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Chapter Text

Horse Hair Tavern, Gotham City 1872

“Alright lads!” the master of ceremonies calls out, moving onto center stage and drawing the attention of the drunk and horny workmen of Gotham. “Are you ready for our next little number? A sweet and luscious woman from Gotham itself, who is sure to make more than just one thing bloom in this godforsaken hellhole?”.

The crowd roars in approval, more than eager to get on with the show.

Pamela Isley herself was waiting by the side of the stage besides a curtain, not knowing how to feel. She’d spent so long making herself numb to what she had to do to survive. “You’ll be fine” Selina says, having moved off of the stage following the end of her show. She held the clothes she’d worn at the beginning of her show close to her chest, and a cigarette dangled in her other hand.

“Go knock ‘em dead shrimp” Selina says, uncaring of her competition and in fact disdainful of the woman she was walking by. 

With that, Pamela is pushed out onto the stage, the crowd cheering as the announcer moves off, glaring at her to make sure she follows the script and does exactly as asked. ‘He paid good money for you’ she reminds herself of their conversation before, one which left her with well positioned bruises that could be hidden. 

She smiles as wide as she can, though she feels none of it, stepping out onto the wooden stage with a sway to her hips meant to entice. Her entire getup was meant to do that, the minstrel shows of Gotham becoming much racier and racier in order to compete. 

She only wore a skirt and a very thin and small pair of knickers which were most likely meant for a young girl and not a woman. Regardless, the men enjoyed it, and the acrid smell of booze and smoke filled her nostrils, the flicker of lamplights almost blinding her eyes. 

The music kicks in though from the band that was specialized in playing this type of music. Laid of Chinese coolies who had worked on the Transcontinental Railroad. A mystical sounding eastern tune begins to flood out, and the stylized name Poison Ivy is called out.

“Give a hand for our dangerous little flower, Poison Ivy!”

Her hands and arms raise into the air, and she sways her body out a bit, moving as if she was a snake. Her breasts, smaller than most of the other girl’s, were only covered by two thin pasties in the shape of Ivy leaves.

She smiles seductively, trying to add an air of mystery to her act. Her dream was to be noticed of course. A rich man, happening to be here slumming it up would notice her and be enthralled by his beauty. He’d rush up on stage and offer her his hand, asking her to run away with him.

Of course she would, and she’d be whisked away to a life of luxury and love where a man would dote on her. Children, wealth, but most importantly a warm and full belly would await her in these dreams.

It hadn’t happened yet, but she was holding out hope. 

“Hey pretty lady, those leaves gonna fall soon?”

Laughter echoes out throughout the entire room and a bottle is thrown, shattering against the painted backdrop of a lush forest. Pamela ducks to avoid the next one as the rowdy men, already having been drinking for hours, fall upon each other, a bar room brawl erupting around her.

More bottles come flying and she tries to hold her hand up to prevent them from hitting her, but one shatters on the ground right in front of her, sending glass sprawling about the stage. It was only a matter of time until she steps on some, her bare feet being a necessary part of the show.

She screams in horror and pain and falls to the ground, landing on more glass that cuts up her arms and legs. Blood seeps from every wound and she stays on the ground, looking up at the opposite part of the stage to see the other girl’s, led by Selina, laughing at her predicament. 

She wants to cry, not having expected this at all. The man who ran the show, the announcer, for she did not know his name, was much less pleased however, and he moves out onto the stage, howling at his men to corral the rowdy men. As he moves onto the stage, he casts a disdainful look down upon the prone woman who looks away.

She was hurt and embarrassed, and one question remained on her mind.

‘What’s going to happen to me now?’

One Hour Later

She is thrown out the side door, just barely having been given enough time to clothe herself in her ragged dress and shawl. She falls to the dirty cobblestone walkway, her other items following and scattering themselves instantly amongst the dirt. She looks up, sobbing. “Please...please, I’ll be better! I promise! I have nowhere to go!”

The announcer was unmoved, and neither were the two men who stood beside him. Their stock and trade was in desperate women, and this one? They had no use for her.

“Why give you another chance when there are plenty of better women out there desperate to get in here?” the man laughs cruelly, gesturing for her to move off with his hands. “Get lost! Ain’t got a use for ya’”.

She moves to her feet, advancing at the door again before one of the men steps forward and pushes her back, this time much more harshly, causing her to smash into the brick wall opposite her. She lets out a squeal of pain and begins to cry, hoping to make one last plea.

“I...I don’t have a roof to stay under. Please...I don’t have anything. I can’t do anything! I’ll die” she says, making eye contact with the man. “I need….I’ll do anything for you” she adds, deciding on another approach, licking her lips and trying to be seductive. 

The man only laughs. “You see the stable of fine women flesh I got back inside?” he taunts. “I don’t need you. Now piss the fuck off before I bloody you so bad you die in this alley, and trust me, not a single soul in this city is gonna care”.

The men move back in, already done with the woman and her sobbing. “What...what am I going to do?” she asks aloud, though the question was more to herself than anyone else. “You got a quim don’t ya?” he asks through the still open door. “Spread your legs for some coin harlot”.

He slams it closed and laughs cruelly, the sound carrying on even through the door and into the night. Pamela was shaking, and she pulls her shawl tighter around her to keep out the chill. Quickly gathering up what wasn’t destroyed by the men throwing her possessions, she moves out into the alley, quickly coming to realize that prostitution was her only option.

She wanted to sob again. Just cuddle up into a ball and die, but Pamela Isley wasn’t like that. She was a fighter, a survivor. ‘I have to do it. I have to do it’ she repeats multiple times in her head, beginning to walk off into the main street.

The Tavern had been the most populated part of the street that night, and now it was empty, the cobblestones that echoed with the sound of horse drawn carriages and footsteps during the day were empty. All the shops were closed, though some factories still belched out their acrid black smoke in the distance.

Pamela would go and ask them for work if she didn’t know it would wind up killing her. ‘No. Be strong. Be smart’ she thinks, moving onwards and trying to move in a very womanly fashion to attract any men who might be lingering about with a bit of extra coin in their pocket.

The lamplighters were the only ones out at this hour, working on bringing up their lit wicks to fill and light up the lamps that lined the streets. It would be very soon that people would wake up for their midnight promenade through the city, and perhaps she could make some coin then.

‘You’re attractive Pamela’ she thinks, trying to talk herself up. ‘Pale milky skin and red hair. Green eyes. A lot of men will be lining up for you! Just wait and see’.

She was not as outwardly positive as she sounded in her thoughts, but that didn’t matter overly much at the moment. She just needed to make a few dollars, even a few cents. One dollar would secure her a night at the cheap hotel down the street. Just one dollar.

‘What do I do?’

She moves up towards one of the lamplighters, in fact, the only lamplighter remaining on the street, as he was coming down from the ladder. “Hello handsome!” she purrs. “Fancy some company?” The man appeared interested, but he looks down the road at the row of unlit lamps. “Sorry dear. Working. Wife would kill me if I don’t bring home a paycheck this week”.

With that, he moves off, leaving Pamela alone in the darkness. “Dammit”.

She moves off again, sure that she would have to wait until the citizens of Gotham stirred from their sleep to find some company. ‘Where are we going to do it?’ she wonders. ‘In the alleyways like some rutting animals?’

It appeared that that was the only answer, and that fact tormented her deeply. Her thoughts are broken as she walks right into someone however, and she lets out an “oof” of surprise. When she looks up, she sees a very tall man wearing a top hat and an overcoat, obviously being wealthy.

Her desire to yell at him for not watching where he was going, though she could be accused of doing the same thing to be fair, was gone and in its place an idea took shape in her mind. Maybe if she looked pathetic enough, sad and lonely enough, her dream from the tavern would come through.

He’d take her to a nice upscale hotel room and make love to her. She’d do so well he’d decide to keep her. Wife, mistress, maid. She didn’t care at this point. She’d do anything to get out of the cold. “Hello sir” she smiles, caressing the lapels of his jacket. “You’re so big and strong! Don’t you think a nice big and strong man should have a pretty lady by his side hmm? I can be your pretty lady”.

The man was silent, not saying a word, and she is wary of him suddenly for some reason she couldn’t place directly. She steps back, and the man reaches into his jacket pocket, retrieving a knife that glimmers in the light of the lamps.

Her eyes go wide and she tries to make a run for it, knowing that whatever he planned to do with it wasn’t good. She is grabbed and pulled back however, the man taking hold of her shawl and swinging out with his knife. Luckily for her, it catches on an old music box she took from her mother’s things after she ran away from home, and thus his attack is blunted.

Pamela makes to run forward but stumbles, falling to the ground. Her feet were still cut up by the glass, prohibiting her from quick movement. The man is instantly upon her, and he brings his knife down again. This time it makes impact, though not in the fatal way he’d hoped. Pamela brought her hand up to blunt the blow, and the knife slides right through it, exiting out the other side.

The redhead roars in pain and sobs, trying to kick the heavy man off of her and failing. He was too strong. Finally the knife is pulled free though, exiting the flesh with a sickening sound and sending a spray of blood everywhere. Pamela was no longer resisting, and instead cradles her wounded hand. The man makes ready for another strike, her green eyes fixed on the blade held aloft.

‘Ohh god! Please! Please save me!’

Something whizzes through the air, cutting through it with ease due to the high speed in which whatever it was was thrown. It slams into the man’s wrist, snapping the blade out of his grasp and sending it sprawling through the street.

He lets out a grunt of pain himself and turns to try and see where such an unexpected attack could have come from. Instead he is faced with a dark shape that rushes down towards him from above, a large cape splayed out behind him that reminds the wide eyed Pamela of a bird.

‘No’ she corrects herself, watching her savior land and move in front of her to prevent any further attacks. ‘A bat’.

The attacker wasn’t off balance for long, and he simply draws another knife, ready to slam it into the vigilante. He was too quick though, and parries the thrust to the side before delivering a blow to the side of the man’s head that knocks something the tophat from his head and something metallic from his coat. 

It wasn’t a knife, it looked more like a sigil, and it was gold! Pamela’s eyes widen as she sees it, and rushes to scoop it up knowing it could buy her a few nights of warmth and food. The fight was still going on, with the two black clad men trading blows with one another.

Her hero throws one at the man’s head, though he swiftly dodges it and grabs his attackers wrist, bringing him in close and then bringing him in to slam his kneecap into the Batman’s mid section.

As the fight progressed, it dawns on Pamela that this was the famous defender of Gotham City whom she only thought was a legend. Apparently not though as he was here saving her life. She makes to get up, wanting to flee the scene when a searing pain in her hand reminds her that she had been attacked.

She grasps her hand and begins to cry hot and angry tears, feeling the pain overwhelm her senses. ‘I’m not going to let anyone get away with hurting me anymore!’.

She blocks out the pain and skitters across the cobblestones, grabbing the knife and getting to her feet in one fluid motion. The formerly top hat wearing man was too busy grappling with Batman to notice her rushing towards him, his back her target.

“I’ll kill you!” she shouts, watching as the masked man suddenly notices, the top hat being gone exposing that he was wearing what looked like a makeshift burlap sack over his face. “Don’t!” Batman screams out, not wanting the woman to try and kill the man. 

The distraction was enough for his opponent to take him off guard, swooping his legs out from under him and turning his body so that when Ivy intended to bring her knife down upon him, instead it finds the fleshy shoulder of Batman.

The blade digs into him, much the same way that Pamela had felt it sear into her hand, and she screams out in horror once more. “Ohh my God! I am so sorry!” she screams, seeing that the weapon was lodged in the man’s skin.

The other man doesn’t take any time to relax though, and he lets the wounded vigilante fall to the floor before backhanding the woman, his original prey, rushing off into the darkness of the alley to his right as soon as he was able.

He stops to scoop up his hat first though, and Batman makes to chase him, moving up onto the balls of his feet before the pain sends him back down to his knees. “Damn” he seethes, ripping the knife from his flesh as quickly as possible, suppressing the shout he wanted to let loose. 

Pamela was lying on the ground, her hand in the area between the cobblestones where dirt still reigned supreme. She was crying now, cradling her hand and now a broken nose, blood pouring from both areas. Batman looks up at the alley, weighing his options.

The Ripper as he had come to call the attacker, was most likely long gone, his skills at evasion during their previous encounters being too much, even for Batman. And the woman was crying, something that naturally tugged on even his normally stoic heart.

He had no choice. Leaving her here, unaided, even for a moment to pursue the villain was not the right choice. He looks down at the knife, bloodied with the girl’s and his own blood now and scowls. 

‘The eighth time’ he laments while placing the knife in the small pack he kept at his waist for evidence. He takes one look at his shoulder and judges the wound to be superficial, looking and feeling worse than it actually was. ‘Mostly skin. Skin heals. Get up’.

He turns to the girl and advances upon her, kneeling down to gently place a hand on her shoulder. She flinches, but he doesn’t move, knowing that she needed firm assistance. “I need to clean your wound” he says in an even tone, gently pulling the woman up so that she was practically cradled in his arms. She holds his hand back from him, and Batman grabs the bottle of whiskey he kept as a disinfectant.

He shows it to her, opening it first and offering her a drink. “This is going to hurt”.

She looks from the bottle to him, judging if she should trust him or not before deciding that she had precious little left to lose. With her good hand she reaches out and takes the bottle, sipping from it and letting the stinging liquid move down her throat, causing her to shiver. “Urggg”.

“I don’t like it either”.

There was something about his firm and steady tone of voice that calmed her, and she looked up into his vibrant blue eyes that were hidden behind his frightening mask. The contrast was beautiful to her in its own way, though Batman was mission orientated at the moment.

“Your hand please”.

She daintily hands him her wounded palm, and he gently grasps it with one his hands, pulling her tighter to him and gesturing for her to place her face in his shoulder. “It’ll be over in a second”. She catches his meaning and winces, placing her face in towards him and closing her eyes, trying to focus on how the fabric felt and how he smelled to dull out the inevitable.

Batman pours the liquid over the wound, causing her to instinctively pull it back, though he doesn’t let her. Pamela begins to cry out, muffling her wounded voice in his clothing. The blood infused liquid drips off of her into the street, mixing with the mud of Gotham until Batman finally stops, replacing the stopped within the bottle and reaching into his medical bag for more items.

She finally pulls her head out of his shoulder and cries a bit, looking at the raw and red, but now mostly clean wound. He pulls out a small glass container with something that looked like molasses, and he opens it up, reaching a gloved finger into it and collecting some on his digit. “Wh..what is that?”

“A poultice” he explains. “It’s extracted from mold”. She pulls her hand back at that, being disgusted at the prospect of such a thing. He steadies her with his gaze once again, urging her to trust him. “It’ll prevent the spread of bacteria in the wound and help the flesh heal back”.

She trusted him.

She didn’t know why but she did, and she hands her wounded mitt back to him, allowing him to spread the cool and dark substance over her. Surprisingly enough it also felt good and the pain receded. He seemed to sense her question, having finished spreading the vile looking concoction over both sides of her hand and was now retrieving gauze. “I added plantain and aloe vera as well”.

“What?” she asks, never having heard of either of those things.

He looks up and explains. “Plants. Numbing agents. They should help with the pain for the night” he says while gently moving the cotton over her to seal in the wound. “Keep this covered for a few days. Gently rinse with soap and water. You’ll be okay”.

He reaches up with some of the spare gauze to wipe away some of the bleeding. “Your nose should be set” he says, thinking over what else should be done. “For now, I’ll place some gauze in their to keep the septum from collapsing. It’ll be fine”. He does just that, and she winces as her nose is filled with the cotton swabs that keep it relatively stable. “You’re lucky. It was a clean break”.

He slowly stands and offers her his hand, which she takes, not wanting to be away from him regardless. There was other questions on the man’s mind however, and he turns back to her.

“What did the man drop?”

“It...it was something like a sigil” she says. “A family crest. It’s...it’s nothing of value” she lies, though the vigilante sees right through it. “Let me see it please”. He extends his hand to her, and she tries to fight her impulses to not give up the item which would put her ahead monetarily. Eventually though, she sighs and reaches into her dress where the item was secreted. 

She hands it over to the man who looks it over and recognizes it instantly. “What is it?”.

Pamela was suddenly interested in what such a thing would be outside of its monetary worth now, though Batman wouldn’t tell her. The golden object with the bird’s head upon it, its eyes crossed out to resemble death and embossed with black paint was a clue though. 

Pamela reaches out for it impulsively as he places it in one of the small leather compartments attached to his belt. “I...I need it. I need food. A place to sleep...I…”.

“I know a place” he explains, looking down the street to the dominating spire of St. Anthony’s in the Irish section of the Narrows. “That church. Do you see it?” he asks, and the redheaded woman nods. “Go there and look for Sister Tompkins. She’ll help you”.

Pamela looks down the partially lit streets and her fear is evident, especially in how she recoils into him. “I won’t leave you alone” he soothes. “But I can’t be seen”.

“Then how…”.

“The rooftops” he cuts her off. “I’ll watch your movement from them. Sister Tompkins will be able to give you food and a place to sleep. You’ll be safe”.

“I’m not becoming a nun” Pamela says defiantly, and Batman lets loose the tiniest of smirks before retracting a strange mechanical weapon with gears. To Pamela it looked like a pistol with some sort of hook attached to it. The man clad in black points it up at a steel chimney and fires, sending the item shooting through the dark and clanging against it before he clicks another switch, and the line goes taut, beginning to feed back into the device and pulling him into the air.

In a second he is gone, and Pamela cranes her head to see where he went, unable too due to the dark of the shadows and oppressive chimneys. Soon though, she sees the pointy ears, and he moves his hand up to signal that she should begin walking. 

Pamela gulps, taking a deep breath, and turns to walk down the street, her shoes, almost threadbare and falling apart at the soles, clacking against the cobblestones. She looks up in worry, thinking he might’ve abandoned her as soon as he had the chance, but she’s shocked when he sees his cape flutter out from behind the chimney. He was following her, keeping his word.

She smiles at that, continuing to move towards the church with a much more relaxed gait, feeling that she was safer than she had been before. Her eyes travel constantly from the street in front of her to the rooftops, taking comfort from his presence. She looks back and focuses forward, where a group of three men in breeches and suspenders fell out of one of the other bars.

Pamela gulps as they were standing right in her path, and all were obviously very drunk. “Hahaha! Willy boy...she slapped you hard ‘idn’t she?” one slurs out, his friend pushing him away while the other man vomits into the gutter.

“Piss off...ohh...well, look at what’s walkin’ into my life now fellas” he says, his eyes fixed on Pamela who stope meekly, looking up and now unable to see Batman. She freezes, clutching her shawl tightly and shivering. “Excuse me...I just want to pass”.

“Why would you wanna do that lovely?” one man jokes while the other two snicker. He begins to advance on her, passing close to the lamp that Pam was standing under. “I mean, a lady like you...all alone so late? Bad things could happen”.

“Yeah” another joins in, chuckling out. “How about you stay with us since you need some company to keep you safe? Our fee is...hmm...how about a kiss to start with?”

The first man nods at that, indeed wanting to get his hands on the broken and battered woman. He passes right next to the lamp where something whizzes out from the darkness and impacts harshly against it, metallic clanging heard all about. They step back, trying to track the point of origin for such a thing, when their eyes land on what it is exactly.

Imbedded within the steel pole was a steel disk like object.

It was shaped like a bat.

One begins to stammer, pointing up at the rooftop where Batman was now crouched down atop a chimney, glaring down at them. The message was clear. She wasn’t alone.

“Looks like she’s already got company. Maybe we should eh...go….do something else eh Willy?” they ask the ringleader who nods in a frightened way. “Yeah right o’ James. Right o’.”.

The men rush down the street, practically falling over themselves as they wanted to get out of the are as quickly as possible. Pamela smiles and looks up at the Batman before continuing, trusting that his vigil over her wouldn’t end until she reaches the doors of the church. 

That happens soon enough, and she finds herself saddened by it as she enjoyed his company, as remote as it was. Stepping up the stairs to the front door, she makes to knock before looking back again, seeing Batman across the street, standing now, with his cape fluttering in the wind. She gather’s herself and knocks, ringing the heavy steel ring against the door.

It only luckily takes a few moments for someone to answer, and a tired looking nun with kind eyes opens the door. “Yes?”

She was speechless, unsure of what to say and open mouthed, slack jawed. Eventually, the truth tumbles out. “I...I’m hungry. I have nowhere to go”.

“Ahhh...well” Leslie smiles, opening the door wide to the woman. “The Lord provides both of those things so I would say your arrival here was fortuitous”. Pamela was shocked and moves into the door, turning to the nun and hugging her, beginning to cry. “Thank you…”.

Lesli hugs her back, not missing a beat, seeing that the girl had been through hell already though she didn’t know of what kind. “I...I worked at the minstrel show...and they kicked me out. Cut me...and a man..he tried to attack me. Kill me...and...others tried….”.

She let it all tumble out, unable to keep it away, and Leslie pats her back, holding her as if she were the woman’s mother. “Shh...you’re okay now. This city... it’s full of demons in human flesh” she says, taking her hand and wanting to close the door to lead her into the safety of the church. Pamela looks out once more though to see that Batman was no longer there. 

He’d stayed until she was safe though, which prompted a defense of Gotham from Pamela. “It has angels too”.

The church’s door is closed and quietly, Pamela is escorted to where she could bathe, change into some fresh clothes, and go to sleep. Outside, people moved out onto the streets, ready to enjoy their midnight walks. 

Batman, moved off to his own purposes.

Sionis Steel Mill

Machinery cranked all around, with workers loading up the specific components of said machines to streamline production. Down the shoots roared molten hot steel, coagulating in the large drums meant to hold it. Still, it was dangerous, and steel dripped onto the filthy floor, sending the rats that lined the factory scurrying when it happened.

All workers avoided going under these vats as death awaited them if something were to go wrong, as it often did. Being hurt was not optimal either, as the factory manager would simply find someone to replace them. Too many had families to feed, and thus couldn’t risk getting injured. So they moved about, lanterns guiding their way, and tried to be careful in such a dark confusing maze of fire and brimstone that reminded the literate of Dante’s Inferno.

That was not all that was going on tonight though. 

A well regulated gang brawl had also been arranged, and in the center of the factory a quick circle had been formed by wooden palisades, with men and women watching on all sides. One one side of the ring stood a hulking beast of a man who wore only his pants, boots and suspenders.

He also wore a smug expression as he chewed upon the stem of his pipe and smiled at the cheering crowd, waving languidly.

His opponent simply watched him with rage and anger in her eyes, ready to rip his own from his very head. Dinah Lance was not in a good mood, and it showed. She did cut a rather dashing figure, her very feminine curves covered by pants, suspenders and a dirty white cotton shirt.

“Whip his arse Dinah!” a man shouts from her corner, her entire group sporting green and egging the blonde woman on. She smiles and winks at them, assured that she’d win. 

The organizer of the games finally reveals himself, stepping out into the ring and splaying his arms out happily. Roman Sionis was a tall, rather handsome man who wore glasses and a top hat. He didn’t look like he belonged at all amongst the group of dirty factory workers and gang members in his red and black suit with breeches and an overcoat. He retracts a pocket watch from his vest and smiles. “Ladies and Gentleman!” he booms out, drawing the crowds attention. 

“I welcome you to tonight’s games” he says. “However, let me remind you that the stakes are higher than just whatever coin you have invariably bet on this little match”.

He takes a moment to look at both contestants, enjoying the power he held in Gotham City for a moment, before launching back into the fight. “We have two gangs that want control of the Narrow’s East Wing, land once held by the Fishies. However, with the...untimely death of Warren “The Great White Shark” White, the land is up for grabs. But again” he booms out, slamming his cane down upon the floor. “We have rules on how things are done. And two gangs both want the land”.

He pauses for dramatic effect, smiling to himself. “In this corner, we have the Cherry Hill Boys, self described protectors of Gotham from the green menace which seeps across the ocean, threatening our very way of life! And who have these true sons of Gotham chosen as their champion?” he asks, wanting to hype up excitement for both gangs, whose members were crackling with unspent energy. “Their leader of course, Cyrus Gold! The Butcher of Bayside! The Curse of the Irish! Give it up for this man amongst men!”

Cyrus hands his pipe across the barrier to his peons as his men shout out for him. He pulls his suspenders forward and lets them slap back against his bare, muscled and hairy chest. “Cyrus! Cyrus! Cyrus! Cyrus!” they shout in unison, and Dinah just coldly glares while Sionis moves over towards her.

“In this corner, we have their mortal enemies. The refuse of Ireland dumped onto our shores, mean and lean with a knife between their teeth, unwilling to give up even a scrap of what they fought for! These are the real deal ladies and gentlemen. The Black Canaries of Burnsley!”

The opposite side of the factory erupts into loud cheers as well and Dinah smiles despite her dark mood, loving how her gang supported her. ‘My family’ she thinks. “And who do they push out to their front? Who do this hardened men and women respect above all others? Well, I present to you the beautiful Dinah Lance, THE Black Canary” he shouts, and Dinah steps out, swaying her hips coquettishly to bring a series of whistles and cheers from her side, who appreciated the teasing, and jeers and hisses from the other gang.

“Now. I want an interesting fight, which means the only rule is...you two can’t kill each other. At least not in my factory. Anywhere else? I don’t care but not here. Won’t even call the coppers. Understand?”

“Perfectly Roman” Cyrus says, coming close to engage in the customary act of taunting his opponent before the fight. “Understood gorgeous?” Sionis asks with a wink, not at all minding the idea of a night with the curvy blonde.

“I get it. Now fook off and let us start” she says coldly. 

Sionis nods and toys with the idea of fixing the fight because of that, but he lets the idea go, sure that Gold would do the job for him. “Alright then. Lets have a few nice words with each other before I ring the bell huh?” he asks, moving out of the ring and getting ready.

She glares at Gold and he smirks back. “You know, it’s going to be quite fun. Though” he pauses, turning back to his gang with a smile. “Beatin’ a filthy bog eater doesn’t really seem fair does it?”

The group laughs at his joke, not noticing the three younger boys who were moving through the crowd at that moment, peering over shoulders and reaching into pockets, taking whatever they could.

“Tell ya what” Cyrus says, planning to make a overture to the woman. “You back away from this whole Narrows thing, and I’ll give you the best fucking of your life. Even let you ride my beard. How’s that sound?” he asks, drawing hisses of protest from the men within the Black Canaries who wanted to avenge their leaders honor. 

She holds a hand up to calm them down, making them pocket their knives and revolvers which they’d drawn. 

It was a gang war averted, but only just. 

Dinah smiles back at the man, ready to deliver a stinging retort. “I’m sorry, but, I don’t want to be anywhere near your putrid little wiggler, ‘specially not after it’s been pulled from Rupert Thorne’s arsehole you fookin’ fruit”.

“Ohhhh! Ahahah!”

“Get ‘em Dinah! Show the fucker whose boss!”

Cyrus Gold and his Cherry Hill Boys were well known operators of Rupert Thorne, the undisputed boss of Gotham’s politics in times past. His power had begun to wane in the aftermath of the American Civil War, but he was still a big time player. He gave the Cherry Hill Boys protection from up top, and in return? They protected his business ventures, went out to vote for him and assured that as many others as possible didn’t get to vote for his opponent.

In the past, Warren White’s gang served as a cover for the Canaries. They hated them too, but they were more than willing to use them as foot soldiers and make money off of their illegal booze operations. White was a bastard, but a fair one, and now he was gone, most of the former Fishies had gone over to Cherry Hill where they promptly forgot about their old alliance.

Now? They wanted Dinah dead, and with enemies closing in all around it was looking more and more like they’d get their wish.

The bell rings and Cyrus lunges out with a fist, catching the distracted Dinah on the cheek and sending her sprawling back, barely able to keep her balance following the absolute juggernaut of a punch. She brings her hand up to her cheek, knowing it would be bruised for days, while Cyrus’ booming laugh can be heard behind her.

“Hahahaha! You shoulda’ stayed at home and found some drunken Irish ape to pop out a bunch of peatlings with you dumb mick bitch”. 

Dinah sees red, and she turns, bringing her own fist up as she aims it directly into the man’s gut. The impact is brutal, and he heels over, puking up the beer filled contents of his stomach to the side. He recovers quickly though, she’d give him that, and before she could continue to rain down blows, he grasps her wrist and brings down his face upon hers, shattering her nose. 

He lets her go, allowing her to fall to the hay strewn ground to grasp at her destroyed cartilage. “Me fookin’ nose you cunt” she wheezes out, knowing it wasn’t fully broken but feeling the blood pour out anyway, a bright red against her white shirt. 

“Shouldn’t of punched me in the gut” Cyrus retorts, still rubbing his stomach. “Cheap shot”.

“That wasn’t a cheap shot you flapdoodle”.

His groin was exposed to her, and she brings her workman’s boot up into his crotch with as much force as she could muster, sending the man sprawling to the ground instantly and drawing hisses and moans from the men on either side who pitied him, regardless of gang affiliation.

Cyrus cups his crotch while a smirking Dinah gets to her feet. “That was a cheap shot”.

She gives him a few minutes to collect himself, allowing him to return to the fight. She wanted things to be fair, and to give a show! She looks out into the crowd, seeing the familiar heads pop up and down, moving through like sardines through a larger school of fish. ‘Give ‘em enough time lass. Enough time’.

“You” Cyrus says, though his voice sounds higher. “I’m gonna skin you for that!”

He begins to advance towards her, grasping her about the midsection and not allowing her to escape as he continues on towards the wooden wall, intent on smashing her against it. Her back impacts harshly against the wood, and she hows in pain, bringing her fists up and down against his back in the hopes of dislodging herself from him.

He continues to slam her against the wood, hurting her deeply. “Fook, Dinah fight back!” one of her men says over the barrier.

“I’m tryin’ ya prat!”

She sees her opportunity and delivers a flurry of blows to the man’s side, forcing him to let her down and back up, wanting to shield himself from the blows. He doesn’t get the chance though, as Dinah entered what commonly happened to her when she was enraged.

She lost all sense of control and simply began to beat him in even more, delivering a roundhouse kick to the side of his head that sends the much larger man sprawling out. She’s upon him instantly, straddling his waist and snarling like a hellcat, bringing her fist down into his nose, again and again.

Cyrus feebly tries to fight her off, but his hands are batted away with the ease of barley in the wind. “CAN YA TALK NOW YA FOOKIN’ BASTARD HUH?!” she snarls. “SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE IRISH AGAIN EH? SAY SOMETHING ELSE YOU GALUT!”

She gets no response, and soon Cyrus Gold’s face is nothing more than a pulped bloody mess. She would’ve continued had not two Canaries jumped in and pulled her back, taking her under the arms and trying to calm the raging woman who was about to turn on them. “LET GO! LET GO!”

“Dinah love, it’s over! Ya trounced him! It’s over…” one shouts in her face, bringing her back down as she focuses in on the woman with the pockmarked face. She blinks, looking towards the very wounded, but alive Cyrus, whose own men rushed to his side, trying to rouse him up. “Moira? We won?”

“Aye lassie...aye” the older woman says, looking back and shaking her head with a shocked smile. “Gave him a right ole’ thrashin’”.

Sionis at that moment, moves back into the ring and takes one look at the knocked out cold Cherry Hill Boy’s champion and grimaces. “Well, I don’t think you need to me to tell you who won, so let me just tell the Cherry Hill Boy’s that they are to abandon the Eastern Wing of the Narrows by the end of the week, and surrender as much of the...business” he says, obviously referring to business of the illegal kind. 

“Intact as possible. Let’s be fair huh?”

The Cherry Hill Boys were already in an uproar, the loss of revenue no doubt being quite large. Dinah however, was already putting on her coat and her flat cap which had been held for her at the start of the fight and was now being returned to her. “Bloody fookin’ hell. That’s a lot of new turf for us boys!” one of the men shouts, causing the others to cheer at their victory.

Hands instantly begin to clap Dinah on the back, and she smiles good naturedly, accepting their acclaim and love, but her mind was dark. ‘A lot of territory means a lot of men...we don’t have ‘em’ she thinks, already scheming of ways to obtain the means of protecting such a large area.

‘A backer’ she thinks. ‘We need a backer. Someone to protect us. But who? None of the rich twats in this city wanna open their pockets to a bunch of paddies’.

She exits the factory, her mind in a daze as she moves into the buggy that had been summoned for her. It was painted the gang’s signature colors of black and yellow, and had a stuffed canary on each corner of it. “Where to ma’am?” the driver, a relatively pious young man named Seamus asked. He always crossed himself when coming to these things, chauffeuring the notorious gang leader not being something that would normally agree with him. But, when you had a family to feed….

Seamus was kind though, and his contrast towards the grimey and dirty life they led was welcome. “Home Seamus, but give it a minute will you? The boys gotta...ahh, here they now”.

Three shapes dart into the cab, the last one slamming the door closed behind him in worry, peering through the window to ensure that they weren’t being followed. The smallest of the three boys was tucked in between them, smiling at Dinah and swinging his legs in and out over the seat.

“Ahh, Dickie, Jason and little Timmy. How was the score tonight?” she asks as the carriage takes off, slowly as per her orders whenever the kids were in there. Dick, the eldest, smiles and reaches into his pocket, retracting a bunch of loose bills and coins. “Pretty good on my end” he says, handing half of it over to Dinah and repocketing the rest. 

“Hmm nice...two dollars and twenty five cents. Nice haul Dickie boy” she says, reaching out to pat his shoulder before looking at Tim. It was mostly just for show and to include the boy, as she never expected him to be able to haul much. Still, he smiled proudly and looks out at the blonde woman who’d taken him in.

He hands over his haul, the entirety of it, as he wanted her to see it. “Ohh and little Timmy bringing in the real green! Four whole dollars boys! We’d eat hearty for a month on this!” she says, making Tim beam with joy. The last boy, Jason, smiles at him from the corner of his eye, though he pretends to be looking out the window, not caring.

Dinah smirks at him and holds out her hand. “And what was Jason’s night like?”

“A little light” he says, pulling out a dollar and a nickel, handing it over. “Keep it all Dinah. For screwin’ up”.

She looks at the money in her hand and smiles, already knowing what had happened. “Ya know, ya can’t pull the wool over me eyes Jason” she teases with a wink. The boy makes to protest that he wasn’t holding anything back when her gaze abruptly shifts to Tim, who looks down and blushes, trying to avoid her gaze.

She reaches out and pulls him up by his chin, gently forcing him to look at her. “I thought you couldn’t reach their pockets the last time” she chides gently. “What changed things eh?”

“I...well…”.

He looks towards Jason quickly and impulsively, giving away the answer the woman wanted without even thinking about it. “Uhhmm..”.

“He...he wanted me to look good” Tim admits, drawing Jason’s attention. “Tim, shut up” Jason says, though Dinah silences him. “Go on Timmy boy”.

“Well...I always only came with candy. I’m not good at stealing. Not like Jason or Dick” he says shyly. “So...Jason told me to go get some candy and he’d give me what he stole. So...so you wouldn’t throw me out of the gang” he says, beginning to cry. “Aww dammit Tim” Jason says, hugging the crying boy close. “Just...stay quiet will ya? Keepin’ your mouth shut isn’t hard” he says, still trying to comfort the dirty boy in his cap.

“I’m sorry Jason…”.

“Ey, ey..” Dinah says, leaning forward just as the carriage bumps on a dislodged stone, managing to remain steady regardless. “Timmy boy. I am never kickin’ you out of this gang, alright?” she says before looking at all three of them. “Any of ya. Yer mine, and ya stay with me. Got it?”

“Yes Dinah” they all say, though Tim is still sniffling. Dinah decides to calm him down even more and congratulate him on his haul, even if it was candy. “Now, ya gonna let me see what ya filched or nah?”

He nods and opens his coat, letting the three full sacks of candy that he’d most likely stolen from the factory store fall out of his coat onto the floor of the carriage. Her eyes go wide and she whistles. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph Timmy boy” she says with a wink. “What a haul! God job boyo. As soon as ya get taller you’ll be rakin’ in the cash. I’m sure”.

Tim is bolstered by the praise and smiles, wiping away a tear. “Really?”

“Yup. Now...what’s my part of this?” she asks, making him giggle and point to the right side, reaching down to separate most of it into “her” pile. “Whew...all that? Well, I’m gonna need your help to eat it all then” she says while ruffling his hair under his hat.

Dick was smiling too, already reaching down and snatching a piece, plucking it into his mouth and drawing Tim’s ire. “Hey! That’s for the boss!”.

The two brothers begin to playfully scuffle with one another. Dinah takes the opportunity to turn to Jason, who had resumed his watch at the window. “Hey Jason” she says, taking two dollars and fifty cents, handing it over to the boy. 

She takes his hand and slaps the bills in, closing his fingers around it. “Yer a good lad. Even if you don’t want us to think that. I’m proud of ya. Ya looked out for yer younger brother. Good boy”.

She smiles and caresses his cheek before pulling back, the young man blushing and again looking out the window at the dirty and dismal streets of Gotham, with their smoke belching furnaces and filthy beggars, hawking items in the street for pennis.

Gotham. 

They said the streets were paved with gold.

Wayne Manor

Bruce was sitting in his upper study, looking down at the sigil in his hands, turning it this way and that before setting it down on the desk once more. He turns over to the police reports, his eyes perusing them with interest, knowing already what he was looking for but having to confirm it.

“Long night Master Bruce?”

Alfred moves into the room and places the tray of food down on the desk, hoping that his employer might actually deign to eat it this time, though he wasn’t going to bet any money on it. “He got away again Alfred”.

“Ahh, the Ripper copycat I assume sir?” he asks, knowing that Bruce had become obsessed following his encounters with the man as of late. “I don’t understand it. He’s faster and stronger than anyone I’ve faced before. Able to escape, blend in. I couldn’t chase him tonight. A woman was hurt”.

That perked up Alfred a bit and he smiles at the young man he’d raised. “Well sir, to be fair, you have only been doing this...Batman act for a month or so. You can’t expect to have perfected it. Though for sure the papers and the dreadfuls have been speaking out about you at length. You said a woman was saved?”

“Criminals are beginning to fear me Alfred. That’s good. They deserve to be afraid. And yes. The Ripper went after her, but I stopped the attack. She was wounded, which is why I couldn’t go after the man. I got her to safety at Saint Anthony’s”.

“Ahh yes, Leslie shall take good care of her, whoever she is” he says before noticing the sigil. “What is that?”

Bruce pulls up the police reports he’d managed to get a hold off, and flips to a page upon which a rough sketch of the same symbol upon the golden object is. “It’s a street gang’s calling card” he says. “Belonging to the Black Canaries based out of Burnsley”.

“What do we know of them?” Alfred asks, wanting to assist.

“Not much” Bruce says. “They’re an Irish gang though, a reference to an Irish Nationalist killed in the Irish Rebellion of 1798 is in the name. Ahearn Lance, also known as the Black Canary due to his penchant for wearing dark clothes and singing during the battle. He led a group of fighters until he was caught and hung by the Marquess Cornwallis after the rebellion was put down”.

Alfred sniffs, an Englishman through and through. “Well. I’m sure he wasn’t as guiltless as his supporters undoubtedly make him out to be”.

Bruce smiles and presses further on, moving to the modern day. “They started as a way to protect the homes and businesses of the Irish immigrant population living in Burnsley. A lot of fires were started a few years back. The Cherry Hill Gang was trying to push them out. Eighteen women and children were killed two years ago in one of these fires”.

“Bloody savages” Alfred says in response, surprising Bruce in how Alfred was quite nuanced in his view. ‘Fair. Always fair’.

“The violence has ramped up however” he goes on, looking at the paper. “With Warren White’s death, the Canaries have nobody to back them up. They’re on their own, with everyone looking to carve up a piece of their territory”.

“And who leads this band of misfits and vagabonds?” Alfred asks. “Nobody knows, at least not on an official governmental level. It’s a woman though. That’s all anyone outside of the gangs have figured out, and getting information from them is impossible. They’re very insular”.

“And you believe the killer belongs to this gang? What would they have to gain from it?” Alfred asks, confused.

Bruce leans back in the chair, already wearing his robe and being ready for bed, though his mind refuses to turn off. “Nothing. The Canaries aren’t violent. They make their money through the distribution of illegal liquor and the sale of stolen goods. They avoid murder like the plauge. Possibly a religious component but I’m not sure. They aren’t above violence though. They love brawling”.

“Do these killings have a economic motivation then?” he asks, pressing forward. “These women were...ladies of ill repute if I am correct sir” he goes on. “Perhaps they were in the service of another gang? In the brothels as well? This could be to convince the others that the killer from England has transplanted himself here”.

“No” Bruce says simply, dismissing the possibility out of hand. “The women were all independent, none being linked to any of the prominent brothels in the Narrows where all the killings and attempted killings have happened. This isn’t a gang thing, especially not from the Canaries” he explains. “A good portion of their revenue comes from streetwalkers. The fear isn’t going to remain contained to one gang’s earners”.

“Bugger” Alfred says. “So you don’t think it’s as cut and dry as a gangland scuffle?”

“I don’t no” he says, still looking at the sigil. “But something tells me that whoever is doing this is involved in the Canaries. I need to find out who”.

“How sir?” Alfred asks curiously. “Bust in and ask for answers?”

“No. Wouldn’t work” he says, hating that he didn’t have a straightforward answer. “The gang isn’t overly fond of centralization, especially since it’s more of a protection racket for now. No. I’m going to need to use a bit more...finesse”.

He stands up and takes the cup of tea off of the tray, sipping deeply from it and enjoying the warmth that provided such a contrast to the icy and windy Gotham night. “I’m going to have to infiltrate the gang”.

“And how do you plan on doing that Master Bruce?” Alfred chuckles. “Enter into a life of crime, earn their trust and gain access to their secrets? Waltz right in and ask as many questions as you want?”

The man was joking, but he could see the deadset expression on Bruce’s face, and then the smirk he slowly throws towards the butler through the reflection of the glass  window he was looking out of.

Alfred’s jovial nature falls away, and a frown plasters itself upon his face.

“My word...that’s exactly what you’re going to do isn’t it?”

Bruce doesn’t respond and simply exits the study, stopping to blow out the candle he’d been using to read and picking up the cold sandwich that Alfred had made him. “Master Bruce!” the butler calls out, following the man and demanding answers.

“Goodnight Alfred” he calls back. “Thank you for dinner”.

Chapter Text

Park Row, Gotham City

It was a little known fact at this point, but Park Row used to be the most prominent section of Gotham City. With its magnificently constructed columns and brightly painted houses, it attracted the wealthiest merchants and travellers from around the world. 

However, in 1843 the area was overtaken by typhus. The highly contagious disease spread amongst the inhabitants like wildfire, and before long the entire area was quarantined to keep it from spreading throughout the rest of the city. 

Nobody is quite sure of how exactly the fire had started, but they do know that the buildings went up like kindling and many of their inhabitants were trapped inside, too debilitated to move or escape their doom. The ones who were outside of the buildings, made it to the checkpoints but were pushed back in, not allowed to break the quarantine.

When they tried again, they were shot by local militia, intent on preventing the spread of disease.

Tales had sprung up about the place. How the fire was started by an evil ventriloquist whose mind was driven to insanity by his puppet who urged him to set the fire. It was often said that figures could be seen walking about the weeded field, looking for their lost and destroyed homes.

All of this served to keep the wary and superstitious inhabitants of Gotham City away from the spot, especially scared of the myth of the Gentleman Ghost, a walking finely pressed suit, with a monocle and top hat that was said to be walking about with nobody wearing it, until a gruesome burnt face would come into view, the specter now ready to kill anyone who saw its visage.

This small block, remained empty because of it. A weeded field that was left abandoned while the Narrows was built up and spread all around it. But...it wasn’t empty today.

The mass of carriages and horses entering into the field trampled down the weeds almost instantly, churning the dead plant matter up with the soil.

Workmen jumped down from their perches atop the carriages and into the mud, directing the wagons to park in an orderly fashion along the right side of the area. They were professionals who had done this numerous times before, but still, their leader was a leader for a reason.

The carriage at the very front stops off and a small diminutive man wearing a top hat and a monocle jumps down, almost stumbling from the rather comparatively large height he’d went down. “Easy there Mr. Cobblepot” one of the passing men calls out carrying some timber that would be used to set up the viewing stands.

“Ohh don’t worry about me Jimmy. Just make sure you set those stands up as best as they can be my boy!” he urges on, feeling rather happy today for a reason he couldn’t easily place. He places his hands on his hips and looks out over the city, taking a deep breath and breathing in the putrid air. He begins to instantly cough, which was something of a turn off to him but...he eventually regains his composure.

“Urgg..blasted city air”.

“Ozzy, what are you doin’ love?” a thick scottish brogue breaks in, and he looks up to see his wife, as usual towering over him. She was as lanky and thin as he was short and fat, and many would question how the two even made a marriage work. But they had.

Oswald smiles up at the woman and reaches to take her hand, caressing it gently before pressing a kiss to the back of it. “Margaret my dove, this is going to be amazing! I promise you. I’ll get you and Jenny in expensive finery yet with a beautiful house on the hill and…”.

She lowers herself to her knees, scuffling her already threadbare dress as she takes his face in her hands. “Ozzy….I married you when you were short, fat and poor as a beggar. You are still short, fat and only moderately richer than a beggar. I think you can stop worrying about me being a dainty little flower that needs finery” she teases, kissing his nose and making the man blush.

His monocle falls off rather comically, hanging by the chain attached to his faded suit. “I want better for you”.

“I’ve already got what I want” the gangly burnette says.

At that their daughter explodes from the carriage doors, the energetic girl wanting to be free and no longer willing to wait for the etiquette that her father insisted on, and her skirt is splattered in mud, causing Oswald to groan. “Jenny my dear...your clothes” he laments, while Margaret smiles. “She takes after me Ozzy. Doesn’t care for all that pomp and circumstance. Don’t know why you married me if you thought I’d pop out a society lady”.

“Your unending wit and untraditional beauty” he grumbles, though he means the words. Jenny blushes and looks down at the ground, moving closer to her father. “Sorry daddy. I was just excited is all” she says, having been working on her elocution. “Well...I can’t fault you for that” he says, moving up to his daughter who was now taller then him and taking her hand in his own flipper like hand.

“It’s Gotham. A land of opportunity and riches just waiting to flow into our pockets!”

“Pahh!” Margaret laughs out loud. “More like the land of stink and grime. I saw more rats here than in London”. She takes her daughter’s other hand, the two still being protective over her despite her being nearly fifteen years of age.

She wanted to be let go a bit, to breath free but her parents were overprotective to the largest degree possible. Margaret smiles and brushes her hand through the girl’s raven black locks, admiring the bow that she’d tied at the back to keep her hair together. “How did we make such a beauty Ozzy?”

“No idea love. Both of us fit in at the freak show, and here we are with Aphrodite incarnate as our daughter. The gods must truly have a sense of tragedy to taunt us so” he says jokingly, placing his hand over his face for faux dramatic effect. Margaret looks out over the workers and instantly sets about micromanaging, being even worse than Oswald when it came to that.

“Hey! Hey! No mate! Food vendors are on that side! Make sure the stove isn’t...dammit ya bloody well better not not have broken it!”

Jenny was still blushing at having been called beautiful, and her father notices. “So...are you going to sing for our opening act?”

“Daddy...I...I can’t”.

“Why not dove?” he asks. “You have a beautiful singing voice. It would be a shame not to share it with the world” he teases. “Who knows, a handsome young man with wealth might be waiting in the audience. Entrance him with your voice like a siren of old!” he laughs. “Then you’ll get to trade in the carney grounds for warm silken sheets and burnt mutton for the most exquisite of roasts and wines my dear. Lap of luxury”.

“Daddy...I’m happy here. With you and mom. I want to be a carney for the rest of my life” she says, scaring the man. “No you don’t sweetheart. You deserve better than this”.

She takes his hands in her own and smiles, kissing his cheek. “I’m my father’s daughter”.

He was saddened by this, though as usual his mind goes back to earlier times. He looks down at his deformed hands, shaped into flippers as they were. “You were never horrified of them Jenny. Even as a baby you were so loving. So unlike the rest of the world”.

“Your mother and I...we were freaks to be laughed at in a travelling show as you know of us. We loved each other because no one else in the world looked past our appearance. And we made something beautiful. I want you to be happy” he says emphatically. 

“I am daddy” Jenny says, trying her best to comfort him. “Now” she says suddenly, “I’m going to go help Aunt Hippolyta and Uncle Giovanni set up their stands!” she says excitedly, releasing her father’s hands and rushing off before he could even utter a word of protest.

“Jenny, wait...your dress! Ahhh…” he says, giving up and smiling to himself. “Too much like Maggie. Too much”.

Across the lot a tall, well built woman steps out of her carriage, followed by other women just like her. She had a regal appearance and wore a stola in the style of the ancient Greeks around her body. “Nubia, Artemis” she calls out. “Help me unload the tent” she calls out as two equally tall and strong women move into the grass, groaning at their surroundings.

“Don’t give me that” Hippolyta says with a chiding tone and a motherly look. “We need to…”.

She isn’t able to get her words out as the carriage carrying the material for setting up the tents was lifted up out of the wagon behind them as if it was nothing. “Diana!” Hippolyta shouts out worriedly, watching the girl lift up the materials and place them on the ground where workers, being well used to such inhuman displays, instantly move up to undo the straps holding the poles together.

The dark haired girl looks towards her mother who rushes forward and places her hands on either side of her face. “What were you thinking lamb?”

“Mother, I just wanted to help” she says tiredly, wearing a stola just like her mother, though it was much shorter, allowing for easier movement. “Lamb...I don’t want you to get hurt”.

“I’m not going too” she says, looking into her mother’s eyes with love and affection. “I’m strong. I can do this. I can help, and I’m old enough to make a decision like that without asking you”.

Hippolyta’s eyes harden for a moment, the woman shivering as she was rebuked, provoking an reaction. She calms herself down however, bringing herself away from the brink and smiles. “So much like me Diana...headstrong” she sighs, backing away and deciding to undo the leash a bit. “I have nobody else to blame but myself. Go ahead Diana. Help the workers” she says, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Nubia and Artemis smile at each other, drawing their “queen’s” ire.

“That doesn’t mean you two get to slack off. Go help the food vendors set up. Pigaine tora!” she shouts, reverting to her native Greek as Diana moves back and brings up a pole from the pile. With one fluid motion she slams it deep into the soil, anchoring it within Gotham.

