. I borrowed it from school. And I wasn’t actually out to punch anyone…”
The girl may be defending herself but she’s doing it in a glowery sort of way as she folds her arms across her chest that’s coming off as more to herself than justification for Tim, and not meant for anyone else to have to overhear. I’d say we’re both caught flat footed with his sudden turn, only I’m not the one that an attack’s being flung at and she wasn’t expecting it in the least. Arms go up, though her posture prevents her from moving quickly enough to get more than one forearm in the way for the discs to bounce off.
“What the hell was that for!”
“Huh. Not bad. More elegantly avoided if you’d just pivoted to the side and let them go past. Unless you knew they’d just bounce off your suit that is…”
She didn’t know that.
“…yeah I… will read the manual when I go home.”
“It’s Damien. I can’t put him in time out unless all the rest of you are going to help, unless I get to maim him first and I’m not going to do that, and he’d probably only take kicking his ass for encouragement to keep doing the same thing he already wanted to do. And I know it’s hard. I do. With all the tech, tools, and manpower we’ve got working for us to have nothing can make it feel like there is nothing, or that the longer it’s taking the more something that you’ve missed is going to slip away forever.”
My exhale is a lot more resignation than exasperation this time, and I scrub a hand through my wind and walk tousled hair, ignoring Stephanie’s harumph as she pulls her hood back up once again. So much purple…
“I couldn’t see what went on inside. I didn’t have any of my stuff. It could have read like they just picked the same target, cooperated, and then went their own ways. I didn’t stick around after obviously to sort it out. Option three there, I’m afraid, has the very strong possibility of leaving Gotham with two rabid dogs before this is over. And one is difficult to stop as it is.”
Tim: Actually, I would never tell a woman that they can’t be anything they want. Because I believe in that. Anyone that thinks otherwise? Hasn’t met Barbara, the book-smartest person I’ve ever met. Nor Dinah, who can throttle just about anyone (including Superman apparently). There’s no limit to what a female can do, except the societal constraints that hold them down and their own ambition. That said, I’m pretty much in complete agreement with her assessment on the tech problem. Utilizing what NOWHERE used on their Clone in the first place, which kind of gave us our rotten apple, would be the best sort of irony.
“Wait, you mean to tell me that Children being present keeps you from saying what he was going to fuck you over, but not that he was going to fuck you to begin with? I know at least one set of teenage ears that most certainly would have rather had none of that information. Absolutely none of the information about Conner Luthor putting his hands on … all of that.”
There’s a sideways glance at Stephanie once more, but otherwise I’m leaving that alone. For now. The questions and the manner in which she throws them out in her fishing expedition. Instead of that, I let my focus remain on her abilities or lack thereof, for now. “Well your new cape is flame retardant, projectile kinetic diminishing and bladed weapon deflecting. So give them back their terrible bath towel. Because -that- was your first chance to actually use the cape functionally, instead of as a fashion accessory. We don’t wear capes just because they look neat. As Dinah will tell you, if they’re not fulfilling a function then they’re actually a detriment. From now on, if you’re keeping the cape, make it your new best friend. An extension of you.”
“She didn’t know,” following up on something Dinah said, “Even though I told her to read the manuals. She was barely out of my sight before she was changing in to it, the night I gave it to her.”
She’s nailed it. The main reason that I took to outfitting Damien. It’s difficult to be back in Gotham. To face the loss of my Father, for the second time. Knowing that there’s a kiler out there, but not being able to find it would be maddening enough. It’s actually worse than that. I’ve been able to turn up nothing. Not a thing. As far as I can tell, Dinah has turned up nothing. Damien is the same. If Dick has found anything then he’s kept it himself. The only person making any headway in the whole damn city on this case? Is the Joker (and now Damien), because they’re doing the one thing that the rest of us can’t do. Eliminate suspects from the list, by eliminating the suspects entirely.
