by Michele | May 7, 2017 | Chronicles
Steph : There’s always some little, teeny tiny part of me that wants to believe I’m wrong. That inner four year old that thinks their parental unit can do no wrong and worships the ground they walk on.. Not five though. Before kindergarten I was pretty sure my Dad was a Grade A Douche Rocket, I just didn’t completely understand why. I just knew we’d been ditched. Again. And again.
That’s the problem with addicts though, yeah? Even when they get clean, unless you’re an idiot you kind of get the feeling it might happen again at any time. You get suspicious. You start peeping on their private business in case it’s time to stage an intervention. This time, that intervention was me. This intervention also comes with a heavy dose of danger and adrenaline. I hear some people say addiction is a genetic thing…
I might have been wrong that first time. It was possible that maybe that bank robbery that I interrupted (that Red Arrow interrupted me interrupting) wasn’t on my Dad. He wasn’t there. None of those goons were his usual goons, but he’s a little too smart for that. I know what he’s doing, I just don’t entirely understand why. That first night, there’d been one group. Tonight, it’s two.
“Try to guess where the ball is…”
Muttering, I hunker down on the edge of the roof, watching the progress of the pair of dumdums cutting the heavy padlock and chain to the warehouse across the street. It seems empty, which could be an act but it looks way too unused to be easily faked. Maybe I’ve picked the wrong cup.
Either way, it’s more ‘pawns’ off the board. Hopefully. I even remembered to bring a grappling hook this time.
Tim: You pretty much learn immediately that there is a right way and a wrong way to do this vigilante thing. There’s the wrong way that has some schmuck going to the closest sporting goods store and putting on some second hand pads, carrying a hockey stick, in their zeal to fight the good fight. Then there’s the right way, which involves years of training and preparation. Not to mention Money. Lots and loads of money. Which are invested in to inventory that doesn’t come from Dick’s Sporting Supply.
Me? Well, I’m the show up two hours early for class type, just to read ahead. The stay after class to ask questions type. In short? Preparation is really the name of the game in my world. You might say my whole life was about preparing. Learning from the best, to become the best. Taking each lesson in order to apply it to whatever I was seeking to accomplish. Add that to a natural knack for all things computer and some people might think I prepped for a night out on the town like I was some geek prepping for a Warcraft Raid. Building up my supplies, in order to not go in to the field empty handed.
I always hated that guy who showed up without pots.
“I’m not sure where the ball is,” noting from above, but not far behind her in the shadows, concealed by the black cape that drapes over slim shoulders. “But if that’s a metaphor meaning you’re looking for something? I’m pretty sure you’re not going to find it in that Warehouse.”
“Too clean. Those guys are operating in plain sight. If there was anything worth stealing down there, the security would be much tougher to hack in to.”
Steph: I’d like to say there’s something stoic, smooth and put together that comes out of my mouth when it becomes abruptly apparent that I’m not alone up here in the dark and the wind, or that I manage some nonchalant look over my shoulder like, what up. I knew you were there. I just wasn’t acknowledging you. What comes out is some hybrid of a hiccup and a swear word, as I spin around on the balls of my feet, yanking a baton from my belt.
“Ho’Sheeeii…”
No, it didn’t come from Dick’s Sporting Goods. It came from eBay, thankyouverymuch. Great, Steph. While a face mask and hood should imply some level of mystery, I don’t think it’s nearly enough to overcome that moment right there. What was it Arrow had said about tripping over other vigilantes? I appear to be two for two, and since this one isn’t attacking me, blue eyes narrow over the top of the lower face mask in a bit of an accusatory look, before I turn back to watching them finish destroying what little barrier was provided on that gate.
“Not really a metaphor.”
But that ball must be under a different cup in this particular shell game. And my not getting what they might be after here isn’t because I’m slow on the uptake, but because there’s maybe just nothing here.
“Is there even any? The place looks empty. Why are they bothering…”
I’m not even really asking him. Or talking to him so much as muttering to myself, grumpy because there doesn’t even seem to be much worth interfering in. Other than out of a general sense of spite. And I’m not one to underestimate a good dose of spite.
“Maybe they forgot their keys. Wait. Hack into? Like. Speaking generally or did you already…?”
That time was directed at him. Subtle differences. There’s definitely no blaring of alarms as they roll the gate open, and the engine of the van they’d arrived in stops idling around the corner and makes its slow way over, and then through. Maybe it is just a warehouse. Maybe it’s even their warehouse but that wasn’t the impression I had gotten. They’re not supposed to be here.
Tim : “Yep. Already. Doesn’t look like there is anything there to actually steal. Which leaves me to wonder why those guys are trying. They’re either really bad crooks or…”
Or they happen to be better than they appear. Whether that means they’re more skilled or just well schooled. “If there’s something in there to steal, then it’s not on the Warehouse manifesto. Which means it’s off the books. That leads to a whole slew of questions. Like how they knew it was there, if no one knew. Inside job, maybe. It’s a bit of a mystery, I like those.”
“But, I suppose that leaves us with a choice. Do we wait to see if they’re just terrible at this or do we go down there an stop them?” There comes just enough of a pause, that it might seem this was a question for her to answer, before I’m moving right through and leaving it rhetorical. “It would be a shame though. To get all dressed up like this and then stand up here watching the whole dance like a wallflower. We did go to all the effort to get these suits. Seems like a shame not to use them?”
“You do know how to use that thing right?” By now I’ve stepped out of the shadows of the roof-access doorway and she can see a little more about who she’s talking too -and- see that I’m pointing to the grappling hook, more so than the baton she’s holding. “I can carry you down, but it’s going to look awfully awkward if we show up together. We really should try to keep up the appearance of not knowing one another. Just for sake of appearances.”
“Small town. Word gets around. We don’t want to start all the talk.”
Steph: “Or they’re not stealing anything.”
Which goes one of two ways, I guess. Either it really is a shell game, and they’re a distraction, or they’re bringing something here. Or maybe just gaining access to do that later? Except I would have said this was way too ‘small fry’ to attract any sort of attention from the caped crusader sort of crowd. Except y’know. Me. Judging by what steps out of the shadows, either ‘bigger fry’ happened to be in the neighborhood or the game’s working.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, these are my pajamas.”
I don’t dignify the question about my grappling hook with an answer, though what can be seen of my expression is telling enough I suppose. What with the ‘are you kidding, yes of course I know how to use this thing’ narrowing of blue eyes and all. Even if it’s new to the rotation of gear I’d packed for the night. Some recreational rock climbing, combined with gym class means that yes, I can in fact rappel down and scramble up ropes.
“Yeah, no. They’d probably get all kinds of wrong impressions. We don’t want that. Or you dropping me on my head on the way down.”
Shoving the baton back where it had been tucked in the first place, out comes the hook which I may or may not have practiced with a few times (okay just once) before I came out here tonight. But really. There’s plenty of easy enough anchor spots that I’m not worried about dropping myself on my own head. The descent just might be a little faster than really wise/necessary when I swing off that edge, and down the face of the building.
Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. Inside head voice, Steph. No matter how tempting that rush of air makes it to turn it into outside head voice. I don’t wait. It was his idea. One I maybe probably shouldn’t have gone along with, since I was just originally planning to watch. Maybe do some light vehicular sabotage, and mostly just try to not get caught. Once I hit the bottom, it’s with a bit more noise than I really intended, but either it sounded much louder to my ears than it was and no one heard me across the street and inside the warehouse where the lot of them has disappeared, or they’re just not on the lookout for the likes of me.
Us.
Tim : If there had been any doubt over whether or not she could use the grapple hook? It wasn’t erased when she sets about using it. Not one bit. Part of me is sure that she’s going to go splat. The other part of me is preparing to swoop in before that happens. In the end I’m left somewhat marveling over the fact that she even survives, that I’m not overly displeased with how she’s managed to alert everyone in a two block radius of her arrival.
Or rather, she would have. If they were listening for the sounds of a small animal dropping from abnormal height. It would seem that they’re not. Another clue to the fact that these guys aren’t at all what they seem to be.
My entrance is a bit different. No grapple hook to the ground. Instead it’s a zip-line fired across from the perch we had been upon, to the building we’d been observing. On the way across, I’m pulling up the building schematics. Looking for points in the blue prints that might service a variety of things. Exits, of course. But also those sort of places you might want to hide something that wasn’t on the normal ledgers.
By the time I’m making a much softer landing on the adjacent building? I’m prepared just a bit more for what is going to go on in just a few moments. Sadly, where my erstwhile comrade’s inner voice is ‘wheeee.’ Mine happens to be questioning the fact that I just used her as bait.
I’ll have to worry about my moral compass later. After I finish opening the warehouse skylight to allow for roof access deployment. Strike from above. One of the first lessons that I ever got from Bruce. He told me it scares the hell out of even the most insane, to be attacked from the last place you expect. By a kid wearing a ninja suit and carrying a staff, no less.
Steph: I landed much harder the other night. Of course, then I was landing on someone (on purpose!), and from a much lower height. Air duct vs Roof top, I just slow my descent a bit…slowly and a little bit late, so there’s more momentum than there probably ought to be when I meet the pavement with my feet. My pause is not only waiting to make sure no one heard that and came looking, but watching the jerk launch himself across the street from the get go.
For two seconds I seriously consider using that outloud voice to say what I’m thinking. Oh, c’mon. A zipline? Really? You didn’t say you said a zipline!. Where do you even get one of those? Looks a hell of a lot more effective for entry, and getting around and just general fun. Two outings in a row I’m being shown up by stupid boys horning in on my action (so maybe Red Arrow got there before I did, but still) with clearly better gear than me.
I’d be offended, but I’m not exactly in this for the same thing I assume they are, and who am I kidding I’m still a little offended. This is my offended sprint across the street and through the little gap left in the gate after they’d closed it behind the van. There’s no one out here, and no sign of anyone as far as I can see. No alarms, speaking to the lack of security he’d mentioned. I get a lot less ballsy with my approach once I’m through the gate though.
Inside, the place is about as abandoned looking as it was outside. Disuse, misuse, and lack of general use at all showing in the dust. It makes the tracks of the van and the people inside of it fairly obvious as well. The loading docks on the other side, the general use entrance that I’m trying to make my way silently in through. An upper area that probably served as an office/supervisory area.
And crates. Uniform size, and shape, and looking far newer than the building and its’ use as a whole. Matching the ones in the back of the van that are being offloaded by the pair that had ‘broken in’ in the first place. The driver, having left his post in the vehicle, giving a shove to another box on the end of a row like he’s testing the weight and if he can shift it solo.
“This one, and the one on the end over there. Swap ’em and lets go.”
Tim : First order of business? Tracers. On the boxes that are pointed out. Easy enough. Shot from above, placed on the top of crates. A place where few people would even take notice of unless they were looking. Especially crates that seem to give the men trouble lifting solo. Men do not like to be shown up, even if there’s not a potential mate nearby to witness. So they certainly do not take the time to inspect the lids of such things.
Then it’s time to make a second entrance. Now as I’m descending from the roof, I could put one of the toys on the vehicle. That might seem like the smart play. As it could shut down the engine. Stop someone from making a getaway. But. That would also remove any chance these guys have of making off with the crates they’re targeting and taking one of the tracers with them.