The workers cheer as she moves on, grabbing each wooden tube and repeating the action with ease, not even breaking a sweat as she does so. The men cheered her on, eagerly placing bets on whatever it was they wanted to profit off of. Hippolyta sighs and shakes her head, enjoying how free and happy Diana looked, smiling wide at the praise she received.

“Come on Diana! Do another! Strongest of the Amazons!” one of the workmen shouts out as Diana jokingly flexes a bicep which, while toned, didn’t look any markedly better than any other woman. She was beautiful, and her strength ferocious.

Hippolyta knew where it came from, but she dared not speak of it for fear of what might be done to her daughter in that case.

She turns her eyes up to the top of their personal carriage that carried the small tribe of “Amazons”. A sign advertised just that saying, “The Famed Warrior Women of Greece, The Amazons!” Below it hung another sign with a painting attached that said “Come see Diana, Daughter of the Queen, Who Wrestles Lions and Bears With the Greatest of Ease!”

The painting was indeed of Diana, her hands clenched around a lions maw, forcing it open. Hippolyta smiles at how ferocious the lion is presented when in reality she knew that all the animals within the circus absolutely loved Diana. Still..it didn’t take away from her impressive strength, which indeed allowed her to throw them about like they were nothing. 

Her mind drifts back across the sea to another time, and her mood sours.

They surround her small home by the beach, desperately waving their pitchforks and torches, wanting to rip apart the young girl with whatever means are at their disposal. Hippolyta is crying at the door, preventing them from getting in.

“Please!” she sobs. “I beg you! She means no harm! She just doesn’t know her own strength! I’m so sorry! Please! Please don’t hurt us!”

She shakes these thoughts away and looks towards the overcast sky, undoubtedly added to by the smoke of the factories. With a sigh she turns and comes face to face with another figure, startling her beyond realization.

She puts a hand over her heart and breathes deeply. “By Zeus Giovanni…” she says. “You cannot sneak up on me like that!” she says, lightly punching the suited man’s shoulder. He lets out an sound of light pain, the woman being quite strong herself, but the constantly unflappable Giovanni Zatara doesn’t let that push him too far back.

He bows, and with a smile removes his top hat, taking Hippolyta’s hand in his own and kissing it, causing the woman to blush and look away with a smile. “A thousand apologies my Queen. Perdonami for my transgressions”.

“Ohh stop it you giteftis fidion” she says, though she would most definitely not mind if he went on.

“Ahh a snake charmer am I?” he asks, rising with a wink. “Does that make you Medusa?”

She didn’t know why but that made her laugh uproariously, but it did, and she certainly feels much more comfortable now that she was with the man. Ever since she and her daughter and sisters ran from Greece, they’d been lucky to find a home with Oswald Cobblepots traveling circus. They found them in England and were instantly taken aboard, the short little man not knowing what to do with them at the time but knowing he wanted to help.

“We’ll just...find something for you to do along the way” 

His kindness...she’d never forget it. Nor the kindness of the magician who had shown her and her family the ropes of carney life. Over time, they became the Amazons, a trio of warrior women who performed amazing feats of faux gladiatorial combat for cheering crowds.

That wasn’t their headliner though.

Diana, Princess of the Amazons with the strength of Zeus was, and she wowed them by doing the impossible, time and time again. Beasts feared her, in the ring of course as she had a way of convincing them to play along, and the crowds loved her. She was growing older though, and soon, Hippolyta wondered if she’d grow tired of this life. Attempt to strike out on her own.

That was a horrifying thought to her mother who always wanted to be by her side to protect her. She knew that wasn’t always going to be the case though.

“Is something on your mind Hippolyta?”

She is pulled out of her thoughts by Giovanni’s words, and she shakes her head, trying to dispel their remainder. “Ohh nai, nai. Yes. Everything is fine Giovanni. Tell me. How is Zatanna?” she asks, and he gestures with his chin to a stump which lay a little bit off.

On it was perched a little girl in a fitted cumberbund and black jacket, a bowtie around her neck. She was pouncing this way and that, capturing the bunnies that came out of her massively oversized top hat. She was giggling, catching one and loving hugging it close, replacing it back inside before taking yet another out again.

Hippolyta smiles, always loving the antics of the youngest of the performers. “The Amazing Zatanna Zatara” she says, rambling off the name she’d undoubtedly go by. Zatanna was born for this life, and she’d need the stage light to truly bloom.

“Si, she is going to truly shake the world with her magia” the man says proudly. He looks upon her with a sadness in his eyes that she can place easily. “She’d be so proud of her Gio” she soothes, caressing his whiskered cheek. “And you for raising her up so nicely. So kind and loving”.

He smiles but he is still overcome with melancholy. 

“She reminds me so much of her” he says quietly, nearly a whisper. “Then take that as a gift” she responds, hoping to illuminate another way of thinking for the man. “Sindella is still alive, through your daughter. Cherish that Gio”.

He takes her hand again and kisses it, the two having such an easy rapport. It was comforting, and she wanted to hang onto it, enjoying his company. However, their moment is interrupted by Zatanna picking up the hat, and dumping its contents out, sending what looked like hundreds of bunny rabbits out onto the ground.

She laughs and claps her hands, rocking back and forth on the stump in excitement while Giovanni has a look of horror on his face. “Mi scusi Hippolyta!” he says, pecking her cheek and rushing towards his daughter who was rapidly surrounded by hopping bunnies. “No! No! Il mio piccola! Not all the bunnies!”

Hippolyta chuckles and watches as the man hops about after them himself, grasping the hat and trying to capture as many as possible, undoubtedly drawing it out for his daughter’s entertainment, who herself was seated on the stump, laughing even more hysterically. 

“Papa! You look like a bunny now!” she shouts, and all around continue to watch, enjoying the father/daughter bonding. 

Hippolyta feels her mood lifted monumentally, and she turns back to see that the tent was now fully erected, the first structure on the circus grounds to have done so. “Mitera” Diana says while moving up to her side, not even having broken a sweat. “Our tent is set up, as is the backstage. I’m going to help out with the rest of the grounds”.

“Alright my lamb. Alright just…”.

She is lost for words for a moment, but soon enough she decides that words aren’t always what was needed. She pulls her daughter in and places a kiss upon her forehead. “I love you Diana” she says, and the young woman hugs her back, a bit confused but never willing to deny her mother affection. 

“Are you okay mother?” she asks, stepping back for a moment to grasp her shoulders, looking deeply into her eyes.

“I am fine lamb. I just wanted you to know that I love you is all. Now, go and get the other set up. I’m sure they’ll be thankful for your help”.

“Okay mother”.

And with that Diana is sprinting off, heading towards any number of other points where her assistance would be needed. Soon enough a small tent city forms within the confines of the abandoned square, and the sign that calls all to its front gate is perched up. The poles are driven into the ground and pushed and pulled respectively, one by a team of two horses and the other by Diana.

The sign stares out at the dirty city, its siren call offering momentary entertainment and distraction from their daily lives.

Cobblepots Circus and Oddity show was open for business, and Gotham would soon be more than welcome to purchase a ticket.

The Pig Pen Bar, East Wing of the Narrows

The Pig Pen was not the most luxurious of places to go for a drink, even for Gotham’s criminal classes who much prefered the gaudier haunts that offered more risque forms of entertainment. In the Pig Pen however, all there was was a bar with ramshackle stools and tables positioned around it. 

The sign welcoming those into the bar itself was barely hanging on, and someone in some forgotten night had scrawled out the word pen and added “shit” to it instead. The owner must’ve liked the change as he never corrected it.

“What will it be?”

Bruce looks up from his spot at the bar and fixes the bartender, a grizzled old veteran most likely if the missing arm was anything to go on, and tries to fix him with a hard stare. The portly and bearded man wasn’t having it though, and he returns the blank stare.

Bruce eventually gives an answer, trying out a thick Irish brogue that he would be using to make this whole thing work. ‘I hope that month spent in Milan learning the art of stagecraft paid off’ he thinks, schooling his voice. “A whiskey will ya? And make it quick”.

The man doesn’t notice anything as being off and simply grasps a dirty glass, wiping it off with an even dirtier towel before pouring a shot for the man. He places it in front of Bruce, who eagerly slams down a dime, which the bartender looks at with curiosity.

“It’s a quarter lad”.

“Don’t give me that shite” Bruce says, playing his role to the maximum. “I know ya been filching this sewer water from Sionis’ stills. Means it’s less than shite. A dime is what ya get outta me”.

The bartender looks at him with anger, though he had to concede that the man was right. His wares weren’t exactly obtained on the up and up. “The other fifteen cents is payment for me not flappin’ me gums and tellin’ the big boy how ya been robbin’ him”.

The bartender nods, apparently willing to let sleeping dogs lie, and he turns, opening his cash register and depositing the coin in the box. Bruce meanwhile, brings the drink to his lips, but does a quick sleight of hand to pour the off brand whiskey onto the wooden floor instead.

He just had to look and smell like he was drinking, but even he wouldn’t go so far as to drink this swill. Not even for a case.

The bar was empty, at least for the moment, with only a few early morning stragglers lazing about, trying to drink off their hangover from the night before. The doors suddenly open though, and Bruce hears a strange voice, melodious in its own way, but filled with profanity.

“Fookin ‘ell” Dinah says, setting herself down at one of the abandoned tables with a few of her men, all wearing green jackets. She puts her boots up on the wooden table and lit a cigarette, inhaling the smoke deeply while throwing the burnt out match onto the ground.

“Hey! Barkeep! Get off your lazy arse and get some whiskey!” she shouts, and the barkeep seems to loose all his pretensions of being a tough guy, now incredibly servile to the woman. “Yes Mrs. Lance. Right away!” he says, moving with a speed Bruce didn’t even think the portly man capable of. 

He keeps his head down, but he was already interested. He keeps his head from turning, knowing that any sign he gave would be suspicious at this point, he continues to set at the bar though, brooding. ‘Lance. Ahearn Lance’ he says, thinking back to the name of the Irish Nationalist who gave the band of criminals he was seeking to infiltrate their name.

‘Can’t be a coincidence’ he goes on, further adding the man’s servility to the woman as evidence that she was somebody quite important in the world of Gotham’s organized crime.

The bartender shuffles out with a tray of whiskeys, putting them down on the table and standing by for another order. Dinah takes a drag on her cigarette, apparently being in no great rush. “Sorry for snappin’ at ya Henry. Just a bad ways is all” she says, the man nodding, though Bruce was doubtful that even if he was offended that he’d say anything.

Canary notices that he’s still standing there, and she moves him off with a wave of her hand. 

“Alright, now go on off eh? We got stuff to jab about”.

Bruce remains quiet and yet leans back just a bit, wanting to hear whatever it is the woman said. Apparently she wasn’t overly concerned about secrecy, as she launches right into it. “Alright now we looked down the Narrows for ourselves. What are we gonna do about it?”

“I don’t Dinah” one of the men says. “To be honest? I really think that ole’ Cyrus is going to try and take it back from us”.

“Of course he fookin’ is Eel” she says exasperated. “He’d be a right nonce not too, and trust me, of all the things that lummox is, an idiot isn’t one of them”.

The man shrinks into himself, not liking that he’d stated the obvious and embarrassed himself. “Alright well...what we do then?” he asks, speaking in very butchered english. Bruce smiles to himself, pondering what Alfred would say if he were here, especially about the lack of proper usage of his language. 

‘Alright’ he thinks, putting the pieces together. ‘Cyrus Gold leads the Cherry Hill Boys. So, I’m guessing the Canaries recently took it over, and that woman...she must be their leader. Dinah Lance. Hmm..can’t believe my luck” he thinks, hearing the door open again.

He wonders if it was more of Lance’s men, but when they stop in front of the table and begin to speak, he knows that this wasn’t a social call. “You bitch” one begins, the other two men behind him holding bludgeons. “What did ya just call me?” she asks, remaining seated.

“You heard me well enough bog eater” he says, more men moving into the bar, outnumbering the three who thought they’d be safe here in what was their own territory. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Dinah pretends to be confused, and she was not bothered in the slightest by how many Cherry Hill Boys had flooded the place, eager to do her and her men harm. “What does it look like I’m bloody well doin’?” she asks. “I’m having a drink in me part of Gotham. Ya don’t mind that do ya?” she smirks, picking up her glass and downing the whiskey inside. 

“I do mind actually” he says. “You see, we have no intention of giving up this turf. So, we’re going to give you and your apes a chance to do the smart thing...and fuck off” he offers as if he was being incredibly generous.

“I’m shakin’ in me boots at yer threat” she teases out. “But as you well know, I trounced yer boss the other day. The rules are the rules. This is all mine”.

“We don’t have to play by the rules with no papist, pope worshipping Irish brood mare” one of the men behind the ring leader snarls. “This is Gotham. We don’t have any room for you here”.

“Well boys, looks like they ain’t gonna follow the rules. We’re just gonna have to skedaddle ain’t we?” she asks, making to get up and pretend to leave. She wouldn’t walk away from a fight, never, but distracting them? Making them think so? That was something she’d do.

She makes to walk when the click of a revolver is heard, and the man before here is now holding a pistol, aimed directly at her head. The blonde freezes, feeling the rage begin to take over her once again, and desperately trying to calm it down.

“I don’t think so” he says cruelly, the others laughing. “I think, what we should do, is shoot all three of you, and have you stuffed. Then, we’ll put you up at the crossroads, just to let every dumb paddy know exactly where their place is”.

Bruce had heard enough, and he now knew how he could get into the good graces of the Canaries. He picks up an empty beer bottle that someone had left down the bar, and he begins walking through the the crowd of Cherry Hill Boys, none suspecting anything about his intentions.

In fact, he looked like most of them, with a tattered jacket, faded overalls and torn trousers, a flat cap perched over his brow. 

He makes his way to the leader of the men, so focused was he on the quarry in his sights that he didn’t even hear Bruce approaching. “Oi, Susie” Buce says in a mocking tone, causing the man to finally turn around to face the man who’d called out to him. 

As soon as he did that, Bruce brings the bottle up into his face, smashing it and as many of the man’s teeth as he could while sending him careening to the ground. The pistol scatters away across the wooden floor, and just like that...it was on.

Bruce drops the bottle just in time for him to avoid a punch thrown by a man to his side, two others rushing up on him. He’s able to buck them off however, headbutting the one directly his right and turning in time to have a fist crack against his jaw. He’s thrown back for a moment, but he’s quickly on the offensive once more, rushing forward to slam the man into a table, splintering the ancient wood.

Dinah throws herself into the fight, right alongside her two lieutenants who drew blades as quickly as possible. They weren’t much use at such close quarters however, and they find the weapons yanked away by Bruce, using the mess of bodies to hide his attempts at limiting injuries.

Well...at least severe ones.

Dinah was atop a man on a table, bringing her fist down into his face in a bloody rerun of the previous night’s activities with his boss, though she’s yanked off by another man who takes the time to punch her in the back as hard as he could, causing the blonde to cry out.

Bruce moves over towards the man, picking up a chair and smashing it over his head, knocking him out cold and letting his body fall off to the side. He was about to ask if Dinah was okay and assist her in getting up when someone else approaches him, a knife in his own hand. 

He dispatches him with the broken chair leg, smashing it across his face and sending his limp body sprawling across the floor. He then turns to the blonde who was slowly making her way up, apparently having been quite affected by the blow. Bruce moves to his knees, trusting her two remaining men to hold the rest of the Cherry Hill Boys off for a moment.

“You alright lass?” he asks and she reaches out for his collar, grabbing him and making to punch him. She stops at the last second though, realizing that at the very least he wasn’t an enemy. “Help me up ya arse”.

He does just that, grabbing her under the arms and pulling her to her feet where she shakes off her confusion. She takes one look at the mass of fighters remaining and scowls. “I don’t have time fer’ this today!”

She steps forward, still wobbly on her legs, which worries Bruce, and he steps out to place his hands on her shoulders to steady her. She scowls at him, shrugging him off, obviously not appreciating the help.

He lets go, getting the hint, and readies himself to return to the melee until she stops him. “Relax. I got a way to end this quick”. She turns to the ground, seeing her men on the ground now where they were getting beat rather roughly by the rise and fall of their feet.

She grimaces, but finds that as painful as the situation might be for them, it was also rather fortuitous. “Rayner! O’Brien! Cover yer’ ears lads”.

Bruce sees them do just that, readying themselves for something as Dinah steps forward and takes a deep breath. Suddenly, she screams, and the still standing men of the Cherry Hill gang are thrown off of their feet by the unseen shockwave.

One goes flying through the window, sending glass shattering everywhere while the others slam into wood and each other. Bruce was shocked, this being the last thing he expected, and he places his hands over his own ears, somewhat too late to prevent the noise from getting to him. Dinah keeps it up until not a single Cherry Hill Boy is left standing, and even then she slowly lets it die off until only the ringing of his ears could be heard.

Bruce turns to look at the blonde and then the damage she’d been able to do, with most of the bar’s front having been blown out onto the street. Wounded men lay with the rubble, moaning and crying out for her. 

Dinah herself seems to be taken aback, and she stumbles, nearly falling until Bruce catches her. “Easy lass” he shouts, unable to control his volume at the moment since he could barely hear. The blond woman allows him to assist her into a chair, where she reaches for a bottle of whiskey that was miraculously still standing. 

She takes a quick swig, her eyes wild and searching, scanning constantly for new threats. Her men, whose proximity to the floor and covering of their ears had effectively saved them, slowly move up, themselves having been horribly battered by the rival gang’s attack, shamble to the table, throwing themselves in chairs next to the two. 

She hands them the whiskey bottle, turning her gaze to Bruce who was slowly, very slowly, gaining his hearing back.

“Alright...who the fook are ya?”

This was the moment he was waiting for, and he knew that he couldn’t mess it up. “Bloody ‘ell” he goes on. “What was that?”

“None of your fookin’ business is what it was. Now, who the hell are ye? Before I rip open yer guts meself” she asks coldly, taking back the bottle of whiskey from her men and taking another gulp from the bottle. “Names Matches. Matches Malone” Bruce says simply, having come up with the moniker the night before.

“Matches eh? What the ‘ell kinda name is Matches anyway?” she asks.

“Well, me mum named me George” he says simply, spitting out at the mention of the name. She breaks out into laughter, holding her side tightly. “And you don’t wanna share a name with ole’ Georgie boy of England eh? Bunch of royal fruits. Where ya from in the Emerald homeland then eh...Matches?” she asks before chuckling, making Bruce feel a bit more at ease. 

“Donegal”.

Dinah looks at him askance, hearing from how far up North he was. “Eh...that so?” she asks, moving in closer and placing her arm on the table, fist clenched. “That’s so”. Bruce doesn’t back down, and he can see that she respects that. “Problem?”

“Not at all lad, not at all” she says falsely. “That is, as long as you ain’t no fookin’ English lover. Tell me, you one of them Prouts? Eh? You an Anglo-lover?” she asks, finishing up with a “And don’t ya think of lyin’ to me. I’ll know. I can smell a royalist”.

Bruce just smirks and leans back in as well, the two only a few inches from each other so that they can smell the whiskey, from her breath and his clothes respectively, coming off one another. “If I got a single drop of Brit blood in my body, may Pope Pius IX ask God himself to strike me down. Swear on Saint Patrick”.

He resisted the urge to look up, knowing that practically his ENTIRE body was of British ancestry, and he was merely waiting for the lightning strike. It didn’t come however, and Dinah seemed convinced. She backs off and smiles, a rather calming, pretty smile if anyone asked Bruce.  “Alright, lets say I believes ya. I’m from County Cork, all the way down in real, undiluted Ireland. Ain’t no royalists where I’m from” she says before handing over the whiskey bottle to him.

“But over here? That shite don’t matter so much. You’re Irish? Good enough fer me” she goes out, bringing up a hand to her black eye which she’d received in the fight. “These are me mates. Patrick O’Brien, but everyone calls him Eel”.

The man nods at Bruce, offering him his hand. “Pleasure ta meet ya Matches. Helluva fight eh?”

“Aye. Twas” Bruce says back before looking towards the other man who scowls. “And this sourpuss is Kyle Rayner” she says, grabbing him about the shoulders and bringing him in closer. He gently pushes the blonde off of him and glares at Bruce.

“Pleased ta meet ya”.

It was clear from his voice that he wasn’t and the lack of an extended hand for a handshake was also more than enough to hammer home the point even further. 

“So” Dinah chimes in again, not wanting another argument to escalate. “What brings you to the stinking pile of shite they call Gotham eh, Malone?” she asks.

“Work” he says simply. “You know how it is back home. The brits keep us starving and docile. Guessed I’d trade in having nothing back home for having only a little over here”.

“And how’s it working out for ya eh?”

“Not good” he admits, sticking to his story. “I’m still looking for work. Been filching enough to get buy. Ain’t proud of it but I don’t got many options now do I?”

She holds up a finger, correcting his words. “Eh, filching ain’t a dishonorable way to make your living. It’s fair. Better then those robber barons who sit up at the top ey?” she asks, elbowing Eel in the side and laughing. “Think Rupert Thorne ever worked for his money? Ever be honest enough to walk up to a lad, point a pistol at ‘em and say ‘hand over whatcha got!”? No way!” she laughs.

“Way I see it? We’s honorable thieves. Put ourselves in ‘arms way to get what we want and need. Plus, even better if ya don’t gotta knock some poor old sod off. Take that twat Bruce Wayne eh?” she says, making his blood run cold before he reminds himself that there was no way she could know who he was. 

Or did she?

“Sittin’ up all nice in that cozy mansion. Fer’ what? I mean...I’m real sorry to hear about his parents” she admits. “Bad business that. Tiny little tyke watching some blighter mow down his loved ones? I feel for him there ya know?” she says sincerely, making Bruce feel oddly thankful. His anger calms a bit, and he lets her go on, the fire returning to her eyes. “But, what makes it good for him to do nothin’ for the rest of us ‘eh?” she asks, not truly being aware of how much the Wayne charitable funds actually did for the city.

‘Note to self. Make it more visible’ he thinks. ‘Maybe it’ll help the people of Gotham feel hopeful’.

“Well, maybe I’m just bitter ya know? Ain’t like Wayne makes it this way. We all do. Rotten stacks of cordwood. All of us. Stealin’, robbin’, killin’ and fuckin’ in the gutters. Ehh”.

She takes a breath and shakes her head, getting back on track. “Anyways lad, you ain’t gonna find good work. Least not the kind that don’t have ya chokin’ up black pieces of lung if you catch my drift”. She moves forward again, smiling wide this time. “I can give ya some work though. Ya see, I need guys. Lads and lasses, the Canaries don’t discriminate, that ain’t afraid of a scuffle, and the way I sees it? Ya already proven yer good in a scrap”.

“The Canaries?” he asks, playing dumb.

“Yeah, the Canaries. Only Irish gang around. Surprised you ain’t heard of us” she says, a bit suspiciously. “I try and keep me head down”.

“Another good trait to have. Anyways, the work is solid. Fair too. We cut it all half and half. Half of anything you run you kick up ta me fer the gang. Other Half? That’s yers’. Sound good?”

“Just like that?” he asks, sure that there was a catch.

“Well, not exactly. Ya ain’t in with us yet. We needs to see that yer on the up and not just tomfoolin’ us”.

“Only true sons of Ireland get in here” Rayner butts in, adding his two cents. “And only the ones willin’ ta get their hands dirty”.

“I won’t kill noone” Bruce says firmly, placing his hands over his chest. Dinah smiles and nods. “Good. We don’t want none of that. Things is already bad for us, and we don’t need no bloody psychopath who’s innit’ just for the killin’. We protect lad. That’s our major deal”.

“Well...and ta make some money” Eel jokes, reaching across the table and pushing Bruce’s shoulder. An easy camaraderie was already established, and Bruce found himself a little surprised at that. ‘I can’t believe it…’ he thinks, dubious of his luck before remembering he wasn’t out of the woods yet.

“Alright, ya said somethin’ ‘bout me provin’ I’m on the up and up. What’s it I gotta do?”

Dinah looks around, knowing that nobody else besides her gang and the cowering barman were there in the empty alley, but still having to check out of habit. She leans in and smirks at Bruce. “Tonight, you and me, we’re gonna have a little walk around town eh? See what there is to see. I wanna know if ya learned anythin’ while plyin’ your trade as a fingersmith”.

Bruce smirks, knowing that this would be easy.

‘Who knew my training as Batman would make me an excellent crook as well?’ he jokes, already figuring out a plan to reimburse anyone he’d have to rob. “Sounds good ta me”.

Dinah reaches her hand out across the table, and he looks down at it, pondering what this all meant. If she was sincere about the “no killing” rule, then perhaps he’d read this whole thing wrong. Still, here was a chance to infiltrate a criminal ring. Learn their secrets and do some damage to the more serious gangs across the city. 

There was also the sigil. He needed to uncover who was behind it, and looking over the three only confirmed that whoever has been cutting up the women of the night belonged to the Canaries.

Each of them wore the exact same sigil the lapel of their jacket.

He takes her hand and shakes it firmly.

“I have a feelin’, just looking at ya Matches, that this is the start of somethin’ beautiful” Dinah says, a playful smile on her lips and a wink in her eye. 

Gotham City Train Station

The smokestack of the train spilled out its vile contents all over those in the cars behind it. Like everywhere else in Gotham, the filth clung to the oft used tracks and all those who rode upon them, hanging onto them and making Gotham take on something of a physical presence.

“Alright” the surly conductor yells, moving to the back of the train where the poorest passengers were sat. “Everyone off. Ain’t no freebooters on my train. You hear me? Off!”

One man stood up instantly and grabs his bag from the overhanging compartment. His clothes, or rather, a more fitting word would be uniform, drew everyone’s attention. He places his grey hat atop his head, covering his sandy brown hair while he steps out of the door onto the platform, drawing even more attention to himself.

There were a lot of reasons for people to look upon the man outside of his uniform. 

Half of his face seemed to be carved up, with a significant portion of his cheek out to expose the inner workings of his mouth and teeth. Only a thin remnant of flesh remained at the front, connecting his lower and upper jaw.

He was deformed, and most passed it off as a war wound considering the clothes he was wearing. The eyes of everyone on the platform were drawn even more to him as he moved through the masses, already scowling at how crowded the city was.

“Damn smell” he mumbles to himself in his southern drawl.

“You’ve got a lot of guts wearing a uniform like that here” a particularly well dressed man says, standing at the head of another group of well dressed men escorting their women. “Reckon I do” he says, putting his bag down and reaching for a light for his cigarette.

He cups his hand around it and lights it, shaking the match to put it out before throwing it on the ground. One of the men takes offense to this apparently, his match being unique amongst the thousands of others that littered the floor amongst the other bits of refuse.

“Have some self respect Johnny Reb” one of the men says. “Take off that stupid uniform. You lost”.

“How about you?” the man asks, seemingly ignoring the man’s previous demand and asking a question of his own, his lips pursed around his cigarette. “Do any fightin’?”

The man seems proud of himself, and juts his chest out proudly, the ladies cooing in appreciation behind him. “I’ll have you know you are speaking to Colonel Arthur Reeves of the 14th New Jersey Regiment”.

“An officer then. Didn’t do chicken shit”.

The man takes exception to this and moves forward, stopped by one of the ladies. “Arthur leave him be...he’s just trying to make his way like everyone else” the redhead says. He shakes her off, seeming as if he was going to strike her. “Quiet yourself Andrea” he says, finally backing down from such an act.

He turns back to the man who was still puffing on his cigarette, now though, the pistols on his hip are exposed as he had pushed back his coat. “Are you wantin’ a problem today Colonel Reeves?” the man in grey asks. “If so, lets have it out”.

“A brawl in the middle of the street? I’m sad to see that utter humiliation and defeat hasn’t cowed you pathetic rabble” the man says petulantly.

“Wanna hear my philosophy on the war Colonel?” the man drawls out, making the former Colonel Reeves look to his friends and laugh. “Yes, please. Let me hear what some backwoods country bumpkin has to say about your little insurrection”.

The man was unperturbed by the ribbing he was receiving, and simply launches into what he had to say. “All you officers are chicken shits. Hidin’ behind your men and sendin’ boys off to die while you sit back and get medals. Bet you think you’re real brave don’t you? Well, let me tell you something. I’d kill you in a heartbeat if I thought that it would bring back all them boys, blue and grey, that we lost at Gettysburg, Antietam or any other damn place you can point to on the map. It weren’t worth it. And if I had my say?” he asks, moving up to get right in the man’s face, intimidating him with his injury and the wild look in his eye.

“I woulda turned our guns on you and went home”.

The man is about to retort when someone calls down the tracks towards him, turning his gaze to a man that marches down, waving his hand. “Jonah! Jonah Hex!”.

Jonah’s bad mood lifts a bit and he looks toward the shaken Reeves, who had just looked down to find the bowie knife that the man had at his neck. The man who called him keeps approaching, and eventually he stops to see what’s going on. 

“Aww...hell...Jonah...really?”

“He started it” the scarred man says, causing the other to smile. “Put the knife down Jonah. You ain’t gonna change anything by killing him”. Jonah just grunts, but listens, dropping the knife away and replacing it in his sheathe. He turns back to the man and reaches out his hand for a shake, causing the other to shake his head and smile, hugging him tightly.

“After ten years without seein’ each other, you think you’re gonna get away with a handshake? Come on cousin. Give me a hug” the man teases, holding the irritable cowboy tight. His hands go out to the side, but eventually he moves in to pat his cousin’s back.

“Good to see you Greg” he says simply, not being fond of emotional reunions.

The name draws the attention of the Colonel, who turns to the new man. “Greg Saunders?” he asks, recognition dawning on him. “Sergeant Greg Saunders? I commanded your regiment during the war am I correct?”

The man pulls back from his cousin and turns to the Colonel, a hateful glare in his eye. “You did”.

“Ahh, well, splendid” Reeves says, still disdainful of the man whom was his former subordinates familial relation. “How are you holding up my dear man?”

“Fine” Greg says, his fist tightening. “Do you happen to remember the Battle of Cold Harbor sir?”

That takes the officer back and he smiles, which was obviously not a welcome reaction to the man. “Why yes I do, nasty business that. Still, it was necessary for…”.

Greg’s fist bursts out and slams right into the man’s jaw, knocking him to the ground and forcing him back, the others scattering to the sides, assuredly not wanting what he had just received. Greg continues the attack in a verbal manner.

“That’s for sending me and the boys to die you piece of shit”.

There was no need anymore for any further confrontation, as Reeves assuredly didn’t want to get up for another dose of that. Jonah despite himself, let’s a smile loose and laughs. “Well I’ll be damned. Looks like we are the United States again” he says, following after his cousin and elbowing him.

“Didn’t expect my strait laced cousin to lay ole’ desk jockey out” he says, though the man was quiet, and Jonah knew why. “Ain’t no use in thinkin’ ‘bout all them boys that died”.

“Can you take your own advice?” he asks pointedly in retort. “I mean, really? Still wearing your uniform?”

“Well...I don’t...I…”.

Jonah didn’t know why but he suddenly felt guilty, though it wasn’t something he consciously did. The life of a bounty hunter wasn’t easy, and the clothes he wore during the war served their purpose. That wasn’t the only reason he wore it, but he didn’t want to delve into that now.

Greg just sighs, shaking it away. “Sorry, sorry. No, you’re right. Shouldn’t snap on you for being you” he says, smiling at his cousin. “It’s so good to see you again. Come on, I can’t wait to get you home to meet Mari and the kids..” he says before looking at the uniform and remembering.

“I’m excited to meet them” Jonah says happily, for the first time in a long time, he felt happy. “That picture you sent of all of ya? Real adorable family ya make. I hope that Mari of yours cookin’ is good. I uhh...I also got the kids a few presents, if’n that’s okay” the man says nervously.

It was clear that he wasn’t used to social interactions at all, and was possibly dreading messing things up with the only family he had left. “That’s perfectly fine” Greg says, knowing that things would be okay in the long run. He’d smooth things over. She’d see that beneath Jonah’s exterior that there was a lot more softness and care than he let on.

“Do you...do you have any money?” he asks, not wanting to sound rude as they moved out of the station. “I uhh...I don’t got much Greg” he admits. “I’ll pay ya back if you allow me too, for room and board and such. I just need ta find a job” he says before laughing. “Though I don’t mind roughin’ it. Just need to find an alley or open space”.

“It ain’t that at all Jonah” he says. “Of course you’ll be staying with us it’s just...your jacket”.

Jonah looks down, unknowing what was wrong before realizing. “Ohh...uhh...well…”. It all fits together instantly, and Greg rolls his eyes. “It’s alright. I’ll buy you a used one on the way home. Don’t worry. You won’t have to throw this threadbare piece of junk away. I know what it means to you” he says.

Jonah looks up at the Gotham City skyline and shakes his head, already not caring for this place, especially when he could compare it to the wide open skies of the west. “Not as much as it means to me to have your family comfortable. I’ll change”.

Chapter Text

Gotham Heights, Gotham City

He had another dream of her.

This time she was above his bed, reaching down to her with her arms, beckoning him even closer. He tries to escape, tries to block her out, but her voice. Her sultry voice. It’s too much. He can’t take it. Ever since first peering into her dark eyes filled with the seductive promise of the entire world he couldn’t escape her. He was powerless against her.

He was entirely hers to use.

Doctor Napier was unaware of the world around him, uncaring even. The dirty streets of Gotham were nothing, less than nothing when compared to her beauty. 

A slight chill comes to him by way of the air that brushes past him, and he brings his coat in, cradling himself in an attempt to keep out the cold. To the poor and ragged passerby’s he was merely trying to keep warm, but in reality? He was pretending it was her touch.

He knew the path to his home and practice by heart now, and he doesn’t even need to take his mind off of his shadowy love, his obsession, to advance up the stairs. He looks to the right, glimpsing the plaque that hung upon the wall outside of the brick building.

“Jack Napier, Medical Doctor, Seller of Tonics, and Curer of What Ails You” it read. He glares at it and shakes his head, mumbling to himself that he’d become so much more than a simple charlatan, and it was all thanks to her.

He opens the door and steps inside, bemoaning how bright it was inside his home. 

“Puddin’” a voice, a most unwelcome voice shouts as his wife rushes down the hallway, apparently having heard him enter their house. The blonde woman, her hair in a tight bun and her face creased in worry, throws her arms around him, and he has to resist the urge to throw her back away from him.

‘Her touch is nothing!’ a voice that could possibly be identified as his own, hisses out in his mind. Harleen backs up, though keeps her hands upon his shoulders, picking up on how he doesn’t seem to respond in any positive way to her presence.

He looked...pale. He felt as stiff as a board.

“Jack..are you well?” she asks, trying to get some answers as to why he had stayed out all night. “I’m fine Harleen” he retorts tiredly, turning to place his top hat upon the rack, quickly adding his coat to it as well. Harleen rushes forward to try and help, but he rebuffs her, shoving her back.

“Don’t touch me” he seethes, frightening the woman who desperately wanted to know what was wrong with her husband. “Jack...you don’t look well”. He turns, nostrils flaring in his rage while he advances on her, grasping her shoulders roughly. He slams her against the wall and resists the urge, just barely, to move his fingers up to her throat and choke the life out of her.

His dark hair was frazzled, his eyes wild and his entire appearance otherwise unkempt. “Do you have any idea…” he begins, taking a moment to breath though even that doesn’t diminish his anger in the slightest. “How hard my days are?”

She squirms in his grip, frightened beyond words.

“Jack…” she pleads. “You’re hurting me”.

The man doesn’t seem to hear her, and just continues on. “How ridiculous it feels to constantly stitch up some common thug’s knife wound, or help some fat butcher’s wife pop out her eighth or ninth little bastard? To know, know” he emphasizes, letting her smell his breath which was stale and acrid.

She thought he had been drinking perhaps, but now she knew that this was something else. “That you’re meant for greatness, and yet...denied it at every turn?”

They’re both silent, and that only enrages Jack as apparently he had expected an answer. “DO YOU?!” he shouts, causing Harleen to begin crying. “No...no...I don’t Jack..I don’t. Please stop. Whatever this is...let me help”.

He is unmoved by her tears, though it does change dampen his rage, turning it to the cold rock of utter apathy. He could care less for this pathetic little creature that he had once been someone he convinced himself that he loved.

He throws her to the floor, allowing her to sob there as he works to move up the stairs, eager to get to sleep. “I don’t need help Harleen” he dismisses her, passing by the warped and stained walls that were the inner confines of his home. “I’ve never felt better. It’s remarkable”.

He wasn’t speaking to her of course, and Harleen wasn’t listening. He blocks out her tears and continues onwards, once more desirous of sleep. It wasn’t that he was tired, or that he felt he needed to sleep. It was the simple fact that he knew if he were to get to sleep, she’d come to him.

She caress him, hold him tight, and whisper sweet nothings into his ear, promising that she loved him for the work he was doing, that he’d done well. 

Only in his dreams did he feel he could do the one thing he always yearned to do.

Smile.

Wayne Manor

“Master Wayne, are you sure about this?” a nervous Alfred asks as the man suits up into his “Matches Malone” disguise. He nods, trying to placate the man while slipping his arms into the jacket and donning his hat. 

“I’m sure Alfred”.

The man wasn’t going to just let up at that however, and he continues on. “Thievery Master Bruce? Did you not start this crusade in part, to stop such moral degradation in Gotham?”

The man smiles and pulls out a small wad of bills that he had hidden in a secret pocket in his jacket. “It’s not stealing if I pay for it Alfred. Just...consider it after hours shopping is all”.

The British butler still wasn’t fully on board the plan, but he does find it rather humorous. “The Batman..stealing. Strange world we live in Master Bruce”. Bruce sits down on the bed to finish putting on his shoes, which in order to further the disguise were practically falling apart. “It is, but infiltrating the Canaries is the only way forward Alfred”.

“Have you found out anything else about their enigmatic leader?” he asks, wanting to move onto other issues aside from the fact that Bruce was going to break the law in a completely different way that night. “Nothing yet other than that she has quite a set of lungs”.

“Pardon me sir?”

“She has some sort of...ability I’d call it” he says. “I’m not someone who believes in magic but she apparently has the power to scream...really, really loudly. It took out a bunch of members from their rivals, the Cherry Hill Gang, when they accosted us at the bar. It also took out a wall”.

Alfred appeared skeptical, being well grounded in reality just as much, if not more than his employer. “Master Bruce…”.

“I was there Alfred” Bruce cuts him off, tying the laces. “I was there and I saw it happen. She screamed and men went flying. It was like something out of some sort of….I don’t even really know what to compare it too. What I do know is that Dinah Lance is an enigma. One that I need to get to the bottom of”.

Alfred deferred to Bruce’s reasoning, as he usually did, but he was having a hard time believing that the so called Black Canary could scream down walls.

“I’ve also come to a few conclusions about the Ripper case” Bruce says, now fully dressed and moving into the study where all of the casefile was laid out. “And what would those be Master Bruce?”

“I know what the Ripper does for a living” he says while reaching down and flipping through a few pages until he gets to the medical diagnosis of the women, upon which the wounds sustained to their bodies were marked down on outlines. 

“Do you see the cuts just under the right breast and just above the stomach?” he asks, pointing them out to the older man. Alfred had seen quite enough ghastly things in his life to not shy away from the gorier details of Bruce’s work, and he nods along at seeing them.

“Yes, I do Master Bruce. Bit hard to find those marks under the cover of all that blood” he says.

“That was the point” Bruce says. “To throw the police off of whoever is doing this’ trail. The other cuts were delivered sloppily and intentionally so. At least according to what I see. These cuts however, they were done with a practiced ease that could only come from someone with medical training”.

Alfred’s eyes widen in shock. “You believe a doctor is doing this?”

Bruce nods, getting ready to deliver the next bit of unwelcome news. “I also know why he’s doing it, well, at least what his short term goals in the attack are. I found all of this out by infiltrating the GCPD charnel house where I managed to catch the bodies before they were soaked in arsenic. I found that the heart, and various other organs had been removed”.

“My word Master Bruce”.

“That’s not all” he goes on. “I did a quick displacement measurement on the buckets of blood that had been pumped out of the victims. On the third, I didn’t even need to do it. She was completely dry”.

“Perhaps they had already begun the process Master Bruce” he says, though the man shakes his head. “No. They didn’t. The embalmer only works when he has corpses, and even then he waits for them to pile up a bit. Most of them are kept fresh by soaking them in any number of preservatives. The blood of the Ripper’s victims was meant to be extracted that day. William Harvey wrote in De Generatione Animalium that the average amount of blood stored in the human body is between one point two, and one point five gallons. In most of the victims, aside from the third, they were lucky to have a third of that”.

“Could there be some sort of mixup Master Bruce?” Alfred asks due to his desire to explore all avenues.

Bruce stands and begins to move towards the door, wanting to get to the meeting place set up by Canary early enough to find out as much as he could. “Impossible Alfred” he says, dismissing the possibility out of hand while ensuring that his burglar’s tool kit was all packed and ready to go. “The blood is sold back to the city’s doctors for the purpose of feeding their leeches, getting them accustomed to the taste of human blood”.

“Ahh, the barbaric and dubious medical practice of blood letting” Alfred says, surmising the man’s meaning. “Uhhm, and if Gotham’s police force isn’t incompetent in at least one area, it’s certainly in the field of making money, and they wouldn’t make a mistake. Not if it cost them a cent”.

“So this madman is running around, cutting up ladies of ill repute, taking their organs and blood?” the butler asks, the whole idea sounding like something he’d read in a cheap dime store novel. “It appears so”.

“What would be his motive?”

Bruce turns to the man with grim determination. “I don’t know yet Alfred, but whoever it is is a doctor within the ranks of the Canaries, and Matches Malone is going to find out exactly who that is” Bruce says with a self satisfied smirk.

He indeed looked the part of a thug, with his cap hanging low over his brow and the tattered, dirty clothes. “Well, perhaps Matches should get to work then Master Bruce”. Alfred knew that there most likely wasn’t a better way to get to the bottom of this. Batman always arrived too late to stop the murder, or attempted murder, and he couldn’t stretch himself out over the entire Narrows to stop him either.

Bruce was an amazingly talented man, but he couldn’t do everything himself.

“Goodnight Alfred. I might be gone a few days”.

“Remember to eat!” he calls out to the man who was already rushing down the hallway of the upper floor, wanting to head off into the night just as always.

Alfred looks down and sighs, thinking of what he could busy himself with. “From distinguished butler to henchmen to a man who dresses up as a bat. Jolly good work old boy. Moving up in society” he jokes, knowing that he himself was happy to be part of such an important, if dangerous crusade.

“Perhaps the China needs dusting….again”.

East End, Gotham City

Dinah could admit, at least to herself, that she was mildly uncomfortable. Frightened didn’t fit. Not for her. No. Dinah Lance wasn’t frightened of anything or anybody, especially old wive’s tales. But...there was a reason she was hanging at the very end of the alley, where if the need arose she could jump into the reassuring safety of the lamp and it’s halo of light before her.

She was wearing her usual ensemble, a cap, trousers, workman’s boots and a long flowing coat that kept out the cold. She turned up the collars while she leaned against the cool brick of the corner building, taking comfort also from this small act.

That comfort goes away when she hazards a look back however, and gazes over the empty alley to her rear.

On either side there was brick until about ten feet down when it opened up into open yards behind the buildings. Even during the somewhat warm and safer by comparison daylight hours, children did not hazard to play in these lots.

Instead, bums and whores plied their trade, only to evaporate as soon as the sun began to set. The wooden fences that went up about eight feet in height were rotting, and holes had been bored into some of the planks, giving one a view into the yards...if they were brave enough.

It was a normal alley in at least one regard. 

The trash.

Broken bottles and other random assortments of detritus lined the floor. What was most uncomforting to her were the rats. They were truly the one thing that Dinah feared, though she’d never admit it. They squeaked and howled as they fought upon the alley floor, looking for scraps of food.

One scurries by her in that instant, moving over her foot and making her want to scream. She begins to almost hyperventilate, wanting to cry out. She was petrified of the things, and being in this alley? It didn’t help.

As the rat moves on, she looks at the opposite wall and comes face to face with a horrible etching someone had made in the decaying brick. “Beware the Ratcatcher, who comes for yer’ soul”. Beneath it was a picture of a masked man holding a net, reaching out towards whoever happened to be viewing the scrawl. 

She is instantly reminded of the story, and why she was so afraid of this alley in particular, even if it would provide her the perfect starting point for her heist. A few decades ago, there was a ratcatcher by the name of Otis Flannegan. He was very good at his job apparently, and the rats always seemed to listen to him. One day though, after effectively being pushed out of the city by Otis, the rats all converged  upon a rich lawyers house. 

No matter what they did, they couldn’t get rid of the rats, so they sent for Otis to dispel the rats. The lawyer had a daughter though, and upon making it to the man’s house, Otis became so enamored with the girl that he asked only for her hand in marriage as payment. 

It was refused...at first. After all, a dirty peasant marrying the most desired woman in the city? It was out of the question. Otis was sent away, but after weeks of unceasing torment, he was called back, where the rich lawyer promised him his daughter. Otis did as he was asked, and soon, the rats were gone. 

It was not to be a happy ending though, and Otis was thrown from the manor house into the street, and his proposal refused, the offer being reneged upon. In his vengeance, Otis summoned a plague of rats upon first the manor house, where the entire family, save the girl, was devoured by rats. The rats carried his bride off to him, where they were married in the sewers of Gotham.

The rats were then turned loose upon the city, for a reason nobody could easily discern. Eventually, the problem got so bad that the citizens went into the sewers, searching for the Ratcatcher. Instead, they found his bride, dirty and half crazed, but still professing her love for the man who was her husband and cursing them all.

In their rage, they brought her up to the surface and lashed her to a pole, where she was then burnt as a witch. Her charred corpse hung there for days until a stream of rats gnawed the ropes that bound her, and took her body away, back into the sewers. 

Since then, Gotham has been plagued by the creatures, or so the story goes, and the Ratcatcher is said to still be down there, his vengeful spirit seeking to avenge his lost love. 

Dinah had other reasons for fearing the rats though, and her mind drifts away from the ghost story she certainly wasn’t afraid of, and back into her memories.

“Mum” she cries out in the darkness, pointing across the bowels of the ship towards the one flickering lantern. “They’re eatin’ ‘im” she cries, and her mother grasps her head, turning the girl into her body to block her sight. “Don’t look Dinah. Look away love”.

The rats continued to feast upon the dead man’s corpse

She feels something jump onto her shoulder and freezes in fear, already knowing what it was by the faint sound of sniffing and squeaking in her ear. Slowly though, out of a need to be sure, she turns her head and goes even stiffer as she sees one of the vermin resting on her shoulder.

She opens her mouth and begins panting, turning away to avoid the horrifying sight. She closes her eyes and tries to control her breathing, fresh tears running down her eye. “Please Lord...Saint Patrick and all the other saints I can’t remember...save me” she whimpers.

Suddenly, her prayers seem to be answered as a hand reaches out of the darkness and plucks the squealing creature from her shoulder, tossing it’s writhing body into the darkness. She turns even quicker now, moving up into a fighting stance, ready to destroy whoever was going to set upon her.

Her pulse was quickening now, so fearful was she that the idea of it being the Ratcatcher even entered her mind. ‘Go find another bride ya fook!’

A face reveals itself to her in the darkness, the man lighting a match and smiling at her in such a way as to instantly set her at ease. “I ain’t Saint Patrick, but, I am someone”. She smirks and laughs, punching the man in the shoulder. “Matches you daft twat” she says. “I almost took ya out”.

“Ahh well, almost don’t count for much does it?” he asks, moving up to the wall besides her and peering out into the street. “I guess it doesn’t” she says, catching her breath and trying to calm down. “You alright lass?”

She felt a lot better now that the man was here, but she wouldn’t tell him that. Instead she just blushes and focuses across the way, pointing at their target. “See that jewelery place?” she asks. He peers out, pretending to not know what she’s talking about despite the fact that he knew exactly where they were.

“Ahh...the Odette place?” he whispers out, and the blonde nods. “Yeah, that’s the one” she says. “We’re gonna hit it. There’s a nice little ruby in there I wanna get me hands on. Think ya can manage?” she asks. Bruce just pulls out a set of lockpicks, showing them to the woman. “Nice and easy I can yeah”.

“Hmm...and here ya played it off as if ya was just a thief out of necessity” she teases. “Eh well, I guess the necessity has gotten a bit larger” he smirks. “Anything else you can tell me before we set off?”

“Yeah” she admits. “There’s two coppers on either side of the street” she begins. “Can’t have all the rich and famous be going without defense eh? Even on the sliver of our shitty shire. Anyways, when they get to the end of the street, they turn a corner. I counted it out. They’re gone for about five minutes or so, which should give us enough time to get across the street and into the buildin’”. 

“Good plan” he says. “But where are they n…”.

Before he could finish asking the question on his lips, the sound of footsteps and coughing interrupts them, and Dinah, without even thinking, turns and grabs Bruce by the collar, pulling him into her lips and raising her leg against his waist. 

On reflex, his hand grips her thigh, holding her there as his own lips begin to move against hers, gently parting to massage each one as the sound got closer. The officer finally comes into view, stopping warily at the mouth of the alley, his blue uniform barely fitting on his large frame, the copper stops to see the two kissing.

“Oi!” he shouts in a thick, though lower class, English accent. “You dandies outghtn’t be doing that! I’ve gotta….”.

Dinah pulls back, revealing the feminine features of her face and smiling seductively, her hands still moving up and down Bruce’s chest, feeling his taut musculature and resisting the urge to bite her lip. ‘Damn boyo’ she thinks while remaining focused on what was happening in the rear world.

“Hello copper….don’t mind us, just havin’ a bit of alone time” she replies out daintily, hoping to play off her part as just a vapid woman with low moral fiber. Bruce for his part scowls at the officer. “Oi, fuck off copper. Me and the missus need some time alone”.

The police officer sputters out in shock, not knowing what to do but realizing that breaking it up would require more effort than the whole thing was worth. “Keep it in the alley then you bunch of lowlifes!” he shouts before moving on, the officer officer on the opposite side of the street passing in front of their target at that moment.