“Look, I don’t actually agree with the methodology. But we both seem to agree that it’s the only thing that’s gotten any results at all. Maybe we can talk to him. If we can’t stop him, without breaking him, then maybe there’s another option. Maybe we can aim him. Limit the collateral damage. I mean, that’s one of the reasons I gave him the tech in the first place. To keep the collateral damage down.”
Except that I was actually thinking too shallow. I’d been trying to reign in the damage Damien could do to the Wayne name and legacy. I hadn’t considered, even for a moment, that he would actually do something reckless like work with a madman. The City can’t handle two of them. It has barely handled one before and she’s right about that. Batman had a hard enough time controlling one of them. This could turn in to a catastrophe.
“Damien would tell you that you’re highly over-estimating yourself if you think you could maim him. Even with all of our help. Lucky for me, I’m not about to call that a bluff.”
by Michele | Sep 14, 2017 | Chronicles
Steph: It was just supposed to be one time. Famous last words of every kind of junkie that there ever was. I wonder if The Douchebag ever said that to himself, before he started making a crapton of really wrong choices, that he seemed to think were the right choices at the time. And also now despite having repeatedly gone to jail for them. I mean, maybe I ought to be grateful for his perennial awful example. It taught me what not to do with my life, and it’s not like he’s a serial axe murderer. That I know of. Just a tool, that had some really great things going for him, but those really great things didn’t matter enough when he got his feelings hurt and wanted to get some good old fashioned revenge.
(…wait a minute…)
Well. It’s completely not at all the same thing as what I’m doing. I’m not doing anything illegal (..ehhhhtechnically?..) for starters, and I’ve got absolutely good intentions (…onthesurface…) to go along with my questionable life choices. I’m out here to stop crime from happening, and even though it’s kind of harmless in the scheme of how bad it could be? It’s still hurting someone. Not even just me. And I’m going to do it. God. My Mom would be so pissed. Maybe even more pissed than The Douchenozzle would be if he ever found out, because he’s sure never seemed to enjoy being thwarted. Being thwarted by me might make it extra awful.
Good. That’s the point. Perfect world he’s not going to find out though. Not until I get to have some kind of grand AHA moment that I haven’t fully made a plan for just yet. Gives me time to perfect my heroic victory laugh. Which currently in my head sounds a lot more like dastardly melodrama villain. Sue me. I’m new at this. Something that’s been more and more clear to me each time I have gotten rudely interrupted by some jerk/punk/vigilante. They’ve all got way fancier gear than me and my grappling hook from the sporting goods store, and my improvised brick weaponry. Or the ‘borrowed’ from what passes for a drama department in a crummy public school outfit.
Maybe it’s paranoia, but I’m actually kind of starting to think that it’s on purpose. The interrupting. Hence the super circuitous route to my destination tonight. Which seemed like a way better idea at the start than it is right now at the peak of my building jumping, alley swinging, dumpster dodging (…please not diving, can I even wash this cape?…) trek across the even seedier parts of Gotham than I actually live in. Starting from the opposite side of an abandoned building that I crawl through to reach what little gear and getup I have, and then onwards to an address that the DoucheRocket thought he’d secured.
Seriously. I need a bike. But there’s something kind of humiliating about a Huffy.
Tim: Who needs a bike? Not this guy. I’ve got one. Along with all the other gear that Bruce put in to play for me. Along with that I’ve got some that were improved upon by your’s truly. Funny thing that, I’ve turned in to the guy in the know about that sort of thing. Funny. All of the folks in the extended family and I’m the only one that every really paid attention to how we got all the things we get. Lucius Fox may have may have made some of the tech, but Bruce designed most of it. He was doing a lot of this long before Lucius was in the picture. I’ve picked up the ball on that and ran with it. Lucky me.
Mind you. It did afford me the chance to setup a discussion with Damian. He’s been doing some pretty bad stuff to the criminal element of Gotham of late. A lot of people think they can curtail him, I’ll settle for helping him not get himself killed and not being in jail when the dust clears. Until he gets this all out of his system, because I learned a long time ago that you’re not telling Damian what to do. You’re just not.