So. Instead of disabling the vehicle? I go for the man in the lead. The one directing traffic. Dropping from the roof. Once more a tether line to the rafters keeping my fall controlled. Giving me enough force to bring the bo-staff to bear upon the leaders skull, but not enough to break my ankles on the landing. Which I’ve just stuck with Olympic precision.
Batman would have something to say right about now. Something threatening, scary. Me? Quite frankly, I don’t have that going for me. Most people don’t turn tale and run from me. Especially not hardened criminals. What I’ve got is the element of surprise and about one hundred and sixty more I.Q. points.
“You know who I am. You know who I work with. Surrender and you won’t have to eat tomorrow’s breakfast through a tube.”
Steph: Slipping inside? Easy enough I guess. They left the bay door wide open. That seems strange. Admittedly I’m kind of new to this version of up close and personal with criminals. I’ve dealt with another version of it basically my whole life, mostly focused around one particular criminal. This still is. Centered around that one, that is, I’m just not sure yet how it ties back. The entrance wasn’t really line of sight from the road so maybe they felt secure?
The other maybe is that I got this all wrong and that they’re not stealing, and they actually belong here and what…forgot their key? Maybe they just figured this would be a quick in and out. Inside the warehouse is dim, light from the overcast moon and not much else outside of headlights that are illuminating the crates they’d come for. It means they’re not paying any attention to me when I sneak in through the doors.
…or it’s because there’s a ninja dropping down from the roof and landing with a whud that makes less noise than the crack of Bossy’s skull, and his subsequent dropping to the ground like a sack of potatoes. God. I feel like I should applaud right now, maybe hold up a sign with the American judges score, with a tenth of a point deduction because he’s not perfectly centered in the spotlight of the van’s lamps. It’s like he planned the whole thing.
As for the two still conscious thugs, jury’s out if they’re shocked, impressed, or also contemplating scoring numbers from Russia and Italy (if we’re being judgey about their complexion/build/nationality anyway). The crate’s released with a thud by one of them, and a ‘watch it fuckwad’ from the one who was trying to set it down carefully. Clearly they don’t really know what they want to do either, and their final ideas are as mismatched as their builds. The crate dropper turns tail to run. The more cautious of the two throws that care to the window and charges Red Robin with a bellow. Probably more impressive if he’d had time to work up some speed.
The Russian representative from the Warehouse Entrance Committee seems pretty hell bent on just getting the hell out of Dodge, and not doing much looking except over his shoulder, and in front of where he’s going. Which leaves me lined up to do a little of my own charging. Well. Lunging. Going from a three point stance, to launching my smaller body into a passing set of knees. Sure, he’s bigger but if you’re not expecting someone to crash into you there’s kind of one inevitable response.
I hope.
“What, no ‘this is a terrible misunderstanding, bro?’ I mean, you could at least try. He’s not that scary if you’re innocent… thoughthestrawthingwasalittleintenseo of…”
My merry bit of conversation and admonition, as I’m righting myself after the tackle is interrupted with a knee coming up and shoving a bit of the wind out of me. Mostly because it caught me off guard than out of any real lasting injury, and I double over for a moment before coming back upright with baton in hand.
“Rude. Seriously.”
Tim : In reality this all boils down to planning and skill. With a bit of excess in the planning stage. Hacking in to the computer system of the Warehouse, if only to find what wasn’t on the manifesto and to find that there was very little in the way of security to bypass. Then a tap of the mask to switch through several fields of vision, so make a count on the men inside. A little night vision to make certain of what it was they were after, specific crates. Tagging them to insure we’d find them even if they escaped. Back to thermal, in order to account for radiation and positioning, before dropping in to the room with purpose.
First the leader. The threat, infighting terror. People fear Batman to such an extent that most don’t know or believe him to be gone. Even though he has been M.I.A. for a bit. At any moment it could be his return, it’s happened before. That splits the difference. Planning, once more, positions my back to the Van’s lights and leaves the brave one charging in to them.
So. When I sidestep like Caytona Ordonez the swish of cape allows only a moment of darkness before the van’s lights spray the man in the face. The butt of the bo-staff is then quick to catch him in the chin, to rear him upwards. So that the heel of a boot can catch him in the back of the head. Putting both his own momentum and the swing of a back-kick in to driving him face first in to his own van.
In turn, it leaves me once more facing away from the van’s lights and taking a visual scan of the young woman’s efforts. “I’d get a sippy cup delivered to your hospital room, but I did warn you.”
I’m far too far away to directly assist, Stephanie. But I’m perfectly distanced away that I can fire the grappling hook in to his back, for a yank. She needs an opening and it’s really the best I can do from this far away.
“Knee. Then Ribs. You need one of them able to talk.”
Steph : It’s all very impressive, and smooth I might add. Or would if I was watching anymore. Stepping out of the way at just the right moment to let environment and positioning be taken full advantage of. Red Robin over there is occupying the opposite side of the fighting spectrum than I am. He’s acting and forcing reactions, which leads them into an impromptu ‘trap.’ While I’m not really on the defensive, but still reacting to the actions of someone else. Namely tall, pockmarked and mule kicky here. At least I think they’re pockmarks. Either that or he’s gotten a whole lot of shmutz on his face.
Jeeze-o-Pete. I was trying to avoid fighting but this Robin guy is clearly a really bad influence. Fighting leads to bruises I have to lie to my Mother to explain, and while I’m a pretty great liar (thanks Dad) I don’t like doing it to her. I guess if I was really all that worried about what I was going to ‘do to her’ I would have taken up a new hobby, though. Not the point. Taking the baton in both hands lets me use it to ward off another kick that seems to have been attempting to knock it away from me.
Luck, more than skill but whatevs. I’ll take it. Puts me in position to yank the telescoping end out and then… I really don’t want to hit him in the knee because he just told me to like some sort of fight coach/shot caller, but it’s right there. The crack makes me let out an almost sympathetic noise to the howl of pain, which gets cut off about as quickly as my banter did when the next swing connects across what’s now a really easy target.
Followed by another knee for good measure. And because I want to feel like I did something under my own initiative here. Kicking over the writhing goober probably doesn’t really make him more capable of ‘sharing time’ but…it feels kind of good.
“I had it. Thanks. Hey, bro. Sounds like he’s got questions for you, maybe sippy cup’s still on the table for you.”
Fuck you, bitch
“Ouch, really? That’s what you’ve got? Unless the question is ‘what is the most expected and least emotionally damaging thing you could say to me,’ I don’t think you’re getting the two hundred… Jeopardy? …okay never mind…”
Tim: Zzzzzzzack!
That’s the sound that emits from the grapple hook’s tether, miliseconds after Stephanie’s jerk spends a few moments being juiced with the taser element. I’m not sure, really, if he actually heard anything that she said to him. But that’s more or less immaterial. The point of this exercise was to let him know that he was going to be jolted, perhaps repeatedly, until he actually shares the information that we’re after. However, I’ve yet to ask a question.
On the flip side? I’m also showing Stephanie that she was actually in no real danger just then. Quite the opposite. I could have tasers the jerk if she couldn’t have handled him once the hook got it’s grip on him. So then that makes the rest of what happened a test of her skill or maybe her ability to follow directions. Probably both. I’ve spent way too much time with Batman. Actually. I have literally spent way too much time around Bruce, I’m doing exactly what he’d do. Except I’m a little ashamed that I’m immediately recognizing that he did it for good reasons.
A couple moments later, I’ve secured the other two readily enough to be sure there will be no recovery. Then I’m making my way in her direction. Juicing the man up every time he says anything that sounds remotely like it’s anything but the information Stephanie was looking for. Even though I haven’t a clue what it is she’s looking for. And I’m getting pretty sure that she doesn’t know either.
By the time I’m standing near again the cape has once more settled around my shoulders. Draping me in the black veil that conceals everything beneath. It doesn’t stop people from recognizing that I’m ‘a stupid kid,’ but it does leave most of them wondering what’s going on beneath the cape.
“I’ve alerted G.C.P.D.. So they’re on their way. So if you have any useful questions for this one, you better ask quickly. Otherwise, if you can keep up, I’ll tell you what’s in those crates over a root-beer float. My suit should be done scanning their contents by the time you’re done asking questions.”
Steph: Boy. I don’t really know if I want to feel irritated or victorious right now. I mean, yeah I clobbered the hell out of the guy, but it becomes pretty clear pretty immediately that Red Robin let me. Which. Is fine. I guess? Except when it comes with the realization that he probably also would have stopped any of the fighting at all if he thought he should or needed to. So I just settle for hands on hips, hooded head cocked to one side as I watch our poor new ‘friend’ writhe from the taser.
And decide yup, it’s fact. Everyone has better gear and cooler gadgets than me. But this one gets to shop at Bats’r’Us, so I guess I shouldn’t really try and compare.
“What’s in the crates, sparky?”
We could probably open them ourselves and look if we really wanted to, and I kind of do but that can wait a minute. Interrogation, huh? Well, this is new to me but I suppose it’s like playing a really aggro game of twenty questions. Since what I get is mostly swear words, and return questions. Not tellin’ you shit. Why are you taking them? Don’t know. Where are you taking them? Don’t know. The answers, after repeated jolting, are getting increasingly frantic and emphatic though. Alternating panting, howling, and swearing that they were just swapping the boxes, and he was just there to do the heavy lifting.
“I don’t think he knows anything. Plus I’m starting to imagine this smell of toasty wet Russian in the air and I mean… I can’t smell it but it’s probably really unappealing…”
P.S. I don’t know what I’m looking for. I just knew there was something going on, and assumed I could wing it from there. Eyeballing Robin sideways around the edge of my hood is partly cape appreciation, maybe a bit of jaw profile, and lingering resentment about being bosses around by someone horning in on my night. Without being asked. If I had to guess I wouldn’t pin him as a whole lot older than me, if older than at all. No grizzly, well worn look to him or the gear. Letting out a soft huff of air through my nose, I walk briskly while he’s talking to the crates they were going to make off with.
Curling my fingers into what looks like the place the lid should pry up, I give it a test before I start looking for something resembling a crowbar. The lid doesn’t come up, which was to be expected. The fact that the whole thing shifts startles me into dropping my hands. Just for a second anyway, before I’m rocking it back and forth again.
“…I don’t think there’s anything in here… were these dummies really stealing empty boxes?…”
Mostly rhetorical with a side of my thinking out loud and forgetting about the inner voice/monologue options available to me. But there’s no noise, no feel of anything shifting inside.
“I don’t even get to call the cops? I suppose you’ve got a button for that, too. Wait. If I can keep up? You have a freaking zipline. How am I supposed to keep up? And seriously. What is it with you guys and wanting to go out for snacks after the asskicking? Is that like. A thing that no one told me about?”
Clearly I’d ignored the suit scanning bit, in favor of doing some of my own checking. Because I’m really starting to feel superfluous here. But the two they’d indicated taking are well and truly what I’d guessed: empty. Without even packing material to indicate what was in them previously, if there was ever anything at all. The ones that they’d brought with them are another story. Those are well padded and secured to prevent the shifting of bottle after bottle of Metopryl.
Tim : “You didn’t ask the right questions.”