The two wait a few moments until separating, knowing that it was safe. Bruce kept his hands on her waist though, until she taps him, gesturing down with her eyes. “Ohh right...sorry Dinah”.

“Hey, it’s fine. For what it’s worth, you’re good at thinking on your feet” she says, turning back and poking her head out to watch the officers on patrol take a turn off of the main street. ‘Also...a pretty good snogger’ she adds mentally.

“Though don’t get too cocky” she says. “Bullock ain’t that hard to take the piss from”.

“Don’t seem like the brightest bulb eh?”

“That’s an understatement” she says, pulling out a slingshot and reaching down for a few broken pieces of glass from a whiskey bottle at her feet. “Wait” Bruce interrupts her, stopping the woman’s plans for a moment. “If the coppers see the lights out, ain’t they gonna come lookin’?” he asks. 

“Pfft. Not if ya hit at random boyo. Besides, it’s a game for the kids on these streets to play. They won’t ‘spect a thing, ‘specially if we can get in with that nifty little tool kit of yers”.

Without anymore delay she puts a piece of glass in the pouch and pulls it back, letting the projectile sing through the air, right into the glass panels protecting the lamp. It shatters, sending shards down to the ground below and flames momentarily licking at the sides. The oil is spilled over though, and instead of the slow burn it usually gives off to keep it lit through the night, a quick flash of flame followed by slow simmering darkness is what occurs.

Dinah was a crack shot, and within a matter of seconds, a scattering, seemingly random, number of lamps are out of commission. “See? Told ya. Ain’t nobody even gonna think” she says before patting his side, and gesturing that they should move across the darkened street, staying low so that their profile isn’t caught. 

Their feet barely scratch at the cobblestones, and Bruce, a master of stealth himself, finds that he’s more than impressed with Dinah’s skill at evading detection.

They are across in no time at all, and each of them press their bodies to the wall, feeling the cool glass and creeping forward. “They don’t have a night watchmen” she whispers back as they get to the door, and Bruce wordlessly gets to work, pulling out the lockpicking kit while casting a gaze over his shoulders.

“Ya got a few minutes Matches” she says, checking her pocket watch by holding it very close to her face. “Got enough light?”

“I’ve got it”.

Already the tumbler was in, and Bruce fiddles with the lock as naturally as he was able to breath. In seconds the door is opened, and it was Dinah’s turn to be impressed by how the man worked, and he slowly pushes the door open, exposing the interior of the store to them. “Milady” he teases, standing and doffing his cap to her exaggeratedly.

Dinah scoffs and brushes past him, hiding the fact that she was already beginning to like this mystery man a fair deal. “Shove it up your arse and get inside”.

He enters the store, patting his jacket while he closes the door to ensure that he didn’t lose the money. ‘Hope she doesn’t steal anything too expensive’ he thinks as Dinah looks around at all the priceless jewels that glimmer slightly in the moonlight that shines through the glass windows. 

“Well now, look who let the pauper into the princess’ playground” she teases, splaying out her arms and moving along the rows of necklaces behind glass cases. “Ya know, me mum always used ta tell me to marry rich. Find a lad who’d buy me expensive jewelery and what not. But...why do that when I can do it meself eh?” she laughs, gesturing towards a case where a few of the jewels she was interested in were resting.

“Be a dear and open this one up Matches?” she asks with a fake pout. “I’m just a weak lass”.

“Pfft, sod off” he says while moving towards the case, retracting one of the smaller tumblers for the locking mechanism he was now faced with. He wanted to gulp while looking at the price tag, knowing that if Dinah went a little too far he wouldn’t have enough to cover it. ‘I’d have to find a way to reimburse them later. Could jeopardize the mission’ he thinks a bit fearful of such an outcome. 

“I only wanna rob ‘em, not bankrupt ‘em. Got it? So if’n ya see somethin’ ya want for a lady friend o’ yers? Make sure it ain’t too big”.

‘And another point to Dinah Lance’ he thinks, opening up the glass and reaching in for the ruby that she was most interested in. He hands it back to her with a smile, slipping in the pouch of money with a slight of hand before closing it up again, leaving nobody the wiser.

“Ahhh...this is a beauty ain’t she?” Dinah asks before pocketing it just as quickly and moving towards the door. “Alright Matches. The coppers are about to come through again. What’s the play? Through the same way...or the back door?”

“What’s the play?” he asks in a confused tone of voice. “I thought you was the one who knew what we were doin’. Now I’m ‘sposed to do the thinkin’ too?” he teases, already gesturing for the back door. 

She smirks and moves towards the rear of the store, knowing that she didn’t want to go back to that alley, even if Matches made her feel safe. The man in question was already at the door, opening it much easier now that that they were on the inside. “Alright Dinah. Went off without a hitch” he whispers, closing the door as they both exit and make their way to an adjoining street, pretending once more to just be a low class couple out for a stroll.

“Yeah, we did” she says warily.

“What?” he asks jokingly. “This the part where ya double cross me?” he asks, wondering if that was indeed her plan. “Nah, was wondering if ya were goin’ to do it to me” she says, gesturing towards her pocket and patting it.

“It’s worth a lot” she teases, as if trying to tempt him.

“I know. I saw the fookin’ price tag. Believe rich prats spend that on their ladies?” he asks. “When all they probably want is a bundle of roses and for them to stuck tuppin’ the maids” he laughs, elbowing her in the side as they continue to walk.

Despite the momentarily tense attitude Dinah had struck, she laughs, realizing that Matches didn’t seem to have a nefarious bone in his body. “How romantic of ya to view it that way” she chides. “But anyways...yeah. Ya ain’t gettin’ a cut of this I’m ‘fraid”.

“I kinda figured” he said. “This bein’ me first time out and all”.

“Ain’t what I mean” she clarifies. “I ain’t gettin’ a cut neither. As beautiful as this here beaut is, ain’t for us to get our greedy mitts on. A buncha’ families need to eat. We sell this to a fence I know, get the money, and we feed ‘em. That’s what the Canaries are about”.

“Ahh”.

“Problem?” she asks curiously. 

“Not at all. In fact...well...I kinda might like to be part of somethin’ like that” he admits. “It sounds...I don’t know like that Robin Hood story”.

“Ahh, don’t compare us to no stinkin’ brits Matches” she says while spitting on the sidewalk. “King of thieves they is. But...way I see it? Ya proved yourself a good lad tonight and ya earned a spot with us which means ya sleep and eat whenever ya want. Just help us keep helpin’. Ya hear?”

“I hear” he says, turning to offer her his hand which she takes, stopping to reach into her back pocket and retract an item. “Here. This means yer one of us”.

The sigil was placed in his hand. The exact same one that he’d taken from the Ripper. “Somethin’ wrong?” she asks, noticing how he was looking at it more than she expected. “Huh? Ohh, nothin’, nothin’. We all have these?” he asks, probing just a bit further.

“Yeah, identifies you as one of us”.

“Good then”.

She smiles up at him, apparently remembering something else. “And Matches?”

“Yeah?”

“I changed my mind about given’ you a reward”. With that she leans up and presses her lips against his once more, pushing him slowly back against the stone wall and letting her hands roam over his shoulders and chest. She gently even dabs her tongue out across him, seemingly begging for entrance. 

Bruce is about to grant it, wanting to deepen the kiss of his own accord when she pulls back, a devil may care smile on her face as she begins walking again. “Come on boyo. Gotta bring this to the fence. That little rat is always open but I don’t like the way he undresses me with his eyes. Ya set him straight yeah?”

He recovers quickly enough and rushes to catch up with her. “Uhh yeah...boss”.

“Just call me Dinah” she says. “And yer my personal bodyguard now. On account of...before. With the rat. Which ya will keep silent about right?” she asks. He nods, making a zipping motion across his lips to assure her of his silence. 

“Good. Now, let’s go help Gotham’s poor sods”.

Park Row

Dick punches down at the Cherry Hill thug, having jumped atop him from above one of the carnival’s carriages that had been lying about. Jason meanwhile went for the head on approach, punching a man right in the gut and sending him flying.

The boy looks back through the assembled carnies who were watching what was happening, more Cherry Hill boy’s showing up to reinforce their friends. The Canaries were getting beaten, and beaten pretty bad. When they’d first come, it was only as a peace offering, wanting to handle protection for the circus...for a fee of course.

But things hadn’t worked out as they expected, and Cherry Hill, still refusing to move out of the narrows, got there first. Now, outmanned and outgunned, they were fighting for their lives, trying to protect the circus already.

‘And we haven’t seen a single red cent’ Jason thinks angrily, punching in a rival thugs nose as other Canaries around him keep up the fight. “Alright men! Keep it up! We can…”.

“Nah we fookin’ can’t” one shouts in response, getting clubbed to the ground by a bludgeon and trampled by the other Cherry Hill Boys. “Fuck…” Jason says, trying to move forward besides Dick. “We gotta get ‘em outta here!” he shouts over the din of battle, and Jason goes wide eye as a man behind Dick tries to stab him with a gruesome looking knife.

“Dick look…!”

He didn’t have enough time to even warn his brother in all but blood, and the knife came closer and closer to the man’s back. It was stopped at the last second though, as a strange object puts itself between the oldest of the trio and the weapon.

Jason was confused, but he looks closer and sees that a girl in a white robe was holding a shield that so easily deflected the knife blow. In her other hand was a sword, gripped tightly and ready to kill though something about her told the boy she wouldn’t be willing to do so.

With a flick of her wrist the shield is pushed out and slams into the Cherry Hill Boy’s face, knocking him to the ground. In shock, the others make to charge the girl who was now fighting at Dick’s side, sure that their numbers could carry the day. She dispatches them with the greatest of ease though, moving in perfect synchronism with her shield, smashing others with the flat of her sword.

Three more women roar into the battle, similarly dressed and carrying wooden swords that they instantly put to excellent use, dispatching men left and right. Jason had his own problems however, and he assembles the last of the upright Canaries for a final push to turn the tide.

Meanwhile, an energetic Tim was speaking to Oswald Cobblepot, whose face had gone pale in light of what was happening before his very eyes. “You see!” he shouts excitedly, jumping up and down and taking the man’s hand. “My brothers and gang can keep you safe!”.

“I...uhh...well…”.

The businessman in him was ticking and he felt bad about it, especially since such a young tyke was handling the negotiations. Still, he had a family to feed, and the Canaries as they had introduced themselves sure were giving the Cherry Hill Boys a run for their money for sure. 

“I’ll offer you...half a pound for protection!” he says to the boy, drawing a shocked expression from his wife Margaret who thought that prohibitively low. “Ozzy!”

“Shh Margaret” she listens, but obviously doesn’t like how her husband is teasing the boy. “Wow! A whole half a pound! That’s a lot of money!” Timmy says happily, holding out his hand. He obviously didn’t understand the difference between American and English currency, so he just thought he was getting an excellent deal. 

The fight was ending now as Giovanni pulls his hat up, and summons hundreds of doves which burst into the ranks of the remaining Cherry Hill Boys. Between that, the assault of the Amazons and the remaining Canaries, they quick back off, falling over one another to try and leave the carney grounds.

Oswald is about to shake it when Tim pulls it back, suddenly thinking of something and making Oswald think his ruse had been discovered. “I also want me and my brothers to have all the candy we could want! And popcorn! Jason likes popcorn!”

He breathes a sigh of relief and offers his flipper to the boy who takes it, sealing the deal. “Very well then old chap. You got what you want and our circus is safe now right?” he asks, causing Timmy to nod happily, rushing off towards his brothers who were collecting themselves and their men.

“That was very lowdown Ozzy” Margaret says.

“Maggie, sweetie...we need to make money”.

She glares at him still, not liking it at all. “You’re going to make sure that that little boy gets to ride the pony whenever he wants as well Oswald or you’ll be sleeping outside the tent for the entire duration of this tour”.

With that she walks away in a huff, leaving the short man confused and somewhat guilty. Still...he had a family to feed. Looking around the circus grounds, all the workers having come out for the gang brawl that some of his major attractions got involved in themselves. “Damn...well...a pony ride isn’t so bad is it?”

Meanwhile, Giovanni moves up to Hippolyta and the other Amazons, Diana standing by Dick who seemed to be in awe of her, having been witness to the power the girl displayed. “Hippolyta, Diana..are you okay?”

“Yes Gio” she says, rubbing his arms playfully. “It was quite invigorating yes? The sting of battle, like the real Amazons of myth and legend!”

“Si but...well, just be more careful I suppose” he says, realizing how close he was to stepping over the line with the woman. She smiled up at him, seemingly unaware of what was bubbling beneath the magician’s skin. ‘No. I can’t. Sindella...no’.

“Love again my dear”.

He shakes the thought away, not wanting to focus on it at all. 

Meanwhile, Jason turns to find Timmy moving towards him, excited to share his deal while the Penguin and his daughter move up towards the Canaries. “Jason, Jason! I got us the deal!” he says, jumping into his brother’s arms. “Whoah, congratulations pal. What ya settle on?”

“A half a pound!”

Jason’s face falls at that, and he does the quick calculations necessary for the currency conversion. Oswald now had the good sense to appear ashamed, and the girl beside him was trying to figure out what had happened.

Jason didn’t often let it on, but he was the brains of the group, especially when it came to money. “Tim...that’s...that’s less than a dollar” he says, and the little boy’s mouth goes agape. “Wha...but...it’s half a pound” he says, apparently having expected a half a pound of gold. 

“Yes Timmy. In British money. Don’t….don’t tell me you shook on it?” he pleads and Tim averts his eyes, already beginning to cry as he he nods. “I did...I did...I’m so sorry...I thought...I thought…”.

Jason couldn’t handle it when he cried, so he just places him on the ground and moves to eye level, calming him down. “It’s alright Timmy boy. Not your fault. I shoulda handled the negotiations. Too busy fighting I guess”. He glares at Oswald and the man looks away, already regretting the crooked deal he’d struck.

“Should we lay him out Jason?” Dick asks, still besides Diana who moves to protect Oswald should the need arise.

“Nah, we made the deal. Shook on it” Jason admits, moving up to the man. “We Canaries, we honor our deals”.

He turns to Oswald and smiles, trying to remain professional in the face of a client. “Alright, you got our protection. However, we’re gonna hawk our wares and you ain’t gonne give us shit about it, right?”

“Absolutely none” Oswald says, eager to make things right without altering such an economically advantageous idea. Timmy grabs his hand, still sniffling. “I...I...I also got us...candy and popcorn” he says, as if that would make up the difference.

“As much as we want”.

Jason smiles and ruffles his head under his hat, while Dick cheers out “way to go Timmy!” even though both him and Jason had grown old enough that the allure of candy had lost it’s power over them. 

Jason looks up, a smile still lingering on his face and makes contact with the young woman. His smile slowly drops as they continue to look at each other, and Jenny herself feels a strange instinctual pull towards the young street tough.

“Well umm...yes, well, this was a great first meeting. I am glad that we have a screen of protection in Gotham” Oswald says, wanting to rush them out as he now saw his daughter making doe eyes at the trio’s leader.

Dick meanwhile, turned to Diana and smiled, putting his hand out for her to take. “Name’s Dick. It was amazing to watch you take those goons out. Pretty and strong huh?” Diana blushes and takes the hand, smiling ear to ear, unsure of what to say. “Well, thank you. I do a lot of the…”.

“Diana” Hippolyta shouts, also discomforted by the closeness that seemed to be popping up between her daughter and the young Canary. “Come. We have work to do for our show tonight” she says, causing Diana to look apologetically at the boy.

“I...I hope you come see my show!” she says, slowly backing up, unsure of why she wanted to impress the boy. “I fight lions!”

“I’ll definitely come and see then!” Dick shouts back, moving away to rejoin his own group that was dreading having to deliver the bad news to Dinah about how they’d been talked down to defending the circus for such a low price.

Jenny couldn’t keep her eyes off of the boy’s back as he led the younger one away, whispering something in his ear to further calm him down. “Who..who was that daddy?”

“Ohh him?” Oswald asks, trying to dismiss the boy’s existence already. “Just a common street hood that sometimes we must make an accord with to protect ourselves my dove. Nobody but a filthy degenerate. A hard drinking, fighting, layabout good for nothing”.

Her father’s dismissal of the boy who had pledged to defend their circus didn’t have an effect on Jenny, especially not as he lifted Timmy up and carried him on his shoulders. “I think he’s kind” she says simply. “He has beautiful eyes”.

“Shark’s eyes” Oswald goes on, practically sputtering as he turns his daughter and works to move her away from the scene. “You can’t trust a natural predator like that dove. Always angling for his selfish goals. Always. I promise, you…” he sighs. “I know the type”.

He himself felt a bit like a predator now, already knowing that he’d practically triple their payment by the end of this show. ‘Damn my moral conscience’ he thinks, conjuring up an image of his wife as an angel with a harp, and himself as a Faustian figure with a pointed mustache and horns. 

He shakes it away just as quickly, leading his daughter back to the main tent. Tonight would be the first night that they opened themselves to the public, and he wanted everything to go right. Jenny however casts one more look at Jason’s far off back, some of the Canaries having been ordered to stay. 

‘I hope I see him again’ she thinks. 

St. Anthony’s Church

Pamela was tired, but she wasn’t so tired that she’d stop in her duties and take a break. ‘Not when Sister Leslie has been so kind to you’.

She’d been here a week now, and in that time she’d eaten better than at any other point in her life, slept in a warmer bed, and she could wear clothes that, while very conservative, almost stifling, didn’t make her feel cold. In fact, she enjoyed the clothes that made her feel like she could have a sense of pride.

She even liked the privacy of the church where she had time to do her work and clean under the initially very creepy crucifix on the wall at the altar. Now however, it made her comfortable. Like...she had a friend.

She brings the broom across the floor, collecting even more dirt as she went.

A noise distracts her though, and she looks up to finally notice that a man had been sitting at one of the pews, head bowed in prayer. ‘I didn’t notice him’ she thinks, finding that odd. Then again, she did get rather tied up in her work. 

“Ohh blast it...why won’t you help me?” the man calls out, looking at the Crucifix before calming down and apologizing. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. It’s just...I know that this would be good! I know it and yet, nobody is giving me a chance”.

The man was rather peculiar to her in that his clothes, while probably once high fashion, were faded and old, though still well kept. He was jittery, and he kept rubbing his hands up and down his side, moving back to a box placed in the pew. 

“This would change so much! Alleviate boredom, and not in a bad way either! It’s all good clean fun. I promise!”

Now she was interested.

“Excuse me sir?” the redheaded woman calls out, causing him to turn rapidly and buffoonish fall to the floor in shock. “Ohh...pardon...pardon!” he says nervously, a bundle of nerves as he moves to his feet again. “You frightened me madam. I apologize so deeply”.

She moved closer, curious as to why he seemed afraid of her. “What...what do you have there?” she asks, gesturing to the box. 

“Ohh...that? That...that is...nothing” he says with a sigh. “At least that’s what they all say. Nothing. Absolutely nothing”.

He was odd, but in a charming way. Like a character you’d find in a book. Good natured, but still quite odd. “You said it was...entertainment?” she asks, moving on and placing her broom at the side of the pew. “Well..yes” he says, calming slightly. “It’s a toy I invented”.

Her eyes go wide and a smile plasters itself on her face, and she claps with childlike amusement. “Ohh! Can you show me? Please?”

“I...you’ll think it’s stupud”.

“I won’t” she says, knowing that she herself couldn’t be sure of that but feeling that for some reason the man assuredly wouldn’t come up with something stupid. “Are...are you sure?”

She nods in response, folding her hands in her lap.

With a sudden burst of energy and excitement, he rushes forward and opens the box, retracting the small round pice of wood which seemed to have a section cut out in the middle, leaving the two outermost pieces wider than the inner spire. A string was rolled around the middle, filling out some of the space.

“What is it?” she asks.

The man just smiles and demonstrates, flicking his wrist out and letting the strange object fall out before it rolls itself back up into his hand. He demonstrates a few more times, and Pamela claps at the display of feats he is able to do. “That’s amazing!” she shouts out in joy, and the man blushes to see her react in such a way.

“May...may I try?” she asks, and he nods, placing the item in her hand and moving behind her, guiding her with his hand over hers. “You just...flick your wrist out. Like this”.

She does so and feels as the wooden toy falls down and then back up, seemingly defying gravity due to the string. “Ahhh this is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen” she says, still eyeing the toy. The man though, he was watching her, her eyes filled with childlike joy and her hair a voluminous read.

“Yes. Most beautiful thing”.

She gets it back into her hand and turns, not having felt threatened by the man at all despite his close proximity to her, something she found innately surprising considering her past experiences. She hands it off to the man, remaining close and smiling. “What do you call this beautiful thing?”

“I...I don’t know yet” he admits with a shrug, too awestruck by her beauty to properly speak, let alone think. She looks at it and formulates something in her head, basing it on the noise she heard the string make. “How about...a yoyo!”

“A yoyo?” he asks, his lips moving over the unfamiliar word before realizing just how well it fit. He nods ecstatically. “Yes! A yoyo!”

Pamela seems to finally take notice of his suit’s color, and yet again she found it odd but instantly appealing, fitting the innate nature of the man as a good natured goofball. “Green” she says, moving her fingers over the lapel of his jacket. “Yes…do you...like green?” he asks curiously.

“It’s my favorite color” she admits. “The color of lush trees and beautiful plants”. She tilts her head and laughs. “I haven’t introduced myself. “I’m Pamela. Misses Pamela Isley. And who are you?”

He hears her name which sounds to him like the sweetest melody he has ever heard, and he takes her hand, leaning down to kiss the back of it.

“Mr. Edward Nygma, inventor extraordinaire. At your service”.

Chapter Text

Wayne Manor, A Few Days Later

“I have a name Alfred”

Bruce was busy taking off his tattered coat, though the older butler rushes up to try and help him. “Jolly good sir! Finally, a working suspect!” he says while taking the man’s hat and placing it upon the tucked away rack in the hallway. If anybody saw it, they’d assume it was a servant’s, though no other servant other than Alfred was employed at Wayne Manor. 

Bruce was a maelstrom of activity, though it wasn’t only from his work at uncovering the Ripper’s identity. Or, at least who he thought the Ripper was. Alfred follows him up to the study, watching as he unlatches the secret compartment in his desk that allows his investigative evidence to fold out before him.

He pulls out a piece of paper and a fountain pen, dabbing it into the inkwell and writing down the information. It was only for the files, as Bruce had an eidetic memory when it came to such things. “Doctor Jack Napier” he says aloud, finally finishing. “He does work underground for the Canaries” he explains. “Though he’s been missing for a few days. Dinah said that he was a rather suspicious sort”.

“And how did you come by this information via Ms. Lance?”

“I didn’t launch into it immediately if that’s what you’re asking” Bruce says, moving to his closet and pulling out a nicer robe than “Matches’” jacket had been. “I worked around it. Did a few small jobs for them”.

“Small jobs sir?” Alfred asks, a raised eyebrow giving away his fear that those “small jobs” might be of a much more illegal nature than previously desired. “Not like that Alfred” Bruce says, calming the man who raised him a bit. “I mean, I won’t sugar coat it. They’re thieves, but they’re not monsters. Most of what they do is protection”.

“I believe you left the racket part out of it Master Bruce”.

Alfred refused to take the rosey eyed view of the street gang that Bruce seems to have taken, and he knew all too well that the man, as well trained as he was, was still young and naive. He could be tricked or possibly led astray.

“Yes, they’re paid” Bruce admits, before defending Dinah. “But never more than what who they’re protecting can afford. Dinah doesn’t spend on herself. It goes right back into the people and gang she’s protecting”.

“Ahh” Alfred admits, already sensing that more had happened between him and the enigmatic Black Canary than he was willing to let on. “And yet...they are still criminals? Yes?”

The man sits in his chair to think, trying to keep his mind together. “Not all criminals are the same Alfred” he admits. “Some do it for greed, others the thrill and a small number for sick pleasure. But the Canaries? They don’t fit in any of those categories. They’re doing what they’re doing to survive and help their own people along”.

“Master Bruce..” Alfred says calmly, not wanting to upset the man. “The law is the law for a reason. We cannot make room for one criminal over another simply because of how we feel”.

“So should the Batman be arrested?” Bruce asks simply, taking Alfred for a loop as he hadn’t expected the question to come his way. “I beg your pardon Master Bruce?”

“The Batman” he repeats, still seated in his chair. “Me. I’m a criminal, in the strictest definition. I have committed numerous assaults, numerous break ins and countless other acts that would certainly qualify me”.

“That’s different” the butler sputters.

“How?” Bruce asks, turning slowly to fix the man with his gaze. “Alfred...I do what I do because of what happened to my parents”. His mind slowly goes back to that night in the alley, and everything seems so crisp and clear, as if it was happening right before his eyes all over again.

“Please...just take my money”.

BLAM!

A gunshot rings out, and Thomas Wayne, the man who was an insurmountable mountain in Bruce’s mind, tumble to the cobblestone.

“THOMAS!” Martha shouts, moving in front of her son and trying to shield him. “Bruce! Run away! Get away fro…”.

The man steps forward with the revolver still in his hand and reaches out towards the woman, grasping at the necklace of pearls she wore about her neck. He tears it off, sending each individual pearl clattering to the ground.

Bruce heard another gunshot, and he remembered screaming as his mother was thrown to the ground beside him. The sound of footsteps rushing away from the scene are all that is heard by the little boy, but he can only cry, staring in horror at his parents’ bodies. They’d been to the theater to see a play by Shakespeare that night

The real tragedy for Bruce, had occurred just outside the theater in Crime alley.

The memory fades away, and quickly enough Bruce is able to get back to the point he felt he needed to make to the man who’d stepped in as a father to him. “But I’m not the only one whose life has been touched by tragedy. Hearing their stories, befriending them...I’ve heard things. Things that make me unable to condemn them, especially when they refuse to bow to the most base of human desires”.

Alfred was indeed feeling the ground begin to give way under his argument, and he can only manage a deep sigh that lets Bruce know as much. “Master Bruce...I fear for you”.

“Don’t”.

“Ahh yes. Now all my fears all allayed” the man jests, reaching out for his shoulder. “I can’t believe the turn your life has taken. Dressing up as a bat...avenging crime, and now? Infiltrating a gang to track down a serial killer”.

“There’s more to it than that Alfred” Bruce admits. “I need to stay longer. Learn more. In a few days I’ve learned more about the gangs in this city than in months of canvassing the streets myself. I have a chance to do some real good here. They have access to this city’s underbelly. They can go places I can’t”.

“Are you thinking of making this Black Canary character an...ally Master Bruce?”

He was shocked, not only that Bruce was even considering such an out of character option, but after so little time. Bruce was quick to try and dispute the man’s accusation, but it was clear that there was some truth to what Alfred asked. “No, no...at least..not yet”.

“But it is a possibility?”

“I won’t lie and say no…” Bruce says, leaning back in the chair. “I...I saw something in her. Something I can’t place. Dinah she’s...special Alfred”. The Englishman instantly catches onto the hidden meaning of the words, and the surprised look upon his face forces Bruce onto damage control. “Not in that way Alfred” he says, though he wasn’t convincing anyone. “I mean in the good she can do for the city. You should see the networks she’s managed to build. Medicine, food, housing. All done under our very noses. You should see how many people she feeds and….”.

A sudden ringing through the manner, caused by the bell hanging alongside the door to signal a visitor, interrupts the two men, and Bruce, though he was sure nobody would come to the study, slides his secretive archives into the desk while fastening his robe.

“Who could it bloody well be at this hour?”

Alfred asks, following behind Bruce. “I don’t know Alfred. Make any plans for some soiree while I was busy?” the man teases as they move down the stairs. “Hardly sir, though it wouldn’t be the death of you to have a party now and again”.

They reach the first floor of the manor and Bruce steps towards the door just as the steel ringing of the outside bell chimes out again. He opens the door, and comes face to face with one of the people he least expected to see.

“Kathy?”

In front of him was his cousin, dressed in her coat covered nightclothes, and from the looks of it, crying. “Bruce...I...I’m sorry. I...I just didn’t know where to go. I…”.

He takes her hand and pulls her in, hugging her tightly to him while Alfred closes the door. As soon as his arms close around her, she throws her face in his chest and begins to sob even louder. “Miss Kane...what the heavens has happened?” Alfred asks as Bruce navigates her to the living room and sits her on the couch beside him.

“Alfred...I...I...father...he’s...disowned me”.

Bruce was shocked at this turn of events, not knowing at all what to make of it. As far as he knew, Kathy was the light of his Uncle Jacob’s eyes. She was a beautiful young woman who’d drawn the eyes of nearly every man in Gotham, with every one who had wealth angling to marry her.

But here she was, in her nightclothes sobbing.

“Why Kathy?” he asks, unsure of what to say. He knew that he had other obligations tonight. He would be going after Napier, wanting to end the Ripper saga once and for all. This, was inopportune but Bruce wasn’t going to leave his cousin in such a state.

She grapples him tightly, still crying, refusing to meet his eyes. “I...I can’t tell you Bruce” she whispers. “If I do...you’ll hate me too. I know it”.

“Kathy, I promise, whatever it is, I won’t hate you”. He looks up at Alfred and smiles, trying to assuage the man that he had this handled. “Alfred, please fix Kathy some tea, and a room for her to spend the night or however long it is she’ll be requiring the manor”.

“Bruce..no...I can’t...I don’t know why I came here” she says, making to get up. She’s stopped by Bruce grasping her and pulling her back in. “You came here because you know that no matter what it is, I’ll try and help. But I can’t help, unless you tell me”.

She sniffles and looks up, wanting to assure that Alfred had left the room. The butler was still there though, and apparently he catches the hint. “Ohh, ohh well...I shall fetch your favorite then Ms. Kane”.

The old man moves off to the kitchen, wanting to get the woman what would calm her nerves while she spoke to her cousin, whom she’d always been close too. When he was gone, Bruce turns back to her, gently caressing her cheek. “Come on now Kathy. What’s got Uncle Jacob in such a fuss? Whatever this is, I’m sure it’ll blow over. You’re the star of his eyes as you well know”.

“I’m afraid this star has fallen Bruce”.

He senses that she was ready to begin speaking, and he keeps his mouth shut, wanting her to get it out on her own time. Kathy takes a deep breath and collects herself, remaining calm. “Bruce...you know that I am….different yes?”

“You’ve always been unique” he says in agreement, though it was clear that he was missing the point. He couldn’t be blamed though. Kathy wasn’t communicating it well enough out of fear. She didn’t even have the right tools to express her predicament. 

“Bruce...I’m in love”.

The man smiles at this welcome news, though it was curious as to why it would be such an occasion for scandal. “Ahh, I see. So he’s a bit beneath our social standing hmm?” he asks jokingly. “You know that I never cared for that kind of thing, and while Uncle Jacob might be angry now, you know he’ll eventually come around…”.

“It’s not a he Bruce” she admits, bracing herself for what she felt would be the inevitable refusal, the point where even Bruce turns on her. “Ohh….” Bruce says, suddenly at a loss for words. “Umm...who is she?”

She was taken aback that Bruce wasn’t screaming at her the way her father had, exploding in righteous anger and disgust, a disgust she felt she deserved. “Maggie. Our maid”.

“Ohh...and...does she...reciprocate?” he asks curiously.

Kathy smiles despite herself and nods. “Yes. I...I told her I loved her the other day. I...I shouldn’t have, and I meant to disguise it as a friendly way but...she kissed me, and I kissed her and….it’s continued. Father caught us and....”.

“I see” Bruce says sighing and shaking his head, not wanting to make the woman relive what was undoubtedly an awful experience for her. 

“I have nowhere to go Bruce…but...I’d understand if you cast me away. If you were disgusted with me” she admits, and Bruce shakes his head. “No. You’re still welcome at Wayne Manor Kathy. For as long as you need. Indefinitely if the need is so”.

“Bruce...I can’t…”.

“You can” he says, taking her hand and squeezing it. “Kathy, you are family. I won’t abandon you. I’ll admit, I’m a little confused, and perhaps a bit uncomfortable” he says, causing her to look away before he pulls her back. “But, I shall get over that. In time. But, regardless of who you love, you’ve been practically my sister. So. Welcome to Wayne Manor...again” he smirks, knowing she’d been there innumerable times from when they were both just children.

Kathy was speechless, and she throws her arms around Bruce’s shoulders, hugging him tightly and kissing his cheek. “You are a beautiful person Bruce. The very best. I...I can never rep…”.

“Then don’t try” he says, just as Alfred reenters the room, carrying the tea on a platter. “Alfred, do we have a spare room made up for Kathy?”

“That we do. As always”.

Kathy sniffles and stands, though Bruce leads her, his arm around her shoulders. “In the morning we’ll go out and get you some clothes. But for now? Just focus on a good night’s sleep”.

She stops and looks towards Alfred who smiles back down at her and bows lightly while he puts the tea down, ready to pick it up again at a moments notice. “I’m assuming you heard everything, huh Alfred?” she sniffles.

“The walls of Wayne Manor have many ears, and as I told you when you were young, they all lead back to Alfred Pennyworth madam”.

She laughs gently, her spirits temporarily buoyed by the man’s joking nature. “Alfred...do you hate me now?”

He leans forward and shakes his head. “Never” he affirms. “I watched you and young Master Bruce play in the yard when you were just tiny little tykes. Always kind. Always loving and always willing to be the bigger woman...well, little girl” he teases, looking towards Bruce who turns away in embarrassment.

“You were one of the greatest joys for Bruce following those dark days, and it is a debt I shall never be able to repay you Miss Kane. So, no, I do not hate for the ghastly crime of falling in love with...who I’m sure is a charming young lady”.

It was clear that the old fashioned man was just as uncomfortable, society just not even entertaining the thought now, let alone when Alfred was being brought up. But yet, they would try and understand, and even if they couldn’t? Well, family was family.

“Thank you Alfred” she whispers, moved by the older man’s sentiment just as much as by her steadfast cousin. “You’re welcome. Now, I took the liberty of rushing upstairs and setting a bed for you. I even added an extra quilt, the one your Aunt Martha made with the horses that you loved so much as a child”.

“Alfred” she chuckles, moving up the stairs. “I was eight when I liked that blanket”.

That seemed to set the man aback, making him rather curious. “Does that mean you do not wish for the quilt with the horses on it?”.

It only takes a second for Kathy to respond and with a smile she nods her assent. “That actually sounds amazing right now Alfred. I could use something with a bit of familiarity tonight”.

Gotham Heights

Jonah couldn’t sleep. 

Because of that he was doing what he always did when he couldn’t sleep. Wandering. Looking around. The streets were relatively empty, only drunkards and whores which seemed to be the normal for any part of Gotham City.

He drew attention, as usual, but only for his uniform.

Anyone who thought about confronting him was given reason for pause upon seeing the two six shooters on his hip and the mean gleam in his eye. He continued on, not knowing exactly where he was going but knowing that he needed to get out of the small block that Greg and his family lived in.

They were too...happy.

Even surrounded in filth and decadence, they had each other. He envied his cousin who’d moved on from the ghosts of his past, seemingly without much effort. ‘Maybe ‘cuz he ain’t marked like you’ he thinks, his hand coming up to idly stroke the missing gap of flesh on the side of his face.

Things hadn’t been as awkward as he’d first assumed upon meeting Mari Saunders. She was as beautiful as in the picture Greg sent of her, and she radiated warmth that only flickered for a moment upon first meeting her.

He remembered standing in the door, his hat clenched in between his hands as he introduced himself.

“Uhh..well..hello ma’am” he began. “I reckon that this is a very...pretty homestead you’ve ecked out for yerself”.

It was anything of the sort, with decaying walls and stripping wallpaper, hand me down furniture and scuffed floors. “Well, you certainly ain’t a good liar Jonah Hex” Mari says, trying to smile and be polite despite her discomfort. She knew who he was.

Her hands were upon a little girl’s shoulders, who was standing in front of her in an effort to protect her. She was the spitting image of Greg, with his eyes, nose and hair, while also having a darker skin tone as was usual.

This was his niece, Victoria as he had been introduced.

He gets onto his knees and opens up his pack, pulling out a teddy bear with a coonskin cap, a novelty he’d bought when he’d received the letter from Greg out in the Montana Territory. “Howdy little miss” he began. “I’m your uncle Jonah. And this here is a...well, a stuffed toy. Do little girl’s like stuffed bears here in Gotham? Or is that different too?”

She nods and Mari smiles down at her, casting a wary glance at her husband and then Jonah, releasing her daughter to go and take the gift from her uncle. Victoria steps forward, slowly at first, but eventually she reaches out and rubs the soft toy’s head.

“He’s soft”.

“Uhhm. Made out of horsehair on a reservation by a squaw” he says. “I traded it to here for some tobacco”. Victoria smiles and continues to pet the stuffed creature and giggles. “Well, it’s yours” he says, handing it to the shocked little girl who didn’t have any toys of her own. Greg, despite offering Jonah a place to stay, wasn’t well off. 

“Really?”

“Absolutely” Jonah says happily, surprised that the girl isn’t horrified by his facial deformity. She hugs it close and squeals in excitement, running back to her mother, little pigtails flying. “Mama look!”

Mari smiles at Jonah, letting all her dislike for the man dissipate in that second. ‘Anyone who makes my little girl smile like that is alright to me, blue or grey’. She kisses her daughter’s head. “Now ain’t that a beauty? What do you say to Uncle Jonah?”

The little girl remembers, and like a rocket she hugs the man tightly about his legs, shocking him. “Thank you Uncle Jonah! I loves ya!”

He smiles, a genuine one that couldn’t be suppressed. “I...I love ya too Victoria. It’s really good to finally meet ya”.

He smiles at the memory, the thought keeping him warm. Jonah Hex never had much occasion to feel happy. Growing up, the war, loosing White Fawn...he didn’t ever know a time where he came out on top. Even now, he still wasn’t. That’s why he had to get away.

At least for a little while.

He remembered getting the letter, Greg begging him to come and stay. Times were tough, and they were always in danger. Having a comparatively wealthy bounty hunter around was always something that would appeal to those besieged by the city around them.

He stops, taking stock of his surroundings and sighing to himself, wondering why he’d let himself get roped into this. ‘Gotham City’ he thinks. ‘Should be burnt to the ground’.

“JACK! PLEASE! DON’T!”

The muffled cry came from right above him, and for some reason it draws his attention. There were plenty of beatings being dealt out tonight. Men, women, children. Gotham loved its violence, and it bled out onto every street corner and into every home.

‘What’s one more woman catchin’ it from a drunk husband tonight?’ he asks himself, making to walk away and forget he ever heard anything. The crash of plates makes him stop though, especially as they shatter around her. “Do you realize...what you’re trying to stop me from doing?”

The sound of a slap echoes out, and a woman’s cries were the next thing to be heard. He stops, another memory flooding into his mind.

She was smacked to the floor, viciously so, and she began to bleed out of the corner of her mouth. Jonah watched in horror as his father advanced upon the prone body of his mother. “Please...Woodson...stop”.

The enraged alcoholic doesn’t seem to hear, nor care about her whimperings, and he drags Ginny Hex up by her hair and slams her against the table, delivering a swift backhand to her face. “You want the boy to git it then Ginny huh?” he screams. “Ya want the boy to git it instead of you ya fuckin’ cow?”

He slaps her again and yet, this time?

She tries to remain upright.

She looks at her son, sitting at the table and crying. Nobody was around to hear all this. Not in their cabin so far away from everyone else. “Jonah...go to bed and plug your ears sweetie”.

She doesn’t have time to say anything else as she’s yanked back by his father, wanting to dollop out more pain to his wife over some infraction or other. “That’s right boy. Run away and let me smack some sense into this woman”.

Jonah would always remember the determination on his mother’s face. The fear hidden back behind the pride. She was doing this to prevent her son from receiving the beating. She loved him, possibly the only one to ever love him truly.

He got up from the table, crying but still abandoning her to her inevitable fate.

“That’s right boy” Woodson Hex shouts, stopping for a moment to take yet another swig of the liquor that turned him into such an animal. “Run ‘way. Cowards blood you got runnin’ through ya. Must be from this harlot!”

The sounds of the beating continue, and Jonah would never be able to block them out, even while he was laying in his bed sobbing.

“Jack please…” the woman sobs. “It’s me. Your wife! Listen to me. You can trust…”.

“You’re nothing whore!”.

The sounds of vigorous slapping could be heard, and it was clear that the man wasn’t holding back. ‘You still a coward boy?’ Jonah hears his father’s voice ask in his mind. With that, Jonah turns and marches right up the steps to the stoop, thinking for a moment about knocking on the door.

“Ahh, to hell with city etiquette”.

He brings his boot up and smashes the door to smithereens, caving the wooden barrier in and advancing into the home. “HEY!” he shouts, wanting to get the attention of the inhabitants. “WHAT KINDA MAN BEATS ON A WOMAN? A LIZARD THAT’S WHAT KINDA MAN! NOW COME DOWN HERE SO I CAN SKIN YA!”

Back At Wayne Manor

Bruce was slipping his black gloves onto his hands just as Alfred entered the room. “Is she asleep?” he asks, the mask already obscuring his features as he turns to move towards the window, now fully donning the suit of the Batman.

“Yes Master Bruce. She is. I gave her some chlora to assist” he explains. “She will be out until morning”.

“Good” Bruce says, perching himself within the open window. “I need to get after Napier”.

“Very well sir, go on and end this madness then” the butler says, a pep in his voice. Bruce nods, a slight, very slight, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Count on it”. With that, he tosses himself from the window, managing to roll onto the grounds and advance like a shadow, blending into the darkness with the greatest of ease on his trek into the city.

Alfred simply closes the window, not wanting to allow any draft into the manor. “Stay safe Master Bruce” he whispers to himself, though he hoped the man would somehow know that that was his wish for him.

Earlier, Gotham Heights

Harleen was cleaning, just trying to keep her mind and heart steady. She didn’t know what was happening to her life, but she did know that keeping a tidy house would do wonders for Jack’s practice...if, he ever got back to it.

He’d been surly, angry, with her and the patients. His change in attitude had turned his once thriving practice into a decaying ruin. “What’s happened to you Jack?” she asks herself before opening up the door to his office and beginning to dust.

She was actually quite shocked by how dusty the office had gotten over time through disuse. Patients hadn’t been there in quite a while, and she wasn’t sure how much longer they’d be able to pay their bills. 

She dusts along the shelves, trying to keep her mind busy when she notices something. A line in the wall, very thin and almost unnoticeable. She quirks her head and moves closer, teasing her digits along it until coming to what felt like some sort of doorknob hidden beneath Jack’s medical cabinet. 

She pulls it, and the wall, pops out, revealing itself to be a hidden door. Now, Harleen wasn’t often in Jack’s office, rarely ever, especially when he was around, but this? This was new. Something she should’ve noticed. She begins to pull more and reveals the a dark maw leading into a room, though she couldn’t see into it. 

She takes a candle and lights it from one of the hanging lamps, advancing in, not thinking to be afraid though in retrospect? It would’ve been wise. She can’t see anything, and she bumps into something at her waist level, causing her to let out a muffled groan. “Owww..”.

Luckily for her though, she sees a wall mounted lamp, and she removes the glass cover to light it, replacing it as soon as that’s done and blowing out the candle. It takes a second or so, but the light eventually catches and illuminates the whole room.

What it reveals, is horror incarnate.

Harleen drops the unlit candle to the floor and backs up at the sight that now graces her eyes, and she holds in the scream she wants to let loose. The room looked, on the surface, no different from Jack’s examination room with the reclining medical chair and random assorted equipment.

But this room? 

It was so different when you looked closer. On the floor were buckets, filled with blood, practically overflowing and dripping onto the plasma stained wood. There were shelves on either side of the room as well, containing glass jars with dark objects floating within them.

She recognizes them all.

Hearts, livers. Kidneys and even a human brain.

‘How...how did Jack...ohhh…’. Her eyes move to the opposite side of the room where a large black overcoat, a top hat and a burlap sack with eyeholes cut into it. She remembers the sketch released by the police department, the description of the man having been circulated by every newspaper in Gotham. 

She was horrified then of the masked man, but now? The terror was threefold as she realized that she was living in the same house with him. That her own husband, who’d changed until he was barely recognizable, was Jack the Ripper.

She begins to back out of the room, wanting to get out of the house and get away, to anywhere she’d be safe. It’s only when she bumps into something...or rather someone, that she knows that escape is no longer an option.

“This is why we have rules” Jack says, grasping her and turning her to face him, delivering a horrid sounding smack to her face that sends her careening out into the hallway. She was in pain, and bleeding from the mouth, though she was now running on sheer adrenaline.

She turns and tries to get up, though Jack was now advancing upon her, his fists clenched and his eyes boring daggers into her. A horrifying smile was on his face, something the likes of which she had never seen before. She puts her hand up, scooting her back along the floor. “JACK!” she screams. “PLEASE! DON’T!”

Jack was unhearing however, instead turning for a moment to focus on a mirror, seeing his own twisted reflection in it. It makes him stop, his mind whispering that this isn’t who he was. That this was wrong. That voice is overwhelmed instantly as, in the mirror, he sees a figure move forward, her bright red hair floating about her body like the waves of the sea.

She wraps her arms around his shoulders and smiles, breathing against his neck while whispering into his ear. 

“She’s going to go to the police” she says, though only he could hear her. He knew she wasn’t there, not in the strictest sense of the world, the human sense. But she was, and he could feel her, smell her. How he desperately wanted to taste her, and have her taste of him. 

“She’s going to stop your work beloved. She’s going to prevent your great work from being finished. Don’t you wish to save me Jack? To be my knight, my hero...my lover?”

He turns, glaring once more at the prone woman. “Do you realize...what you’re trying to stop me from doing?” he asks, twitching now.

The chase was on again, and Harleen was moving her back across the rug of the second floor. “Jack please..” she cries out, desperate to reach the Jack she was sure was hiding inside. “It’s me. Your wife! Listen to me. You can trust…”.

He reaches down and grabs her by the collar of her dress, hoisting her up and slapping her ferociously many times, snapping her neck back. “You’re nothing whore!” He continues his assault, egged on by the voice of that siren in his ear. 

“Kill her Jack. For me. Bring me her blood. Just like those whores you killed, and your patients. Please beloved. I shall reward you in any way you desire…”.

This only urges the slaps to get harder and harder, and Harleen cries out, desperate to escape her husband’s grip. He’s distracted from delivering the killing blow however, as a sound from downstairs calls his attention away. 

“WHAT KINDA MAN BEATS ON A WOMAN? A LIZARD, THAT’S WHAT KINDA MAN! NOW COME DOWN HERE SO I CAN SKIN YA!”

He throws Harleen to the ground once more, watching as she continues to cry. Casting a quick look over the railing, he sees a man in a Confederate uniform advance until he’s on the second floor, staring Jack down. “Fine. I reckon comin’ up ta kill you will be more satisfying anyways” he says, looking down at the beaten woman and feeling his rage explode even more.

“Who are you?” Jack asks, the sinister smile still not leaving his face. “No matter actually”. He reaches into his waistband, pulling up his button up sleeved shirt out of his trousers and drawing the knife hidden beneath. “Whoever you are, you’ll feed my mistress quite nicely hahahahaah”.

His chuckling starts off low and quiet, but eventually it reaches a heightened tempo, and the man stops to reach up and grasp his own head within his hands, laughing uncontrollably. Jonah just raises his pistol, intending to shoot the man.

At that moment, a dark shadow advances on the glass to the immediate rear of Harleen at the end of the second floor landing. The blonde covers her eyes just in time for the figure to smash through, sending shards of glass and splintered wood everywhere. Jack turns, shocked to see the Batman there, seething as he knew his game was fully up. 

“You!”

Bruce just narrows his eyes and raises his cape, obscuring his figure from the man. Harleen takes an opportunity however, and she kicks her foot up into Jack’s groin, hating that she had to do it, but finding that she hated the man he’d become even more. 

The heel of her ankle shoe finds its way right to the man’s groin, causing him to collapse onto the floor and giving the blonde a chance to get to her feet. She gathers her skirts and rushes passed the Batman, who allows her by. She eyes him warily, but doesn’t focus too much on him, instead rushing through an open door and slamming it behind her, the locking mechanism heard clicking just as Jack regains his composure.

He gets to his feet and a shout rings out, slamming into the man’s shoulder and sending him back down. “Don’t!” Bruce shouts, moving forward and raising his hand, causing the former confederate to take a bead on him.

“You with him?” Jonah asks with a shrug in the wounded Napier’s direction. 

“No” Batman responds coldly. “But I need him alive. He’s Jack the Ripper”.

Jonah hadn’t been in the city long enough to know about or have heard anything about the Ripper, and the confused expression he wore upon his face showed that. “Who?”

Jack however, wasn’t fully out of it, and grasping his knife, he reaches up to plunge it into Bruce’s thigh, getting up as he does so. “Shit” Jonah says, moving forward and for some reason holstering his pistol. Bruce meanwhile, was pulling the knife from his thigh and dodging a punch from the rapidly weakening Jack, whose bloodloss was becoming severe. 

Bruce was now enraged, and he draws his own fist back to punch the man directly in his face, tossing his body back towards Jonah who manages to catch him under the arms. He straightens him out on his feet, making Batman think for a moment that he was assisting him in some way before Jonah himself draws a fist back and throws it into the man’s face.

The combined weight of the two fists and the gunshot wound were enough to finally knock out the bloody and bruised murdered who falls to the ground and is promptly down for the count. Bruce steps forward, wanting to make sure of it before he winces at the pain in his leg. He looks down and quickly judges that once again, it wasn’t serious.

Still, he rips a piece of curtain off of the shattered window, and wraps it around his leg, wanting to staunch the bleeding. 

Jonah was watching him intently, shocked at what he was seeing. ‘I’ve seen a lot of crazy things...but a man dressed as a bat, crashing through windows? That’s a new one’.

“Who the hell are ya?”

Bruce just narrows his eyes, finally tying off the curtain, and moving up. “I could ask the same of you” he says, making eye contact with the facially deformed man. He didn’t know why he answered that question, and probably wouldn’t be able to say so for the rest of his life, but he felt that when a man in a bat suit was talking to you, you answered.

“Jonah Hex”.

The door on the bedroom through which Harleen Napier had escaped opens, and she peaks out, looking over the scene of mayhem. Her eyes land upon her husband’s prone form and she begins to sniffle. “Is...is he dead?”