Now, in stark contrast to that. I had some hope for this one. She showed a lot of heart, promise, if not a lot of brains in our first meeting. The plan had been to arrange for her training, but then she went out and started doing this all on her own again. Lucky for me, not so lucky for her, that she’s one of the people I’ve got drones trailing. It gives me a good idea of where she’s at. Which allows for me to plot an intercept course that, unless she does something crazy, should put me right in her path.
Or. Rather it would. If I didn’t do what I’ve been trained and plant myself on the next roof in her path. That way when she comes full tilt over the side, she gets to walk in to the shadowy, ominous figure of…. well. Me. But I’m sure to look ominous with the shadows and such. Maybe I’m not a six foot bat, but I’m a near six-foot Red Robin! It’ll have to do.
“Hey,” no lecture, no tone of judgment, just a quick greeting and then, “If you can keep up, follow me.”
There’s nothing more. If she follows? Great. If she elects not to then our next meeting will involve a slightly different tactic. Either way I’m turning, dashing and diving over the edge of the building. Unlike her though, there’s a bit more safety involved when I’m doing it. Not just the tether that I could shoot out at any moment, but the cape functions as an air foil. Allowing me to glide downwards to a soft landing next to a bike. My bike. Call it a Hog. Built for speed, made for endurance.
Steph: I’m a lot of things, clutzy isn’t usually one of them. If it were my choice of hobbies and nighttime activities would probably have gone from possibility to already happened and six feet under the ground. Maybe an overreaction to something that I didn’t expect would send me off kilter every now and again, but under my own steam I’m pretty great on my feet. Now, believe it or not I’m actually pretty aware that I don’t fully know what I’m doing out here. Down for ill advised plans and schemes? Yup, you betcha. Stupid? No, not really. That still doesn’t mean I want to look like a dumdum in front of anyone. Bad guys. Other vigilantes. Alley cats (…they judge and you know it…). So in about five seconds when my arms stop their idiotic windmilling as I work at keeping my balance after crashing into a not brick wall person (…though, whoosh is he solid…), and I regain my footing, and drop out of being about to sail a left hook? I’m going to be kind of mortified and a little grumpy about making myself look like (..you guessed it…) a dumdum.
“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”
And that was your out loud voice, Steph. Hey. Who just says hey like, sup, super casual meeting we’re having here, when I was probably laying in wait to ambush you for some bro-class upnodding and… yeah he’s already taken off. With a grunt of annoyance that I hope is a lot more quiet than it sounded in my head I start running again. I mean, what else am I going to do? I stand there, or take off in another direction and that implies that I can’t, in fact, keep up with him. And while I don’t really want to end up following another dude around the city doing what he wants instead of what I came out here for I think my ego’s winning this battle for control of Stephanie’s brain.
I don’t have a tether. What I do have is a lot of experience in climbing out of and around windows, hopping off and over railings, and the lack of just enough self-preservation to not question whether not I’m going to stick the landings I’m aiming for. I don’t get down there as quickly as he did, but I guess it’s good enough. And that was a pretty short goose chase (…thank God because I’ve already been at this for like fifteen minutes…). The last half dozen feet find me with feet on the pavement, knees bending to absorb the impact before I tilt my hooded head at his… is that even a motorcycle? What the hell?
“So is there like. A secret, member’s only Costco for Capes somewhere that you guys all go to? Because I need to get me a card.”
Tim: “Yes.”
It would be a lie to say that this meeting wasn’t on purpose. Maybe more so to intimate that I hadn’t planned carefully to meet her exactly where we did. Though a little gambling in whether she’d actually follow a pattern or not. Then following the drones, to put myself in position. So. Yeah. I’m exactly where I want to be. She’s where I intended her to be. All of which is on purpose.