It’s a soft correction, but a correction none the less. One that is offered in the midst of a round of tasering the guy. “You want to know what’s in the crates, but we already have access to them. Along with the truck. What you want to know is where he was delivering them. Who is paying him. Who contacted him for the job in the first place. We have pieces of a puzzle in front of us. If you want to put them together, you need to have the context.”
In spite of that coaching, I’m not really asking the questions myself. There’s a rather arched brow that is afixed to her the entire time she gets side-tracked with the boxes. Then there’s a soft, slow, shake of the head that does manage to wait until she’s not looking. Rookies. Ugh.
“I also have a motorcycle parked around the corner. So you’re not supposed to keep up. It was a test. All of this was a test. To see if you’re ready to be out here. I wanted to know if you’re one of those starry eyed girls who is trying to do this to meet their heroes. Cape Groupies are the worst, aren’t they Tracksuit?” He’d answer if he wasn’t being tasered again. “I’ve decided you’re not. By the way.”
“A cape groupie. Or. Ready to be out here. So you either need to get ready or you’ve got to go. Which is going to depend on how you answer the next question.”
“Why are you here?”
The intonation is made perfectly to emphasize specifically what I’m after. Why is -she- out -here-? What is she doing? Why is she doing it? Is there a real reason or is she just some adrenaline junkie. More importantly, is the shift in stance. Because it says very clearly that the wrong answer is going to mean she’s left here for the G.C.P.D. to be picked up too.
Steph: I mean, I’d like to tell the guy he’s wrong, or dumb, or I don’t know. Have some sort of rebuttal to anything that he’s saying. The problem is that he’s not really wrong. Those would all have been good questions to ask, and great answers to get. If the thoroughly zapped goober on the warehouse floor had them anyway. And while Robin’s not asking the questions, aforementioned goober is trying to provide them anyway. Or at least to provide the right combination of words to convince us that he just doesn’t know. Shifting the blame/responsibility to the one that paid him, who was apparently paid by someone else to make the swap. He’d been under the impression it was not quite legal. Just not with any idea that what they were taking was just a big empty set of boxes.
“…ugh. Wait. You mean like….you? Batman? Yeah, no. Do people really do that?”
There’s got to be way easier ways to do that. Like. I don’t know. Committing a minor, misguided crime or putting yourself in harm’s way in the hope of a rescue from someone tall, dark and brooding. Or in this case, not as tall, broody and kind of cutely insufferable. Or just insufferable. The latter part needs to the muttering under my breath as I collapse my baton again and make my way back over.
“…yeesh, vigilantehallmonitorwhoknew…Ahem. Seems like we need your landing mat conscious to get a lot of those answers. Seriously, who steals empty boxes and if you’re going to drop something off to hide it, how do you know about the empty boxes to swap? Did your fancy computer, whereeveryou’vegotthatshoved, tell you who owns the warehouse?”
I think I probably should process some of what he’s actually said to me, rather than just word vomiting my thoughts on what’s going down here around us which. Hey. He probably knows because apparently this was just a test. It can’t be though. Just a test. Maybe his following me here was, but this was setup by someone else. And this is my business just as much as it is anyone else’s.
“Go…where? Like. Vegas? Home? I’m here because something fishy is going on and I’m going to ruin it…are you trying to menace me? We’re kind of on the roughly same side here.”
I hesitate for a second in putting the baton back into my belt. I might be a little…uh… new at all this but I’m not stupid. He’s got a taser and fancy gear and seems pretty clearly more capable at kicking my ass than I would be his. I mean. Not in a head on fight for sure.
“The other night was a bank break in where they seemed to think they were going to get something really great. There’s these punks, and their dumb empty box swap. Who I picked to pester tonight, because it seemed more legit than the boat I heard about at the docks. It’s like they’re fishing.”
There’s a pause and a roll of my eyes, as I realize that maybe it sounds like I meant something other than I really did just then.
“Not the guys on the boat. I mean. Maybe they are, I’m here, not there. There’s your metaphor.”
Tim : “No. Not why are you here in this moment.”
Taking a step away from the Russian, towards Stephanie. Menace has nothing on the way I’m going all Gandalf at the moment. Making my size appear to grow as I ‘menace’ closer to her with each footfall. Of course this is nothing more than a trick of mind, the shadows cast by the van’s lights feeding in to it. This is a trick that I’ve seen a thousand times. Sort of like a Batman Mind Trick. It lacks only in the hand waving, but makes up for it in the simplicity of the fact that she’s genuinely aware I can throttle her.
“Why are you here? Normal people have no business here. Wearing the pajamas out to the scene of a crime. Two crimes apparently. Are you an adrenaline junkie just out spoiling for a fight? Because you’re green. You almost died jumping off that roof. Your gear barely took that shot to the ribs. You’re exuberant, sure, but you’re not trained. So that means is you’re eventually going to get yourself killed.”
“Or. Worse. You’re going to get someone else killed.”
“That is why I want to know what you’re doing out here. Because if you’re just out here for the thrills then if I don’t put a stop to it? Whoever you get killed is on me.” This time when I stop? It’s to let her see my hand sliding out of my cape, so that she can see what’s in my hand. “Gas pellets. Neuro-toxin. I’ll give you the antidote if your answer is a good one. Otherwise you stay here, for the G.C.P.D. to pick up.”
Steph: Who died and made him the King of telling people who they’re allowed to snoop on and what they get to do with their nights? Especially when coming down here and fighting was actually his idea. I was just going to watch and tail from the rooftops originally, or creep in after they were gone and see the aftermath. But I wasn’t originally going to get so hands on at the bank either. Someone else just walked into my ‘trap.’ Even standing here right now though, really can’t deny that whole adrenaline thing. It’s just a side bonus for getting in the way of whatever big plan this is that’s trying to unfold. I’d just be better at obstructing it if I really knew what was happening.
I’ve already stood next to this kid, unless he’s got hydraulic lifts in his boots (not discounting the possibility, it seems to have basically everything in it) I know he’s not really getting taller than he was then. It still looks like it though, and it’s hard not to react to that. Psychological responses, probably some fight and flight, who knows. I force my face into something a whole lot more stoic than what I feel like, and it probably isn’t totally convincing but hey. Scowling is better than shrinking away like I’m about to turn tail and run.
Which might not be the worst plan but hey. I already watched the Taserface Show, I don’t want to be next in line.
“…seriously? You do realize how creepy that sounds or does your suit not have a Jimminy Cricket in the souped up package?”
Starting to sound a little frantic there, Steph and he hasn’t even buzzed you yet. I’d be so dead. Like. Beyond dead. Grounded, ground up and dead. Assuming at least that I make it to GCPD and then get turned over to one of the parental units. Well. To Mom. There’s not really any reason it’d be Dad. Not unless some judge was smoking something really potent. So what have I got to tell him to pass his stupid little test?
“It’s personal, okay? Which is why this…”
Making a wide gesture to take in the warehouse, the goonies, the van and crates. All of it.
“…is something I have to do.”
Tim : What happens then and there is the equivalent of ‘Parental Figure folding his arms in awaiting of more.’ Only I am not folding my arms, but equally making no effort to do anything else either. The longer we wait the closer the G.C.P.D. is to making their arrival. Which leads to a ticking clock that is not even of my doing, but it’s good enough.
“I’ve seen Batman break someone’s knee(s), plural, to send them home and save their life. Not to mention the lives of others who they might have gotten killed. A little neurotoxin is actually a step up in the Humane department, really.”
“Personal. Hm.” There’s just enough worry in her voice to tell me that she’s at least speaking the truth about that. She used the right key words too. ‘Have to do,’ instead of want to do. “Alright. if this is something you have to do then you need to learn how to do it right.”
“The first lesson is free,” pointing with the free hand at the pills in the other, which I’m summarily tossing to her. “Those are gummy poppers. You didn’t even look. I could have demanded anything. You’re not very good yet, so you need to make up for that by taking stock of everything. Make a plan. Even if it’s just a small one. Make people play your game.”
Turning just slightly enough to fire the grappling hooks’ auxiliary cable up at the roof we only just recently vacated. “Second Lesson. Always have an escape plan. Need a lift or do you want the cop-cams to see you scrabbling up the side of the building?”
Steph : “You guys have a real knee thing going on, don’tcha? I mean. Won’t deny it’s effective…”
Given how I just kneecapped the Russian myself. Twice. Painful, and makes it hard to do anything important very easily. Like running, for example, or fighting back effectively unless you have a gun. Not that I’d really know about the latter, outside of knowing how to fire one properly. Again. SuperthanksDad. Clearly I learned all my useful/worst skills from the man.
But at the very least, out of all of this, he at least seems to believe me enough that I’m still conscious and not in a heap waiting for the police to roll up and apprehend the assorted crew of ne’er-do-wells in the warehouse. The shoulder slumping sigh I let out is just as much relieved as it is exasperated at Red Robin. Especially with the revelation of what the ‘pills’ actually are. Really. I mean. Really. All I have to say to my credit is that I manage to snag them out of the air.
And then resist the kind of childish urge to chuck them at his head.
“How do I know you guys don’t manufacture your knockout drugs in gummy form? Maybe Batman’s the Willy Wonka of crime fighting.”
Here’s the thing. Even when you know you’re not very good at something? It still pretty much sucks to have someone tell it to your face no less. Talk about smug superiority over there. Fortunately I’m not stupid enough to discount what he’s saying because of the delivery. I can still be grouchy about it, and just a hair on the ungrateful side though. Lips pursed, thankfully hidden underneath my mask, I spend a moment considering my chances with option two.
“…Ineedalift. Please.”
by Michele | Apr 2, 2017 | Chronicles
Dinah : There’s nothing quite like the dedicated ‘hobby’ of vigilantism to remind you exactly why you’ve never been a fan of ‘the system’ and cooperating with ‘the law.’ Just how many ways the rules that they’re there to enforce can also tie their hands. Once upon a time, I thought it was a path I’d be able to follow. That I’d be next in the line of a long family tradition of Detective Lances. Like Dad, like Grandpa, like his father before him. Maybe I could have succeeded at it, too, had I gone about my life in a different order.
Maybe trying to work a criminal justice degree while you’re moonlighting as a masked, powered ass-kicker doesn’t exactly set you up to succeed. School? That’s back in Star City. Along with a lot of other things that should probably have been harder to leave with Helena called me than they were. Taking orders and following the rules just wasn’t going to work for me anymore. Not after all the personal examples I have of it failing, and my successes in walking in the grey areas.
To say everyone in the GPD knows me would be a stretch, there’s new faces or officers from different precincts than my family had traditionally work. But there’s enough of them who know me, or were like part of said family in all but genetics, that there’s no sneaking around in broad daylight at the station trying to find out what I want to know. There’s talk to pick up on, but not enough to give me anything good and mostly? Just the irritation of the person I need to talk to not being there. I don’t leave a note, or even ask after the Detective I’m seeking. I don’t want to tip anyone off.
You never know. And you can never be too careful. Still. Leaves me wanting to go punch something in a place that’ll make it squeal. Maybe twice. Gotham isn’t my place anymore, even though I’ve just as much historical claim to the place as Batman ever did. It leaves me feeling in a weird sort of … limbo, and the sun’s not nearly low enough in the sky for me to be able to function in the way I really want to just now.
“Did you have anymore luck than I did today?”