Batman moves on, looking into the medical examination room and feeling a need to do a quick investigation. In this neighborhood, a gunshot would be investigated, and though it would take a little while to get back to the police, it would eventually get back to them. 

He takes one look around the observation room and notices the hidden room to the side. Rushing forward, he takes a look around, knowing that he had a limited amount of time to find anything tenable to move on. He spots something amongst the monstrosities strewn about, and realizes that it was exactly what he was looking for.

Jack Napier’s leatherbound journal.

He moves forward and scoops it up, depositing it into the small knapsack he kept hidden under his cape and strapped to his back for just these purposes.

Jonah Hex meanwhile, was torn between two places as the still crying blonde moves out into the landing once more. He tries to keep her steady while also trying to get a fix on Batman, who was now opening the window to the rear of the building. “Now wait a minute” he calls out. “Ya can’t leave me ta…”.

Outside, to the front, footsteps could be heard running on the cobblestones, and a whistle blares out, signifying a police presence. “Ahh hell”. Harleen moves even closer to the gunman, glaring down at her husband as it sinks in.

All of it.

“He...he’s...he’s a monster”.

Just like that she turns on the water works, and begins to cry once more. Jonah was not a man who was overly prone to emotional outbursts, but for some reason, the utterly broken sound of the rather pretty blonde’s cries cut to his heart. “Hey now, easy. It’s over”.

He reaches out and places a hand on her shoulder, looking back just in time to see Batman’s cape disappear over the edge of the window sill. ‘Hell, he left me ta deal with all this mess’. The police enter downstairs, calling up to them.

“Hey, we have a report of a gunshot coming from this building. It looks like a break in”.

Jonah rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “That was me, yeah” he calls out, knowing that he’d certainly be brought in for police questioning now. Suddenly, Harleen throws her arms around him, pressing her face into his chest, apparently desperate for warmth or possibly just a human connection at that moment.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you” she whispers, over and over again. “Both of you...I...I…”.

“Hey, he wasn’t with me” the gunslinger says as the police enter the building, their revolvers drawn as well. “We’re coming up! Make sure you’re unarmed!”

“I got my revolvers with me but they’re holstered. The lady here will tell ya I wasn’t the one trying to kill ‘er”.

She was still crying into his chest, and despite his usual reaction to such an issue, he wraps his arms about her shoulders and gently rubs her back. “Yer husband always been like this?”

She doesn’t answer, instead just continuing to cry. 

“Yeah, figured I wouldn’t get no straight answer outta ya yet”.

Erin Bar, The Narrows

The room wasn’t much, but then again, they never were. The good thing about the Erin was that it was located in a strategic location within her new territory, giving her the ability to receive word via runners of any threats or other goings on in her turf.

It was also the best place to get a good stout Irish whiskey.

Or, as was the case right now? To get a good night’s sleep.

Dinah walks in and closes the door behind her, drowning out the sound on ongoing drunkenness below only a little. She didn’t mind it. That ambient noise would be necessary for her to sleep regardless.

She removes her cap first, placing it on the broken down dresser atop which a cracked and broken mirror rested. She didn’t want to look at her own face at the moment, never truly liking or being comfortable with what she saw in her expression.

She lowers her suspenders off of her shoulders slowly, kicking off her boots and moving them into a corner instantly after. She wiggles her toes and watches as her big one falls through the hole that had inadvertently been cut into her right sock.

“Fook me” she sighs, not really caring but just having hoped to not have any reason to complain tonight. 

She knew nobody would listen regardless, so she didn’t even bother voicing such sentiments to herself. She begins to slide her dirty trousers off, leaving them on the floor and enjoying the bare chill against her pale legs.

“Well, gotta make sure I don’t freeze tonight”.

She makes her way to the opposite side of the room, picking up a few pieces of coal from the steel bucket beneath the window. To her immediate right she saw the coal stove, it’s pipe haphazardly jagged and cut to go through the window pane, which had begun to crack and blacken due to the stove’s activities.

The flame had all but died out within the iron contraption, though she was sure it was just waiting to burst back to life, a bed of hot red coals still being settled at the bottom. She opens the grate, happy that for once she didn’t burn herself on the super heated handle, and tosses a bunch in.

She was a frugal woman, and didn’t use any more than what was absolutely required to keep her warm through the night. As expected, the flames jump and burst within the confines of the steel structure, and she quickly closes the grate to avoid any loose sparks jumping out and setting the floor, and thus the bar, ablaze. 

She takes a moment to stretch, reaching behind her and pushing on the nape of her back with her hands, enjoying how her spine creaks. “Ohh lord yesss” she moans. “That’s better”.

With that she finally completes her pre bedtime ritual, and works on unbuttoning her dirty cotton shirt, undoing each button with her dainty, but work dirtied and calloused hands. When the shirt was fully unbuttoned, she pushes the fabric off of her shoulders, leaving her bare body nude to the chill that creeps in through the broken window pane.

Downstairs, a bottle is thrown, smashing against the wall, and the sound of men’s laughter echoes upward. They’d be doing this well into the wee hours of the morning.

Dinah didn’t mind.

Her focus was now on the warm looking bed, with its wool blankets and rough but still sturdy cotton pillows. She pulls a blanket up and sits on the edge, turning to slip her legs under them, instantly cooing at the warm. She soon pulls the blanket back over her and rests her head on the pillow, covering up the nude body that many men undoubtedly lusted for. 

‘Keep dreaming ya twats’ she thinks, dismissive of their intentions until a certain face comes to mind. Matches Malone was there, sporting a smirk that she already knew was going to drive her crazy. She was wide awake now, going over what she knew of the man.

He was resourceful, smart...kind. She’d seen him distribute the cash from their little jewel heist to the needy. She saw the gleam in his eye. ‘He looked like bloody Saint Nicholas himself’ she thinks before reminding herself of how his body felt under those clothes of his. ‘Ain’t no fat man there’.

She begins to toss and turn, looking up at the ceiling and biting her lip. “Come on Dinah” she says aloud to herself. “Ya ain’t known the man long. Don’t be going doe eyed over him” she thinks before her hands, needing something to do, begin to move up and down her own body. She moves them up her taut belly first, cupping the undersides of her breasts. 

“That kiss felt fookin’ marvelous though” she says, turning her head on the pillow and biting her lip, moving one of her hands up to pinch her own nipple, making the puffy and pink bud instantly erect. “He sure knows his way around a lock pick”.

Her hand begins to move even lower, rolling over her stomach once more and then onto her groin, her fingers moving through the thatch of blonde hair right above her womanly entrance. She feels her moistened petals for the first time in a while and decides to admit that she at least thought him attractive. 

“Just a handsome fella” she says, dipping a finger inside of herself and moaning, remembering how his strong hands felt upon her. “All he is. Ain’t nothin’ Dinah. Just a bit of...ohhh…”. She’d moved onto two fingers without even thinking of it, and she was now gently teasing a third digit over the outside of her lips.

“Mmmm...Matches…”.

Not All That Far Away

The sound of the knife slashing into the corpse was music to his ears. In fact, it was greater than all of the other symphonies he’d ever heard. Boring affairs with perfectly made suits and well dressed ladies.

He smiled, a sickening little smile as he leans down slices the already dead woman’s throat, the seemingly endless amount of other cuts having been more than enough to finish the job moments ago. He’d accomplished what he’d come here to do, and now a bucket of blood, a ripped out heart floating within it.

He tries to get back to his thoughts, wanting to focus only on pleasure now. 

“Ohh yes” he chuckles. “Well dressed ladies. Ohh how little their beauty is in comparison to you my dear” he whispers, leaning down to kiss the corpse’s cheek one last time before rising to his feet, knowing that he’d have to make his way home now.

“So natural...so….perfect as you are” he giggles, picking up the pale and moving deeper into the alley, leaving the murdered prostitute right at the periphery. He knew she’d be found, sooner or later. That was their intention after all. All of them.

They wanted the city to fear Jack the Ripper...though, Rippers was much more truthful. 

He wants to laugh again, but he almost stumbles over an alley cart which darts out in front of him, spilling some of the blood onto the floor. “Ohhh, filthy animal!” he shouts out before schooling his voice once more.

“Must get this to her. Must. Mustn’t let the others beat me”.

“You’re doing so well my beloved” she whispers in his ear, making him almost shutter in something akin to orgasmic bliss. Hearing her words? It was pleasure beyond compare, a pleasure he only ever got close to while carving up a corpse.

“Return to me beloved. One of the other’s has failed” she giggles, caressing him through the wind which picks up within the alley. He knows it’s her as the wind made him feel anything but cold. 

“Come to me...come…”.

At that moment? There was no force on Earth that would keep him from going to her.

She would be his!

Chapter Text

Park Row, Cobblepot Circus

Dinah was sitting down on an old barrel, idly peeling an apple with her knife, tossing the skin onto the ground in front of her. She didn’t have too much on her mind, though news had been rattling through the Narrows ever since the morning the paperboys, hawking their wares upon the streets, announced the capture of Jack the Ripper.

Dinah hadn’t put too much stock in this Ripper madness from the get go, though she was wary of what might happen to some of the girls in her employ if they stayed out without protection. It had caused quite a problem in terms of manpower, and most of the working girls were regulated back to the safety of the brothels.

Whoever this Ripper was, though he wasn’t a threat anymore, he had a specific way he went about things, and going into a brothel to kill a prostitute wasn’t it. 

‘Fookin’ coward’ she sneers mentally, biting into the juicy guts of the apple and munching down happily. She sees a figure approaching though, his hands in his pockets and his hat drawn down over his brow. She’d recognize him anywhere.

Dinah blushes, remembering the other night and how she’d taken her pleasure from a mental image of the man. She tries to empty her mind of those thoughts, but she finds it nearly impossible. Instead she just raises her hand and waves.

“Matches!” she calls. “Over here lad”.

The man smiles at her, sending butterflies rushing up and down her spine before finally reaching the woman who stands and deftly cuts the apple in half, offering the man a slice. He takes it and eats it without question, smiling at the taste.

“Mm, ain’t nothin’ like the taste of a crisp apple”.

“Aye, I’d say it’s nice”.

She was looking at him, taking in his features with undisguised appreciation. She couldn’t stop fixating on that kiss and how it felt that night in the alley. She could admit within the confines of her mind that the heist wasn’t the only thing that got her blood pumping that night.

“Everything alright Dinah?”

She smiles and shakes her head in the affirmative, quickly moving off of the barrel and brushing off the knees of her trousers. “Right as rain Matches. Right as rain”. She clears her throat to continue on. “Anyways, got some people I want ya to meet. Real stand up boyos. Can’t run this thing without ‘em”.

Bruce rushes to catch up with the woman’s nervously large strides, wondering what had her on edge. “Well that’s nice. Wanna meet as much of the gang as possible”.

“Family” she corrects.

“Huh?”

“This ain’t a gang Matches” she turns, fixing him with a stare. “It’s a family. We look out for each like we’re family. We die for each other like we’re family. So many of us don’t got nothin’. Well, now we do, and the Canaries is it”.

He was moved by her words and simply nods in response, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder. “Right then. I really wanna meet the rest of me family then. Yeah?”

Their eyes land on each other once more, and his smile, that damned smile reduces her to one of the mooning women she saw in the streets of Gotham, side by side with a man. They looked up at them like they were worth more than all of the gold in the world. Even if they had nothing, they still acted as if the man they were with walked on water.

She never felt that pull, never that great feeling of looking at someone else and feeling complete.

‘And ya ain’t feelin’ it now’ she reminds herself, lacking the inner conviction she wished she could put forth. Instead she gently pushes Matches hand off of her shoulder, jokingly glaring at the man. “Don’t be gettin’ too handsy with me boyo. Aye?”

“Sure Dinah. Whatever ye say”.

She was instantly disarmed again, his jesting devil may care attitude only enticing her more too him. She wanted to howl in anger before a welcome distraction puts itself front and center. “Dinah! Dinah!”

The two turn and gaze past the crowds that were slowly filtering into and out of the carney grounds to see Timmy, waving his hand ecstatically while sitting atop Jason’s shoulders. “Oi, Timmy boy!” she shouts out in return, always excited to see the youngster, especially in such a jovial mood.

Jason himself was smiling, though he cast a wary gaze at the man beside her. She turns and taps him on the chest, resisting the childish urge to take the man’s hand as she moved towards her younger acolytes. “Hey” she says suddenly, noticing that someone was missing. “Where’s Dickie boy?”

“He’s off somewhere” Jason says, quietly covering for his older brother. “With Diana!” Timmy chirps out, as usual, obtuse to the situation. “He went to see her show! She fights lions and stuff! She’s so pretty!”

“That true Jason?” she asks. “Dickie out galavanting with a showy lass?”

“Yes ma’am, but I promise, me and the boys have things covered” he assures her. Dinah would always take Jason’s word, at least to her, he was a no good lying thief under her tutelage after all, as better than gold. “Alright lad. Let Dickie boy have his distraction then”.

She smiles at Matches and turns to the side, making to introduce the two boys to the man. “This is the one I was tellin’ ye about. Real good in a fight and better with his hands…” she says before adding, “lockpicks, I mean”.

Jason looked up at his surrogate mother with curiosity and then at the man with suspicion. “Hello there Jason” Bruce says, holding out his hand to the shorter boy. “How are ye today?”

“Fine sir”.

He takes his hand and shakes it firmly, admiring that the boy’s grip was so strong. “Would ya like to buy some peanuts mister!”

Timmy was holding out the small paper bag, greasy and warm from the salty treat that lay inside. Bruce knew that it was most likely recycled from the ones that carried popcorn, which most likely meant that Timmy here, was selling him stolen peanuts. “Ohh..well, how much?”

“Mmm...five cents?”

“Five cents” Bruce says with a smile, watching how Timmy’s eyes were constantly shifting to the right side of the carney grounds where a game operator was trying to lure people in by hawking in front of the high striker.

“Step right up folks, test your strength! Test it and see what ya win!”

It all clicked together.

“Five cents huh?! Gee, I like like I’m made a green boyo?” he teases, fishing into his pockets and retracting a quarter. “Ahh, tough luck laddy. Only got a quarter”.

“Aww...are you sure you don’t got anything…”.

Bruce reaches out and hands the quarter over to Timmy. “‘Ere ya go lad. And keep the peanuts. They don’t agree with me”.

Tim was shocked at his luck, looking down at the coin with undisguised awe. “Really? Ya ain’t playin’?”

“I’m not playin’ at all, otherwise me name ain’t Matches” he says with a wink and gesturing over at the game. “Now, let me guess. Ya want that wooden horse with the wheels and strings and daft officer ridin’ atop it huh?”

Timmy nods, having been eyeing it all day but not knowing how to go about getting it. He didn’t want to steal it, as he’d agreed to only take candy, peanuts and popcorn from Mister Cobblepot’s stores. He also didn’t have enough money to play the game, and he doubted that if he did he’d be able to win.

But as they made their rounds over the carney grounds, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. He loved all toys that had to do with soldiers, and this one would finally give him a general to lead his motley and mismatched collection of tin men across the battlefields of his imagination.

“Well then, how about I win it for ya?” he asks, and Timmy nods his head so quickly that Dinah was partly afraid that it would fall off. Jason was shocked too, but still skeptical of the man’s intentions. ‘He’s being good to Timmy...too good. Nobody but Dinah is that nice to ‘im’.

“Alright then” Matches says, spitting into his hands and walking up towards the carney. He rubs them together, making a show of getting ready. “How much is it lad?”

“Ahhh we have a challenger ladies and gentleman! A strongman from Gotham!”

“Yeah, yeah stop the pitch ya sold me. How much?” Bruce asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well kind sir, let say I give you the very generous offer of three tries for one cent?” he asks. Bruce smirks and begins to fish into his pocket again, pretending to be light on change. Timmy gulps, desperately wanting him to have one cent, forgetting himself a bit in his desire for the toy.

“Matches, ya don’t have ta…” Dinah says, having been following along in the rapidly unfolding chain of events. He turns his head and smiles, retracting the penny. “Wouldn’t ya know it? I got one”.

He hands it off to the carney and steps up onto the platform, grasping the mallet in his hand and looking down at the petal he’d have to strike in order to send the small steel block up the track to ring the bell.

He also knew, like most carney games, that this one was utterly fixed. Undoubtedly two large magnetic blocks were contained on either side of the track at an indeterminable distance upon the track. 

He could use that.

Bruce makes to launch the block, bringing the mallet up in his hand and suddenly stopping, turning back to the carney. “Ya know boyo” he chuckles, rubbing the back of his head. “This game...it ain’t fixed is it?”

“Why sir” the man asks, feigning insult. “I would never…”.

“Because ya know, if it is?” Bruce asks, moving even closer, the mallet clutched in his hands menacingly. “I’d be mighty upset, ‘specially since the boy here” he says while gesturing to Timmy. “He’d be very disappointed. Now...ya wouldn’t want that would ya?”

The man gulps, especially since Bruce’s imposing figure was now right before him. He knew that these were members of the Canaries, the street gang contracted to defend the circus grounds. He most certainly didn’t want to cross them.

“Hehe...let me just..check and make sure everything is up to snuff then sir” he says, excusing himself and opening the compartment at the back of the high striker, retracting the two magnets inside. “Wouldn’t..hehe...wouldn’t want the boyo disappointed now would we?”

Bruce winks back at the group, and Timmy claps in appreciation while Jason nods in begrudging respect. He leans against the handle of the hammer, jokingly stumbling for added effect. Timmy laughs and Jason cracks a smile. Dinah covers her mouth with her hand, wanting to hide the blush as well.

“Well sir” the carney announces, coming back around the other side. “You’re all set. Everything seems to be in order back there!”

“Good. Now, I’m just gonna take me swing then?”

“Of course, of course!” the operator says, moving back and giving Bruce the space he needed. He brings up the mallet once more, and this time it lands directly on the petal, sending the metal block careening upwards, unimpeded by the magnets that had been removed.

The bell rings, and the metal block falls back down to the starting point.

“So...that’s all eh?” Bruce asks, placing the mallet on the ground and moving to the wall where the prizes were. Without waiting, he takes down the toy horse and walks back to Jason, handing the toy up to Tim.

The little boy hugs it close, not caring that Oswald had decided to cut costs and buy used and found toys for prizes amongst his circus. Even in its battered, chipped and faded state, the soldier atop the horse was a treasure for the young boy.

“Thank you Matches! Thank you so much!”.

“You’re welcome Timmy”.

The carnie wasn’t done yet though and he rushes up to Bruce, handing him off a rather nice porcelain doll with blonde hair and a yellow dress. “Here ya go sir!” he says, offering him a bribe to keep quiet about his unfair business practices while hiding it as a reward. “For bein’ such a good sport, a doll! For your lady friend over there!” he says, gesturing towards Dinah. “Well thank ya kindly friend” Bruce says, taking the doll in one hand and patting him on the shoulder with the other.

When the carney turns, it’s clear that he’s happy to see the disruptive man go, willing to trade a doll they got for nothing for his silence. Bruce walks up to Dinah and holds the prize out to her. “Your cut of the take boss”.

“Matches, don’t be daft!” she says, trying to laugh it off as the situation was much too uncomfortable for her liking. Bruce wasn’t letting up though, being in too good a mood in light of the Ripper being apprehended. “I insist Dinah. She’s even got blonde hair. Ain’t she as pretty as the boss boys?” he asks, turning to enlist the two young thieves in his cause.

Timmy was already very much on Matches’s side, and he nods his head in approval. “Dinah is still prettier though!”

“Well thank ye Timmy boy” Dinah blushes, while Jason gives his own answer. “Might as well Dinah. I mean, he did win it for ya. Fair and square too. Be kinda rude to turn it down”.

Bruce presses his advantage and once again tries to hand the doll off to the woman. This time, her lithe fingers reach out and take it, looking the porcelain doll in its eyes. “I...I neva’ had a doll before” she says with a sad smile. “Well, now ya do” Matches says, making ready to move off besides the boys. Dinah rushes to catch up, trying to remind herself that they were security. 

‘Ohh come off it’ she thinks, looking around to see so many of her men standing guard that she knew there was no chance of something going unseen. “I ain’t a little girl Matches” she says, still not wanting to give up completely on her tough woman routine.

“Nobody thinks that” he says, hands in his pockets as he turns to listen to Timmy yammer on about something or other. “But don’t mean ya can’t have fun and pretend every now and again”.

That hit her hard for some reason, most likely due to the fact that even when she was a little girl, she’d never had the chance to act as one. Looking down now at the doll she smiles and caresses its cheek, glancing back at Bruce and blushing. ‘Ohh Matches...don’t make me fall for ya boyo. That’ll be the worst thing ta ever happen to ya’.

The Amazing Amazons Display

The tent was packed as as many customers who could pack themselves into the wooden stands did so, each trying to get a glimpse of the beautiful warrior women that sparred with one another within the confines of the ring.

Dick was watching, though somewhat apathetically, from the side, leaning against one of the poles that kept the tent up with his arms crossed. ‘Where’s Diana?’ he asks himself, tired of watching Nubia and Hippolyta, each decked out in armor and sporting blunted swords, spar with one another.

In the ring, Nubia rushes forward, intent on skewering the queen with her sword, or so the audience was led to believe. A collective gasp is raised as Hippolyta catches the larger woman on her shield, and with an amazing display of strength herself, raises the woman and tosses her into the sand of the makeshift arena behind her.

Nubia lands with a loud thud, her arms splayed out to either side and her sword and shield both thrown away from her body, signifying that the fight had been won. The Queen of the Amazons thrusts her spear into the sand and spreads her arms out, basking in the adoration of the crowd while Nubia slowly rises to her feet and pretends to limp out of the arena through a side exit.

Dick could appreciate the showmanship, and the lengths that the diminutive ring master went through to make the show entertaining. Speaking of Oswald, the man now steps into the empty ring doffing his hat to the side through which the Amazons had exited.

“Now….wasn’t that a show?!” he roars out, drawing the applause of the crowd which was much more based in the lower classes of Gotham. Upon hearing of their approval, the stout little man replaces his hat and raises a hand, calling for silence. “Well ladies and gentleman of Gotham, I give you something even more assured to tantalize and amaze you! You see, the Amazons were graced with unnatural beauty and strength, but among them, one woman is special! Would you like to meet her Gotham?”

“YESSS!” the crowd shouts out, eager for more entertainment.

“Well then, who am I to deny you?” he asks, swinging out his baton and pointing towards the opposite end of the tent where a large hole had been cut in the fabric. The gas lit projectors move their concentrated beams over the canvas before finally setting there.

Two shapes leap out first, throwing up their heads and roaring before charging Oswald. 

The lions had been released into the ring, and Oswald jumps up cartoonishly, holding his hat as they rush fast on his tail. He even takes a moment to swat them lightly with his cane. “Down Betsy! Down Diego! Down!”

The lion and lioness keep it up though, intending, or at least appearing to intend, to turn the morsel of a man into a meal for themselves. He just manages to make it to the wall of the ring, hilariously reaching up and trying to pull himself over the wall.

The lions circle him, seeming to join in with the mockery that the crowd was letting lose and the ring master’s expense. The lions lick their chops, making for one last forward leap that would bring them their quarry.

It seemed like the curtains would be closed on this upcoming scene of carnage, but for a shadow that launches itself out of the same entrance the lions had come through. Diana was rushing across the sand, her sandal covered feet carrying her at speeds the crowd wasn’t sure were possible. 

With a ferocious leap of her own, she covers the distance between her and the lions, tossing herself between them and their master. They roar at her, wanting her to abandon the man to his fate. Diana doesn’t move and simply glares them down while reaching back to grasp Oswald by the collar of his suit and lifting him up into the main viewing box where he was safe.

The crowd erupts into applause, loving the spectacle of a heroine saving a pipsqueak just as much as they’d love the spectacle of said pipsqueak getting devoured. The lions start to pace back and forth, playing their parts just as well as Diana was. 

Oswald pokes his head over the side of the wall to study what was going on, a smile on his face that let on to those that could see that his fear and run had all been for show as well. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you...Diana! Princess of the Amazons!”

The lions roar at the first sound of applause, launching themselves at Diana in an effort to devour her. Even Dick, knowing it was a show, was so convinced of their ill intentions, that he is about to rush forward, knowing he could do nothing to prevent the girl from getting mauled.

The most amazing thing happens however, as Diana ducks down and then launches herself upward into the air, catching both of the lions by the scruff of their neck and holding their writhing bodies up in the air for everyone to see.

They roar and whimper, though she was extra careful to grab them where they wouldn’t be hurt, as she makes her lap around the circle, showcasing her amazing feat of strength. Even if the ferocity of the lions was fake, her strength drew enough cheers as to make it all worth it.

Dick settles down, leaning back against the pole and waving as she passes, shooting her a wink as well. He couldn’t get over how beautiful she looked, wearing a corset with golden trim and the alternating patterns of red and blue atop a skirt with a blue background, emblazoned with white stars.

“There she is ladies and gentleman! The Princess of the Amazons! The Tamer of Beasts”.

Diana keeps her eyes on Dick, and blushes when he winks though you wouldn’t be able to tell with how she carries on with her show. “She is stronger than an ox, more beautiful than Aphrodite and, what’s more...she lives here! In the greatest country on Earth! That’s right folks, a demigoddess herself deigns to live amongst you!”

That was a convenient exaggeration. Her costume was changed based on the nation into which they went. In France, she wore the cockade, and Oswald boasted of her as a true daughter of Napoleon. In England she wore a lion crescent and bore the cross of Saint George.

Here in the United States?

She wore the stars and stripes.

It was a lie that landed every time though, stoking the hearts of the patriotic wherever she went. Oswald had long ago told her that “truth didn’t make people happy”, nor did it sell tickets. So, a little white lie was told. She didn’t mind.

She loved to see them smile.

With little effort she throws the lions down, both of which now play the part of scared alley cats before her, yowling and moving away. She stops, conking out her hip and placing a hand upon it while idly waving her other hand to the crowd.

“See with what grace she moves, and the gifts that the gods have bestowed upon her! On her wrist, the gauntlets of Agamemnon. Her feet? The sandals of Hermes. And upon her waist…” he calls out, signalling her next act. “The lasso of truth! Spun by Athena herself, a tool for dispensing justice in this world!”

She takes the painted thin rope from her waist and unwinds it, whipping it out behind her to let the crowd “ohh” and “ahh” at it. With the speed of lightning she cracks it out, wrapping it about her and grasping the yelping lion about the midsection, its mate covertly sneaking away, cowed, back through the entrance flap. 

She pulls the lion who tries to claw across the sand, to little avail. When he is finally at her feet, she grasps him and picks him up, hefting him as high as she can over her head, showcasing him to the crowd.

They roar with approval as the girl seems completely nonplussed by the massive weight of the creature in her hands. She moves with ease, a smile upon her face, though it grows exponentially as she once more lays eyes on Dick. 

He claps, whistling out and being the most raucous of supporters. “Diana!” he screams out, hyping all of the other viewers up, causing them all to shout in unison. “DIANA! DIANA! DIANA!”

She blushes and gently releases the lion who remains on the ground before her, feigning fear. She moves to her knees, the beast flinching as she hugs him in her arms, gently caressing his mane and rubbing her cheek against his fur.

“Awwww!”

“She is also the most gentle of hearts! An enemy truly vanquished is also a friend earned” Oswald shouts out, watching as Diana rises and mounts the lions back. The now purring creature giving her a ride astride it through the ring.

This drew roars, though most everything she did caused them to cheer. She continues to revel in their applause, though especially in the young gang member whose smile was so bright, and eyes so alluring.

She rides Diego to the end of the tent, dismounting him and giving him a smack to the rear, sending the king of the jungle back into the animal pens. She isn’t left alone in the ring for long however, as the sound of feet smashing against the floor can be heard.

A loud trumpet breaks the air, and a grey beast waddles into the ring, shocking all with its immense size, frightening tusks and large floppy ears. Diana moves beside the elephant, kissing its leg. Furaha was an older elephant, and Diana had known her since she’d first started travelling the circus as a child. 

“Hello Furaha” she whispers, watching as the elephant looks upon her, the all too human emotion of love in her eyes. Her trunk snakes out and caress through Diana’s dark locks atop her head, blowing lightly. 

“Are you ready girl?” she asks, wanting to give the crowd, and Dick in particular, an amazing display of strength. The elephant huffs, apparently being ready but not exactly enjoying this aspect of the show. “I know” Diana whispers. “You’re getting too old for this but if you’re a good girl I’ll get you an entire cart of peanuts and I’ll feed them to you all night. Does that sound fair?”

“Hrrrrgggrrr” Furaha murrs out.

“Alrighty then. I promise, I won’t drop you” Diana teases while moving under her. The elephant eyes her, seeming to communicate a sentiment along the lines of “you better not”. The elephant waits until Diana is in position, and she then kneels down, knowing that her legs were too long for the girl to lift properly. 

The crowd is overtaken by a hushed silence, figuring for sure that Diana had been crushed by the elephants weight. That silence turns to shock as the massive grey beast begins to be lifted into the air. Diana groans now, as Furaha was much heavier than Diego or Betsy had been. “Hera give me strength!” she calls out, lifting the thirteen thousand pound creature into the air.

Furaha for her part, looks bored, having done this so many times before that it was old hand to her, an attitude that the crowd picks up on.

She sways her trunk out, waving to them and begins to trumpet loudly.

Dick moves forward, eyes fixed upon the form of Diana, still working on straightening her arms fully to lift the elephant as high up as she could. “Come on...come on” he whispers, not realizing that his urging wasn’t needed in the slightest. 

Within another second, Diana’s arms are straightened, and the elephant is proudly displayed in the air, lifted by nothing more than human strength. Well...perhaps slightly more than human strength. 

“LADIES AND GENTLEMAN! THE SIGHT OF A LIFETIME! A GIRL WITH THE STRENGTH OF ZEUS!” Oswald cries out, bringing the show to a crescendo of ecstasy for those released, if only for a moment, from their hum drum lives of misery and filth. 

They got to look upon beauty and the impossible, see it done before their very eyes. 

Dick was looking at Diana with more intensity and joy than anyone else in the crowd though, fixed as he was upon her. She came, in mere moments, to be the representation of all the dreams he’d ever even dared to dream of.

She was a beautiful dream….he needed to speak with her again, be close enough so that he and he alone was the focus of her gaze. As she walked across the ring with Furaha in her hands, he knew that he’d want to personally handle guarding the circus as often as possible.

Especially the tent that belonged to Diana, Princess of the Amazons.

Apartment of Greg and Mari Saunders, The Narrows

Jonah sat at the kitchen table, wiping down his knife and cleaning his revolver, his mind going back to what had transpired a few nights ago. As he suspected, having had experience with law enforcement and how they operated out west, he was brought in for questioning and to give his statement.

Unlike the west however, the procedure in Gotham City had a much more formal air to it, though the jail cells to his surprise were much filthier than even the ones in the most remote of places that he’d delivered a bounty to.

He’d been asked to identify the man who attacked and tried to kill his wife, and indeed the man had been sitting in the filthy cell, looking down at the floor and nothing else. Even from outside the cell, the stench from the steel bucket used to relieve yourself was enough to make the hardened bounty hunter want to empty his stomach.

Luckily, what was asked of him wasn’t too much. The woman he’d saved, Harleen Napier, had corroborated his story. Both told the police that the Batman had been there, leading to the desk sergeant, a burly Irishman, scowling and noting it down but saying no more of it.

He got the idea that the law here didn’t want to acknowledge the Bat’s existence. 

After a short time he’d been released, though Harleen was kept behind for more questioning and indeed was to be given a place to stay at a woman’s boarding house until she could collect herself and head home. Before he left he’d seen her one last time in the vestibule, flanked on either side by blue coated police officers who scowled at the man in his grey uniform.

Without acknowledging them he moved forward and placed a hand on her shoulder, causing the woman to look up into his eyes. He knew that she was looking at his wound, but he was a little surprised by how quickly she glossed over it and exchanged his gaze. 

He’d never, for the rest of his life, forget the sight of those deep blue eyes looking into his.

“Yer gonna be alright lady. Stay strong”.

With that, he released his grip upon her and moved off, heading home where he’d undoubtedly have to explain to an apoplectic Greg what had kept him out until the wee hours of the morning. He didn’t notice at the time how Harleen stared at his back, watching him go.

Now though? He had to clean his pistol which he certainly hadn’t been counting on firing that night. The knife was laid out on the table too, a keepsake he always kept though he himself wasn’t prone to sentimentality. 

Victoria was seated across the table, kicking her legs out and watching him, the stuffed bear in her arms. This goes on for many moments, and Jonah eventually feels the need to break it. “What?”

“Where did you get the knife?” she asks cutely, just being a curious little girl. It took him aback still though. “It was a gift. Given ta me”.

“By who?”

“Robert E. Lee”.

“Whose that?”

“A general” he replies, replacing his pistol in his holster, ensuring that it was unloaded while in the house. “Ohh...was he your general”.

“One of ‘em”.

“Daddy’s general too?”

“No, no” Jonah says, beginning to get uncomfortable but not wanting to lie to the girl. “Daddy’s general was...well, he was on the other side”.

“Ohh...do you hate daddy?” she asks.

“What? No, ‘course not”.

“Why not? Don’t soldiers who fight each other hate each other too?” 

It was clear that she didn’t understand how war could jumble up people and feelings so easily and without remorse or care for the people it was doing it to. He certainly didn’t wanna have that conversation with his innocent niece either. “Not all the time no”.

“Then why do they fight?” she asks, not understanding the very concept of war either, seeing things through a childlike lens. ‘Or maybe she sees ‘em the right way’ he thinks with a sigh, realizing that no matter how old you got, war still didn’t make sense.

“I don’t know. Right and wrong I guess”.

“Who was right and who was wrong in you and daddy’s war then?” she asks. That one was certainly not a question he wanted to answer at all, and he desperately wanted a way out of it. He didn’t have high hopes though. Of all the things Jonah was good at, talking wasn’t one of them.

Fortunately, things had started to go his way.

A knock on the door interrupts them, and he breaths a sigh of relief. He makes to get up when Mari, who had been sewing in the other room, rushes out and to the door, shooing Jonah with her hand. “You sit down and relax hero” she teases, having used the moniker since he explained what had happened and how he had helped inadvertently take down the infamous Jack the Ripper. “Can’t have no vigilante answering our door now can we?” she asks, opening up for the unexpected guest.

Standing outside was a delivery man, holding a small vase filled with beautiful flowers. “Umm...may I help you?” Mari asks the man who looks down and reads the card that outlines who he was supposed to deliver the item to.

He looked out of place in the rundown tenements, nobody else having ever delivered flowers here. “I’m looking for a...Mr. Jonah Hex?” he asks, causing the man in question to move ramrod straight at the table while Victoria giggles.

“Someone sent you flowers!”

“I ain’t the flower type” he grumbles out, already fighting of the incoming embarrassment. Mari herself was confused at the door, and she moves in to look at the card attached. “Who would...ohh...well, thank you sir” she says with a wide smile as she takes the vase. It falls suddenly though and she remembers something. “I...I don’t have any money for a tip”.

“It’s alright ma’am” the deliveryman says, already wanting to be away from there. “The lady already handled it for you”.

“Well...how kind of her. Goodbye now!” she calls out, kicking the door closed while turning and setting down the vase upon the table in front of Jonah. She smirks down at him, hands on her hips as he crosses his arms over his chest and glares at the bright display of flowers before him. “Well now, someone’s got an admirer!” she teases. “Ain’t ya gonna ask who it’s from?”

“No…”.

She frowns now and shakes her head, chiding him as Victoria giggles even harder. “Jonah Hex, you know da…darn” she stops, remembering her daughter’s presence. “Well that this is from that nice Harleen Napier woman” she says. “I want you to go out and thank her personally for such a beautiful gift”.

“Throw them out” he orders, hoping that his usually gruff demeanor would win out as it had numerous times before. It didn’t work...at least not on Mari Saunders who grasps him by the shoulder, urging him up. He had no idea why, but he was wary of the woman, even more so when she reaches across the cast iron stove for her rolling pin, threatening him with it. “You go on and git over to her ta say thank you Jonah!”

“Hey now, waita..owwww!”

She hit him across the leg with the pin, urging him towards the door. “Out with ya, and don’t come back till’ ya say thank ya”.

“Mari this ain’t fai...owwww!”

She got him again on the arm, forcing him to open the door out into the hallway. “Fine! Dammit I’m going! Owww!” he shouts out, having been hit again. “What was that for?” he asks.

“Cussin’ in front of my daughter. Now git!”

She slams the door on the injured and undoubtedly bruised bounty hunter, turning to smile at her daughter who was now bent over the flowers, sniffing their beautiful fragrance. Mari moves closer, wanting to get a whiff herself when the door opens and Jonah walks back in, hat in hand. She glares, still holding the rolling pin and bringing it up and down in her hand menacingly.

“I uhh...I forget my pistol” he says, gesturing to the table where the weapon still laid. “Ahh” Mari says, moving over and fetching it, handing it off to the man who quickly deposits it back in his holster.

“I don’t need ta hit ya again do I?”

“No ma’am”.

“Good...off with ye”. 

She closes the door again, smiling to herself. Despite her best efforts to the contrary, she had grown to like the man and indeed see him as part of her family. “See Victoria” she says, taking this moment to impart a lesson upon her daughter. “Ya gotta have a firm hand with men. ‘Specially ones ya love. You keep that in mind”.

“Yes mama!”

Back at the Cobblepot Circus Grounds

Jason was bored.

That was usually hard to accomplish, but here he was, feeling that pang of boredom. He lagged behind Bruce and Dinah, the former of which was now carrying Tim upon his shoulders as they interacted with the various different events and games the circus had to offer.

Dinah was smiling and laughing, having the time of her life, as was Tim. For Jason though? This was all time he could be spending making money for the gang. He never stopped worrying, never stopped angling.

It was in his nature.

Being happy? Content? Those things weren’t for him. Not when others were counting on him. For as long as he could remember he’d steered them clear of danger. Kept them fed and clothed as best as he could. There was very little he wouldn’t do for his brothers and now the woman he secretly considered a mother.

She’d taken the three in without a care of the disadvantage that put her at. Given them a place to sleep, warm food for their bellies. Everything boy’s could need. And now, here was this guy, some stranger, inserting his way into her life.

He could see it.

It wasn’t fully out there, but the groundwork was being laid. Every touch disguised as just being friendly, every smile, every lingering gaze.

He could see the mutual attraction bubbling to the surface between the two.

He didn’t exactly know why it bothered him. Maybe he just didn’t want Dinah’s attention diverted away from them.

‘From Tim’ he corrects mentally, not wanting to admit that he relied on the woman as well. ‘From Tim. Yeah. Tim needs her right now’ he thinks, soothing himself that he wasn’t a jealous son watching his mother with some unknown man.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he inadvertently bumps into someone, sending the girl to the floor with the weight of his impact. He’s shook out of his thoughts by the revelation and he rushes to help the girl up, an apology already on his lips as he leans down. “I’m so sorry mis….”.

Those eyes again.

He was staring into the eyes of the girl he met on the first day they’d come to the park, and she was staring right back at him. His hand was still stretched out towards her, and gingerly the girl reaches up from the dirt floor to take it. He pulls her up wordlessly, not stopping until she was upon her feet once more.

“I...I’m so...sorry...wasn’t watching where I was going” he admits.

“I can say the same thing” she admits with a chuckle, a sound that is more like the flapping of angel’s wings to the young man. He shakes that thought away though, eager to return to what was important.

“I saw you with Mister Cobblepot” he says, hating how stupid that sounded and cringing at his own nervousness. For her part the girl doesn’t seem to notice and just nods his head. “He’s my father. I’m Jenny” she says before looking down. “I’d offer you my hand but it appears you still have it”.

Jason follows her gaze and blushes like mad upon seeing their digits still interlocked. He lets go, gently, as he doesn’t want to make any further of a scene or embarrass himself anymore. “Ohh, I’m sorry”.

“Again, don’t be. The fault lies with both of us if anything”.

She laughs, giggling cutely behind a raised hand, and for some reason he chuckles himself. “I’m Jenny” she says, officially introducing herself and presenting him her hand. Jason takes it and gives it a firm shake, smiling back. “Jason”.

She looks at their enjoined hands and blushes.

“What? Did I do something wrong again?”

“No no, it’s just...daddy always told me that a man should kiss a ladies hand” she blushes. “Especially a Cobblepot lady”.

Jason looks down again at her hand and gently turns it so that the back of her hand was exposed. He leans down and kisses her skin, wanting to at least make her feel comfortable after knocking her into the dirt. Jenny smiles like mad and brings her free hand up to her mouth, laughing aloud once more.

Jason straightens back up, a proud smile of his own upon his face.

“Did I do that right?”

She nods ecstatically and without warning loops her arm through his, prompting the two to move forward. “You’re our guard aren’t you?”

“Well, the Canaries are guarding the circus yes” he says, wondering how this girl was so easily able to get him to go along with what she wanted. “Well, does that mean you don’t have time for fun?”

“No...I guess it doesn’t” he says.

“Good!” Jenny says excitedly, pulling him along towards a strange facade advertising what was called a “Hall of Mirrors”. He’d never heard of that before, and his confusion must’ve showed on his face as Jenny saw fit to explain.

“Daddy came up with it” she says, advancing up the wooden stairs that led to the entrance into the small enclosure. “All the glass distorts our reflections so it makes us look insanely tall or really short!”

He had to admit, something like that did sound a little bit fun. “Well, I hope it’ll make me tall” she says, moving through the dark hall that readies them for the maze like attraction. “I hate being so short. Especially when compared to you. I must look like a little girl standing side by side with you” she pouts.

Jason’s eyes move over her dark hair and bright, joy specked eyes. “I...I think you look perfect”.

She smiles up at him and squeezes his hands, the two teens moving into the first mirror and grimacing at how it makes Jason tall and skinny behind belief, and Jenny short and wider. The two laugh at the ridiculous image cast back to them by the mirror, already enjoying the time they’ve decided to take together.

He could take some time off from worrying right?

The Narrows

“You don’t understand, we are so close!” a harsh voice whispers out in anger. “You don’t think I know that? But they captured Jack. We simply must be more careful”.

Candlelight danced along the walls of the abandoned building, and rats scurried along the rotting floorboards, dipping in and out with food or other random detritus. The voices carried on though, and at the far end of the hallway was a room through which the slightest glimmer of candlelight can be scene.

Men were seated around the table, all locked in a heated discussion.

Most of them were known to one another, but even then, they each wore burlap sacks over their faces, their hats scattered before them on the table. “She requires more”

“And how are we to get more?” one of the men asks. “They know thanks to our friend’s activities the other night that it wasn’t just Jack. When word spreads of this it’s going to be even more hellish for us than it is now! We can barely move at night anymore”.

“Perhaps...there is a way to circumvent the issues that arise from our unfortunate string of luck” one of the men says, leaning forward to place his hands upon the battered table. “And how would you suggest that? You have failed the mistress the most” one challenges.

“What have you brought her?”

The man who’d initially spoken seemed unbothered by the accusation, and the traces of a smile could be heard in his voice. “Everything, and that is why she shall choose me”.

This draws an entire chorus of disapproval, each man shouting the next down that they would be the one their mistress chose. Finally, one man, the largest of them, has enough, and he slams his fist down to bring order back to their meeting.

“Enough” he begins. “The mistress will choose who she sees fit. But as for now, we have to worry about Jack. If he talks then it’ll be over for all of us, and we cannot allow that. Not when our plans are so close to being complete”.

“What’s your suggestion then kind sir?”

The room is silent for a moment, and it is clear that he was mulling over his answer. “I have an idea, but it’ll put me in a precarious position for the time being” he admits.

“Will it further our goals?”

“Yes, it will” the man admits.

“Then we have no choice” he says solemnly. “We aren’t doing this for ourselves. It’s for our mistress of the night who will rewards us tenfold whatever we lose in these dark hours of struggle. Do it”.

The man nods, resigned to what he would have to do.

“It will be done”.

Chapter Text

St. Anthony’s Church

He came through the door in his usually slapdash, awkward way, shifting about as Pamela rushes to his aid, trying to help him get his coat off while he held onto the box that contained whatever contraption or toy he was working on next.

She was just as excited for the inventor to show her, and she often only made things worse by trying to help, once even having sent both of them to the floor, though Edward goodnaturedly laughed it off whenever it happened.

“Pamela my dear, please, let me put down the box first!” he chuckles, the two getting rather caught up in the excitement. “Ohh Edward, I’m sorry. I’m just excited is all! Whatever this new one is, what did they say? Did they enjoy the idea!”

“Yes” he chirps back even more happily. “They loved it! They bought it Pamela! They bought my idea!”

She claps her hands together childishly, jumping up and down, causing her skirts to billow in and out like a jellyfish, completing the image. “Ohh Edward, we should first give thanks!”

She takes his hand, now only one arm being free from the coat, and yanks the lanky inventor forward towards one of the pews where he is finally able to get his jacket fully off and deposited onto the wooden bench. Pamela is quickly on her knees, praying before the altar with a wide smile on her face.

Edward joins her, blushing while casting constant furtive glances her way.

He clasps his hands together though, not wanting to appear irreverent.

“Dear Lord” Pamela begins. “We thank you so much for Edward’s success. His gifted mind works in so many beautiful ways Lord, but only you could have opened the pathway forward for his success. We humbly thank you for your kindnesses, for him and myself…”.

Her words drift off in Edward’s mind as he continues to watch the woman, her eyes closed and utter joy on her face. He loved when she was happy, how it shined out through every part of her body, every action. She was beautiful, like a flower stretching in the sun. He smiles himself, overjoyed not only at the success of his latest toy, but at how she had reacted.

“Amen”.

She turns to Edward, the smile still on his face, though he is brought out of his daydreams by the clearing of her throat and slight tilt of her head towards the altar. “Ehh hem”.

“Ohh, ohh...yes, Amen”.

She was sated that he had observed his religious fealty, and now works on pushing him out of the pew, once more focused on the toy that he had been hard at work making. “Show me! Edward! Please show me!”

“Yes Pamela, I will” he laughs, allowing himself to be pulled along. “But first you must let me use my hand”. She looks down and detaches her grip from his own, blushing all the while. He pretends not to notice and moves right back towards the box, opening it with nervous and shaky fingers. 

“Well, it is...not completely finalized” he explains, tossing his head over his shoulder as if to negate any possible disappointment that might arise from such a fact. Pamela wasn’t having it though, and she waves her hand to dismiss such a thought. “If they loved it enough to buy it from you Edward, than I am assured to love it tenfold”.

He blushes at that, starting to stutter as his hand grips the burlap sack within the wooden box. He pulls it out and moves to the pew beside her, leaving a bit of distance in between them to display the toy. He spills the bad out, sending a good amount of little wooden logs with notches cut out of them onto the pew.

Pamela was already intrigued, though she didn’t know what to make of them.

“I...I...I...spent…”.

She reaches out and takes his hand, rubbing the back of it with her thumb. “Take a deep breath Edward” she soothes out lovingly. “I’m not going anywhere. You don’t need to worry about embarrassing yourself with me” she continues. “You’ll always be Edward Nygma, the genius to me”.

“G...genius?”

She nods cutely. “Uhhm. Now, show me how they work?”

She could ask of him anything and he’d do it, so it was very easy to prompt his fingers into action. He picks up one long piece and lays it down lengthwise, doing the very same with another directly across from it. A smaller piece is then fitted onto the two pieces width wise, the notches fitting into one another perfectly.

Pamela was enraptured by the symmetry and watches as he begins to stack them differently, using smaller pieces to make a little hole within the overall structure. She brings her hand to her mouth in shock as she realized he was building a little log cabin, with doors and everything.

He casts glances at her every now and again, wanting to gauge her reaction, but every time she remained silent, urging him on with her hand to finish his project. Soon, it was done, and the man laid the last green roof piece atop the completed cabin, a wide smile on his face.

“I call them..Lincoln Logs, after our dearly departed president who was born in a log cabin” he says, trying to explain a bit how he’d made it work. “I cut all the notches myself, but in the future, when they are fit for wider production, skilled workmen will use steam powered saws to cut them in perfect symmetry. You can build nearly anything with them!” he says happily, smiling down at the woman. 

“For the board I built a Trojan Horse. It took me over three hours, but they were so enraptured at what was happening that they simply let me”.

“Edward...this is a beautiful idea. So creative, so you” she chuckles, reaching out to caress her fingers along the cabin. Edward, feeling bold, reaches out and takes her dainty digits within his own, massaging them lightly. “I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you Pamela Isley” he says simply. “Constantly cheering me on...believing in me”.

Pamela blushes and averts her eyes for a moment, though she refuses to let go of his hand. “Ho..how much did they offer you for the idea Edward?”

“One hundred dollars”.

Her eyes practically bulge out at that number, knowing that that was a third of a years wages for most of Gotham’s citizens. Certainly more than she herself had made. “Edward...my Lord…”.

“That isn’t all Pamela” he explains. “Mr. Vreeland has offered me a job as well. He saw some of my other designs and ideas. He wants me to come and work for his company. We’ve already settled on a salary. Five hundred a year”.

Her hand goes to her heart for a moment before she reaches out and throws her arms around his shoulders, hugging the lanky man tight. “Ohh Edward! This is such welcome news! Good for you! So good for you!”

He hugs her back, smiling as he takes in her scent from their close proximity. This brought him naturally to his next order of business. “I was hoping...it would be good news for us”.

Pamela slowly backs off of him, her hands still enjoined with his which gave him some comfort. “Edward..I...I do not understand…”.

He stutters again but remembers her advice, collecting himself with a deep breath. “Pamela...I know we haven’t known each other long...but, when I look at you, I find myself falling deeper and deeper in love with you”.

The redhead gasps at that sentiment, her heart feeling as if it would stop beating at that moment. “I know...I’m not a very handsome man”.

‘You are’ she thinks, not able to put that sentiment to words just yet.

“And, perhaps...a bit clumsy” he chuckles.

‘I don’t mind’.

“But...I am going to be a man of at least moderate means” he says. “And I would be able to give you a life of comfort and, most importantly, my love. I...I’m butchering this aren’t I?” he laughs, breathing again. 

She wants to say yes. 

She didn’t know why but she felt the same way for the man as he felt for her it seemed. Her spirits were always lifted when he came to visit and she found his shyness and wit to be utterly intoxicating. But...she couldn’t say yes.