What that purpose is? She’ll find out once she’s actually made it to the ground. Which is thankfully not by way of going splat. Again. If anything this is the first element she’s shown that demonstrates practice. Doesn’t actually take a detective to figure out how someone might learn how to scale a building to the ground. Especially in this city. Especially as a teenager with a life outside of your parent’s apartment. I learned when I was barely ten. The reward for completing this feat is a lot like an achievement that comes in a low, yet appreciative whistle. Not the cat-call variety, but the ‘I’m impressed, you didn’t die. Or break your ankles.’
“Actually. Yes. There is. That’s why I’m here. To give you your card.”
No, really. I’m not even teasing her. Because before she’s even had a chance to start piping in with her witty reparte, I’m opening the bike’s saddle bags. This isn’t a game. I’m not hiding anything. She’ll see items being pulled from within. First is a long telescoping staff, collapsed in it’s current form it looks more like a billy club. Then there’s a small utility belt, appropriately colored to match what she wore the first time we met. In addition to that is a well folded set of what looks like spandex, but upon inspection is a fiber mesh of polymers that serves to make up most of the Bat-costumes. Diverting bladed weapons from being lethal and hopefully blunting the penetration of all but point blank or high caliber gunfire.
Once set upon the seat of the bike, I turn slightly enough to see her out of the corner of my eye. “Like any good Costco, there’s a membership form and signup fee. Lucky for you though. We’re currently running a promotion. Sign up today and you get free training with the Black Canary. Gotta hurry, it’s while supplies last and they’re going like hot cakes in this city.”
Steph: “Wait. Really?”
Like anyone expected a straight forward answer there, especially not to a meant to be inside voice that turned into an out loud voice rhetorical that happens way more often than it probably really should. I mean, I sure didn’t. I kind of expected him to be all cryptic and judgey again. Maybe that’s not fair. He did try to poison me the last time. Even though I’m actually pretty sure he was making all that up in hindsight. I mean. What would that have accomplished? If he was aiming for keeping another vigilante off the streets there were probably less nefarious ways that had less potential for going wrong. Or. Alternately he does that all the time (…in which case, yikes…)
The whistle earns a dramatic flourish of my cape forwards and into a bow. Lowering my forearm after a moment because that pose was reading a little vaudeville mustache twirler, but I’m also fairly sure that’s the whole purpose of a cape. Dramatic flourishing. Because I can tell you, my school has never, ever put on any kind of period play with anything close to period accurate wardrobe to go along with it. Seriously. I’m shocked this thing was even in there without some kind of vermin having bitten holes in it.
“…wait. What?… I know I just said that but. Seriously. What? There’s actually a card? And a Costco?”
Of course there’s not, but my chattering carries on almost autonomously from the actions I actually am focused on. Like pinching the bridge of my nose through the lower face mask I wear out at night (..sporting goods find, not dramaflop department..), and some actually serious thoughts on why he’s telling me about the repository of heroic gear goodness, and what kind of serious mega-catch is about to be revealed to me. I didn’t exactly make the best impression last time, I’d bet. Or maybe I did! Since I didn’t get left for the back of a police cruiser. I’m also rambling away while he’s digging out goodies like some sort of shadowy Equipment Fairy that visits good little girls who leave thugs’ teeth under their pillows (…ew…). Are those…really for me? So it really was on purpose but I’m having a bit of a hard time grasping the why. Or what it’s about to cost me.
Because it’s pretty damn unthinkable to believe there’s not something in it for him. Still. It’s kind of all I can do to not snatch and grab at the proffered loot, like a kid that knows he who acts last goes hungry. Clearly building facade monkey bar hijinx was not the only skill you could pick up from a misspent childhood. I restrain myself into leaning forward to peer at it all though, and I don’t need to touch or be in any kind of nice lighting to know this is serious upgraded shit. Like, much closer to what he’s wearing than forgotten public school auditorium closet. Now it’s my turn to whistle. It probably sounds more like cat-calling though, because… Damn.
“Black Canary? Like… the Black Canary? I’m pretty sure she’s screamed at… ” The DouchePrime. Too much sharing, Steph, keep that one to yourself. “..a whole lot of people that thought better of making her mad agaaaain and… I thought she was gone?”