Hanging out with a minor in a bar is normally not the best idea, even if you are fast and loose with rules and regs. It’s not late enough at night for ass kicking, which means that it’s also not late enough that the Pretty Bird is serving alcohol either. I guess that means that we’re both safe in here right now. Heavy enough on the espresso, and while it might not burn the throat it at least has a bitter enough taste to make my senses upset with me.
Tim : “Learn anything? No, but that doesn’t actually mean that I do not have anything.”
Despite this being a bar it’s pretty clear to even the casual glance that I’m right at home here. That or I don’t know enough about the seedy element of Gotham to have learned to be afraid, yet. On one hand it speaks of familiarity, perhaps with the owner who happens to be talking to me. On the other hand, I’m all but asking for trouble at the same time. It happens to be a fine line here that I’m walking. Asking for trouble, yet putting it off too.
This is topped off by the manner in which I’m sitting there. The nonobservant would think I’m a school kid doing his homework on the counter top before him. They wouldn’t be wrong, actually. The notebook has some scribbled names, which are then being cross-referenced with connection that were known before I left Gotham to go to school. Along with those is a series of marker points that tell the story of people either no longer in play and those whom still happen to be active. Detective Work, more so than homework. The purest kind too. Boots to the ground sort of work that isn’t done from a Bat Cave, with a Bat Computer.
Although, in almost the same breathe, the trained eye would notice quickly that those scribbled notes are only footprints. Everytime I make a connection or cross one out, I’m entering the data in to the mini-computer on my forearm. Much like the act of seeming to be an innocent schoolboy to lure someone in to a fight, there’s no true effort put in to hiding my expensive computers. All but daring someone to try to take it from me.
“For example. There’s no reports of some of the usual suspects being at play, at all. No Penguin, no Two-Face. In some cases, there’s even hints at a couple of the usuals being angry that someone else did the dead. Also? Despite being a bad ass, you eat some of the worst things I’ve ever seen consumed. This is likely due to your inability to cook. Which likely stems from the familial connections to Police routine. No, not all Cops are terrible cooks, but they have a preference for things you can get out of a microwave in under four minutes. This is caused by the innate need to be ready for any call that comes in.”
“Oh. You have a lot of people who know your name, remember the cute girl who’s daddy brought them around the precinct, but otherwise know so little about you that they’re more acquaintance than friend.” Looking up, if only briefly, to peer toward Dinah’s face in curiosity at how she’ll react to this. “You also sleep in the nude. Snore slightly. Think you’re much quieter than you are at night. Oh. And. Uh. I have eliminated you from the suspect pool. Officially.”
Dinah : The raised eyebrow and slight tilt of my head says the words I don’t think I need to out loud. Enlighten me, kid. No, they’re not the same thing. Learning and having information. It can mean that you’ve just confirmed something you were already aware of and wanted to double check for safety’s sake, or to quell any doubters of your intuition. I just continue to drink my espresso like it’s regular, watery coffee. I’m fairly sure at this point, my taste buds are approaching ‘dead.’ Maybe it’s a sort of karma for the sharpening of the other ones. I’ll take it.
We’re not exactly busy, but there’s been enough people in and out that I haven’t helped at all because…I have people I pay to do that. They got along fine before I turned back up, they’d probably be just as happy if not happier if I was gone again and that little ecosystem works for me. They can handle their shit. I’ve got mine.
“Why even bother with the notebook? Visual thing?”
Or it could be the act of doing it twice, like copying ones’ lecture notes, to commit it even better to memory. Tim makes his way from information that’s actually pertinent to what I was wanting to know…
“Which ones? I’m not as up to date on the patterns of the ‘regulars’ as I used to be. But it seems like there’s a bit less bedlam that I might have anticipated. I don’t know if that’s because Damien’s out venting his spleen, and everyone else is back in town or because they’re all waiting for someone else to make the first… well.”
My mouth pulls to the side that’s a grimace over what I’m speaking of, rather than the drink I’ve polished off.
“Second move. Or because they’re all scared of who exactly it was that made the first.”
And from pertinent, he moves on to things I already know because it’s all about me and when it comes down to it? I’m pretty wise to most of my quirks and bad habits. I just don’t care to do anything about them.
“Woahwoahwoah.”
One hand on my hip, the other is held up in front of me in a defensive, halting gesture.
“Can cook, just don’t. I’d like to say it’s because I’m a firm proponent of combating food waste, but mostly it’s because I’d rather spend my time doing other things. Except maybe on special occasions. And when you look like this?”
That halting hand shifts to gesture demonstratively to my figure. Which right now, in an old concert teeshirt and a pair of jeans isn’t exactly shown off to best advantage, but most of the criminal underground (and all the bats) have seen me in what amounts to little better than fetish gear and combat boots.
“You sleep however you want and the Universe thanks you for it.”
Propping my elbows on the counter, I cradle my chin in the palm of one hand and flash him a grin the walks the line of flirting and threatening his life depending upon which ‘mask’ I’ve got on at the moment.
“You’re welcome. Perv. And boy, thanks for the name clear. Do you want to just stay with me instead of where ever you holed up since you’re keeping an eye already?”
Tim : For a moment longer than is actually needed I’m settled there looking at Dinah in such a way that suggests that is being re-measured. Weighed in a manner than going to determine whether she is worthy of the information that she is asking for. We both know that she is, but there’s actually a moment’s hesitation. Simply sign that She is not the partner I’m used to working with. Not the one I’d answer without a second thought.
Just as telling though, is the frankness with which she is then given an answer. “Joker. Near as I can tell from the underground. He’s actually hunting the killer. And he’s not being sidetracked, having to wait for leads. If what I’ve been told is even half true he’s gathering funds for a Bounty on the killer. A big one. Like.”
Her theatrics are just that. A put on show for people to watch. She’s just as good at what she does, as Batman was at what he did. There’s simply a difference in how they did things. Her game is one a sort of magic show. Slight of hand. You look at her. You focus on those theatrics. How she looks, how she dresses, how she saunters. Then you’re not quite as focused on her. It bridges the gap in skill. She doesn’t have to be an unmatched martial artist, when you’re distracted by the sway of her hips just enough for her to kick your ass.
Me? I’m fine watching the show. But only because I recognize she’s putting one on. Theatrics which are matched only by the Cheshire grin she is given once she’s finished. “Thank you.. Speaking for the Universe at large, of course.”
“Oh,” having almost forgotten to answer the original question she’d posed, perhaps having been distracted after all. “The notebook is actually for … well… I’m keeping a journal. For Him. Chronicling what I can of his last moments. Piecing it together. A case file. A real one. For the Cave, when this is over.”
If that was a small crack in the armor, a look behind the ‘Mask’ named Tim Drake? Then the mask is back in place soon enough with a soft, chiding, “Hmm.” That is soon followed by a grin that would melt a polar ice cap. She’s in trouble.
“Certainly. I’ll put my bag back in your closet.” That little journal is flipped open again, but this time to one of the loose pages in the back. With no effort made to conceal the pen scratching out a line of text that reads ‘Get picked up by hot Cougar.’ The top of the page says Bucket List. “Alright. So. Are we calling it the Canary Cave? Canaries and caves seems like bad kharma, given their years in the Mines. But Canary Cage? Given your preference in attire, that’s going to give people all the wrong ideas.”
“Or the right ones. Who’s to judge? Canary Cage it is.”
Dinah : “Mmrm.”
The noise I make in my throat, and through pursed lips, is equal disgust and understanding. Straightening upright again, I shuffle my emptied cup towards the end of the counter so that it’s out of the way, and out of my immediate sight like that will keep me from helping myself to even more caffeine that I do not at all need at this point. More effective would probably have been the sink behind the bar, but I’m just not that ready to be done.
“It makes sense. If anyone was a true nemesis it was him, and frankly would have been my first guess. Except that we would probably have had giant shrieking monstrosities in various forms around the city immediately, to make absolutely sure we all knew who was responsible, if it was him. I’m not sure I like even vaguely being on the same side as the Joker, or I’d suggest we take advantage of his generosity.”
There’s pragmatism, and then there’s morality and insanity. No matter what your end goal is, and how important it is, there’s some lots you just don’t throw in with or you’re going to be forever tainted by the association. Figuratively and perhaps in this case literally as well. That’s a line that’s easy to cross when you’re already taking part in the violence. Tim’s thanks are met with a curtsy, dipped and swept with all the grace that belongs on stage by a songbird after she’s finished some truly impressive bit of vocal acrobatics. Just, y’know. Sans microphone, and dress. Stage. Unless you consider that basically everywhere is my stage.
“I think that’s a nice idea, Tim.”
In complete and utter opposition to the behavior before, that’s said with simple sincerity because I mean it. We’ve all got our different walls to hide behind, and some of us do it so well that sometimes? It’s easy to believe that someone isn’t erecting that facade to cover up something vulnerable and raw. Helena may be who actually asked me to return to Gotham, but I’m here for all of them.
Well. Maybe not Damien. He’s a twatwaffle. Tim’s on his way to earning an ‘endearing’ nickname or two himself. Blue eyes roll at his next page of text, but if I take offense to it I cover it up just like I do everything else.
“Well, you’re half right. Isn’t there some sort of age requirement before you can really be a cougar though? I don’t want you to take credit and pass up an opportunity later in life if a real one comes along.”
Hell, a few more years from now and we wouldn’t even get that many raised eyebrows. I’m not that far past twenty, and he’s not that far below it. Far enough below it, however, that I’m not even a teeny bit interested in justifying any sort of…behavior.
“It might have been pretty apropos before you cleaned it up, to be fair. Maybe the Nest. Then we can brag about how cozy it is, and I can take care of the baby bird.”
Reaching over to pinch his cheek, maybe just a little harder than is strictly necessary.
Tim : Once more there comes a pause. Only this time there’s genuinely no way to discern whether or not I’m giving genuine thought to one question or the other. No tells. No give away. That same grin remains, though there’s a tensing of the eyes that belies seriousness. It’s a pick’em as to what I’m actually considering. Right up until I slap the notebook closed and give the Canary my undivided, full attention.
“Truth is, I’ve been thinking the same things. Joker’s insane, but he’s got no moral constraints. I’ve even wrestled with the mortal dilema of knowing that if I do nothing, then whatever I let that madman do unopposed, is as good as my fault too. I think, to tell you the truth Dinah, given the circumstances here? I could probably live with it, if I knew where it stops. That’s the problem for me. I don’t know where it stops.”
“I mean the bounty itself is going to get eyes on it, all through the city. But. Also from outside of the city. Every bounty hunter, every half-assed detective, every assassin for hire. They’re all going to come looking for the payout. The City could be pushed in to absolute insanity, quick. More than we can handle too, if it brings in people of your… particular meta-human skillset. It’s Bruce’s end-game scenario. And if that wasn’t enough to make me worry? Because it is. It really, truly is. Unlike some of my other comrades, I’m not insane enough to think I could possibly take it all on.”
“If we could eliminate his bounty, contain the potential for it spilling out of Gotham. Going world-wide? Then maybe we could take advantage of it. Of him.” Maybe for the first time, ever, I reach out to touch Canary’s hand without being invited to. “I can’t tell you how important it is that we contain this. All of this. To Gotham. I’ve met people. People we do not want to have turning their eyes on Gotham. So we need to contain this. Contain him.”