‘I can’t do that to him’.

She releases his hands and backs up out of the pew, making to run away as tears begin to stream down her face. The man rushes out of the pew, sending the Lincoln Logs scattering as he chases after her, before tripping over his shoe, shouting as he fell to his face in a house of God.

“Pamela! Wait, please! Speak with me!” he calls from the floor, reaching out to her.

“I can’t Edward!” she says, stopping as if his voice had some magical pull upon her, and she turns to see him on the floor. Her very nature causes her to rush forward to kneel down and assist him, the same way she’d done numerous times before. 

“Why?” he asks, a hurt expression on his face as he makes it to his knees the both of them in the same position on the floor though now he takes her hands again, making her unable to move. “I would make an awful wife to you Edward” she whispers in exasperation.

“Then be an awful wife to me!” he says back pleadingly. “Be as awful as you need but just be mine. Pamela, you are my muse. The one who believed when nobody else would. You have no idea how critical that was to this. This is your victory as much as mine!”

She reaches out and strokes his cheek, causing the man in green to lean into it. “I...I haven’t told you of my past Edward. A past I shall always be ashamed of”.

“Then don’t” he says, wishing this to be as easy as possible for the woman. “Let me help you build your future with me Pamela”. He threads his fingers through hers. “I don’t care who you were...I care about who you are”.

“Edward…”.

Slowly the man moves towards her, his eyes closed and lips moving so tantalizing close that Pamela couldn’t help but begin to move in herself. This was wrong, she knew it was, but...it also felt so right. So...fated.

They were about to connect when they are interrupted. 

“Ehhhmmmmm!”

A throat had been cleared out loudly from behind them, and both turn to see Sister Leslie, standing there with her foot tapping against the rug and her arms across her chest, a half scowl, half smile upon her face.

“May I remind you that this is the Lord’s home”.

Pamela was rushing to her feet, dragging up Edward who sputtered out an apology as best as he could, behind her. “Sister Leslie, I am so..”.

“Ep” the older woman says, holding up her hand. “I need none of your excuses Misses Isley. None. What I need is for you to follow the rules”.

“Sister, I beg your forgiveness….it was my…” Edward makes to say.

“Kissing a lady before even beginning to court her? Shameful display Mr. Nygma” Leslie says with a full smile as she shakes her head. Edward and Pamela look at each other, shocked that they weren’t in trouble, before looking back towards the nun.

“Now, both of you, remove your hands from one another, and we shall go about this the correct way” she says while advancing between them, separating them in a physical way. “Mr. Nygma” she says, fixing her gaze upon the man. “You shall present to Ms. Isley, a token of your affections do commence your courtship”.

The man blushes and begins to poke around in his pockets, finding nothing that might suit the situation he was in. It was then that his eyes land upon the scattered Lincoln Logs, and quickly he grasps the bag they were contained in and moves to the floor, picking them up and replacing them in the bag. 

When that was done, he moves back towards the duo, rejoining them and now standing in front of Pamela, looking as bright red as a tomato. “You have something then, good. Present it to the young lady you wish to court”.

He tremblingly brings the bag up and tries to hand it off to Pamela. “Pam..Pamela...I…”.

“Would like to ask for your permission to court you” Leslie finishes for him, making the situation that she’d made awkward slightly easier. “Right, right, thank you Sister Leslie” he says before collecting himself and reaching out to take Pamela’s hand in his own. Slowly he places the bag within her palm, the woman in question blushing and looking away.

“Pamela Isley” Edward says, suddenly feeling brave. “I would like to court you, and I humbly ask your permission to do so”.

Leslie smiles and pats the man’s arm, turning now to the young woman she’d taken into the church. “Now Pamela, do you wish to accept or decline Mr. Nygma’s courtship?”

She looks up into his eyes, trying to summon the courage to tell him no, to repeat once more now that she was no longer under the spell of his goofy, unconventional charm, that she would be an awful choice for him. But she can’t...not with his eyes boring into hers with complete openness and trust.

“Yes” she says simply, blushing and smiling, unable to keep her joy hidden. “I do”.

“Good” Leslie says, watching how Edward smiles and moves in to kiss the redhead again. “Ah...not on the lips Mr. Nygma. Not until marriage. You may kiss her hand”.

“O..of..of course Sister” Edward says, leaning down once more to kiss the skin upon the back of her hand. “Very good. I shall see you tomorrow for your chaperoned walk about the church garden” Leslie says. “I shall oversee it” she smirks, enjoying the thought of teasing the easily agitated man a bit over the course of the next month or so.

“Until then, anytime the two of you should meet, I am to be there” she explains, drawing blushes from the two of them.

‘Ohh yes, this shall be fun’.

Blackgate Prison, Miagani Island

It was never quiet.

Not in this prison at least where the clattering of chains and smashing of bars could be heard well into the night. That didn’t keep him awake though, so soothed was he by the conviction that his mistress would come for him. 

Jack was pacing back and forth in his cell, trying to keep hold of this thought. “She’ll come for me” he whispers to himself, tugging on the black and white striped prison uniform which he could already tell was lousy.

“She’ll bring me home. Lavish me with gifts for my sacrifice. She’ll see what I’ve given up for her. I’ll be her groom. I know it! I’m not like those other...pathetic men!” he sneers, spitting out his final words before reaching up and running his fingers through his hair over and over again, beginning to chuckle.

“Hehehehehhe...HAHAHAAHAHAHAH!”

“Shut yer’ fookin gob!”

“Mad as a hatter he is”.

“We’re tryin’ ta sleep!”

He could hear them all, the criminals, the dregs of Gotham. They all waited in their cells just like him, the cells that reeked of death, a place where men went to be forgotten. The bars were aged and rusted, but not so much that he could break out. Not as he was.

He needed to be stronger...but he wasn’t.

In a rage he kicks the bucket they’d provided for him against the cell door, luckily having been emptied only an hour before though the rancid smell remains. “LET ME OUT!” he screams, throwing himself with a bodily clang against the bars, gripping them tightly. “SHE NEEDS ME! YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND! SHE NEEDS ME!”

“Hey!” a guard shouts, suddenly popping up out of nowhere and clanging his baton against the bars and cracking some of Jack’s fingers. He roars in pain as he steps back, glaring at the guard who simply smiles back at him.

“You aren’t going to be staying here long Mr. Napier” he says menacingly. “Don’t you worry about that. A long drop and a short stop awaits you soon. Just workin’ out all the formalities. Hehe” 

With that, the guard begins to move off, shouting at a few other inmates as he goes. Jack just grips his injured fingers, glaring hatefully down upon them. “She needs me...you don’t understand. She needs me”.

The prison seemed to grow quieter now, allowing him to hone in on the sound of footsteps advancing towards his cell from down the corridor. They grow closer and closer until finally, whoever was walking, stops in front of Jack’s cell.

He becomes surprised when he sees who it is, but the smile on his face turns from one of insanity, to one of actual joy. He was happy to see whoever this was.

“Good! She sent you didn’t she?”

The man doesn’t respond and simply looks around before retracting a large key from his pocket, inserting it into the cell door and opening the mechanism. The cell door slides open, squeaking noisily as it moves along the track. For a moment, the shadowy figure stands in the door, watching Jack and somewhat putting him at unease.

“Heh..well then, perhaps we should get goin…”.

He makes to step forward but is stopped by the sudden movement of the man who had unlocked his cell. With ferocious strength he grabs Jack by the throat and hoists him up into the air with one hand, a ferocious strength that could only have been granted to him by a taste of the mistress.

“Please” Jack gurgles out, grasping the man’s wrist as the life begins to be slowly choked out of him. “Don’t! I still..urk”.

He doesn’t heed the man’s struggled gasps, and instead simply slams him down on the wooden shelf that served as a bed, rattling the chains that kept it nailed to the wall. Jack continues to struggle, kicking out harmlessly at the man as his face, already pale, practically turns blue. The man pulls a knife from his belt, the same kind that Jack had used himself in his dark works.

The blade glimmers in the very slim amount of moonlight that makes its way through the bars of the window. “No! No! Please...urk...my work...it isn’t…”.

Before anymore words can be said, the man brings the knife down, slamming it through Napier’s chest. He couldn’t scream, not anymore, as the brute’s grip upon his throat had become so oppressive that not even garbled breaths could escape.

The knife rises again, plunging down in such a way as to land directly opposite the first incision. The man then turns the blade, cutting more muscle and flesh as he does so, using a ferocious strength to tear the knife in a direct line across his chest.

Jack knew he was going to die, the immensity of the wound being so great and the blood loss of such epic proportions.

The man above wasn’t done though, as he brings the knife upwards, slashing into Jack’s lower throat, just below where his hand gripped. He repeats the tearing motion, ripping down until he just crosses over the initial line. 

Jack lets out one final startled gasp, his life leaving him as quickly as the blood which was now spreading out over the wooden slab below him. He moans out, though it is obscured by how much blood was now in his throat. Death was coming for him.

His killer steps back, admiring his handiwork, ensuring that the symbol carved into his former accomplice’s chest would suit his mistress. He feels her there, even now, the icy tendrils of her fingers working over his shoulders in the guise of the wind. “Did I...did I do well mistress?” he whispers out.

“Yessssss”.

He smiles and closes his eyes, licking his lips before replacing the knife in his belt, enjoying how the blood smeared against the clothes he wore under his large overcoat. He turns just as quickly, getting the sense that it was time to leave, and exits the cell, the harsh tone of his boots slamming down against the brick and mortal landing of the second floor cell block.

Jack was lying dead in the cell, eyes staring up blankly at the aged brick that had enslaved him in the last few days of his life, through which small droplets of water made their way through, leaking down from the roof above whenever it rained as it was now.

The symbol carved into his chest would assuredly make the citizens of Gotham weep in fear, though of who specifically they would not yet know. The famed Ripper of the Narrows was dead, or so the papers would announce in the morning, desperately trying to forget of the prostitute found dead and cut up after his imprisonment.

Confusion would reign supreme, and that suited their goals nicely. Soon, they would be ready. Very soon.

For now though?

The upside down cross carved into Jack Napier would ready their way.

Gotham Heights, The Home of Harleen Quinzel, Formerly Napier

He didn’t know why he felt nervous. All he knew was that he did. Jonah Hex, the famous gunslinger and bounty hunter, who had fought in the worst battles of the Civil War and had gone on to take down the worst that the wild west had to offer. 

Now? He was afraid of a woman.

After some time, aided along by the odd looks he received for standing upon the woman’s stoop and doing nothing, he reaches out and claps the knocker, rapping it against the door as firmly as he can, though part of him hoped it wouldn’t be heard.

He lets it go and continues to stand there, casting his eyes up towards the overcast and grey sky. “Don’t the sun ever shine in this damn town?” he asks himself, looking back at the door and trying to mentally gauge how much time had passed.

He knew it hadn’t been more than seconds, but part of his mind kicked in to convince him that it had been hours, and that this was a fools errand.

“Wastin’ yer time” he says, speaking to himself and turning, heading back down the steps and making to get as far away from the home as possible.

It was only when he’d gotten to the last step, and his foot had landed on the cobblestone street that the door opened, and a rather frazzled looking Harleen pokes her head out, looking around with red, teary eyes. 

“Hello?” she calls out, not immediately seeing who had knocked for her until she looks straight ahead and sees Jonah, removing his hat and placing it in his hands held before him. “Umm...ma’am”.

“Jonah…” she says with a wide smile before correcting herself, knowing she’d been much too familiar. “I mean..Mr. Hex. How are you?”

“I’m fine ma’am” he says uncomfortably, noticing how familiar she seemed ready to be with him. “I...I uh, just came by to thank you for the flowers. It was a...kind gesture”.

“Did you like them?” the woman asks, opening the door wider to reveal that she was dressed, and indeed packed to leave. A suitcase, torn, old and tattered, was in her hands, and a shawl draped over her shoulders atop her rather fetching red dress.

“I uhh...I’m not one for flowers” he admits, rubbing the back of his head and practically mumbling.

Harleen is a bit disappointed, and she looks down at the dirty street. “Ohh, I was rather hoping you’d like them”. He didn’t know why, not usually being subject to emotional reactions brought on by women, but he didn’t like seeing her so downtrodden. “Well, that is to say...I did. I reckon they were quite beautiful” he says, managing a slight laugh that comes out as more of a cough. “I just...uh..men usually give flowers. Don’t receive them”.

“Well perhaps you may one day buy me flowers” she beams, stepping down onto the street to be level with him. Instantly she offers him her arm, and Jonah, like a docile canine companion almost, acquiesces in looping his own through it, walking alongside the woman.

“Uh..if’n ya don’t mind me asking, where are ya going Miss Napier?”

“It’s Quinzel once more Mr. Hex” she sighs, lip quivering as she thinks back to the recent events in her marriage. “Or at least it shall be again. A judge has decided to grant me the immense favor” she says, stressing her words with a sarcastic tone that made it clear she thought whatever the judge had done as not being too monumental. “Of annuling my marriage. A sanity clause exists within the marital legalities and...ohh, I simply don’t wish to discuss it” she says, turning to look at the man as they move down the sidewalk.

He nods, agreeing and wishing to be rid of the whole situation himself. “As for where I’m going Mr. Hex...I’m leaving that wretched house. I simply can’t sleep there when so many poor girls were murdered there. Right under my nose. How...how could I not have known?”

“People can be...sneaky” he says, having been double crossed too many times to not believe that. “Especially the people we think we know best. Don’t be too hard on ‘yerself. Sometimes a good man can just be a skin to hide a monster inside of ‘im”.

“How astute Mr. Hex” she compliments, enjoying his easy going and honest way of saying things. “I believe it can also be the other way around as well. How a good man can be hidden in a form you didn’t expect him to take” she says, “like you”.

The smile on her face made the man want to throw her from his arm and leave her in the dust. ‘She’s laughin’ at me. Mockin’ me’ he thinks with a scowl that manifests in real life. “Ya mean a deformed freak?”

She giggles cutely, bringing her free hand up to her mouth and shaking her head. “No. In a very ruggedly handsome man. One who might pass for a villain in a dimestore western novel. The kind that seems to just...swoop into a girl’s imagination and make her heart beat quickly, even if he has evil intentions”.

Jonah didn’t know if he was being complimented, but if he wasn’t? She was insulting him in such a way as to make him feel better about himself than anyone else ever had.

“Though I admit, you do not fit the character Mr. Hex”.

“Why is that?”

“Because you’re so handsome that it’s almost devilish..yet you have the heart of an angel” she says, smiling serenely as they continue to walk forward. The words affect the man who tries to shake them off. “I ain’t no angel miss”.

“Of course you are” she says as if she would broker no dissent on this point. “You’re my angel. You came to save me after all didn’t you?”

“As I seem to recall” he chuckles. “You did a good amount of your own saving. That was one helluva kick”.

“You flatter me Mr. Hex”.

“Well...where are ya goin’ exactly if’n I can ask?”

“Of course you can ask” she says with a sigh, casting her gaze back towards the home that receded into the background of her life more and more. Once it had represented a dream, and that dream was crushed. ‘Pick yourself up Harleen’.

“The way I see it, a woman such as myself has a few options after cutting her losses, divorcing her husband and selling her home” she explains. “One of which is selling my body”.

She feels Jonah’s grip on her arm tighten, the man apparently not liking the thought of that. She giggles cutely adding a, “which I am much to proud to do” she assuages him, lightly patting his arm. “The second option is to find another rich, handsome man and marry him, but…” she says, peaking at the gunslinger from the side, watching how his eyes rove over the streets, protecting her and himself unconsciously.

“I’ve had a recent string of bad luck when it comes to traditionally handsome men”.

“Yeah, I reckon you should stay away from them for a while” he admits, looking harshly at a passing man who had dared to ogle Harleen and even doff his hat to her, a seductive smile on his face. All traces of that disappeared with Jonah’s growling visage, and he quickly hurries away, nearly tripping over himself to do so.

“So that leaves one option for me then Mr. Hex” she says. “To get a job, but luckily for me, I have enough money that I do not need to go and work in one of those filthy factories. Only somewhere I can possibly be happy and make enough to support my day to day needs”.

“I’m ‘fraid there ain’t too many options like those open ma’am”.

“You’re right Mr….”.

“Just...just call me Jonah” the gunslinger says with a look. “Saves time”.

“Very well then, Jonah” she smiles, enjoying how his name sounds on his lips. “You’re right. There aren’t. But...I have an idea. Enough about me though, let’s speak of you. What brings you to this lovely city of ours?” she jests.

“Work mostly” he says before deciding to tell the truth. “Well, yeah work, but I got kin here. Family. They need my help to get through. Still, finding honest work that won’t kill ya ain’t so easy in this city”.

“I’m very sorry to hear that Jonah” she says sympathetically.

“S’alright Ms…”.

“I insist you call me Harleen if I’m to call you Jonah” she says with a saucy wink, seamlessly moving into her next point which, for the moment, seems to be unrelated. “I was part of a family of acrobats you know” she says. “Before I met...him. He convinced me to run away from the circus. Promised me a better life and love and...ohh well, you see how that all ended up”.

He nods, willing her to go on.

“Anyways, I still have a few skills from my days as a trapeze artist that perhaps I can ply at the new circus in town. I’ll admit, it’s not the most prestigious job for a woman, and perhaps some I once called friends will look poorly upon me…”.

“Hang ‘em” he says gruffly. “If they was only yer friends because of you bein’ a doctor’s wife, then they wasn’t yer friends for the right reason. Hang ‘em”.

“I’m assuming you mean figuratively” she giggles again, settling down into his arm and smiling. “You’re right of course. Still, I’m glad I can call you my friend now Jonah. Can I...call you my friend?”

He wanted to tell her no.

He was just walking her to wherever she wanted to go to square things up between them on the flowers. Nothing more.

That’s why he found the next words escape his lips to be rather unexpected.

“Sure. I’m yet friend”.

Harleen smiles ear to ear, remaining close. “Good. Then I truly am a rich woman now. Would you mind escorting me to the circus grounds Jonah? Perhaps, if you’re looking for work, a gunslinger might find a job there. Either as a guard or possibly as showman yourself”.

He finds himself laughing at that notion.

“Me? A showman? Ain’t nobody gonna buy tickets to watch my ugly mug shoot. Besides, ain’t much sportin’ in how I shoot. I shoot to kill. Ain’t nothin’ fancy in how I do it” he admits.

“I’d buy a ticket for your show. As I said, I find your...mug, rather handsome”.

“Yer just sayin’ that”.

“No, I’m not” she assures him, removing the glove from her hand to turn his face, placing it upon his scarred and practically missing cheek. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder Jonah. And I find you a very handsome man”.

She gently releases him and they walk on in contented silence, Jonah not knowing what to think. ‘Hell, don’t get caught in her trap. Don’t do it. Won’t end well’ he thinks, knowing that for some reason, around Harleen Quinzel, he was powerless.

The streets were full, jam packed with people, but on that day? He felt like it was just him and Harleen, and for once?

He didn’t miss the west.

Erin Bar, The Narrows

“Matches, we got a problem” Dinah says, moving over to the table and setting down besides the man and her lieutenants. “All of ye, we got a problem”.

“Slow it down Dinah” Bruce says, reaching across the table and placing a hand on her arm. “What’s the fire fer?”

“Yeah boss, whas’ goin’ on?” Eel O’Brien slurs off, Kyle Rayner already unconscious upon the table besides him. The blonde rolls her eyes and scowls, trying to remain calm. “Sober up and I’ll tell ya tomorrow ya fookin’ lushes”.

She turns her eyes to Matches and gestures for him to get up and follow her, something he instantly does. “Leave those two fer’ now. Ain’t gonna be much use ta us pissed out of their gourds”.

The bar was packed as usual, but she finds Jason, Timmy and Dick, each sitting at their own table and picking at their meals. Their minds were elsewhere, most likely on someone of the feminine variety. “Oi boys” she calls out, gaining their attention. “What’s up Di?” Dick asks.

“Nothin’, and I want it ta stay that way fer’ now, got it?” she asks pointedly, instantly worrying Jason. “What’s happening?”

“The Ripper ain’t gone”.

“What?” Timmy asks in a scared tone of voice. Even though he most certainly wasn’t a target, at least that they knew of, he was still afraid of the dreaded Ripper. “I thought they caught him!”

“Sweetheart, it’ll be fine” Dinah soothes, kneeling on the grimy wooden floor of the bar to run her fingers through the boy’s hair before placing a kiss on his forehead. “Me and Matches are gonna go handle it, keep the boogeyman off the streets eh?”

“Are ya sure you don’t want us with you?” Jason asks, once more eyeing Bruce warily, though the man smiles back. 

“Sure as shite. I want ya all safe in here tonight” she says before looking towards the bar tender. “Seamus. You keep my boys in my room tonight, ya hear? I don’t want them wanderin’. If they’re hungry, fix ‘em somethin’. If the older boys want a drink, give ‘em whiskey. But don’t let them leave the bar” she calls out, the older grey haired man nodding. “The rest of  ya louts, yer all too drunk for roaming the streets. Gonna get Farrel’s crew. Ya better guard me whelps, got it!”

Raucous cheers break out as men raise their mugs and glasses, toasting the blonde woman. She turns to Matches, wanting to head out. Before they can though, Timmy tugs on Matches’ sleeve, and the two turn to see him standing there. “Dinah kissed me goodbye. Can you hug me goodbye Matches?” Dinah was about to explain to the boy that he couldn’t just walk up and ask for a hug when Bruce drops to the ground and hugs the boy tightly to him, causing the blonde woman to blush profusely.

He knew the boy was scared, and a hug, especially from a man who he’d come to like, would make things better. “Gonna make sure yer mama is alright boyo. Get her back to you in one piece” he promises, letting Timmy go and ruffling his hair, rising to his feet once more. The boys had never called Dinah mama, but she could already see the wheels turning in Timmy’s brain. ‘Great’ she thinks. ‘Matches starts a new thing with me little boy’.

She doesn’t correct him though, not wanting to upset Timmy who was already scared, and seemed buoyed by the man’s promise. 

Still, she wanted to get out of there.

Taking Matches’ arm, she gets his attention.“We need to get ta the brothels on the East Side. Gather up any girls still out. Load of ‘em got comfortable, thinkin’ the Ripper was captured. Fookin’ hell”.

Bruce was confused, not knowing exactly what was going on as they step out of the bar into the chilly Gotham night. “Fook, forget me coat...damn...thing doesn’t keep the warmth in anyw…”.

Before she knew it, Bruce had removed his own and placed it over her shoulders, covering up her white shirt and suspenders. She looks at him, a frown on her face. “Go ahead. I don’t feel cold. ‘Sides, looks better on ya”.

She slips her arms into it, secretly leaning in to get a scent of Matches, who always smelled so clean despite the environment they were in. “I ain’t no dainty fookin’ flower Matches” she says, trying to remain tough. She softens and smiles though, her blush visible. “Thank ye though”.

He winks. “Don’t mention it”.

The mood turns serious as he remembers the purpose of them being out here, and the question that was now on his mind. “What are ya talkin’ ‘bout? The Ripper was caught weren’t ‘e?”

“So they fookin say” Dinah moans. “Who knows what’s real Matches? They might’ve lied, said it was some random bloke to make it seem like they was doin’ their job when in reality they was doing nothing but wankin’ their knob behind a desk. Don’t matter what they do up in City Hall. We got girl’s ta protect”.

Matches nods in agreement, moving through the night with purpose besides the woman. He didn’t know what to make of any of this. For one, he knew that Jack Napier was the Ripper. He’d seen the evidence with his own eyes. He couldn’t let Dinah know that too, as if he told her then he’d have to tell her how he knew.

‘Have to play dumb for now...but, do we have another copycat so soon? Or...was he always working with someone else?’

The thought of one Ripper was bad enough, but two, possibly more? That was even worse.

“Oi Matches...ah...just wanna thank ye, for..bein’ so kind to the boys and all” she says, the streets deserted at this time of night. “Timmy already loves ya, and Jason and Dick will come around, bet money that Jason will be the last though”.

“As fer the mama thing...I..I don’t know how I feel about it” she says, wanting to make conversation, even uncomfortable conversation, while in the darkness with a Ripper about. Dinah was strong, capable and more than willing to fight, but she was still a woman, and the violence that had been meted out upon women as of late wasn’t something she wanted to see happen to herself.

“Ohh, sorry Dinah...didn’t think..I mean, they kinda treat ya like ya was…”.

“I know” she smiles. “Maybe...maybe I kinda am, just never put a word on it. I remember when I found ‘em. Barely a kid meself”.

Four Years Ago

“THIEVES!” the man shouts, chasing after the three boys who had just stolen some bread and apples from his cart. Dick was in the lead, while Jason carried up the back. It was much harder for him to run, especially with Timmy in his hands, now crying as they moved through the dirty alley ways.

“We gotta run Jason!” Dick shouts back.

“What do you think I’m doing?”

They were experts at navigating the alleys, knowing every back way and entrance, but it was clear that the street vendor would soon gain on them, and with the piece of wood in his hand, it was clear they wouldn’t escape, not this time.

They make a turn into an alley, hoping it would lead out onto the street where they could hopefully dash across and make their escape. However, they’d forgotten about this particular alley. Instead of an open escape route, they find that they’re stuck in a dead end.

“Ohh no….” Dick says, the three turning to see that the man had fully caught up to them, and now wore a malicious smirk upon his face. “Gonna teach ya not to steal ya little fuckin’ guttersnipes. Shoulda just laid down and starved ta death instead of takin’ from me”.

Dick steps forward as he advances, hoping to distract him while Jason places Timmy on top of a barrel. “Stay right her Timmy. Okay?”

“Okay Jason” the little boy says cutely, nervously bitting on his finger as he looks at the big man approaching them, intent on violence and revenge.

He’s stopped however, by a woman who steps into the mouth of the alley. “What kinda man picks on hungry lads?”

“Stay out of this” the mans seethes. “These thieves are gonna get what’s comin’ to ‘em”.

Dinah just smiles, hands on her hips as she looks at the frightened little boys. “Thieves ‘eh? I’ve been lookin’ fer some good thieves. How ‘bout this lad? I take ‘em off yer hands, and I don’t feed ya ‘yer teeth. Sound fair?”

He takes one look at her and laughs, not taking the blonde seriously in the slightest. “Fuck off girlie. This ain’t no place for…”.

In the blink of an eye, Canary moves forward and grasps the side of his head, slamming him into the brick wall at the side of the alley. It was so shockingly brutal, quick and efficient, that the boys could only look on in awe as she follows it up by several more coordinated strikes that take the man fully out of the fight, knocking him unconscious and bleeding to the ground. 

“Well” Dinah says, taking a deep breath and looking towards the boys. “Ya hungry?”

The question was so out of left field that they couldn’t help but be a little shocked at it, though Timmy became the voice of the group. “Yes” he calls out from behind his older brothers.

“Good. I got some food and a warm place for ye. Ain’t much but it can be yers if ya want it” she offers, moving in a bit towards the two still suspicious older boys. “What’s your game lady?”

“Ye got me” she says to Jason. “I’m a witch. Wanna fatten ye up and eat ya” she teases, moving down to poke the serious boy in the stomach. He laughs but comports himself quickly enough. “Boys don’t belong on the street. Once was where yer at right now, and I wanna help. That good enough? If ya got more questions ya can ask ‘em later when we’re back with me lads”.

Jason and Dick look at one another, and they come to a quick conclusion. After all, they didn’t have many options left open to them. “Alright but just know, first sign of something strange, we’re out of there”.

Dinah spits in her hand and holds it out, prompting Jason to do the same thing, the two making a street bargain. “On me heart, nothin’ bads gonna happen to ya lads”.

Timmy was already sold, and he childishly holds out his arms for the woman to see, apparently wanting her to carry him. “How about ye let me carry the tyke?” she asks Jason. “Looks like ye can use a break and besides, he’s adorable”.

Jason looks towards Dick, hoping his older brother would have some guidance, but in the end it was up to him to make all of the hard decisions. Timmy kept reaching for Dinah though, almost falling off of the barrel upon which he had been placed.

“Alright” Jason finally says. “If Timmy here trusts ya, then...well...ya can carry him”.

“Thank ye boyo. Now, ya come here cutie” she says, grasping the boy by the waist and lifting him up so that her rests against her chest and shoulder. “Gonna get some warmth in ye little body. Gonna catch yer death out here”.

Tim just yawned, the excitement of the day wearing him out, and places his head upon her, going to sleep. “Aww...little tyke” she coos, rubbing his back. She holds out her hand for Jason to take though, wanting to keep the two close. Surprisingly, he takes it, and Dick remains close on her other side. “Right me little filchers in training. Let ole’ Dinah teach ya to steal”.

Today

“And that’s how I found ‘em. From then on? They was with me wherever I went” she says, not knowing why she told Matches such a personal story. For his part, Bruce could only smile. “Sounds like ya are their mama”.

“Ain’t their mama” she protests.

“Maybe not in blood, and not in word, but in all the important ways? Yeh, yer their mama” he teases, brightening her spirits. “Sod off with ye”.

“What?” he asks. “I think it’s cute. Yer a good mama Dinah”.

“I ain’t no mama. I ain’t no dainty flower. And I ain’t no…”.

“Yer a hell of a snogger” Matches says, moving forward to avoid letting her see his face as a tactic to further her embarrassment. “I mean, hell, yet an amazing woman all around Dinah. Holdin’ this together, raisin’ the next generation of Canaries, and now? Rushing out into the darkness ta save some women the rest of this city could give a fook less about. I admire ya”.

“Ya...do?” she asks in a shocked tone of voice. It was hard for people, especially men, to admit that they admired her, or looked up to her and wanted her leadership. It was always a fight. A pissing contest to finally get them to back down and acknowledge her.

Matches?

He was constantly proving he was different.

“I do. Now, let’s go save some women eh? Maybe nab the Ripper ourselves. Who knows, luck of the Irish might come into play tonight”.

Chapter Text

Gotham City Police Department

As usual, the newspapermen were ready. They wanted to get the earliest scoop as possible, and many of them had practically camped out at the location overnight in order to get it. The stand before them was empty, at least for the moment, but it wouldn’t remain that way for long.

The police line before it, each man wearing their best uniform for one of the rare occurrences where the mayor deigned to show himself to the citizens he ruled over, and wanting to look their best in the hopes of being noticed.

Their billy clubs were held tightly in their hands, warning anyone who attempted to rush forward of the error of such an act.

It was Gotham, and they couldn’t take chances.

Slowly though, a rather portly man exits the building, drawing hushed whispers as the reporters recognize who he is. On one side stood a large man in a trenchcoat, obviously a personal guard, but upon the other walked the recently promoted Commissioner James Gordon, a Gotham native who had long been an outstanding officer, a bright light within a corrupt organization.

The mayor was making conversation with the man, though from his facial expression it wasn’t pleasant. James himself seemed uncomfortable, pulling at his collar every few minutes, a nervous tick. The men slowly ascend the steps of the platform, ready to give their final proclamation on the issue that was plaguing everyone’s mind at the moment. 

Jim steps up first, wanting to announce himself to the small crowd of reporters and journalists. “Good evening Gotham. I am Commissioner Gordon as some of you may know, and I’d like to speak to you about the recent events that have come to plague our fair city..” he goes on, letting his booming voice carry.

“Let’s stick to the facts first. We know that murders closely resembling the ones that had occurred in England as of late have been committed in Gotham. We do not believe they are related beyond a the idea that one may possibly have taken inspiration from the other”.

A round of laughter raises from the group, all chuckling at the idea being merely a “possibility”.

James sighs and collects himself, wanting to move on, though he knew he was going to have to follow the Mayor’s script. “We have apprehended the villain responsible, a man by the name of Doctor James Napier. We can confirm that he has never been to England. This is to dispel the rumors of this being the original murderer from Whitechapel”.

“And where’s the proof?” a man shouts out questioningly, out of turn and with no regard to social protocols as was normal with the Gotham press corps. “We have ample physical evidence, including blood, tools he used…”.

“And some bodies right?”

This was undoubtedly a horror writer, looking for a new story to write in his editor’s horror rag, the Penny Dreadfuls. He most likely wanted some ghastly demonstration to stoke his imagination, such was the refuse that sometimes found its way to these things.

‘Damn charnel house ghouls’ he thinks, trying to remain on task.

“Yes. We found some of the missing girls. They have been identified and we are working on returning them to their families”. He knew that was a lie. Most of these girls didn’t have families, and the ones that did certainly wouldn’t have wanted to have their bodies returned.

“What do we know of this Napier fellow? And when will he be formally charged?”

This sparked a chorus of agreement, everyone wanting to see the face of the man they were convinced would look like a monster himself. “Unfortunately, he will not face a criminal trial” Gordon says with a frown. “He was murdered in his cell a few nights ago. We believe that his cellmate was responsible, so moved was he by the thought of sharing a cell with the famous murderer, that he killed him”.

‘Lies Jimbo’ he thinks to himself, shaking his head. ‘The lies are piling up’.

“What? How is that possible?”

“Blackgate was supposed to be secure!”

“What is the name of this cellmate?”

The crowd was beginning to get ruly and out of hand, and the Mayor takes a moment to step up and bodily push Jim out of the way, thinking he could handle it better. Perhaps he could. After all, Mayor Hamilton hill was an old city operative, having just wrested control away from Rupert Thorne a scant five years prior. 

He was as cunning as a snake and radiated a false charm that instantly entranced the gullible and repelled the wary. He wore a perfectly pressed suit and top hat, a pair of glassed perched permanently on his face that gave him somewhat of a grandfatherly look and appeal.

“Ladies and gentlemen...please..be calm and reasonable” he calls out. “We have bona fide evidence that the Ripper has been captured and now...justice has been dispensed, in its own way. We do not need to drag this out through the courtrooms of Gotham” he says suddenly very firmly, slamming his fist down on the wooden podium.

“We shall not give the monster what he undoubtedly wanted, taunting the city and its brave officers. Mocking us! He wanted attention, for us to lavish him in revulsion which was undoubtedly akin to praise in his mind”.

As Jim stepped back, watching the fiery speech being delivered, he couldn’t help but partly admire the man’s ability for theater.

“We shall especially not do this on account of the lowest of our citizenry, the ones who hide within the dark and ply their trades. This city’s good reputation shall not be tarnished. Wicked commits their evil upon the wicked, and us good people should not concern ourselves much further than preventing such acts being perpetrated upon the good masses of our city, the hardworking everyman who does what he must to feed his family. You may print that in your papers!” he calls out.

“If you do good in our city, nothing shall befall you. You shall walk upon our streets as though you were a king, untouchable in your stride! But…” he says solemnly. “The workers of iniquity should fear not only the forces of our lawmen, but their own comrades in arms who work in the shadows alongside them, their fingers the instruments of their own demise”.

“But what about the most recent murder?” one journalist, undoubtedly one who wasn’t carried away by the Mayor’s speech, at least not enough to prevent him from doing his job. “She was found after you announced Napier’s capture. Who’s to say he was working alone? Or that he even was the Ripper?”

The crowd falls into hushed whispers, mulling over the possibility that the Ripper was still amongst them, and Hill smiles awkwardly, having been somewhat unprepared. The man was a gifted liar though, and soon he rattles his snake venom off of his tongue. “It was an unrelated killing meant to appear as if it was done by the Ripper” he explains. “A simple rivalry between women of ill repute. The murderess in question has already confessed to her crimes”.

“Who is she? Where is she?” the same man asks, prompting others to take up his call for proof.

“Yeah, where is the woman who did this then? We need proof!”

“The people of Gotham deserve to know!”

Hill tries to quiet them, though his ability to charm into submission had been stretched to its breaking point. “Please, simply…”.

“We want answers!” a particularly rowdy man in a tattered suit says moving forward with a bottle. “Me daughter was killed, and ye don’t give a damn!”

He throws the bottle, allowing it to shatter against the podium, sending glass up into the Mayor’s face. He isn’t injured however, and before him the crowd is now being assaulted by the line of officers meant to keep it back, Harvey Bullock grasping the mayor’s assailant and bashing him over the head with his truncheon.

This eggs the others on, and they begin to brawl with police, prompting the Mayor’s personal guard to rush forward and grasp him under the arm, wanting to lead him away to safety as the small riot is set off. James saddles up beside him as well, hunching his back over the man to protect him from any further projectiles as the trio make their way to the mayor’s black painted carriage.

The horses whinny, standing up throwing their legs out in fear before clopping back down onto the street. “Gordon, I want this settled and soon!” he seethes, the guard opening the door and ushering the man in. As soon as his rear end hits the upholstered seat, he turns back to James, now looking down on him from the safety of his perch. “You bring whoever this is in, and you do it quick! No sleep, no rest. I don’t care what happens to the whores of the Narrows. Use them as bait if you have to. Just end this!”

Before James can answer or even get a word in edgewise, the door is slammed shut and the guard steps up onto the driver’s seat, grasping the reins and remaining next to the other guard. The carriage takes off into the night, leaving the Police Commissioner with the small scale riot that had broken out because of the Mayor’s words.

He sighs and turns, just in time to see Harvey Bullock smash his truncheon over a man’s head, causing him to fall screaming to the ground. James pulls out his whistle and looks loose with one long blast. 

‘There’s going to be a very negative article about Gotham City’s finest very soon’.

Narrows, Red Light District

“I don’t see why I gotta be inside!” the woman says for the eighteenth time, still being pushed along by Bruce and Dinah. “I got mouths ta feed. Ain’t nobody gonna pay for me in a brothel. I work the streets”.

“Ahh shut yer fookin’ gob” the blonde says quietly. “Ya been complaining all five blocks. Yer gonna need ta be alive in order to feed that family o’ yers, so keep yer trap shut”.

“Just ‘cuz ya run this stretch don’t mean I gotta answer ta ya” the woman says before turning and smirking at Bruce. “Then again, maybe if handsome over her were to handle me more...physically, I could be obliged!”

Her smile was missing a few teeth, and Bruce hides his grimace, not wanting to be rude. The street had a way of aging these women in ways that were rather unexpected, or perhaps they were expected, but still all the more ghastly to see.

“Come on Alice” he chides, wanting to appeal to her better nature by using the name she’d given them. “Be a good lass and listen to Dinah” he says, referencing the woman who was now glaring at her, opening the door into the grimy brothel.

Outside two men with pistols drawn were waiting, standing guard over the establishment and smoking cigarettes. They nodded to the two but said nothing as they passed into the confines of the building. These were Farrel’s men, tough, vigilant. They’d maintain a steady watch all night, though it was unlikely to be needed.

“Ohh well...since ya asked me so nicely handsome” she winks, as the madam of this establishment moves out from behind her desk, her eyes working over the woman. She had done it with all of the streetwalkers who’d come in, eyeing them and seeing if they had any potential to be kept on. If her disapproving cluck was anything to go by, Alice didn’t make the cut.

Still, the well made up and coiffed woman turns to Dinah, a wide smile on her face. “Would these be all the...ladies, you’d have me protect for the night?”

Dinah yawns, trying to stifle it by covering her mouth but failing. “Yeah, this is all of ‘em we can find. Are the men positioned?”

“On every floor, seated comfortably with a shotgun in their laps and warm coffee in their bellies” the woman says proudly. “Good...Farrel’s other boys are combing the streets. If the coppers won’t do anything, we will”.

Matches stood back, desperately thinking of a way that he could slink out of this whole ordeal. He wanted to get back to the manor, tell Alfred of what was going on, and then take back to it in his costume, but from the get go it was clear that Dinah was counting on him, and from each street walker they went to, urging them into her brothels, he provided the muscle. But now that their work was done for the night? He wanted to get away.

“Susana, take...Alice she said..”.

“Thas right!” the woman pipes up proudly, drawing the ire of the madam who presses on nonetheless. “To a room”.

The younger woman, obviously her protege judging by her clothes, curtsies and gestures for the woman to follow her. She does, but smiles one last time at Bruce. “If’n ya get an itch that needs to be scratched tonight handsome...come find me. Wake me up if ya have to”.

Bruce hides his face in his collar and tips his hat while Dinah just glowers, not wanting to say anything directly to the woman. When she was gone, the madam turns to her and points up the stairs. “I have a room for you Ms. Lance. Though...I’m afraid the rest are all booked up. Your guard can help himself to a berth in the kitche…”.

Dinah was already moving up the stares, seized as she was by some strange purpose. “Matches will room with me”.

Bruce felt himself go slack jawed, not exactly knowing what to say or what to do. It showed though, and Dinah stops midway up the stairs, turning back to glare at him. She was embarrassed, and her face showed all the hallmarks of said emotion. “Dinah...are ya…”.

“Stop askin’ question’s ya bloody well know the answer ta” she says before stomping up the rest of the way, ignoring all the wide eyed stares she was receiving. 

‘Dammit...can’t get away now’ he thinks, ascending the first step and getting ready to follow Dinah up to the second story landing. He didn’t know why, but he felt a strange apprehension about spending the night with the blonde beauty. ‘What’s she up to?’

He sees her at the end of the hall, waiting outside a door and gesturing for him to follow. Indeed, further down, was a Canary, seated at his chair, a double barrel across his lap. He waves and Bruce waves back, though he wonders if this is a set up. ‘Did Dinah find out who I am? Is she going to try and kill me?’

He pushes these questions to the forefront of his mind, wanting to be prepared for anything as he turns and enters the room, Dinah having waited to close the door behind him. He turns, partly expecting to see the woman with a knife or a pistol pointed directly at him, thinking already of all the ways to disarm her.

She attacks, but not in the way he had thought.

The woman presses herself into him, her lips melding easily against his own while she works her shoulders and arms to push his jacket off of herself. Bruce is shocked, but he had experience in this field, so his hands of their own nature move to Dinah’s trouser clad waist, caressing her as he returns the kiss. 

Slowly he is pushed back, further and further until the back of his legs hit a bed and he falls back. Dinah doesn’t miss a beat as she crawls atop him, straddling his waist with her deft, nimble fingers moving over the buttons of his shirt. “Dinah….”.

“Just...shut up Matches” she blushes, yanking the tails of his shirt from their position tucked within his trousers. She’s now allowed to get to the last few buttons, which she follows up by dramatically opening his shirt, exposing his toned and muscular chest.

She bites her lips, lightly humping against his crotch through both of their pants before leaning down herself, pressing a kiss to his shoulder before moving along the scars at his pectoral. They weren’t long healed, having only received them three months back when he broke up a robbery.

Dinah kissed them as if they had just happened and it was up to her to heal them.

His arm goes about her waist, pulling her tight as her tongue darts out over his skin, sending what felt like sparks up his entire skin. “Dinah...what are you doing?”

She told him not to talk, but he had to ask. “I’ll show ya the birds and the bees if ya don’t get it Matches” she teases lightly, moving up once more and allowing Bruce to shuffle back on the bed, allowing him to lean forward a bit.

He also takes this opportunity to kick off his shoes, which clatter loudly against the wooden floor. He was fixed upon Dinah, as if she was the only thing in the entire world at that moment. The blonde looks away though, surveying the room. “Not exactly the most lovey dovey of places” she sniffs, looking at the papered up windows and gaudy wallpaper, peeling in most spots. 

A broken down dresser and a cracked mirror rested in another corner, obviously belonging to one of the working girls who simply didn’t have the money, or didn’t want to waste what little she had, on decor when the men she brought in her were interested in one thing only.

Bruce couldn’t bring himself to care about the room however, his eyes were too entranced by the movements of Dinah’s fingers. First she pushes the straps of her suspenders off of her shoulders, an act he found appealing for some reason he couldn’t explain. Women didn’t wear suspenders, and yet, Dinah did. She dressed as if she was a workman on the docks of Gotham, but one look at her would suspend any belief that she herself was a man.

‘Too beautiful’ he thinks, just as Dinah’s hands move to the first button of her white collar shirt. “Don’t think I’m loose Matches” she warns with a blush. “I don’t know why I’ve taken such a likin’ to ya, but I have. Don’t fook it up”.

Bruce could only nod as the upper portion of Dinah’s breasts come into view, and more joins it soon enough untils he opens the curtains so to speak. Bruce moves up without thinking, one of his hands going to her unoccupied breast, beginning to gently grope and knead the milky white flesh, while his lips and tongue instantly begin work on lavishing her pink erect bud.

She murrs cutely, leaning her head back and jutting her tits out, her hand running through the back of his head, lightly pulling on his hair. Bruce palms her teat, squeezing ever so lightly as his tongue dabs out upon her nipple, causing it to get ever more erect. Soon though, more of her tit flesh is in his mouth, and the warmth of his saliva spreads over her breast.

“Mm...feels like yer gonna eat me up Matches” she moans out, thoroughly enjoying this as well. Bruce detaches from her nipple, a loud pop heard as he does so, and his eyes shift upwards to her. When they make eye contact, she finds a warmth she certainly didn’t expect to find within his blue orbs, and it makes her feel….strange.

‘This is wrong’ she thinks, reaching her lips down to kiss the man again, still rubbing her trouser covered crotch against his own, though she could feel his excitement growing through the fabric which seemed ever more flimsy as she increased the pressure. She herself began to feel the heat building up inside of her, her womanly petals moistening and causing her to increase her humping.

“Nnngggrrr” Bruce growls out into her mouth, his cock now fully hard within his trousers. His hands move from her breasts for a moment, pushing her shit off and grasping her tightly, pulling them both onto the bed where they could have a more stable platform for their explorations.

He kicks off his own shoes and runs his hands up and down Dinah’s back, which now had a light sheen of sweat upon it that had nothing to do with the heat that barely reached this floor from below.

His hands move ever lower, dipping past her pantline to make contact with her bare cheeks, squeezing them lightly, kneading them as he had done to her breasts moments before. She coos and moves her lips into his neck, suckling on his pulse point as he spreads her cheeks, fingers lightly teasing against the crevice of her rear.

“Matches...ya know how to touch a woman as well as ya know how to work a lockpick” she says. Bruce smiles and begins to push her pants downwards, exposing her milky white ass cheeks to the air before spreading them once more, making Dinah wince a bit at the chill that creeps towards her sphincter.

“Dinah...are ya sure this is what ya lass?”

She was sure, desperately. All she wanted at that moment was to feel like a normal woman. Like she didn’t have to look out for an entire city’s underclass, where she didn’t need to fear a maniac who sliced up women in the street. 

She shimmys herself lightly, moving her hips side to side as Bruce pushes her trousers the rest of the way off, leaving her as naked as the day she was born when she finally kicks them off of her legs. She writhes against Bruce, wanting to be as one with him as possible. “Matches..just….please”.

The pleading in her voice spoke to him on a primal level, and without even thinking he flips her over, taking charge in the way he knew Dinah wanted him too. She wanted to submit, he could sense that with how pliant her body was atop him, and now, beneath him. 

He felt guilt well up within him.

He was making love to her, being physical in such a way as to necessitate trust, and she didn’t know who he really was. Her mewing below him is enough to dissuade him from thinking too much on it.

She needed him in a way all women need men, and he needed her at that moment more than he’d ever needed another woman.

He takes her lips, roughly this time, and savages her mouth with his tongue, supporting himself with one hand palm down on the bed while the other reaches across her belly, lightly caressing her and cousin Dinah to shiver. “Ahh...Matches…” she moans for the second Bruce separated from her lips to breath. “What are ya…”.

“Shh...quiet Dinah”.

With that he reattaches his lips to hers and his hand moves even lower, his fingers twirling about teasingly in the blonde locks of her pubic hair before moving even lower, teasing about her lips with light pressure, while his thumb begins to work on her very excited clitoris. She practically spasms on his first contact and Bruce smirks down at her in the same way he always did.

As usual it set her on fire, but this time? The fire seemed to have a place to go. She reaches up and caresses his cheek, trying to find something that’ll keep her tethered to sanity as he presses her lower bud inwards, only to release it and begin all sorts of movements upon it. All felt heavenly.

“Matches” she winces, humping upwards against his finger. “How...unfff...ya know, don’t get cocky, but yet the fast man who seems to..ahhhh….know that that’s….urrrhhhh”. She couldn’t speak properly, nor could she continue to play the tough talking, fighting Irish woman that she was. Not with Bruce’s fingers moving so deliciously over her.

He ups the ante however, and soon, plunges a finger inside of her, searching for yet another secretive place that she didn’t think men could be aware of. As his mouth closes around her nipple once more, she caresses the top of his head, looking up at the ceiling and gasping, her mouth wide in pleasure.

“Matches…”.

It was one word she could get out, and it was spoken with such tenderness and appreciation. She didn’t even think she was capable of that.

Right Outside of Gotham City

Victor Sage was tired, tired, but not willing to go to sleep. Not when his dreams had been haunted by dark visions of murder and mayhem spread across yet another city. The images within the photos were ingrained in his mind, and he couldn’t shake them. 

He looks away from the carnage on paper before him, packing it all up into his suitcase which lay open on the seat next to him once more. He wasn’t going to learn something new the eighth thousandth time looking at them.

‘It’s happening again’ he thinks, panic beginning to overtake him at the horror that lay before him if his, and his bosses’ hunches were correct. He fumbles into his jacket pocket, removing the small flask he kept upon him. His hand shakes as he undoes the cap, and brings it to his lips, downing the warming liquid as quickly as he could.

When the flask was empty he sighs and looks down, breathing deeply. 

His bowler hat sat on the seat next to him as well, and he picks it up to replace it upon his head. He drew a small modicum of comfort from such an action, and it steadies his nerves. ‘I’m going to get you. This madness..it stops now’.

The door to his compartment opens, and he reaches for the sidearm holstered under his arm pit, ready to kill whoever had the temerity to crash in upon him. He’s stopped by the smiling visage, of a nun of all things, standing in the door. He quickly drops his hand away, wanting to pretend he hadn’t done that. 

“Scusami, but is this berth taken?” the nun asks, surprising him with how sweet sounding her voice, and how pretty her face was. He looks towards the opposing seat where the woman was pointing, suddenly grasping her meaning. “Umm no..no, it’s not. Help yourself” he says, his accent breaking through as was usual for when he was nervous.

He sees her enter with a large suitcase, and the gentleman in him refuses to let her heft it herself. “Allow me sister” he says, gently taking it from her hands and moving it up into the compartment above, a little more than shocked by its weight.