I mean, it’s been a couple years. I’ve got a pretty good education on the city’s lowlifes, and do gooders though it’s possible my information’s a little out of date I think I would have heard rumblings of her being back in action. Gotta respect a lady that can run around kicking ass in undies with no apparent self-esteem issues. Or a dude. No judgement here. But why would she care, let alone bother and I’m not sure that I… See. I might say to myself right here that I don’t need the training, but I really am not a dumdum. I’ve got a pretty mean hook, a nasty sucker punch and my knee is a ball seeking missile in its’ own right, but there’s a reason I try to avoid direct confrontation when I’m out here like this. Actually knowing what I was doing? Man. I could do so much more.
“…uh yeah? No. Not a question. Um yes.”
Because I’ll take a few fighting lessons as a payment for shiny new toys. Still seems like too good of a deal to be true.
Tim : “Really.”
Why would I lie? She’s in my city. Untrained and untested. Picking fights with people that could be her end. Or worse. I wasn’t fibbing last time when I said that if I allowed her to continue then her fate would be bound to me. I’d take whatever happened to her personally. A failure of my own to not put the brakes on like Bruce taught me. Even if I can’t say that I control people’s decisions, Batman proved long ago that you can in fact control someone’s ability to get themselves killed. He once told me, after a particularly nasty encounter with a guy in a hockey mask, that he let the bad guys beat the would-be hero to smithereens, because walking the rest of his life with a limp? At least meant he walked the rest of his life.
So if I’m not going to put a stop to this kid’s ambitions, then I’ve got to make sure she’s prepared for the life she’s wanting to lead. She convinced me before, if only of one thing, that she would continue doing it so long as she was able. No matter what I said or did to the contrary. So I’ve either got to put her in jail, let her get hurt or… I’m back to helping her prepare. People with the drive are few and far between. This girl kept going even after falling off a building.
“Really-really. There’s a membership card and everything.” The steady look, monotone voice, and lack of efforts to be a wise ass suggest that I’m actually speaking the truth. “Gone? Not exactly. Off the radar, is a little more apt. She’s actually a card carrying member of the franchise. Alright. More like a free agent, but I’ve already asked her if she’d be willing to train with you.”
“That kind of brings us to the terms of your membership. It’s non-negotiable, but I think you’ll find it slanted heavily in your favor.”
Taking a single step back, I clear the way for Stephanie to actually approach the gear. I’m not locking it down or telling her no. If anything this is a little bit of a sales pitch. Tongue in cheek, sure, but I’m not hiding anything about what I’m offering. It is exactly that: An Offer. She can take it or leave it. This is an effort that clears my conscience, if anything. There’s also the added benefit, that if she succeeds in what I’m about to tell her? That she’ll make a good asset in the field. Without the Batman? We need all the help we can get. More than we even really know yet.
One hand casually gestures to the gear, the other to Stephanie. “It’s your’s. So long as you do everything the Canary says. Until she says you’re ready. The moment she says those words? All of this is your’s. You can walk away from Batco with the merchandise. You quit? You wash out? Then we agree your heart isn’t really in it. Then you either find somewhere else to play dress up or you go find some other way to fill that desire you spoke about last time.”
“One more thing. You’re not going to want to stop what you’re doing. I get that. So I’m not even going to ask for you to wait until you’re trained. I’m just going to make it clear. Right up front. You won’t be able to keep a secret if you work with us. If you think you can, okay. But like I said, I’m not a fine-print person. I want you to know what up front that it’s better to tell us everything. Put your spin on it. Might as well use all of the tools at your disposal.”
Steph: “Huh.”
You’re not only one who can use one syllable responses Red Robin. Though by the way my jawline shifts under the mask, and how my fingers fidget on the opposite forearms in their crossed positions? It’s probably pretty obvious that there’s a whole helluva lot more I want to say. Or ask. Like maybe another few ‘wait, really?’s for good measure. I have a feeling, conditions or no, that even one piece of this gear is probably more valuable than everything else anyone’s ever given me in my whole life. And those other folks weren’t basically strangers in the night (…heh. Well. Now this guy’s got a theme-jingle in my head, and it isn’t yuuuuuuum anymore…).