“If you know a way to do that and still make use of him as a source for leads? I’m all ears.”
Which leads the way back to the smarmy grin and the shift in tone for the discussion. “Oh. Eh. Don’t you worry about the Bucket List. Good eye, by the way. You’re not really the classic definition of a Cougar, but you’re trying awfully hard to be the Momma Bear of the Cave. What with you rushin home to take care of us. Offering me a place to stay. Worry about whether I even have a place. That kind of puts you in the same bracket. You know. Being hit on by the sexy pseudo-Mom-like figure? I’m countin it.”
“Don’t worry though, Dinah. Even though you’re older and think you’re unavailable. You’re still the second hottest Blonde, I know. So I’ll say Thank You again, if you like.”
Dinah : “He can, and will, do the things that we won’t and shouldn’t. To people that arguably deserve everything that they get. But you’re exactly right.”
I’m more or less recapping what he’s said, just different words for the same thing. The Joker doesn’t have to wait to speak nicely to a detective for the information that they have. He busts into the GPD, or worse, abducts and tortures the information out of someone. That could be some asshole that’s going to be on the receiving end of a Batarang from one of the flock anyway, or it could be a GPD Detective. I doubt very much the madman cares who as long as he gets what he’s after. We let him do what he wants and reap the benefits? It means we’re allowing him to do what he wants to get what he wants. A loose cannon, loosed on the city, is a terrible proposition.
And it goes a step beyond that. I didn’t know about the bounty until now, and consequently I hadn’t considered the latter half of what he has to say on the matter. The Out of Towners. I’m an in towner, who saw the logic in leaving when Bruce had very frankly spoken to me of it. The presence of the Batman had brought people like the Joker, the Penguin, all those others to more prominence but they’re all non-powered. It stands to reason, then, that powered individuals would bring a suitable response.
“Newton’s Third Law. On a Meta-Nuclear scale. You been making some high-flyin’ friends out there in Metropolis, Tim?”
I may have powers, but I’ve never really run with anyone else that does. I worked with Batman and Co. here in Gotham, after he brought me into the fold, but in Star I’d worked solo except when someone else butted in. I haven’t run into many folks who belong in the wild and weird crew like I do, but it’s impossible not to have heard about the Superman and the like. That craziness just seems to keep itself around Metropolis, which I suppose doesn’t disprove Bruce’s theory.
“He’s not likely to be terribly clandestine, maybe it’ll be easy to tail and observe. Stay out of the way, make sure that whoever he’s getting his information from is …suitable. Put a stop to it if it’s not and then run with that bit of string.”
Clucking my tongue, the shit-eating grin on his face earns another eye roll but it’s all in fun and good humor, as much as I’m still absolutely serious in my reasoning.
“I was angling more for cage match referee, but yeah sure. We’ll go with that. And someone’s got to, for all the reasons we discussed the last time.”
I don’t refute the hitting on him part, I hit on everyone. It’s both how the persona and I operate. There’s a very big difference between words and actions, and arguing and denying simply plays into the banter. I know better. Sure, I could probably ‘win’ but I”m not going to go to that point with a teenager. Even I have limits.
“Aww, thank you, so sweet. Know just what to say to a gal. Who’s this first hottest blonde? You’ll have to introduce me so I can check out the competition. Maybe get a phone number…”
Tim : With a subtle nod there’s confirmation that we’re of one mind when it comes to the Joker. The downside of using him -and- the potential repercussions of allowing him to spiral out of control. In a way, there is also unspoken acceptance that she’s got an idea of how to corral the psycho without actually trying to take him head on. Which leaves me only agreeing that I’m going to let her make a play at it.
Understandably, there’s a not-so-subtle moment of my hand squeezing her shoulder that is meant to also convey something else. A reminder of the surveillance. That I’ll be watching out for her, as she watches out for others. A gentleman’s agreement that goes beyond the playfulness that distracts at least one of us from the Death of the Batman.
“Not just Metropolis. All over the world. When Bruce suggested that I go away to further my education, at first I had thought I was being snubbed for Damian. Sending me away to make room for the real son. I was bitter, for all of about a week. Then I started to piece it together. He wanted me to see the world. Not just see the sights, but the world outside of Gotham. He wanted me to apply the tools he’d been cultivating, on that world beyond.”
“I’ll tell you something, Dinah,” leaning closer still, but it’s no longer in an effort to flirt or put the moves on her, this is a genuine secret to be shared. “We all thought he was laser focused on Gotham, but he was keeping an eye on everything. Everything. He knew about the Capes. He knew about some people who didn’t even know they were Capes.”
“And. He knew about the group that’s been tracking those people. So I think, maybe, that was part of the education. Making friends with the High-Flying variety. Which, I was only to happy to do. When they’re leggy, blonde, athletic, cheerleaders that can toss around cars like soft-balls.”
Settling back in the seat for a moment, long enough to gather the things that have been strewn about in to some semblance of a pile that could be carted off in a moment. He was right. You know. About you. About asking you to leave. There’s a boogeyman out there, Dinah. Someday they’ll come for you and when it happens, it’ll be too big for Gotham to handle. Those are the words I’m chewing on, wanting to say but not actually doing so. Instead of saying it, I’ve wormed my way in to her temporary home and graces. All because she thinks she’s protecting me. If she knew the truth, that I’d maneuvered her in to letting me protect her without her knowing? I think she’d probably punch me. Or worse.
“Hey, Dinah. Don’t worry about the flirting thing. I don’t have any false notions,” rising up off the stool, in the same fluid motion that both hands sweep up my notes and books. “Like I said, you’re hot for a number two, but after spending time with a Goddess? I’m pretty sure you couldn’t handle me.”
Dinah : The move of my hand that leaves it patting his on my shoulder is almost absent, almost a ‘yeah, yeah, okay..’ but not quite. The last pat lingers just long enough that it’s more ‘I get it.’ I’ve worked solo, and I did okay. But I’ve also worked on a team and it doesn’t take a brilliant observer to know that there’s a lot of benefits there, like someone watching out for you sometimes even when you don’t know you need it. That requires trust, but if you can give it and get it in return? More than worth the vulnerability.
Maybe even worth the emotions like the sadness that we’re all feeling in different degrees, that brought us back together right now. Something that sets us apart from what we’re fighting.
“I’d say that I’m surprised, but knowing him I’m really not. There’s a lot more to the world than Gotham. A lot more ugly, and a lot more beauty. A lot different.”
I’m taking in every word he says, and I do mean every word. I know I’m not the only meta out there, obviously. They existed before I was born, it runs in my family. You just didn’t much hear about them, for good reason. Either they were a secret government group or… maybe that group never entirely went away. With the way the world works now? Hell, maybe it’s turned into something else.
“Well she sounds lovely. I guess I can’t be too upset if that’s what I’m up against. It is a she, yeah? I mean… not that there’s anything wrong with it if it’s not…”
Sidling out from behind the counter, I round to his side. I can come and go as I please. I just write the checks, and I don’t even actually do that, because management does that part, too. But he’s talking about a Goddess. So I suppose that does mean it’s a girl, and I can’t help but be more than a little curious. It makes a good subject to move onto instead of more eyerolling that I’m rated second best by a teenage boy.
“Wait, like. An actual Goddess or figurative because you’re in looooooooove? Has she been handling you, you scamp? This calls for pizza. To the Roost!”
It’s not the most dramatic exit, though I gesture with some flair. If nothing else, ‘girl talk’ and pizza will allow for some time passing before we really get to prime action time. For crime fighting. Not for anything else.
by Michele | Mar 1, 2017 | Chronicles
Dinah: One might call it extreme willpower that had kept me from knocking Jr. off his bike and then leaving tire marks across his back. Maybe it would be surprising that I have that, given my penchant for skimpy clothing and outrageous flirting. And swearing. And maybe sometimes drinking, but those are all outlets. I’d always had a direction to channel the willpower towards, and then those where it was okay to let loose. It also made it a lot easier to lead the dual lives. The separation. It had been a little bit of that, the willpower. Mostly? It was just leeway. I gave it to him yesterday, I’m not terribly likely to do it again.
I was in his place once. It’s all going to hinge on whether or not he pulls himself out of that mood and into something more productive. It’s very possible he won’t be able to without some intervention though.
“Hnfph.”
A solid, echoing thunk is the answer to my shoulder slamming into the door. It’d probably have drawn some attention if it weren’t for the steady thumping backbeat coming from down below. No one in the bar is likely to have even noticed and if they did, probably wouldn’t have paid too much attention. The Pretty Bird Bar has always been multifunctional. I just haven’t been terribly involved in the running of it since I moved out of the city. The bar portion I’d normally stayed fairly well clear of. Before I would have been out patrolling this time of the night, with the place emptying out by the time I was ready to crash.
When the beverages switch from booze to high octane caffeine, that’s usually my cue to participate. I don’t know how long I”m going to be here, so I’ve just told my managers they can continue to do their thing. Just that I’d taken up residence once again upstairs. It’s clearly in need of some cleaning, I just haven’t gotten around to it yet. Or to fixing the stubborn door that will recognize my keys, but not my authority at the moment. Not without those one or two swift body slams.
Tim: “It works a lot easier if you say the magic words.”
Now that only works as an opening line, if you’re able to really put something in to the statement. Me? I’m saying it from the vantage point of moving to catch the Canary, with all gentlemanly haste the next time she goes to shove a shoulder in to the door. If only because I opened it for her. From the inside, where I’d been awaiting her for too long to really discuss.
Needless to say, I’ve made myself useful. Cleaning. Mostly because there’s this little part of me that is at least meticulously OCD about being in a place with a thicker layer of soot than a chimney. Strictly speaking though, it certainly points to how long it’s been since the owner was about full time.
Now aside from performing minor magic tricks. Picking locks. And making with timely swash-buckling saves of damsels who were about to bite the dirt? I’m also fluent in the language of not getting my ass kicked before I get a chance to explain. So as soon as I’m sure she’s not going to take a tumble, I light in to that very explaination.
“No one knows I’m here. In Gotham or your Apartment, either one. I’d like to keep it that way for now.” Pausing, for nothing more than a heartbeat and a smirk. “Before you get to the grousing at me for breaking in, just remember that I didn’t launch in to asking you why you’re back in Gotham.”
Dinah : “No one really seems to appreciate it when I use my version.”
There’s a handful of actions and their answering reactions that happen in a very short amount of time. Surprise at the door moving, when I hadn’t quite hit it yet. For the third time. Third time has been the charm the other two times I’d come in so far. One to drop off my stuff and sleep after I’d gotten into the city, and the other when I’d trudged back in earlier in the day. Only the still packed bag, and the clean sheets on the bed, along with some footprints in the dust to show that I’d even been at all, because I hadn’t tidied up any of the rest of it. I hadn’t yet decided if it was going to be worth the effort.
The surprise is followed by senses registering that someone opened it for me. The next heartbeat preparing to block an attack, while stiff arming the start of my own, even as I start to pitch forward, into a body that’s ready to not just catch me but keep me from doing exactly what I was about to. Recognition, and a new round of surprise as to who exactly it is. So that the quip about me and my magic words comes with a half smirk, and eyelashes batted a la ‘my heeeeero’ at the boy who’s broken into my not-really-home.