The woman protests for a moment in Italian before acquiescing and allowing the man to take her bag for her. “Hefty thing isn’t it?” he asks, sitting down as soon as her luggage was squared away. “Si, grazie for your help” the woman says, her blue eyes boring into his with a light smile. She looks at the lapel of his coat, and those same eyes go wide at what she sees there.

“Ahh, I was wondering why you were so gentile” she begins. “Most Americans are very rude, but you? You are not from here si?”

He looks where she herself was looking and sees the Victoria Cross he’d earned during the Second Ashanti War. For a moment he is back in Africa, a rifle gripped in his hand and the roar of seemingly endless Ashanti warriors in his ears. The sun is hot, glaring down upon him. He wants to reach for his flask again, but soon enough he realizes that it was empty.

This brings him back to the present. He removes his hat, a sign of manners, doffing it to the woman. “You’re correct sister. I am from Ireland originally, but as you so deftly saw, I was a soldier in Queen Victoria’s army”. He was a little surprised that she’d even recognize it, not having expected a nun to have such worldly knowledge.

She smiles and nods, a mischievous gleam in her eyes that hinted at secrets not yet revealed. “Ahhh..strange place for an Irishman. Tell me, you are not one of those converte to that strange island’s religion?”

He laughs, finding the whole conversation humorous, only added too by the teasing lilt in her voice. “No, no. I’m as Irish as they come” he admits, tacitly telling her that despite the trimmings of Britishness, he was still of her church’s flock. “Ahh, bene, bene. I am Sister Helena Bertinelli” she says, reaching her hand out for him to take as she introduces herself.

He clasps his hand against hers, lightly squeezing it. “Victor Sage”.

She keeps hold, longer than she should, and those eyes...they keep boring into him. Eventually though, she releases him, and he feels as if he could breath again, the nun’s spell over him broken. “Now, tell me, what is an Irishmen, in the Queen’s service, doing all the way here, on a train dirigendoso verso, into the citta of Gotham?”

He didn’t want to frighten her with the reason he was here, but he would give her a vague reason that was in spirit the truth. “I am on loan from Scotland Yard” he explains, retracting his identifying badge and showing it to the nun.

She looks impressed and smiles wide. “Ahh, a detective. How very eccitante. Well, I shall pray for your good fortune in whatever crime that must have been committed to warrant you being here Signore Sage”.

The train was just pulling into Gotham’s main train station, the conductor moving up and down the halls within the cars to awaken those who were asleep and hadn’t been roused by the whistle. Victor could not contain his curiosity or indeed the suspicion that had been invaluable to him, time and time again.

“What brings you to Gotham Sister Bertinelli?” he asks, helping her retrieve her bag once again as the brakes are engaged and the locomotive slowly begins to come to a stop. She smiles at him, a smile that insists upon its beauty for the man, and the two walk out into the hall together, stepping off into the relatively abandoned and quiet train station at this hour. 

“I have been assigned to Saint Anthony’s church” she says simply. “Much more noiosa than your reasons for being here, I assure you” she says with a chuckle, looking off into the distance and ready to walk to her destination. 

“Ahh, Sister…” he says, wishing to stop her as he knew how precarious the situation was in the city. ‘I can’t let her go off alone, but I don’t wish to scare her’.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t be unescorted” he says, hiding his reasoning behind the veneer of normal crime within the city. “It’s quite dangerous in Gotham, and I don’t want to hear that something happened on your first night here”.

He retrieves his pocket watch and looks down at the time, grimacing as he knew he had to meet with the head of Gotham’s police force in one hour’s time. Still...he had to do something. “I can perhaps escort you to Saint Anthony’s” he begins, though Sister Helena laughs, a tinkling sound that makes his heart beat faster. ‘Stop it’ he chastises himself, already embarrassed. ‘She’s a nun’.

“I do not think that will be necessaria Detective Sage, but you are kind” she begins, making to walk away again. Victor was again, unwilling to let her go into the darkness of Gotham alone, and he rushes forward, stopping her by gently taking her arm. He looks about and smiles at seeing a carriage, apparently milling about at this hour for a customer, though the driver was dozing due to lack of said fares.

“At least take a carriage” he pleads. “Much faster and safer”.

“I am humbled by your concern but...Signore Sage, I have no money for such a luxury”.

“I do” he smiles, releasing her as he realized she might’ve been made uncomfortable by such an act. “Please, it’ll make my state of mind that much more stable if you do so”. She smiles and blushes a bit, following behind the redheaded man who approaches the dilapidated looking carriage with tired looking horses.

“Excuse me good man” he says, rapping the wood to wake the apparently irritable man. “Wassit?”

Sister Helena herself moves to the horses, which awaken at her approach, whinnying and turning to look at her with slight fear. “Shhh...shhh” she soothes them, running her hands through their manes. “Tali bellezze siete” she whispers, earning the horses’ appreciation and trust. It affectionately leans into her, lightly nicking her habit and making her laugh.

“I wish for you to give Sister Helena a ride to Saint Anthony’s church” Victor says, fully waking the man up now that money was involved. “How much?”

“This time’a night? Let’s say….fifty cents”.

“Fifty cents!” Victor says, quickly doing the calculations in his mind. “Highway robber” he accuses. “Thas what it is...late at night, I’m tired, don’t wanna move. Gotta make it good to make me move”.

“Blast it” Victor says, moving into his pocket and stepping on the spoke of the wheel to hand up a coin to the man. “That’s one British pound. Nearly triple your desired wage. Make sure she gets there safe!” he warns. “Or I’ll have you arrested”.

The man’s eyes were too wide upon the coin in his hand to care for the man’s threats, and he simply nods, tipping his hat in agreement. “Yer the boss now, giving me money like that”.

“Don’t expect it to continue” he says, opening the rear carriage door and gesturing for Helena to join him. “I’ve secured you transportation to Saint Anthony’s” he says with a smile, taking her bag and placing it within the confines of the carriage, whose upholstery was just as frayed and damaged as the outside wood was.

“Not exactly first class but…”.

She pats his cheek, taking his hand to step up onto the assisting step before turning and pressing her lips to his, shocking the man. He is just about to kiss back when she kittenishly releases him, stepping back into the carriage. “Grazie for your kindness Victor Sage. Also, you shall say ten Hail Mary’s for your sin of kissing a nun, and the impura pensieri you had of her”.

Just like that, the carriage door is closed and the driver pulls on his reigns, cracking his whip to signal that the horses should begin to move. The detective blushes as the vehicle moves off, calling out, “I only thought of kissing you at most! I promise!”

Her serene laughter which carries down the street only makes him realize how ridiculous that sounded, and he realizes too late that there was much more to that nun than met the eye. For now though, that was not the mystery he should focus on, and he looks across the fog strewn streets of Gotham, street lamps being the only thing that illuminated the darkness at fifty foot intervals.

It was eerie, though Victor Sage had long since stopped fearing the dark. “Very well. I’m coming for you, you bastard”. 

With that, he steps off onto the street, making to cross.

Back in the Red Light District

If she had thought the pleasure from before to be unbearable, she didn’t know how to describe this. Madness was a word that fit, though she knew exactly what she wanted as she spread her legs even wider, Bruce’s grip firm upon her thighs. He was between her legs, his tongue pressing against her slit, moving up and down before dipping in, changing position so rapidly that she never got used to the rapid tempo he employed upon her.

“Matches...fook love...yer, meltin’ me” she moans, having already orgasmed once due to the ministrations of his fingers. He simply looks up at her, tongue still buried deep within her soaked quim which now drips down onto the duvet. Most men would see this as being subservient to a woman, and thus making them unwilling to do it.

But the last thing she saw Matches as right now, was being subservient to her. Even in this position, he was in full control, all of her being at his mercy. She could only ride out the intensive waves of pleasure as they hit her, causing her to wince and caress her own tits, which heaved up and down with every labored breath she took.

Matches slams his tongue against her once more, and in an instant, a spark of electricity travels up her body, her back arching and her entire being overwhelmed by the power of her second orgasm. She screams, thrusting her womanhood harshly onto his tongue and into his face, jealously trying to overwhelm his senses with nothing but her.

Bruce was all to happy to oblige as she cums, her juices flowing into his mouth with reckless abandon, the man slurping them all up without restraint, taking all the woman would give him without shame. 

She falls back to the bed, feeling the man’s tongue and mouth move to her thighs, trailing kisses over the flesh therein. She couldn’t let this stand. Not Dinah Lance, leader of the Black Canaries. She wouldn’t be reduced to a pile of quivering flesh without returning the favor in equal measure. As soon as she is able to contain her shivering, she moves up, sliding off of the bed and moving to her knees upon the cold floor.

“Get the fook up Matches” she urges, though the man wasn’t having it. He reaches forward and grasps her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. “Nah, I want ya to ask me nicely” he says, causing her to try and squirm away. His strength was enough to stop her and hold her in place, enough to crush her, snap her neck, slap her or any of the other horrid things men sometimes used their strength to do to women. 

But it hadn’t been, and instead, his strength had been used to lavish attention, affection and pleasure upon her in ways that she hadn’t quite experienced before. “Matches I’ll…”.

“Eehh…” he silences her, moving forward to kiss her lips once more, melting her anger away in an instant and allowing her to taste herself upon him. He releases her and pulls back, though not far enough to where she wouldn’t feel his breath impacting against her lips. “Out there, ya can be the tough gal ya are, but in here...with me...be my dainty little flower”.

There was so much promise in those words, a promise of safety and protection. A safe harbor where she could be free and luxuriate in someone else’s arms. It was all the more seductive for it.

“Matches...please..get up..stand up...for me” she pants, already feeling a desire for yet another release come over her. “Anything when ya ask me like that” he says, rising to his feet and leaving her at eye level with his crotch, under which his member bulged obscenely. She looks up at Matches, deciding to truly play the part she was destined too while in this room with him, and leans in, kissing his member through the trousers.

She reaches up and works on undoing the buttons that held it together, but all the while she places a string of kisses along its length, refusing to break eye contact as she slowly undoes the zipper. “Dinah darlin’...yer an angel” Bruce moans, trying to focus on keeping his false accent while the woman takes him to heaven with the slightest touch.

She doesn’t say anything, and instead she reaches for the two sides of his pants, pulling them apart and revealing the hairy base of his cock. She smiles and pulls down even more, her smile turning from one of joy, to one of shock. She keeps pulling the pants down, but only reveals more shaft for the moment, the fabric finally catching on the head quite a few inches below. She tugs once more, eager to see Bruce’s prick freed from its constraints, and when she does, it bobs free, lightly slapping against her chin.

She gets a heady scent of Bruce, though as usual he smells of soap and cleanliness, unusual for a street tough, but at that moment? Dinah wasn’t focused on what was usual. Her wide eyes go over the man, from the base to the tip, through which clear liquid leaked down his foreskin. 

“Matches...yer gonna kill me with this thing” she says, taking it in her hand and causing the man to jump a bit from pleasure, his eyes still fixed downwards. “Did I do this?”

“Yer the most beautiful woman I ever met Dinah”. 

It was the only answer she wanted, and slowly she repeats her actions from before, though they were now performed without any obstruction. She traces a line of kisses down his shaft, stopping at his head to gently dab her tongue at the stream of pre-cum there, showing the man that she was just as accepting and loving of all of him as he was of her. 

She pulls away for a moment, continuing her path to the base where she is able to smell him more clearly. He overwhelms her in his entirety, and before long she returns to his tip, eager to show him that she could do the same thing to him as he had done to her. 

She wraps her lips around his head while reaching up to grab his balls, her fingers kneading each teste within the sack. Most men would never trust any woman near such a vital organ, but Bruce didn’t flinch and instead just begins to breath heavily as Dinah slips some of him into her mouth.

“Ohh god lass…” he moans out, reaching down to thread his fingers through her long golden locks. She keeps her baby blue eyes upon him, wanting him to watch her, watching him, while she did this. Submission….loving submission…

More and more of himself is taken into her mouth, and Dinah’s eyes begin to water at how his member stretches her oral cavity out. She hollows out her cheeks, hoping to get more space for him, and she forces herself forward, uncaring of anything other than her ability to please him.

The heat returns to her core, and the fingers of her free hand find their down, simulating the touch that Bruce used upon her to try and bring even more pleasure. She is frustrated by her own trembling digits however, and she is shocked that her own fingers cannot deliver the same pleasure to her own body that Bruce had.

Still, her mind was preoccupied with another urgent task, one which she soon completes.

Dinah’s mouth was now fully enveloping Bruce’s cock, her nose buried in his pubic hair and her lips pursed around the base. Her eyes water and she continues to stare at Bruce, who now had a shocked expression on his face. Slowly she pulls back, making him believe that she was going to abandon such a venture, and the disappointment on his face was cute to her, like a little boy denied a toy on christmas.

It made it all the more pleasurable for her to slam back down when he was halfway out of her mouth, making the man moan in a pleasured agony. “Dinah...fook….more than an angel. Me goddess. Me very own goddess”.

She liked that.

She liked that a lot.

Hancock Tavern, Brideshead

“So..we have an agreement then Mr. Gold?” the figure asks from behind the man who continued to sit at his desk, slowly breathing and trying to come to terms with what had just happened. “Where...where did she go?” he asks, despair tinging his voice.

The man smiles under his mask.

“She went away for now” he says, setting his hand upon the man’s shoulders. “But...if you do as she asks, when she asks...the gift she delivers will be….great”.

Cyrus had been running on nothing but bad luck as of late it seemed, and he didn’t know how to break out of it. Effectively losing the Narrows had cut his profits down to nothing. Being beaten by Dinah had whittled down the respect of the men under him, and thus, his ranks.

Larger gangs were moving in from all sides, and until tonight, he saw no way to move forward. But then...she was there. A beautiful woman that seemed to float through the air, red locks flowing out behind her like the waves of the sea.

She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, contrasted even more so by the decaying brick of his headquarters, the bleak rot of the wood.

“Come to me Cyrus, my beloved. My general” she had whispered into his ears while sitting herself in his lap, caressing his cheek. He could only stare into her soulful green eyes filled with seductive promise. “Lead your army for me Cyrus. I shall need them in the coming days. You will not abandon me will you?” she had asked, a tinge of nervousness in her voice, fear.

A fear he instantly wanted to quash.

“Ne..never my...my love. Never”.

“Good” she whispered, caressing his cheek before delivering a quick kiss to his lips. “Be ready when I call upon you…”

With that, she disappeared, and with her seemed to go all of the warmth in the world. With her exit, the man entered, apparently one of his love’s agents. “Will you do as she asks?” the man, the man repeats. “Will you do anything at all our mistress requires?”

“Anything…”.

“Then...you know what to do don’t you?” the man wearing the mask and top hat asks. Cyrus could only nod glumly, unsure of what to do or say. It was like he was walking through mud ten feet deep, his mind too far off...with her.

“Excellent. Have your men made aware. Soon, we shall all make our move. But the time is not right. Wait for her call Cyrus” the man says, backing up out of the room. “Wait for her call”.

The large leader of the Cherry Hill Boys doesn’t move, not yet and probably not for the rest of the night. Her scent, her voice, her touch. It overwhelmed him more than any strong drink ever had. Everything that was his, was now hers. 

“I’ll burn this city down for you my love” he whispers, hoping she hears him, even though he knows he’s alone. “I’ll burn it, and fashion ya a throne with its remains. All for a kiss. A single kiss”.

He remained there, all through the night. His mind moved over this and that, planning and readying things in his power. 

Gotham would be hers.

Back in the Red Light District

Dinah had thought that her display would gain her a modicum of power back, shift the levers of control decisively back in her favor.

She had been wrong, and now? She was paying dearly for it...though, she would pay this price every night if she could. Bruce was atop her, driving his white hot member into her core with the greatest of ease, her walls giving way before his onslaught and only managing to muster up faint resistance when he tried to pull out of her.

Such an action was useless however, as Bruce only drove himself right back in, reducing her entire world to that of the bed and the wanton sounds she was letting forth. “FOOK’ ME MATCHES! AHHH!” she cries out, nails raking his back and leaving a thin red trail as they go.

Her legs were spread wide open, and Bruce was balancing himself on either side of her head with his hands, using his position to arch and straighten in his back in such a way as to assist the animalistic thrusts. He grunts atop her, leaning in to deliver a harsh kiss to her lips.

She didn’t care that she was slamming herself up into his thrusts as much as possible. She didn’t care that she was below a man now. She simply didn’t care!

All she cared about was Bruce, and trying to pleasure him with her own body, offering it up to him with no strings or reservations. She had never given herself this whole heartedly before, and it showed with how enthusiastic they both were, the joining of their sexes into one causing a rhythmic noise to reverberate throughout the whole room.

Not all good things can last forever though, and Bruce grunts as he was finally nearing his own climax. “Dinah...love...I’m almost there…”.

“Hold out...just a little...little...ahhhhhh!”.

She’d overestimated how far she was from her third and final orgasm, and she buckles under the man as she instantly crosses the finish line, her velvety walls gripping the man’s member tightly, almost refusing to let him go as she coats him in her fluids, signing her ownership of him in the same way that she had been marked as his.

She knew, knew with all her heart, that this couldn’t be a one off thing. They were too in tune with one another, too perfectly fitting. If it was? The rest of her life, at least in the arena of love and lovemaking, would be as disappointing as what she would now cheekily refer to as the “Pre Matches” period.

Bruce however, was much less lost to the waves of pleasure that had overtaken Dinah, and he fights against her ferocious grip to pull himself out of her soaked quim. He accomplishes his task just in time, as as soon as his member was free of her, his seed rockets out, landing all about Dinah’s stomach, thighs, and pooling generously right atop her womanhood.

He stays where he was, gasping for breath as a weakened Dinah leans up and peppers his face in kisses. “Matches...call me...call me what ya did again”.

Bruce slowly falls off of the woman to the side of the bed, landing with a pleasant “oof”, before using the last of his energy to pull Dinah into his side. She moves seamlessly, her head resting on his shoulder and her hand moving over onto his chest. Bruce wraps his arm about her shoulder, moving it so that it rests upon her rear end, prompting the woman to thread her leg over his to allow better contact.

“Call ya what again darlin’?” he asks, unsure of how he could even think at that moment. He turns and kisses her cheek lovingly. “Yer goddess…” she says, almost as if she’s embarrassed to say it. “Well, ye are me goddess now for certain Dinah”.

He reaches out again and caresses her cheek, thumbing it gently as she leans into it, cooing. She was ecstatic, her mind fixated on how his gentle treatment continued on, even after he’d gotten what he wanted. 

She smiles, closing her eyes gently. “Don’t think that…”.

“Shhh” he soothes, continuing on. “I told ya Dinah” he repeats, taking her face in his hands and kissing her deeply. “Out there, yer the boss. But in here...what are ye?”

“Yer goddess”.

“And what else?” he asks, wanting her, needing her to say it.

She smiles and blushes, giggling like she was a young girl again. “I...I’m yer dainty little flower”.

“Good. Just remember that Dinah” he says, giving her rear an affectionate rub as they return to their previous position. “Hmmm...yer right about the room. Ain’t all that romantic”.

Now it was her turn to place a hand upon his face and turn him to look into her eyes. “I changed me mind on that. Ya managed to turn this shoddy place into Buckingham Palace for me”.

“I suppose ya want me to call ya my queen now eh?” he teases out, turning a bit while pulling the covers up over them. Now that they had ceased lovemaking, for the moment anyways, they were starting to feel the chill, and the last thing he wanted was for Dinah to be cold.

He brings the wool quilt up over her, tucking it over her shoulders and under her chin. She just looks at him, unsure of what to say or do. She looks at him, uncertainty in her eyes. “What’s on yer mind love?” he asks, settling in next to the woman. 

“I…...don’t think that I’m going moon eyed over ya…” she says, still desperately trying to seize control back, and yet failing even now. Bruce decides to hand her a victory though, enough to assuage her pride. “I know” he says. “I’m going moon eyed over ya though”. He stares up at the ceiling, putting a voice to the words that she felt within her own soul.

“I’m scared of it” he admits. “Fallin’ in love. Never expected it and maybe it’s daft ya know...fallin’ for a woman because ya went on a heist with her but...I saw yer beauty and how ya care and...yeah”.

She reaches out and clasps her hand to his while nuzzling into him, attempting to not let him see her blush. “I’d like ya to call me yer queen” she admits. “But only...if I get to call ya my king”.

It was the closest either of them would get to directly saying those words to one another, both very able to show that they cared, but unable to properly say it. For him? That was enough, and it was certainly enough for Dinah at this point in time too.

“Twas early in the mornin’, a fair maid arose, and dressed herself up in the finest of clothes” Dinah begins, raising their hands together to see them in the candlelight, entwined. Bruce considered himself very lucky to have heard this one before, and sings the next chord. “And off to the shoemaker’s shop she sure goes”.

Dinah smiles and picks it up. “For a kiss in the morning early”.

She picks up the next stanza as well though, feeling that the song would be a good send off to their first night of love, though, she would blush at the implications of the song’s words. ‘Not anytime soon Dinah! Ain’t a society lady dreamin’ of weddin’s and whelps. Already got yer own’.

“O’ Cobbler, o cobbler, 'tis soon we'll be wed, and nestling together in a fine feather bed, so give me two shoes with two buckles of red, for my kiss in the morning early” she finishes, the two descending into laughter, remaining close.

This...this was enough for now. 

Saint Anthony’s Church

“Grazie Sister Leslie. Grazie. Si, I should be fine for the night yes”.

“Alright Sister, but please, do not hesitate to call upon me or on Pamela if the need arises for anything at all during the night. Goodnight, and may the Lord keep you ‘till the morning” Leslie says with a smile, closing the door behind her and leaving Helena alone.

She takes a quick look around the room, noting all possible entrance and exit points before crossing herself at the picture of the Virgin Mary upon the wall. She reaches up, removing her habit and tossing it onto the bed, shaking out her long dark locks and thinking back to the detective she’d met on the train.

‘He was di bell’aspetto’ she thinks, opening her luggage and retracting the letter she had been instructed to read only when she arrived at Saint Anthony’s.

She rips through the parchment and opens it, walking back and forth as she read.

“Helena” it began, a familiarity that she could only ascribe to one person alone. “An evil has descended upon Gotham, one that its protectors are scantly able to fight. I urge you as an agent of the church to do what you can to stop it. I cannot speak to the exact nature of the vileness that has seeped over the city, but I do know that you have faced greater and worse before. God grant you strength Helena. Remember, you can go places and do things that others cannot. You are not ordained to be a simple nun, so do not believe that my denying of your vows is any reflection of your worthiness. God needs soldiers as well as nuns. Take care my daughter. Giovanni”.

She folds up the parchment, knowing that this mission would be double important is his holiness Pope Pius the IX had sent her on it. ‘It must have to do with the murders’ she thinks, not guessing at any easy connection to the forces of the prince of darkness within it, but knowing that would be the best place to begin her investigation regardless. 

She takes one look back at her luggage and quickly advances towards it, slipping out of her robes and revealing the much more freeing leather armor beneath. She reaches into her luggage and pulls out her weapon of choice, priming it for use before looking up at it in the light of the flickering candle and smiling.

‘You and I will clean up Gotham. Perhaps we might run into that cute detective again’ she chuckles, casting the thought away as mere fantasy.

She continues to inspect her weapon, checking for any imperfections or undue stress upon the wood and steel of the weapon. It all seemed to be in good order though, being able to withstand the jostling and movement of modern travel.

It was a crossbow after all.

Chapter Text

Cobblepot Circus, Park Row

“Well, Ms. Quinzel” Oswald says, unsure of what to make of the woman’s proposal. “We haven’t had a trapeze artist well...ever really” the short man says, completely unsure of why such a thing was being offered to him.

He turns his gaze to the man who sat beside her, trying to get a fix on him as well. “And a shootist? Not really sure…”.

“Perhaps we should show you how well we’d do for your circus Mr. Cobblepot?” the blonde asks, lightly reaching hand over the table and placing it over his. It was clear that she meant it in a much more friendly tone than the woman beside Oswald might’ve seen it as, and her smile was quite charming.

Jonah though?

Charming was not a word that could readily be used to describe him.

It was clear that the man was just there because Harleen had dragged him along, and even now he stared out at Oswald with hard as steel eyes. The short man fought to suppress a shiver before looking at his wife. Margaret was glaring at Harleen, not liking that the contact continued, which prompted Oswald to gently extricate his hand.

“I’m...I’m really not sure”.

“What is one demonstration Mr. Cobblepot” Harleen pleads, her lips pouting out sensuously and her bright blue eyes filled with warmth. “Please? I beg of you to allow us but this one chance. I assure you, you won’t regret it in the least. How many people can claim to have a trapeze artist, and a shootist who work in tandem?”

“What?” Jonah asks, turning his head to look at the blonde curiously. With the hand that couldn’t be seen due to being obscured by the table, she pats his thigh, urging him to play along.

Oswald nor Maggie see this of course, but they were certainly interested at what the blonde woman meant by “in tandem”.

“How would you even combine the two acts? I think you’re insane” Margaret says, leaning forward on the table to fix the younger woman with a glare. “Or a liar”.

Harleen sniffs, putting on airs for a moment to further her point. “I can assure you Madam Cobblepot, I am no liar! Tell them Jonah!” she urges, forcing the man into action. He swallows, not sure how she was able to get him to go along with such a crazy scheme.

“Uhh...yeah” he says. “We work..in…”.

“Tandem” Harleen says, the man having forgotten the word that she used. “Thas right, tandem”.

“And how do you two…”work in tandem” then Mr. Hex?” Margaret asks, taking over these talks from her much less assertive husband. “He shoots the bottles I throw into the air. Or the ones I hold” Harleen says with a triumphant smirk. “He even once shot one that I held between my lips”.

Jonah felt himself jump at that, knowing that they’d never done such a thing, and that Harleen even suggesting that they had was utterly insane. “Harleen..” he begins to say, wanting to put a stop to this, though the woman squeezes his thigh assuredly, urging him to continue to play along. As usual? He did what she asked.

“That’s remarkable!” Oswald says, suddenly excited while Maggie seemed skeptical. “Prove it!”

“How?” Harleen asks, ready to take this as far as it needed to be taken. “The main tent is empty right now. We don’t have much in the way of actual equipment yet, but we do have the support boards set up to assist our workers in the event of a leak. We also have pulley and service ropes. Those should suffice for a limited demonstration shouldn’t they?”

“Absolutely” Harleen says, pretending to be unvexed though secretly, she was slightly worried. “And Mr. Hex? Would you be in agree…”.

“Of course he is!” Harleen says, wanting to beat the man to the punch before he turned her whole plan inside out. “Harleen..!” hisses, though she just squeezes his thigh again.

“Excellent!” Oswald says, hoping up in excitement. “Let us go to the main tent then and get everything under way. Ohh I am so excited to see this!” the man says, rushing off as quickly as he could.

Maggie was excited as well, and it showed upon her face. “Yes, I am too”.

It was clear that she fully expected Harleen to chicken out, and thus expose the ruse she had crafted for herself and Jonah. Harleen at the moment showed no signs of breaking, and even smiled back at the ringmaster’s wife, standing up and wrapping her arm about Jonah’s once more.

They exit the tent that was Oswald’s office and the Cobblepot family’s quarters,  moving through the mostly abandoned circus grounds. It was between shows after all, so not many people meandered through the grounds. “Harleen...this is crazy” Jonah says through the side of his mouth, trying to hide what he was saying as much as possible from the two people before him.

She leans in close, pretending to coquettishly tease the man, and thus provide a rational cover for their whispering. “It’ll be fine. I promise. You’re a crack shot aren’t you?”

He rolls his eyes. “Of course I am, but I don’t reckon that any man told to shoot a bottle out of a woman’s mouth is gonna hit the mark every single time”.

“I trust you Jonah”.

“Ya ain’t got no reason to trust me” he says. “Reckon I shoot ya, then what?” he asks, continuing to fume. “What? I walk away all fine and dandy and ya fall to the ground, dead then if ya wasn’t before the drop”.

She just smiles serenely, still moving across the carney grounds. “You won’t shoot me Jonah”.

“And how the hell ya know that?”

“Because you think I’m pretty” she teases, winking kittenishly. “You’ve been thinking about kissing me for a while now haven’t you?” The turn the conversation had taken certainly was unexpected, and the man couldn’t help but be utterly flabbergasted at it. “I...Harleen, stop talkin’ crazy”.

“Am I?” she teases, as always, completely unflappable. “I don’t think I am. I’ve noticed how you’ve been looking at me Jonah, and I hope you’ve seen me looking at you in the same way. You think I’m beautiful, just like I think you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen”.

“Now I know yer crazy”.

“It’s true” she says in her own defense. “Remember how I told you about how the dimestore novel’s villain might get a young girl’s heart beating much faster than normal? Well...I’ve always been that girl. I think that’s what may have attracted me to Jack..” she admits, looking away. “A hidden darkness I could somehow sense beneath, but I never wanted it to be like that!” she adds quickly, realizing how that sounds.

“Besides, I’m not a dumb giggling girl Jonah. I’m not stupid enough to believe some brute will love me and treat me like a woman. But...I do believe you could” she trails off, the man looking up to see that they were getting closer and closer to the tent’s opening where Oswald and Maggie were both waiting with smiles, though for entirely different reasons, plastered upon their faces.

“You’re an angel at heart Jonah” she says, her voice taking on a husky, needy, and most importantly, insistent tone. “You look rough and ready, the kind of man who might throw me over his shoulders and tie me to the railroad tracks, but I know that as soon as the train was coming you’d rush out and cut me free”.

“Wouldn’t tie ya to no damn railroad track” he mumbles, blushing all the while.

She kisses his cheek, staying close to whisper in his ear. “You won’t shoot me” she says. “Because, I have a deal to make with you”.

“What is that?”

“If you shoot all the bottles, the ones I throw, the ones I hold, and the one I have in my mouth? I’ll kiss you. I’ll kiss you in such a way as to ensure you never even think of another woman again. I’ll be your damsel in distress, and you’ll be my dashing rogue and unorthodox hero all in one Jonah Hex”.

What she was offering..it had the touch of insanity. But, it was only made all the more alluring because of it. He wanted that kiss, the kiss that promised to change his life.

“Do we have a deal Jonah?” she teases, closing her eyes and leaving her lips tantalizingly close to his ear. “I’m not a patient woman. I know what I want, and what I want is you” she says. “Say yes to me, you want to, as much as I want you to”.

“Yes”.

He’d stricken plenty of deals in his time. A deal with the army, a deal with the Apache, a deal with countless rough men and women stretched across the bars of the west. He’d never struck a deal with a woman like Harleen though, and in the end he knew that it wasn’t only Jack Napier that held some sort of inner darkness within him that would attract a woman like Harleen.

She had it too, and right now, she was putting it to work, ensnaring the gunslinger. 

“Good” she whispers, her hand reaching down to take his and squeezing it tightly. “Good. I have my rogue then”.

“Ya don’t even know me” he whispers back, knowing that things were getting very intense, very quickly between the two of them, and unsure how to interpret that. 

“I know you quite well Jonah” she says with a sly smirk, just as they move under the open flaps of the circus tent. “I don’t know the particulars, but you? I know you very well. You’re the man I’ve been dreaming of since I was a little girl. Now…” she says, turning towards him as Oswald and Maggie join them. 

“Good luck”.

With that, she leans up and places a kiss at the corner of his lips, teasing him with what was to come. He reaches out as soon as the fog lifts, returning movement to his hands as they want to rest upon her waist. 

Before he could though, the blonde was out of his arms, following Margaret Cobblepot towards a dressing room where she would be wearing a uniform that would better accommodate her need for a wide range of movement.

Jonah continues to watch after her, his hand idly moving up to the spot where he kissed her, allowing him to feel the scarred skin beneath. For the first time since he’d sustained the wound, he didn’t feel a sense of disgust.

It felt rather silly to do so when Harleen clearly didn’t feel it.

“You have one bloody interesting woman there Mr. Hex” Oswald says, gathering up a few empty bottles, some whiskey and some other random assortments. He was gauging them in his hand, wanting to give something large enough that they could see it being shot at, while also making the shot as impressive as possible.

Jonah continued to look at the flap where Harleen had disappeared through alongside Margaret, and he can only find the words to agree with the man who’d spoken.

“I reckon I’ve just scraped the service of how interestin’ she can be”.

Across the Circus

Zatanna knew she shouldn’t be doing this. After all, her father had given her a very firm, which to Giovanni meant hugging her and telling her not to do it again, talking too about letting all of the rabbits out of the hat.

But still...she loved the rabbits.

White fluffy, cottontails and big floppy ears! They were irresistible to the young girl. And now? Her father’s hat was right in front of her, the man himself having left it out on the side of their carriage after Hippolyta had walked by, distracting him.

The young dark haired girl licks her lips as she reaches for the oversized headgear, snatching it up quickly and looking both ways before trying to make her escape. She knows that nobody saw. She’d double, triple checked, but she didn’t expect to rush right into someone as she rounded the trailer.

The force of the impact sent her sprawling back into the dirt, landing on her butt and causing tears to instantly spring to her eyes. Unfortunately for the person she bumped into, the result was much the same, and Timmy now found himself on his rear end, popcorn scattered everywhere. “Awww! My popcorn…” he says sadly, just as Zee begins to cry.

He looks up and sees her, instantly moved by the realization that she was in pain and being well aware that he could just get more anyways. “Ohh no..I’m sorry! I knocked you over!” Timmy says, rushing to his feet and walking over towards the young girl. “Let me help you up. It’ll be okay” he soothes, offering Zatanna down his hand. 

She finally seems to notice him through the veil of her pain and looks up, reaching her hand out to grasp at his as he had offered it. “Th..thank you” she sniffles, unable to hold in her crying as she tries to wipe the dirt off of herself.

Tim joins in, taking her arms and brushing the stains, or rather trying to, out of the sleeves. “You were going somewhere pretty fast” Timmy observes. “Ya ain’t running from someone are you?”

“No”.

She didn’t know why, but the boy in front of her made her shy. He was so happy looking, so at peace and ease with himself. “Ohh, well, if you aren’t running from someone, why are you in such a rush?”.

“Well...I kinda...lied. I am running but...I didn’t do anything wrong!” she says, gesturing towards the hat, walking over to pick it up. “I just wanted to play with the bunnies. I made a mistake last time. It won’t happen again”.

“There’s bunnies in that hat?” Tim asks in an excited tone.

“Uhhmm. Do you wanna see?”

“I love bunnies! Yes! Please show me the bunnies!”

The two children rush over towards the hat, leaning over and picking it up. Timmy is about to reach in and take out a rabbit, but Zatanna stops him from being so rash. “We have to be very careful okay? They can’t get out again. Just one”.

“Cross my heart and hope to die” he says, making the movement across his chest that was enough for the dark haired little girl. “Alright, let’s find...Oliver” she says, cutely sticking out her tongue as she begins to rifle through the top hat. Timmy makes to move forward and look, but is stopped by her pushing him back.

“Papa says that you can’t show the audience your tricks..or how you do the trick” she explains, and Timmy backs off, not wanting to upset his new friend. “Ohh..you’re a magician?”

“I will be one day! The greatest ever! Well, the greatest besides my papa. I’ll be the great Zatanna Zatara!”.

“I’m Tim Drake” he says, responding to her impromptu introduction. “But everyone calls me Timmy”.

Zatanna smiles at the boy before her eyes widen and she turns back to the hat, her fingers closing around something which she works on retracting from the confines of the headgear. It takes a second, but soon a large bunny pops out its head, nose twitching as it sniffs the air. Zatanna pulls him further out, cradling the bunny in her arms.

“This is Oliver. He was my mama’s favorite”.

“He’s cute” Tim says, reaching out to pet the bunny as well. “And you’re amazing! I’ve never seen magic before! Not like that”.

“You really think so?”

He nods his head vigorously. “I know so! You’re gonna be the most famous magician Zatanna!”

She blushes at his praise, nuzzling her face against the bunny’s fur. “I...I actually wanna be a sorceress” she says. “Like my mama”. Timmy nods in agreement with her request. “All right, then you’re the amazing sorceress Zatanna! Ohh, it fits. I really like it. Yeah! Hey..umm..where is your mama?”

“She died”.

“Ohh..”.

The mood was effectively darkened by that simple question, and he makes to move alongside her, plopping down on the ground and taking her hand as she begins to sniffle. “My mama and papa died too” he says. “At least...I think so. That’s what Jason said. Jason’s my older brother”.

“Ohh...I...I still have my papa. He’s very nice. I can tell he misses her a lot. Do you have anyone else?” she asks, wanting to ensure that her new friend wasn’t alone. He smiles brightly at this. “Uhhm. I have Jason, Dick, my other brother, and my...well, she’s sort of my mama” he says with a blush. “I never thought about it much until Matches said something, and ohhh! I have Matches! He’s the strongest man ever. He won me a soldier on a horse at the bell game!”

“The high striker?” she asks, not exactly knowing what he was referring to but knowing it sounded familiar. “Yeah that’s it!”

Her eyes widen in shock, knowing that the game was fixed. “Wow...he must be as strong as an elephant!”

“Two elephants!” Jason says proudly, causing Zatanna to clap her hands, not doubting her friend for a second. “I also have the Canaries”.

“Who are the Canaries? You have birds?” she asks excitedly, wanting to see the birds. “Chirp, chirp, chirp!” she sounds out, giggling to herself. Tim laughs too and shakes his head. “No, no. The Canaries are like...well, a family! We all protect each other. They fight alot though, but it’s only bar fights!” he says as if that changed the scope of his words drastically.

“We all love each other. Because we’re all Irish outcasts!” he says proudly, gleaming partly what the Canaries had started up because of.

“Ohh…” she says sadly.

“What’s wrong?”

“Well...they sound fun, but...I can’t be one can I?”

“Why not?” Timmy asks in a distraught tone. He definitely wanted his new friend to be a Canary, like him and Jason and Dick and the rest. “I’m not Irish. Daddy said we’re Italian, and a little bit of Turkish” she explains.

“Well, I don’t care!” Timmy says, standing up. “My mam..well, my sort of mama, is the leader of the Canaries and if I say you’re one, you’re a Canary! You and Oliver if you want to be”.

She squeals in excitement, looking down at Oliver and kissing his furry head, though the rabbit was completely unaware of what was going on. “We’re gonna be Canaries Oliver!”

“All you gotta do is the handshake!” he says, spitting in his hand and holding it out to the girl who looks a bit grossed out for a moment before realizing that it was more than worth it to be a member of Tim’s family. 

She smiles and spits daintily in her own hand, reaching out and mingling the two before pulling back and wiping her hand off on the ground. “So...I’m a Canary now?”

“Forever!” he says, a wide smile splitting his face.

She liked that. Alot. She also liked having a friend. It was nice.

The Narrows, Red Light District

He sat on the edge of the bed, buttoning up his shirt and quickly replacing his suspenders once again, trying to not wake the still sleeping blonde behind him. She looked like an angel, cutely snoring as she turned her head on the pillow. 

Her breast was partially uncovered by the blanket, and without thinking Bruce leans over and pulls it up, wanting her to be insulated against the chill of the early morning Gotham air. “Mmm...Matches?” she moans out, a smile coming to her face as she says his name.

“Aye love”.

“Mm...where are ya going?”

His smile falters at that, knowing that yet another lie would have to be told to the woman. ‘Dammit...this wasn’t supposed to happen’ he thinks, leaning in to kiss her cheek. She smiles and turns her head, idly looking up at him as her eyelids flutter open. Her hand moves to his cheek, caressing it as he hovers above her.

“I didn’t scare ya off did I?”

He takes her hand and kisses it. “No. In fact...I think...well…”.

She nods, knowing that there wasn’t much need between the two of them to be so wordy. They knew what the other was trying to say. “I’ll ask ya again, where ya goin’?”

“I’ve got some business ta take care of Dinah” he says, having remembered that tonight he would be hosting a small party to raise funds for a new proposed medical facility within Gotham. Amadeus Arkham had come to Bruce, asking for help, and the man had agreed as usual. All of Gotham’s most prominent doctors would be there, each angling for a contract or a stipend from the main financier.

He had to be there, even if it was the last place on Earth he wanted to be.

Her eyes bore into his, searching out in a way that made him feel as if he could truly hide nothing from her, and that regardless of how secretive he was, she still knew.

“Matches...yer hidin’ something from me”.

She shuffles up in the bed, revealing her breasts to him once again. “I don’t like it. I know...I know we ain’t been sweet on each other long, but I want ya to know, whatever this is that ya’ve got...ya can tell me. Ya ain’t this second Ripper are ye?” she asks.

“No, no” he chuckles slightly.

She lets out a sigh of relief. “Phew. Good. Was thinkin’ I bedded a psycho. Are ya hurtin’ anyone?”

He thinks back to all the punches he’d thrown into the faces of thugs and rapists, criminals and scum of all kinds throughout the city. Even Jack Napier, who he’d done quite a bit of damage to while at his home. He was doing damage, but not to anyone who didn’t deserve it.

“Yes...but...the right people”.

She scours his eyes again, looking for any sign of a lie and contenting herself that she wasn’t finding one. “Ya ain’t killin’ are you?”

“No”.

She nods, believing him and trusting him to tell her the truth, especially at this moment. “Matches...tell me. Ya can trust me” she soothes. He didn’t trust a single soul in this city, not living at least, except for Alfred of course. But those blue eyes...those deep blue eyes. They were putting up a convincing counter argument.

“Dinah...I...not yet” he says, taking her hand and kissing it lovingly. “I need ta think ‘bout everything. Get it all right in me head before I let ya in on everythin’”.

“Matches…” she begins before he presses a finger to her lips.

“Do ya trust me?” 

She nods instinctively, knowing that the only possible answer after everything that had happened. “I promise, one day Dinah, I’m gonna make all yer dreams come true for that trust...but fer now, just..”.

He didn’t finish his sentence, and instead just leaned in, pressing his lips against hers. She reciprocates the kiss just as eagerly, possibly wanting to urge him back into the bed for yet another round. However, Bruce pulls back, a gentle smile on his face as he quickly caresses her cheek. “I’ll be back fer ya later me dainty little flower”.

“Sod off” she shouts from the bed, making to get up herself, now that she was wide awake. “When ya next see me I’ll be back ta being yer boss ya galut”.

“Until the nighttime me flower. Until the nighttime”.

She picks up her boot and jokingly chucks it at the door that was closing behind him, impacting against the wood instead of the man. All she could hear was his laughter from the other side, followed by the sound of his boots clumping away down the hall.

She was left upon the bed, smiling at the door. 

“I love ye Matches”.

She blushes as the words are out of her mouth, not having had the guts to say them to his face when he was present at all. Now though? In the confines of the dilapidated prostitute’s room, she could admit that, at least privately.

She had a lot of work to do today. 

For one, the circus still needed her protection, and two? Her boys probably missed her.

‘A scary night for them Dinah’ she reminds herself. ‘A scary night. But they got the gang to look out fer ‘em. They’re alright’.

She throws her legs over the side of the bed and winces at the cold wooden floor, resting for a moment and drawing out the chill that spread through her body. “Ohh Di...ya need a bath” she laughs, knowing that at least she could get one here. “Can’t go about smellin’ like Matches….well, maybe ya can”.

It was hard to focus on being a tough drinking, Irish lass, when all you wanted to be at that moment was a dainty little flower.

The Big Top, Cobblepot Circus

“Are you ready Jonah?” Harleen asks, advancing upon the man from behind, surprising him for a moment. He turns to face her, and feels his jaw drop involuntarily at the sight before him. She was wearing a unitard of some sort, exposing her long shapely and tautly muscled legs. Her entire body he realized, was that of someone who was made for physical exertion.

Flexible, tight, youthful and most importantly, beautiful.

Her hair was still done up in a bun, and her face had a smile upon it, apparently not being ashamed as other women might be, to be viewed in such a costume. It was red and black, alternating back and forth on either side in a distinctive pattern. On the lower left hand side, which was black, she had a peculiar symbol upon the outfit.

The three of diamonds.

“Sorry” Maggie interrupts. “We didn’t have much in the way of costumes. Had to tap into what we had left from our experimental burlesque show”. She clearly wasn’t happy about that fact, as Harleen only showcased further the beauty of her body. Oswald pretended not to look, not to ogle, but he couldn’t help it entirely. 

Harleen only had eyes for Jonah, who for his part, only had eyes for her. “How do I look Jonah?”

“I….ya look...beautiful as every other time I’ve seen ya Harleen”. He didn’t know what to say, so struck was he by the woman who seemed to ooze seduction before him. Undoubtedly, if she did join the circus, she would be a draw for hundreds, possibly thousands of men to the circus.

“You’re a perfect gentleman Jonah” she says, moving forward and patting his cheek, sure to emphasize the sway of her hips as she does so. She gets on her tippy toes and nuzzles her nose cutely against his own, becoming more and more bold while hinting at the promise she had made him.

“I’m going to ask again Jonah, are you ready?”

“Harleen, I don’t think this…”.

“Jonah” she soothes, reaching him with her dulcet tones and piercing him with her eyes. They sparkled with mystery, mischief and possibly the one thing that had eluded him all his life. Joy. She was happy. Free.

“I’m ready” he says, and Harleen nods, trusting him instinctually. “Mr. Cobblepot, do you have the bottles that Mr. Hex and I will need for our demonstration?” she asks, and the man nods emphatically, handing her a burlap sack which moves and causes the glass to clatter inside of it. 

“Very good. Prepare to be amazed!” she shouts out, bowing down and swooping her arm out, already having a flair for melodrama. She slings the sack over her shoulders and advances towards one of the two large beams that dominate the floor of the big top. About twenty feet above her, was a circular platform, used for really anything that might be required such as patching the tent or for stage assistance.

She clenches the bag in her teeth, getting a cold hold upon it before steadily beginning to grasp onto the metal handles that had been pegged into the side of the wooden beams, making her way ever upward. She was very agile and quick, and she seemed to have no fear of heights, though Jonah himself had begun to breath heavily in fear.

“Don’t worry lad” Oswald says, clapping him on the lower back, the highest he could reach on the towering Confederate. “You two have done this before. Stage fright is just a normal reaction to being away from it for so long”.

“Hmmm”.

He didn’t want to ruin Harley’s ruse, but the fact was? He hadn’t even really known her until the other night, and even then it was just because he so happened to save her from her husband, who turned out to be a psychopath who murdered prostitutes while walking the street, and now? Here he was, part of an ad hoc circus show where she was, most likely, going to die.

‘God dammit...please...not this time’.

Harleen had finally reached the top, and she deposits the bottles upon the platform, reaching out into the gap and finding the service ropes that were used to pull things up and lower them down. They’d do for now. “Alright Jonah, be ready please!” she says, reaching into the bag and grasping a few bottles, holding them between her fingers while her free hand grasps the rope. 

“Damn...how can ya be ready for somethin’ like this?’ he asks, reaching down and drawing his revolver out of his holster. He’d do it with one, knowing that he tended to get less accurate when he used both pistols. 

The last thing he needed right now was to be less accurate. 

“I’m going to start. Watch!” she calls out, moving back and getting a running start before launching herself into the air, doing a quick flip that brings her bottom over her head. Jonah feels his heart sink, knowing that he’d soon see her fall to her death, but is shocked when she instead manages to grasp one of the many ropes that hung down below from the top of the tent.

She quickly wraps her leg around it, using it to support herself as she dangles above them, swinging back and forth. Oswald could only clap out ecstatically. “Jolly good show! More! More!”

Harleen was on top of the world, at least in her mind, and she lets herself drop from the rope, just as she throws a bottle into the air. Jonah watches it sail through the pitch black, catching the glint of its side as it moves.

He draws a bead on it, being very well experienced in this art as he’d had to fight in the dark of night many times before. He raises his pistol and pulls the trigger, the hammer coming down and ejecting the bullet which flies through the air with even greater ease than Harleen was.

The next sound they hear is of shattering glass while the blonde twirls herself in the air, grasping onto yet another rope. She smirks down at Jonah, sure that he could do even more, and tosses three more bottles into the air.

He shoots them all the practiced ease people would expect from a gunslinger, and the glass falls harmlessly into the sand placed upon the floor. Maggie was much more impressed than Oswald with Jonah’s shooting, the self stylized Penguin still being in utter awe of Harleen, who moves like an orangutan back to the platform, grasping more bottles. 

“Ohh my word Mr. Hex!” Maggie croons out. “You’re amazing!”

Now it was Oswald’s turn to glare at the man who was now receiving his wife’s praise. “Just a trick shooter” Oswald says simply, dismissing the man’s remarkable skill. “But, if he’s the only one who Ms. Quinzel will work with, then he’ll have to do”.

“You’ll hire him on the spot Oswald” Maggie states firmly. “With or without Ms. Quinzel”.

The argument was academic however, as the next part of their “act” was now underway. Harley was hanging upside down, swinging across the two platforms, four bottles clenched in her hands, two in each.

“Jonah,help me!” she cries out with a smile. “These scallywag bottles are trying to accost me!”

She was putting on a show, and despite himself he smirked, raising his pistol and taking a deep breath. He had to get this right, otherwise Harley would be missing some fingers. He wouldn’t have time to reload, not the first pistol he used, so he readies himself to fire the last round in his revolver, and to switch to his other.

With lightning quick reflexes, he shoots one in her right hand, worrying about sending glass up into her face and causing her to fall as he did it. This caused him to shoot the bottles higher up towards the neck, limiting the amount of glass that would go flying into the woman.

The bottle shatters, falling harmlessly to the ground, and Harleen smirks, teasing the man by waving her hand with the one still in it. Jonah smiles himself, beginning to get into the act. Soon, that bottle is gone, as well as the other two which he takes out in quick succession, the woman’s hands now empty.

She showcases this fact by faux pouting, crossing her arms over her chest and swinging back and forth, an act that would undoubtedly earn her the appreciation of the crowd. 

She swings back though, once more, onto the platform, grabbing the last bottle and pursing her lips around the opening, swinging out and doing a flip before grasping another rope. She turns ever so slightly, allowing Jonah to see her profile and hopefully, get a clear shot.

She wouldn’t lie. At that moment? She was frightened, but she calms herself with the knowledge of the secretive fire she’d seen in his eyes. The fire that yearned to be let out and quenched, given purpose and meaning.