A brown eyed squint is checking the invisible bullshit meter over his shoulder, because God. At this point I don’t know if there really is a card or not, and I’m not totally sure that it matters. It’s definitely been more than enough to distract and detour me from my really round-about way of getting where I was going tonight. The trip’s going to be even longer because if I take this stuff you bet your ass I’m going to go put it on right damn now. To my credit, or maybe it’s a credit to my general life experience so far, I’m actually quiet and attentive as he spells out the deal itself. Because I’m looking for loopholes, or things that are going to bite me in the butt later
“As long as I do everything the Canary says for combat training.”
Because I’m not in for any weird kinky crap, or dumb enough to tell anyone that I’ll do anything. Not even for some straight up superhero accessories. The huff of air that I suck in, and then push out again is a very audible harumph like I’ve just been mortally insulted. I mean, this guy doesn’t know me, but it’s like he doesn’t know me.
“I’m not quitting. I don’t know how.”
Even when I should. It’s probably the most honest thing I’ve said about myself all week. How’s that for a way after school special type of moment? Unfolding my arms from across my chest, I pick up the folded clothing, and bring it closer to my face. I can’t feel the fabric itself through these crummy gloves but I can always do that later. It’s lighter than I expected. I shift from examining it, to eyeing Robin sideways and then back again a few times. Better to tell them…. Everything. That could mean a lot of different things, and cover a lot of aspects of my nighttime activities but. I’m in. I can throw in a bone when I’ve been given what’s basically a smorgasbord. Even though I don’t really wholly agree with his reasoning, I’m not really going to judge. I mean. I’m benefiting here.
“Cluemaster’s up to something. Been up to something.”
Tim : “That’s kind of why we’re here.”
I knew right away she wouldn’t quit. At least not without coming to a point where she physically or mentally couldn’t handle going forward anymore. Batman might have been willing to take her to that point himself. I’m a lot less willing, maybe a lot less able, to do something like that. Above all else, I can understand having the need to be out here. Doing something, anything, to help make your own world make sense. That said, I still circle back around to not wanting her (or any one else’s) death on my conscience.
Hence. Gift bag.
“I’m not locking you in to doing her laundry. But, I’m also not letting you re-word my offer to be only combat-training. Whatever training she thinks you need to be out here? That’s her prerogative. Not your’s or mine.”
This has an air of finality about it. I think I’m clear enough that this isn’t some deal with the devil. In fact, not one ounce of this benefits anyone but Stephanie. Loop holes? Only in so much as being a agreement that if she washes out, she’s done. But even that is entirely in her control. It’s all up to her. Which is also why I won’t let her whittle down the terms to be only combat. If Canary needs her to learn how to be a Detective? That’s all part of the job.
“That doesn’t surprise me. He’s not the only one who has gotten active recently. What you probably don’t know, is that your window to make a move on Cluemaster is probably closing faster than you think. Joker and Red Hood are roughing up or taking out just about anyone with a past connection to the Batman. So, I think we better fast-track your training. Take the gear. In the belt is a transceiver. It will chirp, unless you silence it like a cell phone. When it goes off, answer it and either Canary or I will let you know where to meet us.”
“Go on. Go put it on. You’ll get the call soon. If not tonight, then tomorrow. Try not to kill yourself with the grappling hook before we get to teach you how to use it.” Because it’s very clear, to me at least, that this isn’t the type of girl who’s going to tuck all that in a drawer to wait for when she’s read the instructions or been shown how to use it. “Let me know if the suit needs any alterations. I put it together with approximations based on my assessment of your shape the first time we met.”