“Want to avoid the jealousy? Great call, Drake.”
Feet under myself properly again, I move in the rest of the way to the place I used to live, that now I’m just going to stay in for a while, yanking the door closed once more behind me. It’s quieter inside than it was on the landing, but not by a lot. The bass is a little lower, less chest rattling, but still present.
“Grousing? You cleaned. You can break in all you want if you’re going to clean. Are you expecting accusations?”
I’m assuming he’s here for the same reason I am. Why he came here first, however, is the real question. Along with the one on the tip of my tongue that’s a sympathetic ‘are you okay?’ I’m not going to ask it. I know I wasn’t when I had to go through what these boys are. Only they’ve got the means to do something about it that I didn’t have at the time. I expect they’ll be using them.
“I’d say make yourself at home, but you already did. Drink? Of the non-alcoholic type. I don’t have anything up here but I’m sure they’ve got something downstairs.”
Tim: “Your version involves less bippity boppity and more &^%$ than anything. So I can understand, if not agree with, their displeasure.”
There’s not an ounce of trying to combat Dinah. At least not once she’s recognized the voice, which I’d made special to give her as a clue before opening the door. After making sure she wasn’t going to clobber an attacker, I was able to move a bit more smoothly in to setting her to rights and out of my arms. In a way it’s a bit of a dance, something to distract. On the other hand, it’s more for her than me at this point. Setting her at ease, quickly, so that we move beyond my breaking in. Of course, she doesn’t seem to mind that half as much as I was concerned about.
“Needed something to do while I was waiting and.. eh.. it was more than a little bit gross. Like. Totally, in fact.” Stepping mostly aside so that she can enter and take command of the apartment. Conceding that is something of a learned trait when it comes to certain personalities and also partially out of difference to this being her lair. Temporary or not. “Well that might be part of the grousing. You’ve currently got more non-alcoholic drink up here than alcoholic. But. Upside? Clean bedsheets. Focus on the bedsheets.”
There’s that smirk once more, however fleetingly long it remains before I get more to the point. “Less avoiding jealousy and more avoiding… well…”
“The truth? I’m wanting to avoid the pity party, at least for now. It might sound callous,” or perhaps a little too like Bruce. “But I’ll have time to mourn later. Right now, I need to focus on the investigation while the trail is at least luke warm.”
“That’s why I’m here. I want your help,” there’s a particular phrasing, the word ‘want’ instead of ‘need.’ “I can do this alone. Dick could do this alone. We were trained do this. The problem is? We need a team to get this done, but we’ve all been trained to be the leader. The only way this is going to work? Is if someone else brings us together.”
Dinah: Maybe if this had been a year or two ago when this was home I would have had a bigger problem with it. If it were someone else skulking in my home, cleaning it or not, it would be an issue even now but this is someone I know. Beyond knowing Tim Drake, he knows my secret, and I know his. Their family’s. If he was here to cause harm, there was ample opportunity. Plus. Honestly. The place looks nicer than it did before I left in the first place.
“The fridge, too? Tch. I’ll curse you later, I’m sure. Right now I’m still riding the hey, place is clean wave with a side of I am actually fairly pleased to see you.”
Not pleased with why I’m seeing him, or why I’m here, but it is what it is. Ideally that doesn’t need saying, but you have to learn the hazards of this life and prepare yourself. Maudlin as that sounds. I just never truthfully expected it to be Bruce that we’d be mourning. Especially without one of Gotham’s regulars tooting their horns from the tops of the bridges and every other platform they could manage.
“No, it sounds pragmatic. And the only thing worse than a pity party, is a pity party of one.”
It’s not an unkind smile that I offer Tim, before tossing my keys on the now much less dusty coffee table that rests in front of a well worn leather sofa, that had been bed almost as often as the actual bed once upon a time. Like the many nights when I’d been too exhausted to make it the rest of the way, or needed the space on said coffee table to spread out first aid supplies.
“Do you have anything to go off yet? No one’s been gloating that I’ve picked up on. Which is telling, just not immediately helpful except for crossing some names off a list.”
Walking across the front room for the apartment’s kitchen is an elegant if funny looking heel to toe shuffle that steps me out of one sneaker, and then the other. Barefoot is a much less disgusting proposition in here now, and even if I sigh over what’s not in my fridge, I still select a bottle of water before leaning on the counter, blonde eyebrow lifted in surprise at what he’s suggesting.
“Too many cooks in the BatKitchen? Yeah, I could see the issue. I ran into Damien earlier. Judging by the … defensive… mannerisms I think someone’s already tried to rein him in unsuccessfully. But that’s what I’m here for.”
The bottle becomes more gesturing tool than beverage, animated hand gestures and an eye roll demonstrating that defensive might not have been my word of choice for Wayne’s son but that leeway thing again. He’s only going to get it for so long, though. I’m not above a little physical demonstration of someone’s asinine behavior and it needing to stop. Sometimes, it’s all someone will understand.
“I think, anyway. Helena asked. I haven’t been to see her yet, though.”
He hadn’t harassed me about why I’d come back, but I supply that answer freely anyway. Which means she, too, is back. Just with a farther trip than I’d had.
“Moral support has a little different meaning for someone like us than it would to your average gal pal. And potentially more vengeance than justice.”
Tim : “Fridge too. Unpacked your bags too.”
Which is the only way I’m going to welcome her back to the City. I’ve put her things away. It’s as good as saying out loud that I’m giving her permission to stay. Although, I’m not one to say it outright that she needs permission. From anyone. Even if the truth is that she does. Without it she’ll be persona non-grata, which in this city is worse than being one of the Bad Guys. Whether anyone else has given it too her, I’m making in-roads here and banking upon the idea that she’ll want to do her part. We’re not speaking about it, but she owed Bruce if nothing else.
There is something ‘else’ though. Dinah has connections here and she isn’t immune to them like Bruce was. She hasn’t turned me down either, so there’s at least a foot in the door. Leading me to follow her, not too closely, as she pads along through her newly cleaned apartment. One might wonder just how long I’ve been here, because there’s no dust at least one anything. I’ve been busy. Whether truthfully allowing some OCD to take hold or cleaning as a means of staying busy, who knows?
“One of our contacts at the GCPD, gave me the names of the detectives working the case. I’m going to be paying the coroner a visit to get the reports. Unofficially.” There seems to be more to the ‘plans,’ so far, but I’m hesitating a little. Only to jump back to something she had said before. “It doesn’t take a degree in deductive reasoning to draw a line from someone trying to reign in Damian to it being Dick. But that just goes back to my original point. That means Damian is already on the defensive and Dick’s already on the offensive. Grayson is probably already back at the Cave with Al tailoring the batsuit for him.”
“If we don’t bring them all together soon, there will be no bringing us together. It’ll fracture. Quickly. Bruce is… was… a shatter point. Everything is going to go to blazes if we don’t bring everyone together. Get some sort of organization in the works. Mourning does strange things, it’s like a drug. Enhancing all of our worst qualities.”
“Erm… Helena asked you back? So are you her… or are you still with that girl with the bow and arrows?”
Dinah: “Timothy Drake. Pilfering a lady’s unmentionables with your grubby, private school paws? Well. I’d be shocked but there’s not really a lady present, and your hands are probably cleaner than everyone else in this building right now put together.”
The bar isn’t exactly in the nicest part of Gotham, because the nice parts of Gotham are pricey and I hadn’t moved the location when I’d taken it over. Equal parts happenstance and design because it was always here, even before I was born and it left me right in the thick of things, with better access than I would have had if I’d kept my Father’s house closer to the ‘burbs. That had been sold, and the money gone towards gear and my own revenge turned justice. I just have to try and make sure that Bruce’s goes the same way.
I’d say they can’t actually throw me out, my birth certificate says Gotham. My high school diploma reads the same. I know the city front to back. But they can. Bruce had at least put it in a way that made sense, and I understood. I’ll take the request for help though, over Damien’s help or get out of my way line. And the unspoken welcome in the Robin Maid and Turndown Service. Tim’s still clearly on top of things, or just thrown himself fully back into the fray since he arrived if he’d tracked me down that quickly. Which is a good thing, when you need to hit the ground running as a crew. If we can actually make a crew of more than the two of us.
“The longer it takes, the more opportunity there is for everyone to start making their own playbook, and then it’s taking their balls and going home to their own imaginary vigilante sandboxes.”
Drumming the fingers of my free hand on the counter, my mouth pulls to the side in the most dour look that’s crossed it since I walked in. He’s absolutely right, and he doesn’t need me to tell him that. We’re a gaggle of orphans, and now in different ways for each of us? Suffering through it again. Brother, father, friend, lover. Preparing for it, and living through it are different. It’s easy just from brief encounters with each to see the wide variety in coping that’s going on.
“I’m not sure if having the training, skills and resources to do something about it makes it easier or harder. We can at least be productive, and hopefully less reactionary.”
Rolling my eyes, I finally take a swig of my water like it’s all that’s keeping me from coming across the space between us and swatting him upside the head. There’s still humor in the expression, though.
“Her…hero? Role model? Friend? Because the answer to all those is yes. Keeping tabs on me, Red? But no. I’m not with anyone. I’m here. And that’s all I am for the moment. Do you want me to see what I can get from the Detectives? At least some of the department that worked with my Dad are still there, and they usually at least act happy to see me.”
Tim: “Pilfering….” There’s this look of blankness that accompanies not really recognizing what she’s said, with what I’ve done, but when the facts click in to place you can’t unring that bell can you? “Oh, hoo. You are teasing me aren’t you. So that’s what that feels like?”
With a sigh over having been caught in Dinah’s teasing, I let her witness my roll of the eyes because it melds right in to the self-same smirk she’s already seen multiple times. “Given that I didn’t see any unmentionables. Either you don’t wear them or that bag got lost at the airport. In either case there weren’t any to pilfer.”
There’s teasing, bantering and then there’s our real discussion. She’s caught right on to the thread of what I actually came to see her for. I can almost see the chips falling in to place behind her eyes. Now we both know it to be truth. If we let everyone play in their own proverbial sandbox too long? Everyone is going to become their own version of Batman. It’s what he trained us for. We were the lineage. Taught in order to leave this city and others like it with a Batman, even if he should fall.
Only now Bruce’s plans are left without a schemer to bring them to fruition. “If you can contact the Detectives working the case. I’ll hit the Coroner’s office. Once we’ve gathered the case work, we need to bring everyone together. Put everyone on the same footing. If you can define the task and the parameters, then there’s a chance we curb the tide.”
“I’m sorry to put this on you. The others respect you too. They’ll at least listen, if for no other reason than the Cowl would clash with your fishnets.” She’s not going to be Batman or even try to be any time soon. So by my count, that should put her squarely as someone not to rub Dick or Damian the wrong way. “… oh… and I keep tabs on everyone, it’s kind of what I do. Especially the good looking, but morally questionable ones.”
“Said with all due respect.”
“No, seriously. I mean you’re like a role-model to scoundrels every where. Hall of Fame. I want to ask for your autograph.” Instead of letting her swat me with the water bottle, I’m passing her a burner phone. “I’m also about to suggest you give me your number. Go ahead, take the flattery. I’m here all week.”