She desperately wanted to be the one to receive those flames, turn them into gentle calming waves that would soothe the troubled soul of the man who’d so quickly captured her imagination. ‘Harleen, you’re falling for another Jack’ the rational part of her mind whispered, while the other, the one she yearned to listen too because of all the sweet promises that it whispered? That voice told her that her gunslinger was no brute.

She leans back and arches her spine, taking a deep breath around the bottle which causes the sound of it to reverberate back to her. She was ready, even to die at this moment.

So many years of being stifled after abandoning her true calling. So many years playing the perfect little doctor’s wife for a man who repressed his own secret desires so much that they drove him to madness. She felt free, twirling in the air while everything else but her and Jonah melted away. 

This was where she wanted to be.

Where she was meant to be.

Jonah takes a deep breath, drawing a bead on the bottle perched precariously between the woman’s lips. The lips he now desperately wanted to be pressed against his own. Women came and went, and Jonah’s desire for the ladies who often through themselves upon him out west, sensing a protector in him more times than not failed to stoke any fire within him.

But this one? This supposedly soft city lady, she stoked it.

He saw what she felt.

Freedom, plain and simple. All the promise of the future. She didn’t need a protector, not in the classic sense. She wanted a partner who would hold her when she needed it, but also to allow her to hold him without shame. He’d have a problem adapting to that but for her? He’d try to swallow his pride.

For now though, he had to focus only on that bottle.

He blocks everything out, the world narrowing to a tiny slit of light that beams in on his target, slowing down time itself. Harleen was swaying back and forth wildly, though in his mind she was standing stock still.

This had happened numerous times to him. Gettysburg, Appomattox, Hurston Corral and even on the night he’d first met Harleen Quinzel.

He knew what he was doing.

The gunslinger pulled the trigger, and the round rockets out of the barrel, zipping through the air right at the woman’s head. The sound of glass shattering fills the circus one final time, and Harleen opens her eyes to see the remnants of the bottle, still tucked between her lips.

She holds out her hands and cheers, spitting it out as Oswald and Maggie join in the applause as well, having partially expected the woman to be killed.

Jonah tucks the two pistols away back in his holsters, smirking and letting out a light breathy laugh. He was shaking at what he’d done and slowly reaches for the pack of cigarettes he kept on him. It takes him a minute, but eventually he lights it, the acrid smoke calming him almost instantly.

“My word! What an amazing display!” Oswald shouts out, forgetting for a moment that he had dismissed the man as a simple trickshot mere moments before. “Mr. Hex, Ms. Quinzel!” he shouts, drawing the woman’s attention as she was still swaying back and forth, her leg wrapped about the rope.

“You’re hired! Indefinitely! You’re going to make me a pretty bit of coin! You’ll see the world! You’ll…”.

“That’s excellent Mr. Cobblepot!” Harleen shouts, already bored with her new bosses’ incessant droning. “Jonah, come below the set my dear. Please?”

He walks forward without thinking, looking up at the woman who dangles above him. Harleen smirks at him, the two face to face across a twenty foot drop and Harleen making use of her upside down position to smile at him. She twists herself up quickly into an upright position and calls down.

“Do you still desire that kiss I promised you?”

He smiles and tips his hat up. “I reckon I’m owed it”.

“Ohh..very well..catch me” she says with a long suffering sigh before letting go of the rope. “Wait..ca..” he didn’t have time to discern her words, and simply holds his arms out as her form descends upon him.

He catches her, preventing her from hitting the ground but her weight, lithe as it was, combined with her speed conspire to knock him down onto the flat of his back in the sand. Harleen’s laughter is the first thing she hears, the woman moving to lay atop his chest, arms crossed over it and chin nestled atop her arms as she smiles at him.

“You are as efficient at catching damsels as you are shooting bottles Jonah”.

He glares a bit, moving up onto his elbows and looking intently at the woman. “That wasn’t fair”.

“No Jonah, this a circus” she teases, leaning in and nuzzling his nose. “Ahh...reckon that was one helluva way to end the whole thing”.

“No” she whispers against his lips. “This is”.

She kisses him, passionately, with her arms going around his neck, pulling him in tight, while his own hands move to her waist, crushing her body to his. She was right about how life changing the kiss was, especially as she deepened it. 

Of all the kisses he’d had, the women he’d dreamed of, none tasted as good as Harleen Quinzel.

Maggie suddenly felt a weight lift off of her shoulders at seeing the couple, content that the woman wasn’t after her own husband. “I think we found a name for our new duo act Oswald”.

“Yes dear?” he asks, taking her hand as the couple continue to kiss.

“Beauty and the Beast”.

“Ahh, yes...quite my dear. Quite” he says, kissing her hand as the two before them block out the entire world, content in having found someone they could be truly free with.

???????

The girl’s body was an unwelcome distraction.

At least to her. The last thing she wanted to see was her pallid lifeless lips, dull eyes and pale skin. Nor did she wish to focus on the cuts across her throat and stomach where they had drained the blood that now, in part, filled the tub she sat in. 

Languidly, she reaches for the bell placed upon the wooden table, ringing it out to call one of her servants in. Until then though, she leans her head back and tilts her head, the ends of her long red hair sinking into the tub and soaking themselves in the blood.

The door opens behind her, and for a moment the man can only focus on her unnatural beauty, her pale though now blood specked skin and her womanly curves.

“You called...mistress?”

“Yes, I did. Remove her corpse” comes the accented voice, speaking with an authority than only could readily come from the nobles of the European castes. The man moves quickly, his ferocious strength being used as he picks up the dead girl’s corpse and moves it towards a metal grate in the wall. 

He opens it and methodically hefts the girl’s body up into it, head first. Soon, he has pushed her all the way through, and the the sound of the grate closing covers the inevitable crack as the corpse hits the concrete nearly forty feet below...deep under the ground where nobody would ever think to look.

“Have someone clean that out later” she calls to the man, gesturing for him to come forward. “I do not wish for the bodies to pile up”.

“As you wish my lady”.

They had settled into this routine, many times before had it happened. He slips to his knees behind her, his hands moving to her shoulders and gently beginning to work out the kinks. She moans and coos, reaching up to place her fingers over his hand.

“Mmm...my beloved. You know exactly how to touch me” she moans, just as the man lowers his hand into the blood, groping her breast through the viscus life giving fluid. “Mmm yes...szeretett” she moans, lapsing into her native Hungarian. 

“When can we be fully one?” he asks, impatience tinging his voice. She knew he desperately wanted her, believing himself to be the destined mate she spoke of often enough. A lover to move through the night alongside, to seize control of this wretched city and create a new kingdom.

‘Fools’ she thinks, enjoying the power she held over these supposedly strong and upstanding men. “Soon, my beloved. Very soon. But I am still much to weak” she says, lying with the ease of a snake as she tilts her head back and caresses his cheek, smiling brightly to reveal the fangs that poke out over her lips.

“You remember how you found me? In that long forgotten crypt?”

“Yes” he whispers breathlessly, remembering that night as the beginning of his destiny. “You were meant to be mine, even from that day on” she whispers, meaning none of it. “Wait, just a little while longer, and I promise you the world”.

“I shall wait, however long you desire mistress”.

“Good” she smiles. “Now, are you prepared to go and meet Bruce Wayne tomorrow with the others?”

He scoffs at this, turning away in anger. “Your insistence upon the importance of Bruce Wayne irritates me” he admits. “He is nothing. Nothing but a pompous, blowhard hedonist who thinks of nothing but his own pleasure”.

She found it a strange accusation to make, or at the very least a hypocritical one. ‘Is he not urged on to do whatever I so desire because he wishes to bed me?’ she chuckles to herself before continuing on. “He is vital my darling. You don’t realize it yet, but his wealth will be ours”.

She had no such intentions of transferring Bruce’s wealth to this man, or any of the others her voice had called out too. In fact? It was quite the opposite. 

“Those knights” she moans, turning the conversation away, back to why she was here. “They so feared me” she goes on. “They so feared me that they sent me upon a ship, far away from my ancestral lands. My rights!” she hisses out, cracking the porcelain as she reaches for it to rise, the blood cascading down her body, back into the tub. The man rushes forward, a towel in hand which he quickly wraps about the woman.

She thanks him and steps out, dripping blood all over the wooden floors. Undoubtedly someone would have to clean it, but these matters were not for her consideration.

“Of all the places they could have buried me, they sent me to the one place in which a city of vice and sin would grow up upon me. Even you, searching for riches in abandoned catacombs, were looking for something less than what is noble and pure”.

The man looks away at the accusation, but she reaches out, grasping his chin and pulling him up to face her once more. “But...have I not redeemed you?”

“You have mistress”.

“Then you shall do as I say?” she asks, the question already answered in her mind.

“Without question”.

“Good” she whispers. “I want Bruce Wayne, delivered into my fold. I do not care what it takes, I simply want it done”.

“Your wish, is my command mistress”.

She eyes the man, her eyes boring into his and continuing to exert their supernatural control. “Good. Very good”.

Chapter Text

The Narrows, Red Light District

Bruce was surprised to see that the guard placed there the night before was still present, a shotgun still cradled on his lap. He nods up at Bruce, though there was a knowing smirk upon his face, letting the in disguise millionaire know that his actions with the gang’s leader the previous night hadn’t gone unnoticed.

He tips his hat to the man before advancing down the stairs, trying to put on a show of false embarrassment, though he felt anything but embarrassed about his night with Dinah. It had been...magical almost. Beyond.

He’d never fully thrown himself into lovemaking like he had done last night. The two went at each other with reckless abandon, kissing, suckling and touching without fear or remorse. They held nothing back from one another, becoming one as lovers in the entirety of the word. 

He had a pep in his step that he felt guilty for having.

After all, the city was still besieged by a madman, or possibly a group of madmen. He had a sacred duty to protect it and here he was, making love to a woman. The cheer is suddenly gone, and a dark mood sets itself over the man while he descends the creaky wooden steps to the first floor of the brothel.

Surprisingly, a familiar face was just walking in at that moment, and that restores his mood a bit. “Dick. Good mornin’ lad”.

The young man looks up and smiles back, nodding at the man who he already liked a bit. “Morning Matches. How are you doing?” he asks. “I’m fine lad. I’m fine. Right as rain” he says, remembering to tone it down a bit. He really didn’t need Dick knowing that he had just done the two backed monster with his adoptive mother in all but name.

“And how are you?” he asks, stopping before the desk that was in the gaudy front hall, lined with tattered persian rugs and tasteless nude paintings. “I’m..well, I’m alright…”.

“Don’t sound alright” he says, reaching out and placing a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Ya alright son?”

Dick seemed conflicted, torn between wanting to tell the man and not wanting to involve a still relative outsider into his innermost thoughts. ‘Dinah trusts him’ he reminds himself, still seeing the blonde woman as infallible in his mind. ‘Alright’ he concludes. ‘I’ll give him a shot’.

“Well...Matches, you’ve been sweet on a woman before right?”

Images flash back to the previous night when Dinah had been atop him during one of their midnight romps in which they’d woken up to sate themselves upon the other once again.

“Dinah...yer me goddess, I swear it”.

“Matches...ya got a snake’s tongue ya charmer...ohhhh…”.

He smiled, remaining silent for a moment which prompts her to lean down and press her lips to his, still wrapped about him. “That didn’t mean stop”.

“Aye...I am..I have!” he corrects, not wanting anyone but Dinah to break the ice with her boys about the relationship they shared. Dick seems to let the implication of Matches’ words fly over his head, being too distracted by his own plight to hear the present tense part of Matches’ confession.

“Hey, boyyo, where’s Timmy and Jason?” he asks worriedly, noticing their absence and remembering just how unsafe it was. He trusted Jason, who he had already gauged to be the most street savvy of the group but still, he was worried.

“Ohh they’re fine Matches” he says. “I promise. We stayed in all night just like Dinah said, hey...where is she by the way?” 

“Upstairs. Still asleep boyo. She’ll be down in a bit I wager”.

“Ahh, alright. Well, can...can I ask some advice of you?” Dick says, causing Bruce to revise his opinion of the boy with a bit of a smile. He was definitely obtuse to a degree. ‘I would never have missed the implications of me telling him she was still asleep’ he says, putting himself in the boy’s shoes. Still, he liked the lad.

“Sure. But it might cost ya dependin’ on what it is” he teases, placing his arm about the younger man’s shoulders and moving to the door to exit into the already bustling streets, the sounds of carriage wheels clopping along the inlaid cobblestones creating quite a cacophony. “Well, it ain’t nothing business related so you can keep your fee” Dick laughs, pushing the man off of him jokingly.

“Alright boyo, well, some free advice is always on the table I’d guess” he says, beginning to walk down the sidewalk that would lead him out of the Narrows and towards the edges of Gotham Swamp. Skirting that would allow him to slip across it in the skiff he’d hidden within some reeds, and he’s cross the swamp, the other side being the very edge of the Wayne family’s land holdings.

He’d have to lose Dick at some point, but for now he walks slowly, allowing the boy time to say whatever it was that was on his mind. “Ya was talkin’ ‘bout being sweet on a girl eh?”

“Well, yeah” Dick says, suddenly nervous.

“Who is she?”

“Her name is Diana…”.

Dick’s attempt to hide who Diana really was by not fully divulging that she was the strongwoman at the circus. “Ahh, the strong lass?”

“How did you…”.

“I saw her show, and I know her name is Diana. I also know ye been spending most of yer time at the circus so it ain’t hard to do a spot of detective work Dickie boy”.

“Ahh”.

“The lass is amazing” he goes on. “Can lift a whole elephant. Ya saw that right?”

“Yeah” Dick says, practically swooning again. “She’s...perfect”.

“So why don’t ya go an’ tell her ya think so then?”

The questions seems to set Dick off, and he sputters, unsure of how to even respond to that. “I can’t do that!”. Bruce was nonplussed. “Why not?”

“Because...well...I don’t know..I just can’t”.

Bruce stops, smirking as he turns to the boy. “Ya want to know a secret about a lass like Diana?” he asks. Dick was instantly pulled in, certainly wanting to know whatever wisdom he would put down for him to gobble up. “What? And how would you know?”

“Because I’ve loved me share of strong women before” Bruce says, knowing that would be true. “The strong ones? They want to be wooed the most. Reminded that they’re still lasses and that men, good men like yerself” he says, poking Dick in the chest. “Can love ‘em for who they are, regardless of their strength. So, ya want my advice? Woo her like ya would any normal lass. Don’t be weak. A gal like her? Probably wants a man even bolder, if not stronger than her”.

His words made sense, Dick would give him that much. They sounded good too. He liked the idea of being bold and sweeping the young woman off of her feet. “Alright, how should I go about it first then?”

“What, ya want a play by play?” Bruce asks jocularly. “Here’s what ya do” he says, settling down to give him exactly that. “Ya go to the flower shop, buy her a bit of roses. Walk up to her and say, “Diana, yer a beautiful lass”. That’s really all there is to it”.

“Well, what else do I say?” he asks.

“Don’t tell her ya love her or anythin’ right off” Bruce warns. “Scare her off ya will. But, tell her yer sweet on her. Things like...ya think she’s beautiful, and ya like how her hair sways. Stay away from her strength for now” he says. “Why?”

“Because if ya tell her that ya like her because she’s strong, which I’m assuming ya don’t?”

He casts a critical eye at the boy, wanting to ensure that he wasn’t helping him just seduce some poor girl, but that he had genuine feelings for her. “It’s one of the cool things about her sure” Dick says dismissively. “But that’s not why I like her. She’s just...she’s beautiful. And I’ve been watching her a bit..” he admits sheepishly. “She’s always so kind to the animals. Staying there and petting them and what not. Most girls might be disgusted or frightened but not her. And her laugh..it’s the most beauti…”.

“Alright I get it” Bruce says, cutting him off. “Yer mooning over her for more than just how she looks. So here’s me last advice, be yerself. Give her the flowers, and ask her on a walk”.

“Are you sure that’s goin..”.

“I don’t know if it’ll work boyo” he says. “I don’t know if anything would work. But I do know it’s the most honest way a’ going ‘bout it”.

He knew that he was being a hypocrite. Urging one man to take the honest route in love when he himself was still hiding things from the woman he was losing himself to. But, there was more to it than that, and so much more at stake, especially when compared to a crush.

“Alright Matches. You’re right. Thank you”.

“Course I’m right” Bruce says triumphantly. “Now, go about doin’ what ya need ta do lad”.

Dick smiles brightly. “I’m gonna go filch some flowers and…”.

“Woooah, hold up boyo. Don’t steal the flowers ya intend ta give to yer love o’ light” Bruce chides, grasping his nose between his thumb and pointer finger, shaking his head and sighing. “Ya gotta buy ‘em”.

“Why?” Dick asks. “We steal everything else”.

He didn’t know how he’d explain it to the boy without letting him see that he wasn’t a criminal at heart. He couldn’t afford to place any doubts by appealing to a moral standpoint on theft to the dyed in wool thief.

He had a different tactic.

“It’s all about symbolism for a lass Dick” he explains. “Showin’ ya care by way of sacrifice, be it time or coin. Shows her that ya think she’s worth somethin’”.

His meaning somehow catches on the boy, who nods in understanding.

“Ohh, alright..well...I’m gonna have to filch some coin then to pay for them…”.

‘Apparently not’ he thinks, getting ready to slap his hand over his own face in frustration. With a long suffering sigh he reaches into his pocket and retracts a few coins, giving him more than what he’d need to buy a simple bouquet of flowers.

“Here, take this and get her something nice lad”.

Dick eyes the coins in his hand with shock, not knowing how to thank the man or even why he would do something so kind for him. “Thank you Matches”.

“Don’t mention it kid”.

The man begins to move off, leaving Dick behind. “Hey Matches!” Dick calls out. “Where are you going?”

“I got some business ta handle Dickie. As do you” he reminds him, causing Dick to smile and wave, heading off towards Park Row. “Thanks Matches!” he calls out. “I really appreciate your help!”

“Sweep her off her feet Dickie! But don’t get too fresh now” he calls out with a smile. “That lass undoubtedly packs a wallop so I’d watch that” before smirking to himself. “Her mother too. Don’t think she’d exactly like ya makin’ goo goo eyes at her girl”.

Dick was long gone, and Bruce was left to his own devices, moving off through the packed street of people who went about their daily lives.

He had his own mission to get to, so he silently makes his way to the swamp, and thus to Wayne Manor. ‘Damn, I forgot about Kathy’ he thinks, remembering that his cousin was now staying at the Manor. ‘I hope she’s okay. It was a bad idea to leave her alone for so long’.

Saint Anthony’s Church Garden

He’d never been happier as they walked round and round the stone pathways that the small green square behind the church offered them, a water fountain standing in the middle. Birds happily landed upon the aged and cracking stone as they wet themselves, drank and revelled in the sun. 

Pamela was happy as well, if he could judge by the wide smile upon her face, her eyes shining with wonder at all the plants that grew within the garden. They moved under the ever watchful eye of Sister Leslie, who sat upon a stone bench, ensuring that nothing untoward happened.

“It’s a beautiful day” Edward says nervously, the old nun’s glare still upon him. Pamela looks up at the sun and smiles, nodding while laying her head on his shoulder as they turned yet again. “As long as I’m with you Edward, it is”.

He didn’t know what to say to that. How could he even respond? He’d never been the object of a woman’s affections before, let alone one as beautiful as Pamela.

“I...I wish I was better with words” he stutters out before Pamela speaks again. “I think you’re perfect as you are Edward”. She chuckles, having thought of something she found funny. “All the men I’ve met in my life seem to wish to speak all the time. It’ll be nice to let me be the one who speaks for now”.

“Would it?”

She nods happily, squeezing his hand. “Yes, it would. I have much to say believe it or not”.

“Well, by all means, say it”. He found himself surprisingly eager to hear the words that wished to escape from the woman’s lips, wanting to drink them all in. “Well, for one, they are mostly about you”. A blush colored her face now, especially at her cheeks.

She wasn’t the only one however, as Edward sported a very bright hue of his own. It wasn’t helped by the fact of the windows above being filled with the heads of the other women and girls that Sister Tompkins was helping, all giggling and heaping praise and flirtations down upon the courting couple.

“Pamela, if you keep embarrassing him so he’s going to run right into someone elses' arms” one voice teases, causing the girls to giggle in unison. “Hopefully mine”.

Ever since word had spread of Edwards success in selling his toy, female interest in him piqued, though it had never been there before. Pamela good naturedly scowls up at them before turning to Edward with wide, puppy dog like eyes. “Is that true Edward? If I keep embarrassing you, you’ll run to another woman?”

He turns and shakes his head, not realizing for a moment that she was kidding until the smile splits her face. “Only if she is your twin sister” he says, hoping to be suave and give a good answer but realizing how that sounded after he’d said it. 

Pamela looks at him askance before beginning to laugh, patting his chest. “Ohh Edward, that was so uniquely awful”.

“I’m so…”.

“No, no” she stops him, leaning in close to kiss him before the disapproving “Ahem” of Sister Leslie stops her. She sheepishly backs off, still looking at the man. “It made me laugh. You..you make me laugh Edward”.

“I’d rather be your joke than anyone else’s my dear”.

She blushes vibrantly at that, her free hand going to her heart to help steady the rapidly increasing heartbeat. “Edward, that one was positively sweet. But you are never going to be my joke. You...you are so special Edward” she says, sniffling as her mind once again goes to the idea that she didn’t deserve him.

“Are you sure you wish to court me?” she asks, once again. “Edward, I…”.

“Am the most beautiful woman to ever exist” Edward finishes for her, trying to maintain a forward gaze as he knew if he turned he’d lose his ability to say what he needed to say. “I’ve never been more sure of wanting someone before in my life” he says, swallowing as he fights to get the next part out.

“I would very much like it, for you to become Mrs. Edward Nygma. In fact, it’ll be my one major goal in life. Greater than all other days that follow, shall be when I see you move to join me at the altar, for that shall be the one great miracle, through which all others stem out from”.

They stop, right in front of the fountain, and he finally turns to look at her, tears rolling down her eyes as she swallows and nods, herself now being the one who was rendered unable to speak. “I...I so do look forward to that day Edward. If you are mad enough to want me for a wife, I shall make quick work of your lapse in judgement”.

“As a hatter my love” he says, leaning in to kiss her once more before stopping, turning towards Sister Leslie who was still watching the two. Though this time, she was much regarding their lapse much differently than before. She was crying, trying to wipe away the tears before either of the two saw her, and failing miserably. 

“Sister Leslie…” Pamela says, a smile on her face as her own tears continue.

The woman produces a hanky from her pocket and wipes her eyes with it, scowling for a moment and shaking her head at how the women above coo and aww down at them. “Fine” she says. “You may share one very chaste kiss” she stresses with a finger held up, her voice hardening on the “chaste” part of her allowance.

Edward doesn’t waste time, and simply places a hand on his intended’s cheek before leaning down and capturing her lips gently between his own, massaging them for a moment before pullin back. Pamela looks up at him, slowly opening her eyes and trying to get her mind back on track, so warm and soft was the kiss.

“I’m...I’m afraid I haven’t had much practice” he admits, wondering if perhaps his kiss hadn’t been so pleasurable for the woman as he felt it to be for him. “Good” she says simply, the two resuming their walk as she slips her arm back through his, her head returning to his shoulder. “I wish to be the only woman you practice on Edward”.

He felt the nervousness return, the shoe returning to her foot so to speak as her words and actions reduce him to a stuttering little boy once more. “Well….anything for you my dear”.

Sometimes, just sometimes, he didn’t make a complete fool of himself, but at least he was assured that when he did? Pamela was there to laugh along with him.

Wayne Manor

“Bruce Wayne!” Kathy Kane shouts angrily, advancing upon the man as he enters through the doorway to his home, barely able to remove his hat before she slaps at his shoulder. “Oww” he says simply, not enjoying that feeling as she hit him rather hard.

“Where have you been?” she asks, seething. “I have been worried over you for days! And with the Ripper about, what was I to expect? Where were you? And why are you dressed like a vagabond?” she asks, helping her cousin remove the coat that he had around his shoulders.

“Master Bruce, I am horribly sorry” Alfred says, rushing into the entrance hall. “I would’ve been the first to greet you” he says apologetically, hinting that he really meant allow him to slip back into the Manor unseen. “But..well...we have a guest” Alfred says, providing Bruce the perfect distraction.

“A guest? Whoever could it be?” he asks, faux exaggeratedly, which only seems to irritate his redheaded cousin even more. “Bruce! I demand answers!” she shouts. “Well, if you are to become a lady of this house, I suppose you deserve them” Bruce chuckles, reminding Kathy of why she was here, which calms her anger a bit.

“I like to go slumming sometimes” Bruce lies, having quickly come up with a convincing cover story. “Mingle with the common people of Gotham without a threat to my life from those seeking economic gain”. He removes his flat cap, placing it upon the hooks that lined the wall to his side.

“Bruce…” she begins skeptically.

“I mean, could you imagine how the gossip rags would rave?” he asks with a smirk. “Bruce Wayne, playboy millionaire and oil magnate sneaks away for tawdry night on the town” he says, moving his hand through the air as if to emphasize the inevitable news headline that would follow.

Kathy seemed to be a little bit more convinced, but the doubt still lingered. She knew her cousin was too serious to actually be enjoying himself in the city. He makes to walk away but stops him, grasping onto his arm and pulling him in for a hug.

“Bruce...don’t lie to me please…”.

“I’m not…”.

“You are” she says, rubbing his cheek and smiling up at him in a sad, though sisterly way. Alfred just stands there, unsure of what to do. “What’s going on? Tell me. You know that you can trust me”.

He knew that he could, just as he instinctively knew he could trust Dinah. But unlike Dinah, Kathy was not in the middle of all of this. She was an innocent bystander who could be seriously injured or even worse if she were to get involved.

‘Knowing her she will, as soon as she knows’ he reminds himself, admiring and lamenting the strength of her character at the same time. He leans down and kisses her forehead, deciding to lie once more via omission of truth, but peppering it with something closer to the truth as well.

“The manor...it stifles me” he admits, casting a glance at the hallowed halls of his childhood home. “I look around, and I see my parents. I see the memories we had, and the ones that never got to be. I see the alley...the revolver...I see it all again and I just need to get out. Go away, stop being Bruce Wayne for a little while”.

“Bruce, we cannot run from the past” she says, trying to soothe him. “And we cannot run from who we are. I would especially hate to see you do so” she admits. “The caring, brilliant and loving man who hides himself away because he’s still in pain. That pain isn’t going to go away by continuing to run Bruce. It’s only going to go away when you let yourself live once again”.

She didn’t know what his night life was like, the purpose he lived for and the good that he’d done. 

But, she did know his life as Bruce Wayne, and she’d judged it more than fairly. “You’re right Kathy. You’re right”. She smiles and hugs him close again. “Of course I am. I was always the smarter of us two”.

He smirks, rolling his eyes but nevertheless he hugs her back. “Now” he says, looking her in the eye. “Why don’t you tell me who out visitor is?”

Kathy becomes nervous at this, her eyes moving to the door that leads into the living room. Alfred himself had a similar expression upon his face, prompting Bruce to have a relatively good understanding of what was going on. “Ahh..I see”.

He disengages from Kathy and moves towards the living room, opening the door and stepping in with one seamless motion. Seated on one of the couches, was a blonde haired woman dressed in servants attire. At his entrance she stands up and curtsies, almost on instinct.

“Master Wayne” she says politely, averting her eyes to the ground, apparently unsure of how Bruce would react to all this rather...unprecedented circumstance. “Ahh, Maggie Sawyer I presume?”

She nods, watching as Alfred and Kathy move into the room, Kathy assuredly sporting a look of embarrassment and fear upon her face. “Hmm...I hear that you have been terminated from your employment at the home of Jacob Kane?”

“Yes sir”.

“And why is that?” he asks, pretending to play tough. “Was it due to a decrease in your abilities as a maid? Some sort of defect in your duties?”

“No sir” she says, pride coming back to her voice at that. “I am an exemplary maid. I won’t let anyone take that from me”.

Kathy eyes her warily, certainly not wanting her to fight with her cousin at such a critical juncture. “Ahh. I see. Your abilities as a chef then?” he asks, feigning misunderstanding as he sets himself on the couch across from her, fixing her with his gaze that sets her back to avoiding eye contact. Kathy sets herself down beside Bruce, wanting to coax the series of events her way by her presence.

She knew Bruce didn’t hate her because of her proclivities, but that did not mean that he would humor them.

“No sir” Maggie says with a slight smile. “I’ve been told that I am more than adequate in the kitchen”.

“Ahh, then why was your employment terminated?”

Maggie looks to Kathy first, and then Alfred, the older man subtly nodding from behind the couch where he stood.  “For love sir” she admits, staring at Kathy. “For loving the woman whom you hold dear to you. Forgive me”.

“Forgive you for what?” Bruce asks. “Loving Kathy or for being so open and honest about it?”

“For being...indiscrete” she admits. “I’m afraid that my lack of couth has destroyed Kathy’s relationship with her father and cost her his love”. The redhead in question makes to get up, wanting to counterman the woman’s statement but Bruce stops her, holding a hand up to still her.

“No Miss Sawyer” he says simply. “Jacob’s love for his daughter must not have been as real as he often claimed if it could be discarded so easily. I understand that these are...difficult circumstances for you” Bruce moves on, fixing the blonde maid with a smile. “Tell me, have you found other employment?”

“No sir”.

“Ahh. Well then…”.

He turns to look at Alfred, wanting to engage the man in this conversation. “Alfred do we not have that Doctors Charity coming up tonight? The one being thrown to raise funds for Amadeus’ proposed asylum?”

“Why yes Master Bruce” Alfred says, pleased that the man had remembered something for once. “I do believe that is tonight”.

“And tell me, do you feel that the staff is adequate to handle such an occasion?”

What Bruce was doing soon becomes clear to the butler, and a smile crosses his face as he turns to look at Maggie. “I’m afraid not Master Bruce” he lies. “I am simply overwhelmed with the amount of work that would need to be done I’m afraid”.

“Then it seems Ms. Sawyer has come to us at a very opportune time” Bruce smiles cockily, turning from the shocked Kathy to the smiling Maggie. “When do you believe you can start?”

“As soon as you require me Mister Wayne!” Maggie says excitedly, momentarily forgetting her place, rising to grasp Bruce’s hand, shaking it intently. “Excellent, then you shall start…” he stops to look at the clock. “Now. Alfred, how many free rooms do we have?”

“Eighty six sir”.

“Ahh, that won’t do at all. You see, I need all eighty six to be opened. Just in case” he winks, letting the meaning slowly dawn on Maggie. He turns to Kathy, continuing his conversation with his cousin. “Kathy, would you mind terribly if Ms. Sawyer was to room with you?”.

The redhead’s eyes go wide in shock, and Maggie herself was bristling with excitement. “I’m sure she could help you with all manner of things that...well...a lady such as yourself might require”.

“Bruce...I…”. She turns to smile back at her secret, though not to these men, lover. Kathy just nods, prompting Maggie to rush across the room and throw herself into the woman’s arms, all thoughts of propriety and social norms gone as they were once again reunited. Maggie pulls back and presses her lips to Kathy’s, prompting both Bruce and Alfred to blush and look away.

“Ohh my” Alfred says, clearing his throat as the kiss goes on a comparatively long time. “Uhhmm” Bruce clears his throat, bringing the two out of their blissful embrace, where they blush and disconnect from one another, though Maggie’s hands remain on Kathy’s waist.

“Perhaps...you should show Ms. Sawyer to her room Kathy” Bruce says, trying to avoid how unorthodox the situation was by pretending it was something else, Kathy doing him and Alfred the favor of playing alone.

“Of course Bruce. I...thank you. Thank you so much”.

He smiles at the woman who was practically his sister and nods, standing up himself. “There’s nothing you need to thank me for Kathy”. The two hug once more and he kisses the top of her head. “Just try to be discrete when we have guests” he whispers, hating that he had to tell her that, but knowing that it would impossible and indeed irresponsible for him not too.

“Bruce, for you? Anything. I promise”.

“Good. Now, get settled in. We have a party tonight”.

The woman moves away, latching her fingers through Maggie’s hand and smiling as they begin to move off, though one final thing occurs to Bruce. “Maggie” he says, using her first name now that she was technically his employee. The blonde turns, a thankful smile still on her face.

“Yes Mister Wayne?”

“Just call me Bruce” he smiles, putting his hands behind his back and striking a quite intimidating posture. “I don’t need to tell you that Kathy is very important to me, and I’d hate to see her hurt in any way shape or form” he explains. “If she were to be hurt, well, I wouldn’t inflict physical violence upon a lady but…”.

“I understand Mi..Bruce” Maggie says, nodding and holding Kathy’s hand tighter. “I can assure you, she won’t be hurt by me. Ever”.

The two women share another kiss, albeit this one was much more chaste. “Good. Very good. Now, we have a few hours to prepare for the party. Assist Alfred anyway you can”.

“Of course Bruce. Of course”.

With that, the two women were effectively dismissed, and Bruce turns to make his own way up to ready himself for the party, feeling already drained and tired by the course of events. Alfred stops him though, wanting to ask him a question.

“Master Bruce, are you sure that this is the most wise course of action?”

Bruce looks upon the man and smiles, nodding to himself. “It might not be the wisest course of action Alfred, but is the right one”. With that he turns and moves away up the stairs, preparing to at least enjoy some of the night if Kathy was to be there.

Alfred himself was in agreement, and turns back into the kitchen, assuring the hor devoures he had been working on all day were not burning upon the cast iron stove. It was going to be a long night.

????????

She had dressed in her finest dress, or rather, the finest dress that could have come to her at this moment. Standing before the mirror, she judges it, moving this way and that and allowing her to get a good glimpse of it. 

She couldn’t tell how she looked specifically in it, as the mirror refused to yield to her a view of her own person, her own flesh. That was forever lost to her. She reaches up, closing her eyes to feel the softness of her hair which was done up in a rather extravagant bun. She could only hazard a guess as to how she looked, and that irked her despite the calming thought that she was always going to be beautiful.

The door opens behind her, and in steps him, whose presence was beginning to grate on her. ‘At every turn, he insists upon being in my sight’ she bemoans, knowing that he was unable to help it, being so ingratiated to her through her seduction. She swallows the feeling though, knowing that her plans were close to coming to fruition.

“Are you ready my love?”

She turns, plastering a fake smile upon her face and offering the man her hand, which he takes. “I am. Are you clear on what you are to do tonight?” she asks. “I am mistress”.

“Be sure not to draw much attention to yourself. Another of our retinue shall introduce me to him”.

“Are you sure we need his wealth…” the man begins to ask, prompting her to turn in rage, grasping him by the throat and lifting him off the ground. “I am sure...and I am tired of your questioning of me!”

He writhes in her grasp, unable to do much more than Jack had been able to when he did this himself. He was a bug to her, and he could finally see it in her eyes. Slowly she leans in, smelling his delicious fear and honing in on how his increased heartbeat sends more and more blood rapidly flowing through his veins.

Her fangs extend slowly, poking out over her lips as she leans against his neck, calming at the very last moment. ‘Not yet’ she reminds herself. ‘He is still useful. Enthral him again’.

She drops him to the floor before moving to her knees, rubbing the back of his head and playing at being concerned for him, a false cry in her voice. “Ohh my beloved...I am so sorry! Are you injured? You know how I become when I am hungry...please..forgive me?”.

She takes his hands in her own and stares deeply into his eyes, trying to reassert her control over the man. She watches as the horror leaves his eyes, the bliss returning as he squeezes her hand back. “Yes...beloved...I...I apologize for doubting you” he says, his voice sounding like it was coming from very far away. 

Her influence had that power, one that not even opium nor alcohol could even hope to touch. “I forgive you my dear” she says, leaning in and kissing his lips, fighting back the revulsion she felt at what she senses in his spirit. 

Lust. A simple yet very disgusting emotion to her.

She didn’t mind lust. She often felt lustful, but not in the way that a man such as he did. Or the others. No, she lusted for more. She lusted to give and receive in equal measure. To look upon a lover equal to her, wanting to stalk through the night. Share her gift of immortality with her.

She had known that kind of love once, with her husband who had introduced her to the dark desires she held within her before she even thought such things possible. He was her rock, who indulged her every desire.

‘Ferenc...I miss you’ she thinks, moving back to her feet and pulling her thrall with her. “Remember” she says. “Bruce Wayne is not to know that we know each other directly, igen?”

“Yes mistress” he says. “I remember”.

“Good” she says, working on pushing him out of the room, looping her arm around his own as they advance down the dark halls of the otherwise dilapidated and abandoned building, her room being the only one which seemed to be furnished. 

“We should go. The party will begin soon”.

At that moment, a crack of lightning shoots through the air, illuminating the entire hallway through which they now moved. The shadows cast upon the wall beside the two were the only items of interest, a horrifying interest that would chill any man to the soul.

While the Ripper who escorted her, cast a perfectly normal, though still frightening shadow against the wall, hers was of an entirely different type. It was gnarled and twisted, long claws upon her digits and teeth that dripped with saliva, eager for a corpse to feed upon, sucking up the warmth of the life giving nectar that pumped within it.

She was apparently much more than she seemed.

The Narrows, The Crossroads.

He stood on the corner, looking about and judging the area over which gangs had spilled each others blood time and time again. He knew why it was important, indeed, he would consider it an item vital to his own control were he the leader of his own criminal band. 

He had heard nothing but hearsay about the area, from Sister Leslie at Saint Anthony’s down to the lowliest street beggar. It was a den of vice and iniquity, fit only for sinners and those desperately trying to redeem them.

He went to the church to ask the nun her opinion, and from the get go he knew that she would yield no assistance. He had gone for another reason.

“And how is Sister Helena settling into her duties here?” he remembered asking, disguising his interest as simply being friendly. He couldn’t forget the feeling of her lips though, the sweet taste of them or the dark piercing nature of her eyes from under her habit.

He knew it was wrong, but so often the things we couldn’t help were the very same things that were wrong.

“Ohh she is settling in fine. Thank you again Detective Sage, for all your kind assistance in delivering her to us safely” Sister Tompkins had thanked him. He couldn’t press her any further, as the Nun was a sharp old woman. Any diversion from the path she’d placed the conversation on back to that of Helena would reveal his whole plot, and most assuredly he didn’t need to be lectured and chided by the one woman who seemed to actually care about the continued murders of prostitutes in the Narrows.

Gordon was...less of a help than he had expected. The man was clearly a bureaucrat who simply did the job he was asked to do, or rather pretended to do the job, and set him on his way with a rough map of where the murders had taken place. This led him here...to the Crossroads.

At this hour only the most surly and unsavory of Gothams denizens, which was saying something in a place like the Narrows, were out, and they appraised the detective who openly carried his badge, with something akin to suspicion and avoidance.

He was sure that at any other time, he’d have already been dead but as it stood the law was welcome, any kind of law on the off chance of them being able to catch the Ripper, whom the people on the ground knew to still be out there, regardless of what the papers said, was welcome.

He looks around, peering into the alley where the latest murder had happened before noticing something...odd. 

He retracts the faded piece of paper, revealing all the dots upon the small map of the city that had been provided to him. He notes their location, and soon, he sees something. There were five points in the crossroads where five major streets met.

A murder happened in an ancillary alley way to each of them, most likely because it was simply too brazen for the murders to be committed in broad daylight in view of everyone. 

But, one was still a murder upon each point. Upon further inspection, he sees that each happened in an alley were the city had designated there be sewer access. He turns in the alley he was standing before now, looking back upon the area and seeing the manhole cover.

“Sewer access” he says to himself. “It would provide the killer a quick and easy way of moving about the area”.

He walks towards it and leans down on the ground, inspecting the cover for signs of it having been moved recently. These holes were not serviced frequently, so any sign would be readily apparent.

As he looks over it, retracting his lighter to give him more visibility, he sees trademark signs that it had indeed been moved, pulled to the side. His hands reach down, pulling up up as soon as he gets a grip, and the sound of steel rubbing against stone can be heard.

Soon though, the manhole cover is off, and a gust of stale air hits him directly in his face.

On instinct, he reaches down to his belt and retracts the revolver he kept there, cocking the hammer back and readying himself for the eventuality of having to use the weapon. If the Ripper was trying to complete his ring of murders, only the most prominent of which had occurred at each point, then it would be very soon that he would strike again.

As he descends into the darkness below, a phrase from the Inferno enters his mind. “Through me the way to eternal darkness, through me the way to everlasting woe. Abandon all hope ye who enter her” he says to himself as his hands grip each slimy steel handrail that sends him deeper into the darkness.

Above him though, or rather above where he was standing not so long ago, a shadow stood upon a roof, watching his every move. 

Helena had donned her mask and her crossbow, and now was following the handsome detective who had first helped her upon arriving in this city. It was clear that he was more than a pretty face, as following him had yielded so many facts that would undoubtedly play a role in whatever was happening here.

She moves quickie, knowing that she needed to follow him but also intending to keep a safe distance to avoid being spotted. Her mission here had to remain a secret, regardless of anything else.

‘We move through the night’ she thinks to herself, remembering her oath. ‘Protecting the innocent with them unaware’

She grasps the ledge of a building, sliding over to a gutter that helped remove the rainwater that had an almost inevitable and omnipresent hold over the city, the clouds never leaving the area for long.

She slides down the steel pipe, the noise enough to bathe her in fear of being discovered but not enough to actually lead to her being seen. She hits the ground quickly enough, and crouches down instantly, looking both ways as a band of drunken thugs pass in front of the well lit entrance to the alley way.

As soon as they were gone she rushes forward, peering into the darkness where the detective had just gone. Part of her is worried despite the immense proof she had seen of his own capabilities. In the end, he didn’t know what he was coming up against truly.

‘If he needs my help, I’ll help. But otherwise? It is best for me to remain out of sight, even to him’.

She found it a pity but it was the best course of action as usual. Helena slides into the hole in the ground, making her way silently to the bottom, assured that two things would happen before the resolution of this struggle.

Horror, and death.

Chapter Text

Cobblepot Circus, Park Row, Big Top

Harleen was soaring through the air, able to do much more now that an actual trapeze act, with actual equipment had been established. Still, it was rather dangerous and she’d be the first to admit that there was part of that she liked. 

She reaches out, pinching the rope between her fingers and swinging out to the next one, letting go before twirling in the air onto yet another low hanging bar attached to ropes. She did this all one handed, as her other hand was busily tossing bottles into the air for Jonah to shoot.

Every time he hit one, the crowd would roar in approval, though it was clear the male eyes in the audience were upon Harleen, whos risque, scantily dressed body excited their imagination. “See how she defies death ladies and gentleman!” Oswald calls out, moving about the circle of the ring before the crowd and pointing upwards.

“Our amazing, death defying, Harlequin! She fears nothing, no height, no fall!”

Harleen smiles to herself, flipping off of the swinging handhold and landing, feet first, upon the wooden platform, stopping to do a quick lap of it, waving and blowing affectionate kisses to the adoring crowd.

Jonah smiles himself, taking the opportunity to reload his pistols, sliding the cartridges into the rotating chambers before slapping it back into the breach, getting ready for the next set of bottles that would go flying.

His eyes were permanently focused upon Harleen, staring up at her from below as she continues to bask in the adoration of the crowd. Little did he know that she was basking in his first and foremost. 

She sees him looking and moves to her knees, gripping the side of the platform with one hand while leaning over. She blows him a kiss that was displayed to the crowd as being uniquely meant for him. He just smirks back, the undamaged side of his mouth moving upwards as she does a handstand upon the wood, slowly moving to one hand and grasping a bottle.

She she splays out her legs, she tosses it up into the air, testing Jonah’s quick reflexes as he snipes it mid flight, shattering it. The crowd “oohs” and “ahhs” in appreciation, clapping for him now. He turns and raises one polite hand, keeping his hat drawn over his brow to hide his eyes from them. He didn’t like the pomp and circumstance at all, but Harleen did, so...here he was.

“And let us not forget the beast who only a beauty such as our Harlequin herself could tame” Oswald says, deciding to start selling the second part of their act, which was much more theater than death defying. “A rebel born and bred, a man who simply refuses to be held down, be it by king, queen or president. He bows to no man, and no law, save the law of nature of course” the ringmaster teases as he points up towards Harleen, who was grasping three bottles in her hand and holding one of the swings.

“However, there is...one woman, whom he perhaps might prove a bit more...pliant too?”

This joke causes laughter, more for the sake of letting the performers know that they enjoyed the show over finding the jest actually humorous. “Now, allow me to let you see what our Harlequin can do all herself!” he says. “Lets see if she can tame this beast with the ease that Diana tames the wild creatures of Africa!”

That was her signal, and Harleen jumps out, preparing for her finale as she tosses the bottles outwards. Jonah raises his pistol to fire off, not having been made aware of what this last act fully would entail. ‘Just shoot the bottles, he told me’ he grumbles out mentally.

He was beaten to the punch however as one shatters before he can even squeeze the trigger. He was shocked for a second before he sees what caused the initial break. Harleen had held onto the wooden handle with one hand while quickly retracting knives from her costume, secreted somewhere on her person that he was eager to be made aware of. She tosses them with a speed and accuracy akin to a bullet, allowing her to smash them in quick succession.

“It looks like we have two marksmen in our circus!” Oswald shouts, the crowd roaring their approval as she swings out and around around, heading back to the platform right above where Jonah was standing. 

She still had one knife in her hand though, and she tosses it upwards where the rope was secured through a steel ring atop one of the joining beams between the platform. With the rope severed, the swing that was holding onto descended, the rope moving right through, smoking as the friction increases.

The crowd let out a horrified gasp, but Jonah had a clear view of Harleen’s face.

She was smiling, overjoyed to be in such a place at that moment. It was a beautiful sight and part of him couldn’t look away that is...until he realized that she was moving right towards him.

When she was five feet away from him, and about two feet off the ground, she raises her legs and spreads them, letting go of the wooden bar at the last second as her forward force continues to drive her ever nearer to him. He drops his pistols and opens his arms at the exact moment she does, scurrying forward to catch her, or at least try too.

Harleen had it handled already though, and she launches herself into his arms in such a way as to instantly wrap her legs and arms about him, steadying the man who only nearly falls and makes a fool of himself. He just manages to steady himself, his boots kicking up sand as they’re forced to dig in. 

The crowd was certainly appreciative, as all stand up and begin clapping, though some of the enthusiastic men had to be reigned in by their wives. For the moment, Harleen didn’t care about the crowd, and Jonah never did. Both just continued to stare into each other’s eyes breathlessly.

“Don’t ya ever scare me like that again”.

Harleen chuckles and leans in closer, nuzzling her nose against his in a very affectionate way, something that was common between the two of them. “You know I cannot promise you that Jonah”.

“Yeah well...wish ya could”.

She smiles brighter, still flush from the excitement she’d experienced up above. “I can promise you something else though” she whispers, her voice containing all the seductive promise that seemed implicit in her character. “Yeah? What is it?”

“That I shall always come down to soothe your rapidly beating heart after, only to make it beat heavily once again as it is now”. She pushes herself back a bit to place her hand upon his chest, right above where his heart is. He smiles, something he had never done very often due to how his face was, and his eyes move over her body, which looked even more ravishing in the unitard she wore.

She had kept the outfit she wore from her first exhibition, though she’d added certain elements to it. Firstly, gloves, which were different colors, red and black to fit her motif, depending on the hand. She wore these strange little boots as well, made of hardened wool that had a curve in the fabric that allowed for two bells to be sewn in at the tip.

She wore white face paint, and a black domino mask underneath a head covering that seemed to copy her boots, the ears pointing out to either side with bells dangling upon the edge. She’d done all the work herself which impressed him in two ways, her imagination and her ingenuity. 

‘Wish she wouldn’t hide that hair ‘o hers though’ he thinks, reminding himself that when they were alone, she never did.

“Yer’ gonna be the death o’ me, ya know that right?”

She giggles, providing a cute contrast to his gruff southern drawl. “Well, I shall work my very hardest to make it memorable and worthwhile Mr. Hex”. Before he could say anything else, she tightens her grip upon his shoulder with one arm, while her other hand comes up to her cheek to keep him still.

As their lips connected, mothers, already concerned about the racy nature of the show, covered their sons’ and daughters’ eyes while the men cheered out.

“And thus, the west was won!” Oswald calls out as the two deepen their kiss, Harleen rather boldly slipping her tongue into Jonah’s mouth, teasing along his teeth before warring with his tongue for dominance, which naturally he allows her to have, enjoying how he felt comfortable letting her do so. “Not with a rifle, or the railroad or even that good old fashioned American ingenuity you Yanks always seem to talk about” Oswald says in his obvious British accent, which draws good natured jeers and sneers from the crowd that packs the stands.

He continues on nonetheless, pointing out with his baton. “No, none of that managed what one woman was able to do for this renegade….the west was conquered...by a kiss”.

The women were won over by that, practically all of them having read the dimestore romances that seemed to now harken to what they were seeing right before them. Harleen pulls back, the two needing to breath though Jonah continues on, moving into her neck to suckle at her pulse point. 

The blonde’s eyes widen and she blushes, though urges him on. “Ohh my word...Jonah…” she laughs breathlessly, rubbing the back of his head. At this Oswald balks, rushing forward to push the two towards the exit into the performers quarters. “Enough of that you two!” he shouts, hoping to turn this to his advantage. “This is a family show!”

Harleen waves one final time to her audience as she and Jonah are pushed behind the curtain, everyone having been pulled in by the hijinks of the blonde.

While everyone was enjoying themselves, across the circus near one of the worker’s entrances a set of beautiful blue eyes filled with mirth was watching. Diana, having just finished her own performance, had decided to stay and watch the newest addition to their little family’s first act. She found that they were as talented as they were kind, though she found Jonah to be a quiet type.

She was dressed in her Amazonian garb still, finding it freeing in comparison to the petticoats, dresses, skirts and underdresses that the more affluent women had to wear, though she also found the dress of the lower classes of women to be just as restrictive, though without the glamour.

‘Gotham’ she thinks, ruminating on where they were now. ‘Such a strange city’. She couldn’t compare it to any of the other places they’d been. St. Petersburg, Paris, London and Rome. They were all so different from here. This city seemed to be genuinely lifeless, with they themselves being the only thing that supplied any bit of light to it.

That made her giddy in a way.