“Yes. That means I checked you out. Yes. There may be a bike in in it for you, if you pass Canary’s boot camp. Yes. There actually is an instruction manual. If I were you? I’d read it before you accidentally poison yourself. Or taser yourself. Or gas yourself. Or mace yourself. Stab yourself. Really. Read the manual. Stop checking me out. Just because I did it, doesn’t mean you get too. I was assessing. Read the manual. Stop grinning like that. you’re not going to read the manual are you?”
Steph: “Well. Good! I… think.”
He probably thinks he knows that you’re going to get yourself splatted, pasted, shot, axed, run down or otherwise murdered. And since he has a conscience that goes above and beyond what you’d expect out of a lot of people in this city, with some kind of moral code, that’s led him to being here. I happen to think that’s not a totally fair assessment, since it’s hardly been my fault that things haven’t totally gone as planned and all (…well, nearly all there was that time the other night. And the one before that…) of the violence involved has been thanks to some other vigilante stepping on my stakeout toes.
“Alright, alright, alright. Whatever training the pro thinks I need to be the best kind of kick ass I can be.”
That’s good enough for me, and enough of a defining limit to settle my peace of mind. Though the woman (..assumptions again but…c’mon really…) did run around town in fetish wear so who the hell knows what she’s going to think of as necessary for the job. I’ve been waiting this whole time for the rug to get yanked out from under me and so far? It hasn’t. I don’t see any candid cameras. It’s not April. So I have to kind of assume that Robin? Is being legit. That the rest of this is legit. And that it’s not going to be some weird freaky cult crap I’m about to get involved with. (…please don’t let it be some weird freaky cult…)
“But he’s not even really being active. Just encouraging other people to be. The warehouse where we met. Jewelry store last night. They’re doing shady crap, ob-vee, but they’re not doing anything.”
Which is super weird, right? It ought to be for something. I just haven’t been able to figure out what that might possibly be just yet. I’d say maybe there wasn’t anything. That there didn’t necessarily have to be some menacing, over-arching plot except I just don’t think he’d be bothering otherwise. I happen to know for a fact that the Douchebag doesn’t do anything unless there’s something way better in it for him. For now though, I can let myself lose mental sight of the Great Lack of a Caper Caper, and focus on my fabulous door prizes. Which is good, because what he’s told me about losing my window’s actually set the most determined look on my face yet.
“Do we get our own jingly ringtones? Like Kim Possible? Or Go Go Power raaa…nevermind.”
Approximations based on his assessment of…that’s a really out of the way method of saying he checked me out. A lot. Not that what I’m wearing is exactly concealing, except the cloak and hood and my head doesn’t really need measuring. It’s not fat or anything. His admitting that he checked me out makes me let out a staccato ‘hah!’ Though, I mean. That could be good or…bad? I don’t know who that is under there. He could be old (…he doesn’t sound old…) and a perv (…come on it was totally flattering…) And another, more enthusiastic ‘haha!’ for the bike. Jeez, he really is the Gear Fairy. Instruction manual? Pah. And technically I was grinning from the bike potential before he actually gets to scolding me about manuals, or questioning whether or not I will. I’m just scooping up the rest of the gear off the back of his own motorcycle like now I’m worried about the change of heart.
“Just debating whether or not I could whack you with my shiny new stick and make even more candy fall out. Reading. Hah. Life’s too short for that kind of nonsense.”
PSA, kids. Life is not too short for that kind of thing, and learning is not nonsense. Especially if you’re the daughter of a recently, supposedly, mostly reformed drug addict and a career criminal that only reforms himself long enough to break promises and parole, and aren’t especially interested in growing up to be a criminal or a drug addict. I will be reading the manual because what the hell good is a suit full of gadgets and gizmos aplenty if you don’t know what they are, or how to get them to work? Just. Not tonight.
“No peeking, sorta tall, dark and loomy!”
I’m bolting with my haul, and while I don’t intend to change anywhere near here? I’m definitely definitely changing and he’s got a so far uncanny ability to turn up where I don’t want anyone to turn up. I’m already around the corner and out of sight before I remember to tack on the acoustically muffled.
“And thank you!”