Dinah : “Maybe a little. What, no girls to do that to you back in Metropolis?”
Although if I remember correctly, and it’s really unlikely that I don’t, he’s been going to an all boys school, so I hope there weren’t any girls there to tease him mercilessly. Could have met some elsewhere though. Maybe. If he had bothered to devote any real amount of attention to that kind of thing. When I was that age, my priorities had been a little bit different. Not a lot different though.
“Little of column A, with a side of I basically threw the contents of a laundry basket into a duffel, stowed the suit and was on my way.”
Anything I missed, I figured I’d just replace when I landed. Apparently that meant underwear. Probably some half pairs of socks too, based on my usual laundry habits which are poor to abysmal at best. My everyday wardrobe had just seemed a lot less important than the suit and getting my ass to Gotham.
“I’ll head over there first thing…well…”
Looking a little mournfully at the bottle of water in my hand, before I cap it and set it down on the counter once again.
“Second thing in the morning. After I round up some coffee for myself, and as a little warm-up gift at the precinct.”
There’s jokes in what Tim’s just said, but there’s also absolute seriousness. And truth. I have my own name, my own Legacy that I’m a part of and it doesn’t hinge upon the Bat, or any of his work. Yes, I’ve worked with Bruce. I helped train the younger ‘class.’ It taught me that sometimes teamwork gets shit done that you may be able to do on your own, just a whole lot slower. It also brings backup, and a modicum of safety in a very unsafe world and line of ‘work.’ But the cowl? Isn’t something I want. Even if I were going to set up permanent residence here once again. I’m the Black Canary. I don’t do hats. Cowls. Whatever.
“Respect is noted.”
Laughing, I waggle my eyebrows at him for the compliment, and his not wrong commentary about my morals. It’s just the way I work, and how I always have. Call it my version of coping with what happened to me. But that, too, isn’t entirely a joke. Not the morals, the keeping tabs. I’m very sure that he really does do just that. Even if he hadn’t turned up here when he did, I would have believed it. He’s one of Bruce’s progeny after all.
“Just all week? I better get my fill while I can, then. Here. I assume you’ve got somewhere to stay?”
Punching in the series of numbers that connects to my phone, before handing the cheap and serviceable plastic number back over to him.
Tim: “St. Francis doesn’t lend itself to entering the dating scene,” there’s no joking here, this is a straight answer if there ever was one. “Especially when you’re there to get more than a classical education. My ‘tutors’ weren’t bringing a math book and didn’t look half as nice as some of my class mates’.”
If what she says about her laundry is a surprise it never registers on my face. But then again, if I am true to my word (and I am), then I’ve gone through her things in the name of putting them away. Meaning I know more about what she brought along than she does. What’s important to take away from this, is that I’ve kept no secrets from her. Veiling the truth in playful teasing and flirting, so as to not put it forth as something hostile. Yet there’s no insulting Dinah’s intelligence. She knows that I’ve vetted her. Agreed to her remaining in Gotham, if not out right endorsed her as taking on the mantle of leadership to keep our egos out of play. All of those things accomplished without either of us being angry at the other.
When the dust clears I’ve accomplished all of my goals for coming her -and- I’m leaving with two boons that I hadn’t planned on. The first being the good humor that she’s in. Apparently my approach had more merit than Damian’s. Then there’s the second thing I’m making off with…
“Mhm. We had safe houses all over the City,” most of the world actually, to be truthful. “But I was planning to crash on your couch. Until I can make sure they’re all still intact. I was just hoping that you’d get around to offering, so that I didn’t have to invite myself. Especially after I just got your number, talked about your unmentionables and told you that you’re morally bankrupt but awesome-in-my-book.”
“Great. Now it sounds like a very twisted pick-up line.”
“Tell you what, I’m going to crash over there,” gesturing to the apartment’s sofa. “Tomorrow we’ll go to the precinct. I’ll head to the coroner’s, you to the detectives. And if you play your cards right, Ms. Lance, I’ll treat you to a steaming hot cup of Tim in the morning.”
“Joe. I mean. Joe. Steaming hot cup of Joe.”
by Michele | Feb 26, 2017 | Chronicles
Tim: Making friends is not exactly top of the priority list. Not when you’re actually attending these schools for their intended purpose: Education. Soaking in every single thing you can, in order to further your own personal agenda. There is very little time for the extra curricular that most people in the age group might enjoy. Despite the focus, the intent design upon learning everything possible as quickly as possible, a couple of friends happened anyway. It hadn’t particularly been because of shared interests though.
At first it was simply clinical interest in the mythical ‘Son of Lex Luthor.’ He was a mystery in and of himself, which tripped all of the little red flags in my head that have been drilled in for years. Nothing about Conner Luthor was natural or easily explained. No real records of him prior to his basically showing up on the school’s doorstep. What history did exist was clearly fabricated. The thinly veiled lie that it had been for his protection only heightened the need to look deeper. Then deeper again when this super boy found himself in the news.
What I had at the end of that search hadn’t been entirely what I expected. This group, N.O.W.H.E.R.E. was the meta-human equivalent of the boogeymen. Hunting down metas all across the country and doing god knows what with them. Their connections to Conner Luthor was stranger still. It seemed that they were the reason for his missing history. Except that it got even more curious still when I dug deeper and found that he’d been working for them, not hiding from them. Nothing added up, so I decided to extend my normal stays at these schools until I rooted out the truth.
Nothing was ever simple though, was it? Every new bit that I’d uncovered took me deeper down the rabbit hole. Until I’d at least unraveled one mystery. I knew why this mysterious Luthor was here. A man with his resources could put his son in to any school he wanted. Yet here was Conner Luthor going to some private school in Metropolis. An all Boy’s school. Sure it fit in with his Father’s agenda, as being ‘Home Grown,’ but it simply didn’t make sense. Until I met her.
“Thanks for meeting me,” it’s not your usual place that I might be seeing her. “Without your boyfriend, I mean.”
The Metropolis Museum of Natural History. A natural place for Cassandra Sandsmark to be. Her mother has connections here, if not being properly on the payroll. Her own background would bring her to this place on her own accord. It’s public, while being private all at once. In one hand is a starbucks coffee. In the other is a Metro-Moo-Moo-Milk, Chocolate. It’s the latter that is being offered to her.
Cassie : I don’t exactly get to meet a lot of Conner’s friends. That might make a lot of girls wonder about what that might spell for their relationship with a boy, except in my case I’m actually pretty aware of what that is. For starters, he doesn’t really have many. How’s that work when you’re the resident A-Lister? Well, people want to be your friend but in reality they just want to use you for your connections. For some kids that might work out to be the same thing, but Conner doesn’t have anything in common with most of them. Other than the fact that he looks like a teenage boy, comes from money and has the trust fund and allowance to match. He at least fits in with his classmates.
“Hey, no problem.”
I can’t say the same. It’s only because I understand the necessity in fitting in and not drawing attention to myself (the wrong kind of attention that is) that I bother at all. While it had started as an act, I have actually made a few friends along the way. The sort of people that we hang out with on the weekends, or go to movies as a group with. About the same as the sorts of friends of Conner’s that I’ve met. Friendly, but probably not someone that’s going to be on my Christmas card list in five years. Maybe my priorities are a little skewed though. Common interests, so to speak.
It really is no problem though, turning up because Tim had asked me to. And the location doesn’t exactly strike me as weird. I grew up in Museums, and on dig sites. This is so much more my natural habitat than a gymnasium in my idiotic cheerleading skirt. The one I’m wearing right now is equally idiotic, but it’s about a foot longer. And plaid, awful blue plaid in the proper colors a St. Mary’s girl should be wearing. I should technically be in school right now, but of all the places to play hookie this one isn’t going to get me into trouble. I can claim project research, or if nothing else? That I already know everything there is to know about this week’s ancient history syllabus.
The chocolate milk is taken with a pleased, and grateful smile and I twist the top off in order to take a swig. Without my boyfriend? The drink covers up the skeptical look on my face as to whether that’s actually the case or not, if only partially. He’s not physically here but whether I’m really without him or not?
“Well… uh. You’re. Welcome? What’s up, Tim? Not that semi-clandestine museum rendezvous’ aren’t fun but I have a feeling you’re pretty much the only boy at that school that wouldn’t need a guided tour and a tutoring session.”
Tim: The school uniforms is a thing. Both schools. Cassandra’s and the one that I’m attending alongside her boyfriend. We should both be sporting it, but only one of us is doing so. Which is a brand of irony in and of itself, given that I feel at home in one and this girl’s reaction says she’d rather wear anything but it. Well, almost anything. Her facial nuance is clear any time she’s wearing her standard cheer outfit, that it’s tolerated but not exactly adored.
Once the milk has been handed off, there’s a shared glance of understanding over whether or not her boyfriend is ‘around’ or not. “No. No tours or tutoring, although I understand you’re something of legend at those particular things. Maybe another time.”
The slant of one thin eyebrow speaks far more than the actual words spilling forth do, but that’s because I’ve actually done my homework. It’s what I do. According to the kids St. Francis, Conner went from an absentee, smart mouth, never turn in an assignment loser to a straight A student almost magically after starting his sessions with this girl. If that didn’t merit a second look, then nothing would. When given that second glance though, it’s quite curious how she’s tutoring someone like Mr. Luthor in anything. Their course work is almost completely counter to one another. They share not one single common thread. Yet results speak for themselves. Her impact upon Luthor’s life was a turn around. The only real question is how she managed it, I have my guesses based upon other meetings but…
“I’m leaving,” no preamble, just the facts of the situation. “I don’t know if or when I’ll be back.”
“Things are happening back home, it’s a long story. There’s a need for secrecy that I’m afraid Conner wouldn’t quite understand, but I’m willing to share it with you if need be to garner your help. As you know, he’s associated with some people who might also take an interest in what’s transpiring in Gotham. I can’t take the risk of them knowing the whole truth.”
How -I- know about Conner’s associations is left quite unspoken about. What’s clear though, is that I’m aware at least some surface information about it. “Gotham is no place for someone like him. Someone like you either. I need your help, but I understand if you might have some reservations about helping me keep a secret from your boyfriend.”
Cassie : “I don’t know about legend, but I’ve got an unfair advantage that most kids don’t.”
More true than most people know, given that I could have flown here if I’d chosen but that’s kind of high profile and my skirt is knee length which means it’s not nearly long enough for that sort of activity. But after a moment’s pause I continue on and clarify that something like that isn’t what I’d meant. Nope. No bench pressing tanks here…
“I mean. My Mom has special clearance, and I was actually there when they discovered the burial site that they just started exhibiting. I was nine, but…right. Yeah. Another time.”
Conner hadn’t actually needed the tutoring. Everyone believes he did, so the whole ruse was clearly a success. He just hadn’t bothered. Everything I know about Tim says that is not his issue, and he’s given me a run for my money in a ‘facts’ race a time or two. His lack of uniform means he either had some time between school and here to change, or maybe that he just didn’t go to school today. A question that answers itself with that bomb he’s just dropped.
“You know how ominous that sounds, right? Especially starting it with ‘if’ instead of just going with ‘when.’ The fact that you felt the need to put an ‘if’ in there at all…?”
I’m no dumb blonde. I’m not the overly suspicious brunette that Conner can be, either, but there’s just some things if you’ve got a brain and are attentive to the world around you, you’ll just pick up on. Twisting the cap back onto my Moo Moo, my lips do a little twist of their own to the side as the look of concern I’m wearing starts to get a little more intense.
“Tim. You don’t have to share anything if you don’t want to, I’d help anyway. No questions asked. Well.”
There’s a vague flick of my hand as if to indicate that that’s maybe not entirely true. It would obviously depend if he wanted my help with like. An axe murder, or something that would not sit right with me on the moral scale, but you wouldn’t need to explain that to most people. I probably shouldn’t actually be doing it now. It also brings the focus back onto me and less onto my ‘not present’ boyfriend, because I can’t exactly say ‘yup! I absolutely know that Tim and boy, you’re SO right…’ So I don’t say anything about it at all.
“Someone that goes to private rich kid school? Right, yeah. No. I mean. I understand. I don’t keep secrets from Conner. It’s kind of a big thing that he trusts me.”
Otherwise, how the hell am I going to manage him when he needs managing? But obviously, Tim doesn’t mean trust fund babies aren’t welcome in Gotham. He means the other kind of kids that we are. But when it comes to keeping a secret from Conner? Or meeting somewhere without him? Boy’s got super hearing and x-ray vision. Keeping him out of/away from something he’s half interested in is a challenge.
“But if it’s not my secret, then it’s not mine to tell him. Simple as that.”
Tim: “No. It’s Legend. Trust me. You’re the talk of St. Francis. Most of the guys think you have some sort of magic power or something. The others think you must be talented in other areas. They’re not smart enough to realize you have other means of keeping a Luthor’s attentions. Don’t hold it against them.”
There is a certain pause there, because the truth is I’d love to sit down and talk about the exhibit. Cassie was there. It’s like learning from the source. You couldn’t ask for a better information bank than that. Except, of course, her mother maybe. But. That pause ends when I have to weigh the desire to explore, with the need to get back home before someone does something stupid.
It’s Gotham. There is a whole lot of stupid. Even more than at school. “It’s not meant to be ominous, just truthful. Look, I can’t ask you to do something like this without at least a little bit of disclosure on my side. My adopted Father, Bruce Wayne, died recently. Got killed, actually. Most people don’t realize the connection because I don’t normally use his last name.”
“Your boyfriend knows though. I think that’s why I’m on the short list for his after-school shenanigans. Luthors. Waynes. It’s kind of a thing.”
“That’s part of the problem here Cassie, it’s not really a secret. Maybe I’m being a little too vague here. I just assumed he’d told you. I know.” Once again, there’s a pause. Giving her a chance to assimilate, to fill in the blanks of what that means. After a drink of coffee and reading her expression, there’s a little bit of a rolling to my eyes before I do it for her. “Come on. Really. You managed a superman with a full layout twist dismount at last year’s cheer competition. Except your superman had a torn quadriceps. The only miracle about it, is that you managed to do it while holding that micro-miniskirt in place.”
“And really. A superman? Did Conner talk you in to that…? Ugh. He’s a bit of a tosser with that ego of his at times. Y’know?”
“The point being. Your boyfriend doesn’t make friends easily. He’s going to notice if I disappear. He’s going to look in to it and while I can use this little clip to broadcast white noise for a few meters of privacy for this discussion? I can’t block out the whole City of Gotham. So I need Conner, and by Conner I really mean the people he works for, to not take an interest in where I’m going. So. Think you can distract him.”
“Wait. Correction. I know you can distract him. What I need is for you to keep him out of Gotham. Period.”
Cassie : My lips part like I’m about to ask him what other areas I’m supposedly talented in, but the words don’t actually make it past half-formed in my brain before I put two and two together, turn a soft shade of pink, and then close them again with an aggrieved ‘hmph.’ Boys. Basically only not the worst thing in the world, because girls are a lot higher on my terrible list as a species. And I have to spend a lot more time around them. Thankfully I have the good grace, and wit, to carry on with the conversation like that wasn’t just mortifying.
“Oh, no worry. I don’t intend to. They’d probably like it, and then Conner’d probably feel the need for some manly display of displeasure. The real secret was apparently just weeks of telling him to get lost and not fawning. Catnip for Luthors, or does it work on all of you?”
I go promptly from joking, however, to my lips twisting again in even moreconcern. Not because of who or what he is, or even who and what I am, or that he’s leaving but because of what he’s just told me. The why. I can’t even… imagine. I grew up with only one parent, and I was perfectly okay with that. There was no grieving the Father I didn’t have, because he was never there to be missed and wouldn’t have warranted the emotion thanks to the general abandonment. But my Mother? I can’t even imagine what losing her would do to me. Disregarding his coffee, and even the bottle of chocolate milk I’m holding there’s an abrupt, and honestly just a hair too fast moment to yank Tim in for a hug. Whether he really wants one or not. It’s happening. And though I take great care to not crush him, I’m not letting him get away either.
“Oh, Tim. I’m so, so sorry.”
Not until I’ve said that, at least, and can let go and while clearing my throat straighten my skirt that doesn’t really need it. Just something to do with my hands in what feels like a very awkward, should be doing more kind of moment. At least until I process what he just said. And then what that means, and I find myself clearing my throat again and answering a great deal more primly this time.
“Ahem. We have a very. Very good squad. And it’s better for the overall drama level in my life if I let them think that’s not because of me. But. No. I don’t make the routines and … yeah. His ego is a little bit ridiculous.”
I won’t say ‘can you blame him?’ because yeah, you really can but at least I understand where it comes from. Managing it is part of my full time job. I’m a little surprised Tim saw that, or even remembers it. Hell I barely did until he brought it up right now, but it’s just one of many events that kind of blurs together for me in the parade of time I spend pretending really hard to be normal. Sighing, I rub the bridge of my nose for a moment.
“You brought a white noise generator? You may as well be putting up a big flashing ‘S’ with the caption ‘pay attention to me!’ going up. Ugh. Look. Here’s what you need to do.”
Not a question of whether or not I can distract him, or keep him out of Gotham, though it gives me a focus instead of being really outwardly upset for my friend right now. Conner’s never seemed to care at all about what goes on there, so hopefully keeping his focus out of it won’t be difficult.
“Get him a birthday present and send it once you get settled. No. I know. It’s not his birthday. It can be an early one. Late. It doesn’t really matter. That’s what we’re planning right now.”
Tim: “I wouldn’t know, to tell you the truth. No one has ever tried that with me.” If the other times I’ve paused were for effect, this time it’s for honest consideration of the question. “To tell you the truth, I’ve never made the effort to have it tried on me to begin with. This might actually qualify as the longest discussion that I’ve ever had with a girl that didn’t involve me trying to explain the science behind why they were wrong…. uuuurk…”
For anyone else it might be awkward, but for me it’s a little comical to see how I’m taken from graceful as a cat to smooshed against the abnormally muscular blonde. If being crushed was a concern, then I’d make an effort to escape but I’ve seen her at work with all those powers of her’s. She’s practiced at not killing people. I know this for a fact, because her classmate Kelsey still walks around with all of her natural born teeth. What actually worries me is the fact that I’m making an effort to stay neutral, to keep myself balanced and focused. Something I’ve accomplished mostly by not being forced to confront everything going on. At least. Not in public.
Once released I’m only to happy to let her go about straightening herself out. After all it means a moment to do the same for myself. Putting dark clothes back in to the perfect order of someone with obsessive compulsive disorder. Including the six strands of hair that she mussed in the process.
“It’s not that good,” her team I mean. “Neither is our basketball team. There isn’t a lot of motivation to excel when your allowance exceeds most of the competition’s income. That’s why you stand out. Both of you. To anyone trained to look past the surface.”
“Birthday present. Check and done.’ I’m not even asking why, it goes right back to the earlier topic of ego. “I probably shouldn’t mention the saturated, low-band ultra-violet radiation that I’m generating to protect against enhance vision… you know what, never mind, point taken. Suspicious boyfriend. Got it.”
“Ouch. Bat-signal joke. Too soon, Cassie. Too soon.” Giving her a soft ‘punch’ on the shoulder, I take the first step towards moving away from her. “I’m teasing. It was funny. And true. I didn’t think about him being jealous, I’m a couple steps off my normal game, I guess. Should have considered that going dark for a clandestine meeting between his girlfriend and his roguishly handsome chum might make him jump to conclusions.”
“Thanks though. For keeping him out of Gotham. And. Y’know. Keeping him from …” Two fingers pointing at my own eyes, then making a little Fwoooosh sound as I point around. “… you’re the M.V.P. in my eyes. That’s why I came to you and why I’ll be there if you ever need help too.”
Cassie : “I’d say we could try to dial it back a little but… on the amazing scale, it’s hard enough keeping him at a three when what he really wants to be is eleven. You know. To match where he is in his own mind.”
Maybe I ought to feel guilty for ragging on my boyfriend when he’s not here to defend himself, but it’s not untrue. Besides. I rag on him to his face all the time, it just doesn’t make much of an impact. Reference comment about the awesome scale and his ego, and there’s not all that many moments in life when he couldn’t potentially be listening in. Which, really, is why the noise generator was a bad idea but there’s the possibility he’s not paying attention in the first place. We’ll hope for that. And I do actually appreciate the input about us standing out, all the rest aside.
I’d rather we didn’t. Or at least I didn’t, but Conner’s the President’s son and he’s going to have attention on him regardless. He’s supposed to excel and my mother would frankly be disappointed in me if I didn’t. Just not maybe in the same arenas, and for the same reasons. Given my parentage… the other half of it… I guess someone might say I’m supposed to be just as notable.
“…ugh, really? Well. I guess we better make this quick then.”
Quicker than I’d like to, given that he’s leaving and who knows when/if I’ll see him again if we’re supposed to stay out of Gotham. And unlike my other half? I’m going to accept that’s best on Tim’s word, and that alone. Until I’m told otherwise. I’d give him the tour just for that, but he’s probably got to get going, and I need to get back to school.
I actually cringe when he points out the reference in my joke, because I actually hadn’t thought of it quite like that. I should have. It was insensitive, and I look apologetic even though Tim says it was actually funny. I don’t even point out that there’s no way Conner’s actually going to be jealous, because ego blow on top of the loss of Bruce Wayne, and everything else? That’s just poor form, and he’s my friend. I wouldn’t even do something like that to Kelsey. Suspicious? Yes, he would be just because he’s being pointedly kept out of whatever we’re doing here. But jealous? Conner thinks/knows he’s the best thing on the planet and that no one else can compete with him. And while I can’t say Tim isn’t really cute? I’ve kind of only got eyes for my Superboy.
“And we don’t want conclusions being jumped to. Because. Yeah.”
Mimicking his eye-laser gesture, without the sound, before I let out a laugh that’s just a hair on the tense side. But that’s mostly for his sake, rather than any of what’s going on right here in the moment.
“Those. But. You’re welcome. I’ll do everything I can. On both fronts. Text me when you get there? And… every so often otherwise so I know you’re okay? I’ll miss you. He’ll miss you, so just try to come up with something to fire his way if you can.”
As ‘okay’ as he’s likely to be, anyway. Alive. Breathing.