To see such dour people made into wonder filled, joyful children all over again, their smiles lasting for a while longer. Eventually it would subside, and their smiles would fade under the omnipresent smoke stacks that belched blackness into their city and their lives. But...they’d always have their memories. 

That granted an immortality of sorts to her, something that comforted her when she found herself looking up at the stars and wondering over all manner of things. Who she was, what she was meant to do. ‘Maybe, maybe you’re just supposed to be that girl who lifted an elephant’.

She’s interrupted in her thoughts by a light tap upon her shoulder and the sound of someone clearing their throat. “Uhhmm” Dick says, holding the flowers he’d purchased with Matches’ money behind his back. He was nervous and he was practically shaking, especially as Diana looks at him with an inquisitive smile.

“I uhh...wanted...to say...beautiful, I mean, umm, you...you had a beautiful show...I love watching you...I umm…”.

Slowly, with shaky hands he brings the flowers out, knowing that he was most likely blowing this completely. ‘Matches told you to be bold and strong! What’s wrong with you?’ he asks himself, though it was clear to him that the idea of walking up to Diana and being strong was different than actually doing it.

‘You’ve spoken to her before. It’s fine. Everything is fine’.

Diana blushes and smiles at the bouquet in front of her, her hand going to her mouth in shock. She knew that flowers were expensive, so the mere act of bringing them to her was saying much. She’d never received flowers before. Not like her mother.

In many cities, all of the older Amazons would receive flowers, her mother especially. She’d read the cards attached to them and frown or blush before ripping the card up and tossing the flowers out of the carriage. She never knew what the cards said, but Nubia and Artemis acted the exact same way.

She didn’t understand why though, as she was utterly flattered to have a man, well, a young man at least, before her, presenting her flowers. She reaches out and places her hand against his, wrapping about the stems. “Are these for me?”

Dick swallows, feeling himself heat up at the fact that she was practically touching his hand. He is able to manage a nod though, as well as a gurgled “yes”. Diana smiles even wider, and slowly grips the flowers, careful not to break them with her well above average strength. She finds that Dick’s grip upon them doesn’t yield and she finds that humorous as well. “May I have them Dick?”

He looks down, blushing as he releases them to her care, an apology already upon his lips as she brings the paper wrapped bouquet up to her nose. She closes her eyes and inhales their scent softly, enjoying the very out of place smell in a place like Gotham.

“Dick...this was so sweet of you” she says, leaning in and placing a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you”. Dick was floating on top of the world at that moment, his cheek practically burning from the spot where she had kissed him. Without further speech, she reaches down and grasps his hand, squeezing it gently.

“Do you like me?”

He nods dumbly, still smiling.

“Good” Diana says in response. “Meet me outside the Amazon’s trailer then please Dick. I’d...I’d very much like for you to take me for a walk about the circus if you were so inclined”. She was being polite of course, as her embarrassment at being so forward would be the death of her if she didn’t hide behind protocol. “I’d...I’d love that Diana. May I...walk you around the circus?”

She giggles and nods, playing along as he had forgotten that he was supposed to ask her. She had as well, the two of them absolutely butchering this. “Good. Meet me there soon” she says, disengaging her hand from his and rushing through the open tent flap of the exit. She no longer cared about seeing the next show, so fixated was she on getting changed to move unmolested about the circus grounds. 

‘I want to look pretty for Dick! You’ve been waiting for this Diana. Don’t foul it up’.

Dick meanwhile, was still caressing his own cheek, somewhat in disbelief that Diana had kissed it. He jumps up into the air, unable to suppress his joy before dancing a little jig. “You did it Dick! See? Easy! I...I better go…” he reminds himself, rushing out of the very same tent flap that Diana had exited through. He was glad he hadn’t spent Matches’ extra money now, as he wanted to win Diana a prize.

‘You did it. Bold. Matches would be proud’.

He was seasoning the truth a bit, at least in his own mind, but he couldn’t be faulted much. He had accomplished his mission after all. Little did he know that a set of eyes were watching him, wanting to rip into him with the force of a thousand vengeful wolves.

Hippolyta, still garbed in her Amazonian attire, made to move out from her position under the wooden stands where she had been smoking a hidden cigarette, never wanting her daughter to find out that she indulged in such a nasty habit. ‘I wish I had a pipe instead’ she would usually bemoan, though the possibility of Diana finding the pipe was so much greater than attributing a crushed butt to her.

She crushes said cigarette and throws it to the ground where a hundred others littered the floor. She makes to exit the tent when a voice stops her. “Hippolyta”. It was Giovanni, as usual looking very dapper in his suit with his tophat, a sad smile on his face.

“Gio, not now…” she says, wanting to brush the man off.

“She’s growing up Hippolyta” he says simply, moving closer to watch the woman deflate. He reaches out and places a gloved hand upon her shoulder, gently rubbing it. “She’s no longer una piccola ragazza”.

“Ochi, you do not understand”.

“I do” he countermands, turning the angry woman in his arms. “I have una angela myself remember?” he chuckles, rubbing her exposed upper arms gently. “As much as we don’t want it to happen, they must grow up. Look” he says, causing her to turn her head and look through the open flap towards the Amazons’ carriage. 

Diana had changed into a simple stola, her armor being placed in the wooden trunks they used to store all their armor and weapons inside. As she steps down from the wagon upon the wooden steps, Dick moves forward and offers her his hand, assisting her to the ground. She didn’t need it, but the girl accepts it blushingly all the same.

He continues, looping his arm around her own, smiling down at the girl as they continue on, the two happily chattering away.

Hippolyta closes her eyes and looks down, tears springing from between the gap of her eyelids. “I don’t want her to get hurt” she whispers.

Giovanni turns her head and wipes her tear away with his thumb. “Pain is part of vita, Hippolyta. But so is gioia, joy. If we deny one, we deny the other, for the fruit is made sweeter when one knows its absence”.

Her mind drifts back to that dark day in Greece, her home country. She’d never forget it.

Thirteen Years Ago, Parga, Greece

“Give us the girl Hippolyta!”

“She is a curse set upon us for your sins harlot!”

Hippolyta pressed herself against the door, barring their entry as Diana cried out inside. “She is just a girl! She means no harm, she just doesn’t understand her strength!” she pleads. “She is innocent! A baby!”.

“For how long will she remain so?” a gnarled older man asks, one of the village elders. He turns and raises his arms out to the crowd of angry villagers who had come down from the cliffs to confront the woman who stood alone against them. “Hippolyta has turned the wrath of the gods upon us! Gods we once thought long dead! They have returned with a vengeance for her sin of conceiving a child with the mighty Zeus!”

The crowd roars out in rage, the man having whipped them up into a frenzy. “Alexios, please!” Hippolyta begs, wanting to appeal to reason. “She is just a girl…”.

“Silence!” he calls out, causing her to swallow a lump in her throat as tears continued to cascade down her face. “She must die. If Hippolyta gets in your way, you are to slay her as well” he says, banging his cane upon the ground. He averts his eyes, not wanting to see the bloodbath that would occur because of his orders as the townsfolk move in.

“No...no…” Hippolyta cries out, casting her eyes to the cloudy night sky above. “Mighty Zeus, I beg of you...save your daughter...please”.

She closes her eyes as the villagers get closer, and she prepares to feel her flesh get torn into, something she would gladly allow if it would keep them from her daughter for even a second. The sound of something cracking through the sky responds first, a bolt of lightning ripping through the air and impacting against the sand, instantly killing Alexios and many others while throwing the rest to the side. 

Hippolyta doesn’t need a second urging onwards as she slams open the wooden door and rushes into her home. The clay house built on the side of the cliffs had been her sanctuary for years, but now she had to leave it, especially for Diana.

The girl was crying, cradling her doll of horsehair close to her chest, and Hippolyta smiles, scooping her up in her arms and placing the back of her hand upon her head and pushing her face into her neck. She didn’t want her to see the gore and viscera that were now spread out upon the beach before her home. 

“Shh, my little lamb. Don’t cry Diana. We are safe!” she whispers, looking around the beach before a lightning strike across the sea illuminates the small rowboat she used to make her living. “There!” she says, suddenly seeing shapes appear to her side, shadows in the night. She turns, ready to run even faster when their voices break into her mind, making her instantly calm.

“Hippolyta! What’s going on?” Nubia asks, the darker skinned of her two sisters, though Artemis stood right beside her. “We must go!” she shouts out, placing Diana within the skiff and working on pushing it out of the sand. “They want to kill Diana! I won’t let them!”

The sisters look up to the sky which hinted at a maelstrom about to be let loose. They were skeptical of course, but Hippolyta was seized by destiny and possibly madness. “Under the blanket my lamb” she urges Diana , throwing the sheepskin covering about her daughter.

“Come with me! Please!”

Her sisters react quickly, helping her push the ship into the sea before jumping over the sides. “Where are we going Diana?” Artemis asks, already resigned to their fate. “I do not know”.

Hippolyta was much too busy opening the small sail to answer such questions.

“We will surely die in this storm” Nubia warns, pulling in all of the overhanging fishing gear as to not fight the current. At that moment, another bolt of lightning breaks over the horizon and Hippolyta steps up the prow of her skiff.

“We won’t” she promises, then making an appeal to Olympus. “YOU WILL NOT KILL MY DAUGHTER HERA, QUEEN OF THE GODS! SHE IS STRONG! STRONG AS ZEUS! I DO NOT WANT YOUR MAN, BUT I SHALL KEEP HIS DAUGHTER! THIS I SWEAR!”

Nubia and Artemis thought her quite mad, but regardless they settle in for what would undoubtedly be a very long, arduous and frightening night in the Aegean. “TELL HER ZEUS!” Hippolyta continues to scream as if she was possessed by another. “TELL HER OF HOW YOU LAID WITH ME! HOW OUR DAUGHTER WAS CREATED! SHE WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER THE DAY THAT HIPPOLYTA OF PARGA WAS SEDUCED BY HER HUSBAND AND WHO TOOK THE GREATEST WOMAN WHO WILL EVER BE BORN FROM YOU!”

She laughs hysterically, falling to her rear end besides her daughter as the waves rise and crash, lightning continuing to break. The sail snapped this way and that, showing that they truly were at the mercy of the gods, one of which Hippolyta had just insulted beyond repair.

Diana was still crying, and her mother took her into her arms, hugging her tight. “Shhh...lamb, shhh. Do not cry. You are here with me and your sisters. Do not despair” she says with a smile, looking about at her small band. “We are like the Amazons of old now”.

“Amazons?” Diana asks curiously, the tears still staining her voice.

“Yes lamb. Yes. The Amazons. I’ve told you the stories nai? Well, let me tell you one now. It begins with a queen and her daughter, princess of the Amazons….”.

The storm continued to rage around them, sending the skiff ever further away from the cliffs of Parga and into the Aegean, heading towards their destiny. 

Back at the Circus, Today

“I remember when you came to us” Giovanni says, calming her. “Such a pretty woman with her little girl who was destined to become just as bellisima as her mother”.

She places her hand over his and turns, hugging him tightly. “I feel so foolish” she admits. “I don’t know what to do”.

“You need not always have the answers Hippolyta. You simply need to be there. Continue to be her mama. Let he fall and skin her knee as she used to, and be there to help her pick herself up” he soothes. “There is nothing anyone can do against time mia cara, not even the mighty Queen of the Amazons”.

His chuckle lightens her mood considerably, and she casts one look at Diana’s retreating back. “She’s strong”.

“Si, like you”.

She smiles at that, resting her head upon the man’s chest. “Efcharisto Giovanni” she sighs. “I need to be reminded time to time of how things really are”.

He rubs her back and smiles down at her. “I shall always be there to help you. And Diana should she need it” he says with a wistful look back at the girl. “I’ve watched her grow myself. I feel a bit like she is my own daughter”.

“She looks up to you” Hippolyta admits. “She’s always found your magic the most exciting thing this circus has to offer”. The eye contact lingers and slowly Hippolyta reaches up, caressing his cheek. Giovanni’s breath hitches, but he lets this continue, despite the danger he felt it posed. “Sindella was so kind to her as well” Hippolyta continues. “She was a good friend. I miss her. I also...I also must one day apologize to her”.

“Perche?” he asks.

“Because...because I was jealous of her” she admits, moving ever so closer. “Of how she had you. How loyal you were to her, how you bathed her in affection and love. Watching you with Diana and then Zatanna...I wanted you for myself”.

“Hippolyta...we...we shouldn’t…”.

“I know” she agrees. “But I want too”. She remains close to his lips, their breaths mingling with one another. “Sindella...I am so sorry my friend” she whispers to the sky before making the last bit of distance between the two. She kisses him, and for a moment, Giovanni goes stock still, wanting to push her off as his hands move to her waist.

“Kiss her back”

He hears her voice, his late wife’s in his mind, as he always did at these critical junctures of his life. “Love again mi caro. Love again”.

Slowly he closes his own eyes and leans into the kiss, his hands, which had moments ago been primed to push her off, now pull her into him, the woman wrapping her arms around him as well as the two deepen the kiss.

“Hippolyta. I forgive you and love you as well”.

The two cry, both hearing her voice and deciding not to question how she could speak to them, or perhaps how they would both imagine she did. 

It was...magical.

Wayne Manor

“Mister Wayne!”

“Ahh, Amadeus!” Bruce says, turning to see the man who had urged him onto this endeavor. He reaches out, collapsing the shorter gentleman’s hand and taking notice of how he had seemed to age since he last met him.

‘Losing a wife and daughter, especially how he did, can certainly do that to you’.

“How are you doing my friend?” Bruce asks, wanting to skirt gently about the subject. The spectacled man nods, looking down at the ground as he tried to avoid eye contact. “I am...well Bruce”.

The man reaches out and places his hand upon his shoulder, nodding at the truth that hid behind that word. While his situation was not the same, Bruce and Amadeus both knew tragedy, and both had spurned them onto matters of great importance, things that they hoped would eventually change the city.

“Tell me, how goes the fundraising?”

“Thanks to you, it has gone well” the man says, holding a drink in his hand. “All the doctors of Gotham seem to be interested in what I’m hoping to do, especially ones who specialize in the mind” he explains. “Soon, the asylum will be built, and our first patient will be interred there”.

“Are you sure it’s a….wise idea to have Mr. Hawkins placed under your care Amadeus?”

A fire comes into the man’s eyes at the question, within which he sensed an accusation of some kind. “I can assure you Bruce, that what he did to my daughter…” at this his lips quiver, and he brings up his hand to his mouth to steady himself. Bruce allows him to do so, providing a calming presence for the man to latch onto. “Emmm” he clears his throat before taking a sip of whiskey, continuing on. “And wife...will not interfere with my ability to treat him”.

“You’re a much stronger man than me Amadeus”.

“I do not see that as being so Mr. Wayne” a strange voice butts in, as a rather rotund balding man with glasses advances upon the duo. Bruce couldn’t readily make him out, and the shadows caused by the uneven light of the gas lamp on the wall above him wasn’t helping.

“Umm...may I ask who you are?” 

The man smiles, a disconcerting smile that sets him ill at ease. He does extend his hand, though it isn’t lost how Amadeus seems to avoid him. “I am Doctor Hugo Strange Mister Wayne. It is a real pleasure to meet you”.

Bruce takes his hand, not exactly wanting to but seeing that he had very little choice lest he appear rude. “Ahh, you are the head psychiatrist at Metropolis State Psychiatric Hospital yes?”

This seems to please the man who was bemused at being recognized by such a rumored playboy. “Ahh, yes you would be correct Mr. Wayne”. He wore his tweed pants and grey Herringbone jacket tightly, neither of which fit well upon his frame. ‘Amadeus’ competition’ he thinks, already deciding that he didn’t like the man.

“I do have to insist upon a moment of your time however, concerning this...venture of yours” Strange says, pushing up the rim of his glasses over the bridge of his nose. “I simply do not believe that it is in Gotham’s interest to open up a psychiatric hospital”.

Bruce was instantly on the defensive.

“And why would that be Doctor Strange?”

“Because he’s a filthy, two bit thief whose been…”.

“Easy now my dear Doctor Arkham” Strange murrs out. “I do not wish for you to get angry. It would not be good for your..fragile state” he teases with a smile, incensing Amadeus’ even more. He’s about to scream when Bruce interrupts, flatly turning down Strange’s faux concern as tactfully as possible.

“I’m afraid I am of a different mind Mr. Strange” he says. “I think a psychiatric hospital is exactly the thing this city needs”.

“Perhaps you are right” Strange says, backpedaling. “I phrased my words poorly. What I meant to say was that I do not trust the staff you have on hand as being adequate to staff and maintain such a facility” he says, once again insulting Amadeus. “I believe…”.

“I disagree again. Amadeus is a dear friend of the Wayne Family” Bruce says, causing the man to look up, a tear in his eye. “I remember just after my parents were killed” he begins. “Amadeus and one Sister Leslie Tompkins were there for me. A perfect synthesis of faith and mind that honed me into the man I am today. Without Amadeus there would be no Bruce Wayne” he says, drawing a thankful nod from the man who didn’t have words.

“Now, I sense a certain hostility between you and Amadeus and I can only conclude that it is due to your failure to maintain Mr. Hawkins as a patient? Would I be correct in saying so?” he asks, getting a few snubs back in in Arkham’s favor.

“I…”.

“In fact” Bruce continues. “I think this has something to do with the jealousy you undoubtedly feel at being overshadowed in Metropolis by Amadeus. You were thankful when he left weren’t you? I must ask though...why were you not tried as an accomplice to Martin Hawkins’ crimes?”

“I beg your pardon sir?!” Strange asks, offense lacing every syllable.

“After all, he did escape on your watch” Bruce says. “It opens up a...conundrum. Who is more responsible for his crimes? His insanity...or your incompetence?”

Before the situation could escalate any further, another voice breaks into the fray. “Bruce you old devil! What are you doing hiding away in the corner with all the old fuddy duddys?”

“Thomas?” Bruce asks, turning to see his old childhood friend in a dapper brown three piece suit. “Know any other devilishly handsome reconstructive surgeons?” the man asks, pulling Bruce in for a brotherly hug. “Ahh Elliot! It is so good to see you! It’s been...what? Five years?”

“Six” the man corrects, leading Bruce away from Strange and Arkham, who now glare at each other without Bruce to act as a barrier. However, there was a smug assurance to Arkham’s gaze. ‘I have a powerful backer’ he thinks, knowing that Hugo Strange simply could not match that. 

Bruce meanwhile scans the room as he speaks with Thomas, catching up with his oldest friend. “Tell me, how goes the practice in Philadelphia?”  he asks, setting his eyes upon Doctors Jonathan Crane and Kirk Langstrom, one a psychiatrist as well, specializing in phobias, and the other a medical doctor who sought to cure deafness. 

“It goes well Bruce. It does” Thomas says while frowning. “Lots of veterans of the last war still seeking to have their wounds covered up. Dreadful business, and only so much I can do”.

Bruce only nods in agreement, feeling a morose sense of sadness at how this little soiree was going. So far, it seemed to yield nothing but arguments and sad musings, such was Gotham though.

‘I wish Dinah was here’ he laments, knowing that she would light up the room like nobody else since possibly his own mother. ‘Probably spout off dirty jokes and have everyone aghast in horror within seconds’.

He wouldn’t mind that at all.

“Ahh, is that...Katherine Kane?” Thomas asks, looking across the room to see his redheaded cousin sitting upon a couch alone. Everyone was pointedly ignoring her, and for a social butterfly like Kathy? That was tantamount to murder.

She was wilting, like a flower in the snow.

“Terrible business I heard” Thomas says. “Her father must be devastated. Poor man. Still, it’s awfully kind of you to take pity on the poor wretch. Always count on Bruce Wayne to do the kind thing, even if it damages his reputation”.

Bruce couldn’t tear his eyes off of his sad cousin who looks up at him and smiles, giving a polite little wave. Maggie and Alfred were both circling the room, handing out appetizers and refilling drinks as they went, and both kept throwing glances at the woman in worry.

Bruce had to do something.

A small section of the room was cleared out where couples may take to dancing if they so wished, a phonograph playing Antonio Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. Some couples danced to the merry tune, smiling and happy.

“I’m going to ask her to dance Thomas” Bruce says. “Kathy loves dancing and she truly looks like she could use some company as well. I’ll catch up with you soo..”.

“Let me ask her Bruce” Thomas offers, suddenly letting the idea come to his mind. He smile slightly. “If you do, she’ll think you’re just being your good hearted self and having pity on her, but if I do it? Perhaps I can make her feel better. Compliment her and what not”.

“Thomas” Bruce says with a light smile. “If you’ve heard the rumors then…”.

“Come off it old sport” Thomas laughs. “I’m not going to ask for her hand in marriage. Just for a dance”. With that he moves off, advancing across the room and stopping in front of the couch, bowing lightly to offer Kathy his hand. 

The redheaded woman smiles and reaches up, daintily taking her hand as Elliot brings her to her feet, and pulls her onto the dancefloor. Chatter instantly begins, as it always did with Gotham’s upper crust. Bruce didn’t care though. Kathy was smiling, and already chattering politely away with the man she was dancing with. 

“That was awfully kind of him”.

He was getting rather tired of people coming up behind him and simply engaging in conversation, but he schools his face and turns, staring directly into two bright mischievous eyes which seem to stare right into his soul, perhaps even further.

“I am a good friend of Doctor Elliot” she says in her heavily accented English. “He has told me much about you” the woman continues on, her face giving away a hint of momentary confusion and breathlessness as she fully sees his visage.

“Ferenc” she whispers, reaching up to touch his cheek.

‘No’ she thinks. ‘It can’t be’. 

She knew it wasn’t so, but Bruce Wayne...he was the spitting image of her late husband. She would never forget his face, no matter how many centuries separated them. ‘Everything except the mustache…’.

Bruce grasps her wrist, stopping her and bringing her out of her daze a bit, something she still has to fight to shake off. “My apologies…” she says, sniffling a bit, that part not at all feigned. “You just...you remind me of someone”.

Bruce felt an outpouring of empathy for the woman, and he quickly reaches into his coat pocket to retrieve a handkerchief, pressing it softly into the woman’s hand as he pulls her over to a chair, allowing her to sit.

“I...I am sorry madam” he begins, not knowing her name or how she would have come to be here at the manor on this night. She wore a rather regal looking, if outdated, style of clothing, her hair done up in a rather tidy bun. It was red, the color of flame almost.

“Ohh do not be Mister Wayne” she sniffles. “You are already so kind. So different from these other allatok” she sneers, her eyes momentarily lingering over Thomas Elliot, Jonathan Crane and Kirk Langstrom.

She smiles up at Bruce again though, trying her best to be warm. “Hungarian?” he asks, taking a seat next to her and taking the tear streaked cloth fabric back to replace within his pocket. “Igen..” she says, apparently now calm and her tears drying. “How did you know Mister Wayne?”

“Please, just call me Bruce” he chortles. “I’m tired of how...official these things wind up being”.

“Yes...Bruce” she says, enjoying how his name felt upon her tongue. She holds out her hand for him to take in his own. “I am Elizabeth Y. Hobart” she says proudly, as Bruce leans down to kiss her hand.

“Ahh, a bit of English blood in you then?” Bruce asks, releasing her hand. Elizabeth smiles at that, the man not knowing just how accurate that statement was. “Perhaps a bit, igen”.

The phonograph is switched over, and a new song, much livelier comes on. Within seconds, Elizabeth is on her feet, reaching out to Bruce and trying to pull him out for a dance as well. “I would very much like to dance with you Bruce” she says shyly, once again not feigned. ‘I found him...the one’.

“Ahh, well, I suppose it would be the polite thing to do wouldn’t it Madam Hobart?”

“Please Bruce...just call me Elizabeth”.

‘Your Elizabeth’.

The Sewers Beneath The Narrows

She followed along as stealthily as she could, but eventually, somewhere in the darkness, she stopped hearing the sound of his footsteps, and instead only the squealing and movement of rats within the sludgy, foul water.

‘Dove e andato?’ she asks herself, pulling her crossbow tightly to her. It was dark down here, almost unnaturally so, but she continues on, desperate to find the now missing detective. She rounds a corner and steps forward, at least knowing her way forward from the map she had received from the Vatican.

She’s stopped by the sound of a click, and the feeling of something metal poking at the back of her head, slightly moving her long dark tresses. “You may have to work on your tracking skills” he says, having perched himself in an alcove, waiting for the right moment to strike out against his pursuer.

“Don’t move, and simply tell me who you are, and what it is you want”.

Helena smiles to herself, having faced much more dangerous situations before but never quite being as excited by them as she was now. “It’s not often un uomo outsmarts me” she says aloud, slowly turning while keeping her hands up to show she wasn’t a threat. “As for who I am, we’ve met before”.

She removes her mask just as Vic clicks on his lighter, revealing his own shocked expression in the process. “Sister Helena”.

“Not actually a nun” she says, reaching down to her waist to retract the handheld gas lamp she had not utilized as of yet due to the fact that she didn’t want to alert Victor Sage to her presence. It was good that she now knew he was more than her equal in the sense of capability. 

“So, you can stop feeling guilty for kissing me or desiring to ravish my body”.

The light illuminates very much now, and without another word she moves off, heading towards the end of the tunnel where she knew they would find something. “Wait, wait!” Victor calls out, holstering his pistol and rushing after her.

Helena indeed slows her walk, but resumes as soon as he catches up, the mission being much too important to let it lag behind. “Who are you really?”

“Helena Bertinelli, a Huntress”.

“A what?”

“A non ordained lay member of the church” she explains, not wanting to hold anything back from the man. ‘Besides, anything he tells anybody will make him seem folle’.

“And I’m assuming that they just hand out crossbows and strange getups to women for….what purpose exactly?” Victor asks, not exactly being a stranger to odd happenings and individuals. Helena smirks and explains. “There are things in this world Victor, that are not of this world. That do not fall into the purview of God’s church. So, when those things happen, they send me, or someone like to risolvilo”.

They continue to move down the walkway until coming to a brick wall, a seeming dead end. She knew better though, and so did Victor judging by how he studied the stones.

“Somethings off about this wall” he says simply, still trying to wrap his head around what was going on. “And what do you mean, things that are not off this world?”

Helena doesn’t answer as instead she drops into the water, wading forward before being joined by the redheaded Scotland Yard detective, neither afraid of getting dirty. “That’s because it isn’t a wall. It’s a door. Do you see that simbolo on the stone?” she asks, pointing to the faded cross.

He looks closer as she shines her lantern upon it, revealing the outline of a cross through which two flaming swords were inserted. “My word…” he says aloud. “That’s a symbol of the Order of St. Dumas” he says. “But they’ve been gone since...1289 A.D”.

“Ahh, si, very smart as well as handsome” she teases with a wink, her black gloved hand moving over the wall until she finds a loose stone and presses in, the act itself triggering some sort of mechanism. “But, as you well know, not all things are as they seem”.

The wall opens up into a hidden chamber of which much remains obscured in darkness. Helena shines her lamp light, the sound of gas hissing off of the tool, and steps up out of the murky water onto a lip that enters into the room.

She offers Vic a hand up, which he takes, not bothering to brush himself off as he stares in wonderment around them. Helena for her part, snaps her fingers, asking for his lighter which he hands over. She ignites the spark and moves along the wall, lighting up the sconces that held torches within them.

“The Order was once part of the much larger Templar Order” she explains. “They were expelled, perhaps unfairly, because they believed that the world, and the lord’s children at large, should be made aware of the threats that plague them. The Vatican...disagreed”.

The light from the lit torches illuminates the entire room, and Vic finds his eyes instantly drawn to the middle where a massive, though opened sarcophagus laid. 

“Ahh…” Helena says, crossing herself quickly. “Mio Dio”.

“What?” Vic asks, his mind reeling. “What is that?”

Helena readies her crossbow, her eyes constantly looking about as if waiting for something to spring from the darkness. She continues to speak while Vic, seeing her reaction, draws out his own pistol, cocking it once more. “A sarcophagus”.

“Belonging to whom?”

“Elizabeth Bathory”.

“The Blood Countess?” he asks in awe. “Didn’t she die, centuries ago? In Hungary which is halfway across the world from Gotham?”

“Si, but not all things that die, remain that way” she explains. “You may not believe me, but the tales of Elizabeth Bathroy being una vampira? Sono vere. That is why the Order brought her here, though...I am not sure what happened to them after. They wanted to build a city aware of the dangers, aware of the darkness. Apparently, they failed”. He looks at her as if trying to judge how truthful she was being and comes away knowing that at the very least she believed what she was saying to be true. 

“And why should I believe you? And what does this have to do with the murders? Is she doing it? If so, she’s rather filled out for a corpse and looks rather mannish”.

“I don’t expect you to believe me” she snaps back, angered a bit though she knew she had no reason to be. This was all so confusing and being thrown at the detective so fast. He was undoubtedly a man of reason, so this was doubly hard for him to swallow. “I don’t know…”.

The sound of...something slamming down on the floor interrupts their arguments and they turn to the far side of the room where a large opening in the wall was obviously some sort of exit. A large hulking figure’s shape could be made out inside of it though, and it’s labored moaning and groaning wasn’t helping either.

“Solomon Grundy...born on a monday...christened on tuesday…”.

Helena moves toward Vic, the two sticking close in an attempt to work together at fighting whatever this creature was. Vic raises his revolver, hoping that this could be resolved the usual way. “Halt or I shall fire!”

“Married on wednesday….”.

The creature lumbers ever closer, its shape, ghastly as it was, finally coming into view. It was a gigantic man, or rather, a monstrosity of one. It’s grey skin bulged out under the ragged clothes it wore which seemed to be off an entirely different time period. It’s eyes glared out hatefully at the two individuals before it, regarding them as nothing more than bugs to be crushed.

Victor fires his revolver, sending a bullet ricocheting off of the creature, having no ill effect other than to anger it further. It beats its massive chest with its hands like a gorilla and charges forward, Helena and Vic jumping out of it’s way at just the right time, though it’s forward charge continues. 

Its large grey shape rushes passed them and slams into a wall, shaking the very foundations of the burial chamber. Solomon Grundy backs up, shaking its head vigorously and thus removing the dust while Vic and Helena get back to their feet.

“Still don’t believe me?” Huntress asks a bit snidely, though still flirtingly as she winks.

Vic just looks, wide eyed from her to the creature, not sure what to think.

What he did know was that this was the first man...or creature, that he’d come up against that wasn’t at all affected by bullets.

Grundy roars out, splaying his massive arms to either side as he makes ready to charge again.

A Few Blocks Away, Park Row

“Timmy boyo, be careful alright?” Dinah calls out with a smile, watching as her youngest boy ran about with his new dark haired friend. She’d spoken to the girl’s father, found him to be a nice if odd sort of fellow. ‘Magic, pff. What’s he on about?’

As Zatanna and Timmy worked at trying to knock down a few glass milk bottles with a white leather baseball, her mind drifts back to Matches. At first she frowns, remembering that there was some sort of secret that he was hiding from her.

She didn’t like that, not when she was rapidly falling in love with the man.

But on the other hand? She trusted him. ‘It can’t be bad right? Ain’t somethin’ that’s gonna hurt ya. Just probably...I don’t know dammit. He better tell me soon or I’ll punch him right in the…’.

A large crashing sound from down the road draws her attention, and she knows it was something big. ‘That weren’t no carriage tipping over’ she thinks to herself, already seeing dust and rubble rising into the air. ‘That’s in me turf!’

“Timmy, you and Zee stay here. Find Jason and Dickie, and tell ‘em ta stay here too. Alright?” she asks, moving to her knees and brushing the worried little boy’s cheeks. “Ya hear?”

He nods. “Okay mama”.

That hit her, and she didn’t know if it was the right time at all for this. Neither did Tim, but he could be forgiven. ‘Dammit Matches’ she thinks with a blush, remembering how it was him that had sewn this crop. ‘And now it’s me job to reap it’.

“I’m so..” Tim begins before she cuts him off, kissing his forehead and brushing his hair. “Don’t be. I’ve done enough for ye that I have the right to be called yer mama. So listen ta me! Ya hear!” she calls out, rushing through the tent city to the street, wanting to get where she had to go. ‘What the hell did ya just do?’ she asks herself with a blush.

‘I love you mama!’ Timmy shouts, waving as he keeps hold of a worried looking Zatanna’s hand. It was the last view she was able to nab of him at the moment, trusting the boy and the other Canaries on the circus ground to ensure that her boys stayed there. ‘The right thing’ she reminders herself, knowing that she had to stop being so uptight and to stop playing at being cold.

But for now? The Black Canary was rushing into action, to protect her own turf at least.

Chapter Text

Wayne Manor

Alfred was tired, but he wasn’t about to let anybody know. ‘Stiff upper lip old man’ he says to himself. ‘Stiff upper lip’. The man makes his way over towards Maggie who was busily engaged in taking the empty glasses of a few distinguished gentlemen who barely acknowledged her existence. 

She seemed out of her element, being the help at such a large gathering. Jacob Kane was not one for socializing, and parties were a rare thing. ‘Poor girl’. He immediately comes up with a plan to assist the both of them. “Miss Sawyer” he calls out gently, taking her by the arm and pulling her away.

“Yes Mister Pennyworth?”

He smiles at that, always enjoying how protocol worked when in front of others but how easily they all seemed to meld together into a much more relaxed relationship when prying eyes were not around. “I do believe that Miss Kane wished to select a special champagne for our toast tonight” he begins, speaking of the woman who was just now curtseying before Doctor Thomas Elliot, having finished their dance. 

“Perhaps you can assist her? Undoubtedly it will take more than a pair of hands to bring an adequate supply”. There was a twinkle in his eye that hinted at his true meaning behind such an act, mainly giving the two women a undisturbed moment alone, and the blonde quickly understood. “Ohh, yes, of course Mr. Pennyworth. I shall rush to it as soon as…”.

“I shall handle these fine gentlemen’s drinks Miss. You just do as you’re told”.

He also enjoyed striking a faux tough tone that everyone in the manor knew was a joke. It sold with their guests however, and all would enjoy a laugh later. She curtseys, pretending to be contrite. “Yes Mister Pennyworth. Forgive me”

As she moves away, he detects the glimmer of mischief and happiness in her eyes, and he can’t help but be ecstatic about how she had warmed to the manor. ‘Miss Kane as well’ he thinks while gathering up the glasses upon his serving tray. He watches as Maggie approaches the once more seated woman, her head tilted down in proper subservience. 

Kathy rises to her feet, Alfred being unable to hear the world but seeing the smile on her face as the two exit the room, heading down to the wine cellar. 

‘And now..for a quick moment of rest’.

He takes a quick glance about the interconnected rooms and sees Bruce dancing with a redheaded woman he’d never seen before, while Hugo Strange glowered from the corner at the young millionaire. ‘Another set of toes you’ve stepped on Master Wayne?’

He exits into the kitchen and sets the glasses down upon a table, opting to take a moment to sit. ‘Blasted doctors...all of them here and none could assist me with my aching back’ he thinks, leaning forward in the wooden chair to rub along his own spine.

In the comparative silence of the kitchen, he hears a noise coming from behind the far wall, against which the stove was placed. He knew what it was, and with a sigh he stands up, limping over to the source of the noise.

He brushes his hand across the wallpaper, finding a spot where some of it comes up along the seam. The butler casts a look each way before undoing the latch that held the thin and disguised door open, relatively secure that none of the upstanding, and very snooty guests, would dare enter the servants quarters through which the kitchen cut. 

He descends the wood stairs, taking a moment to ignite the gas lamp that was secured to the wall before going further. The area was nowhere near as dusty or unused as a secret passageway should’ve been, though it also wasn’t very large. At the bottle of the few stairs leading downwards, there was room enough only for a table and chair, upon with sat an electrical telegraph machine.

The arm moved up and down, writing out the dots and dashes upon the ticker tape that was being fed out through the bottom. “Newfangled contraption” he says, sitting down before it and helping the paper feed itself through by lightly pulling upon it. “Why did Master Bruce insist on such a…”.

He knew why, but the reasoning was lost as he began to read the message that was discernible through the seemingly meaningless dots and dashes upon the paper. Bruce had wanted to have his thumb upon the pulse of crime within the city of Gotham, and the only way for him to do it was to have access to the most up to date information available to police.

It had taken a lot of ingenuity to reroute the telegraph lines to Wayne Manor, let alone to disguise them, but it did allow Bruce to “listen” in, so to speak, upon very helpful information. 

“My word..” the butler says as the arm finally stops rising and falling, the message complete. While the information in his hands wasn’t exactly “helpful” in the strictest sense, it certainly was important. He grasps it close to his chest and rises from the chair, advancing rapidly up back to the kitchen where he extinguishes the lamp and closes the door, hiding all traces of the room’s existence.

‘Why can he not be allowed a single moment to himself?’

Back amidst the festivities, Bruce continued to dance with Elizabeth, who held him tightly and seemed to refuse to relent on eye contact. “Tell me of yourself Bruce” she insists.

He found a certain charismatic power in her eyes that tried to assert itself, though he found that he could easily bat it away. He was an expert of schooling his emotions after all.

“I’m afraid I’m not as interesting as you seem to believe Miss Bathory” he chuckles, a sound which the woman found doubly alluring. “I know that is simply a lie” she says, a smirk twisting her own lips though not fully parting in fear that her excitement would bring forth her fangs, something she certainly wanted to avoid him seeing.

“And please, call me Elizabeth”.

“We’re getting awfully familiar very quickly Miss…” he says, for some reason feeling that he should keep a respectful distance between the two of them. He didn’t know why, but something about her hinted that there was much more than what met the eye.

She frowns at that, having wanted to hear her own name come forth from his lips, but regardless she continues on. “In Hungary we have no time for the social etiquette that you Americans and Britons insist upon” she smiles, swaying gently in his arms. “We are much freer. We live life to the fullest. Nem akarsz teljes életet élni Bruce-val?” she asks, lapsing into her native tongue once more as her hand moves up to his cheek.

He finds her touch to be...cold, lifeless even, and he can’t help but shiver, bringing his own hand up to remove the woman’s from his cheek. She frowns at that, hurt welling up in her eyes that makes him feel slightly guilty for appearing so abrupt.

“I...apologize” he chuckles out. “I’m afraid you’re right. Perhaps we Americans are a bit too prudish. Also, may I ask if you are well?” he ventures on. “It’s just..you feel very cold. Perhaps you’d wish to sit yourself by the fire for a while, to warm yourself”.

She tries to assuage herself with the facts of his concern and nods, assuming that he would join her as he pulls back slightly, still her her hand, and bows, while she curtsies, effectively ending their dance...for the moment. They move across the room, Elizabeth practically gliding as all male eyes turn to her, ensnared.

One set of eyes glares hatefully at Bruce though, a glass shaking in his hands as he fixates upon the arm that was linked through Elizabeth, the curvature of her lips as she smiled at the man...the affection and warmth in her eyes.

Thomas Elliot, was enraged, though if one were to look closely, they would find mirrored expressions upon the faces of Doctors Langstrom and Crane as well.

Bruce didn’t look closer however, and simply helps Elizabeth into a chair right by the fireplace. “Ahh, igen” she says, feeling the warmth on her skin, though she knew that it came not from the fire. “Koszonom Bruce. Please...join me…” she practically whispers, patting the chair beside her and causing the man to feel an instinctive pull to do just that until Alfred approaches him from behind.

“Pardon me sir, but unfortunately a situation has arisen”.

There was an urgency to his voice that let on just how important it was and Bruce smiles at Elizabeth who was already angry at her time with the man being interrupted once more. “Pardon me Elizabeth” he says, bowing once more before turning away, Alfred pulling him into his side and slipping him the paper.

“It came in over the telegraph sir”.

Bruce takes the thin slip and begins to peruse it, his eyes moving over it quickly, before widening at what it entailed. ‘The whole block?’ he thinks before looking up at the crowd. He had to slip away, and fortunately he knew exactly what to do.

Kathy and Maggie returned at that exact moment, each carrying the champagne that would be required for the night’s final festivities, though it didn’t escape Bruce’s notice that Maggie’s hair was mussed and that Kathy was in much more jovial spirits.

“Pardon me, may I have everyone’s attention?” he calls out, drawing all eyes towards him, including Thomas who quickly wipes the scowl off of his visage and replaces it with a smile. “I’m afraid that something has come up and I, like a truly awful host, must leave you” he begins, pulling Kathy forward. “But please, allow my dearest cousin, Miss Katherine Kane, to entertain you” he says before adding what would undoubtedly make the rest of her night very pleasant. “I would be very grateful for you to be as good guests to her, as she will be a hostess to you”.

For added effect he pats her hand and brings it to his lips, kissing it gently. “She is like a sister to me, and any good done to her, would assuredly count as being done to me”.

With that he bows again and exits to the rear, smiling to himself as the crowd of people, eager to distance themselves from Kathy before, now crowd around her, all currying favor. “Bruce”.

Elizabeth was there once again, having practically moved about the room with ease, unseen and unheard. Her tone was insistent, and her look pleading. “I am very sorry Miss Bathroy, but I can assure you that Miss Kane will be an even better hostess than me. I assure you of that”.

She was unplacated by his promise, and merely regards him with those sad eyes of hers. Quietly, she reaches for a card she had secreted upon her, and she hands it off to the man, slipping it into the pocket directly to the right of his lapel. “Call upon me please Bruce. I wish, very much for us to become baratok”.

Bruce didn’t know what to make of that, as he’d never encountered someone quite like her, but he nods, deciding that simply agreeing with her would be the simplest means of escaping. “Very well. Till we meet again Miss Bathory”.

“Elizabeth” she insists once again, her eyes taking on the likeness of steel before softening. “Kerem, call me Elizabeth”.

She needed that before he went. Just once at the very least. She was pouring every once of her skills and powers of seduction into her gaze, but it seemed to only have a minimal effect.

“Your heart Bruce” she whispers in her corporeal form that only she could see, which drapes itself around him and caresses his back. Bruce shivers at the strange sensation he felt but otherwise remains trapped in her gaze. “I will have it”.

“Master Bruce…” Alfred says, once more breaking the woman’s control over the man and setting him free. She turns to Alfred with a glare that startles the old butler, unsure of what he’d done to earn such a reaction.

“Yes Alfred. I’m afraid this is very pressing Elizabeth” Bruce says, gently clapping her shoulders with his hands, seemingly having forgotten the strange incident already. With that, he finally turns and makes his way down the dark hallway, disappearing about the corner as he makes his way towards where his tools were secretly stored.

“Call upon me whenever Bruce” she calls out, an unintentional tone of desperation creeping into her voice. “I shall eagerly be waiting”.

She was left alone though, and she wasn’t even sure if the man had heard her. Her spirits were now effectively soured, which didn’t bode well for the shadow which fell upon her back. “May I have this dance my lady?”

She turns to glare at the form of Thomas Elliot, holding out his hand to her with nothing but love and affection in his eyes, and a hint of jealousy at how she seemed to lavish attention on Bruce this evening. ‘She’s only after his money’ he reminds himself. ‘You are her love. You have proved yourself time and time again’.

She abruptly slaps his hand away, glad that nobody could see them in their present location. “No” she hisses, readying herself to leave the manor, her objective still unreached. “You know we are not to be seen together. You and the others must stay”.

“Surely one dance wouldn’t…”.

She silences his protests with a glare, turning upon him angrily. “I have spoken Thomas. You are to stay and mingle before returning to the crypt”. At this she stands upright, her hand going to the side of her head and moaning as she feels pain.

Thomas rushes forward, wanting to assist her as he holds her side. “Are you alright my dear?”

“No” she hisses, shoving him off and opening her mouth to bare her fangs. “My golem is under assault. Someone has found my crypt!”

He recoils at her open hostility but raises his hands to try and ward her off. “I promise, it’ll be…”.

“If the order has found me” she continues on, advancing upon the man. “What then? You know that I shall be killed. Is that what you wish Thomas? For me to be killed?”

“No” he gasps, unable to handle the thought. “No, never my lady…”.

“Then I suggest you go to the crypt and handle this!” she not so gently suggests before turning, throwing her shawl about her shoulders and storming from the manor without another word. Nobody even saw her go, so focused were they upon Kathy, whom they all took turns lavishing in praise as the woman pours their champagne. 

Thomas was left shaken, having always been terribly frightened by Elizabeth’s rage. ‘This night...it hasn’t gone well Thomas’ he says to himself, feeling an urgent desire to don his cape and top hat to go stalking through the night well up within him.

‘Carving up a harlot for her would steady your nerves’ he thinks before dismissing the thought, himself rushing to the door to grab his coat. “Is something wrong Master Elliot?”.

He turns to see Alfred standing their inquisitively, noting the rather haggard appearance of Bruce’s oldest friend. “I’m fine Alfred” he says in a controlled and even tone, though his hand shakes as he slips his arms through the holes of the jacket. “I have...urgent business myself” he says, placing his hat upon his head and opening the door himself, in a rush to get to the crypt and handle the issue that Elizabeth herself could not. 

“Are you quite sure…”.

“I’M FINE ALFRED!” Thomas snaps finally, hating that the well meaning man was getting in his way at the very last and thus least opportune moment. Alfred recoils, shock on his face and indeed the faces of all the guests who were present, having heard and turned to see the disheveled doctor in his current state.

Langstrom and Crane smile on, seeing the declining mental stability of one of their competitors as a net gain for themselves, while Hugo Strange looks on somewhat apathetically. Amadeus Arkham was the only one whom seemed to have any real concern in his eyes.

All of these factors served to convince Thomas that he must control himself, and he humbly turns to Alfred, an apology upon his lips already. “I..I am sorry Alfred” he begins. “I just simply do not feel that I am myself at this moment. Pardon me”.

He turns to address the party goers, a warm, though forced, smile upon his face. “I apologize for the disturbance. May all of you enjoy the rest of the nights festivities”.

He says no more and continues opening the door, stepping out into the chilly night to see that the carriage Elizabeth had contracted was already long gone. He himself would need to find transportation to the Narrows, the crypt being the one destination in his mind. ‘I must prove to her…’ he thinks, rushing forward to find an empty and at the moment unattended coach upon which sat an idle coachman.

“How much to get to the Narrows? And I’ll double it if you’re quick about it”.

Wayne Manor, Subterranean Levels

Changing into the suit and gathering up his necessary gear had been easy, as had been slipping through yet another hidden entrance that led to the brick and mortal enclosed tunnel hidden within the wine cellar.

He’d discovered it long before donning the mask, as a child actually, where he fell into it and was frightened by the bats that swirled up around him. He remembered his mother gathering him up in her arms and kissing him as much as she could, trying to soothe his fears.

She explained that when Wayne Manor had been in the early 18th century, this escape tunnel had been built into it to allow the Waynes to escape in the event of French or Indian attack. It had served that purpose once during the Seven Years War when the raids of the tribes west of the Delaware had begun to raid Gotham.

It had also allowed Major General “Mad” Anthony Wayne, of the Continental Army, and his staff to hide when they had been caught unawares by a platoon of redcoats. Victoria Wayne, his great-great grandmother, had quickly hidden the officers, and prevented her notoriously headstrong husband from rushing out to his certain death. Now?

It served a different noble cause than that of revolution and independence, and Bruce follows what he considers his family’s very own freedom trail to a hidden opening at the bottom of the cliff upon which Wayne Manor had been built. He feels the sea spray and salt against his skin, but most of all he hears the neighing of his horse, which seemed to sense that something was afoot.

He smiles, though only to himself, as he closes the door, over which a false facade of rock had been placed to further hide it.

Jumping down over the ledge and landing upon soft soil, he makes his way to the wooden stables, opening the gate and allowing his pure black charger to trot out, nipping at him affectionately. “Ace” he soothes, rubbing the horses’ mane before taking an apple he’d managed to snag before leaving the manor and feeding it to the horse. 

“We have a mission to accomplish boy” he says gravely, jumping up atop the horse’s back, foregoing the saddle as usual. “Let’s go”.

With that the horse rears back on its two hind legs before dashing off out of the foliage and onto the beach, making to follow it where they would be hidden by the line of trees that stretched around the manor grounds.

He loved this feeling, of wind whipping up against him, of riding off to the rescue. It made him feel a bit like one of the nights of old, of which stories would be read to him before he would dash off to sleep.

But now? 

He wasn’t sure what he was facing. The intercepted telegram, delivered to the main police station via a postal office, had only spoken of a large creature, against which bullets were useless. The telegram also mentioned that a group of vigilantes and circus performers, had attacked the beast.

Whatever it was, he had to get there.

This attack had happened right near the circus, and images of Dinah and the boys flashed into his mind. He suppresses that thought, trying to remain emotionally aloof and engaging the stoic attitude that he felt made the Batman so successful at intimidation but he couldn’t deny the fact that his heart was racing.

He didn’t like feeling fear.

The Narrows, Sight of the Cave In, Not Long Before

Vic was the first to come too, covered as he was in a pile of ancient bricks and dust. Panic sets in, having been buried like so once before while in Africa. “No! No!” he shouts, rushing up and pushing the bricks that pinned him away with the shear force and violence of his movement.

He looks around, a panic setting in over him, though he felt a slight calm at the fact that his pistol was still clutched within his hand. He couldn’t see any sign of the beast that had attacked them, but he couldn’t see Helena either, which was a much more pressing issue at the moment. 

“Helena!” he calls out, feeling that the area had been opened up and indeed now seemed somehow much less encased in darkness. A quick glimpse upwards reveals that the street itself had caved in atop them, and the light of the moon shined in, added to by a few streetlamps that added their glow.

“Helena!”

“Urrrhhh”.

He is able to pinpoint the location of the voice instantly, and indeed he sees a disturbance in the pile of rock and stone that had fallen down upon him, the ancient streets of Gotham apparently unable to handle a cavity beneath them for long.

He scrapes his knees, cutting open his tweed pants as he throws himself upon the ground, scraping away bricks in an attempt to reach her, uncaring of the crowd that now looked into the hole above them, all speaking of the odd sight before them.

He sees her head first, and continues working, happy to know that he was at least upon the right track. “Helena, speak to me!” he calls out, revealing more and more of the woman until her bloody and bruised form is freed of the rubble. He picks her up, gently cradling her in his arms until her eyes slowly open.

“Ohh thank God, you’re alive”.

“I feel morta” she says with a smile, slowly leaning up under her own power and rubbing the side of her head, upon which a savage cut had been leveled. “Well...you’re not”. Slowly the man rises, placing her arm about his shoulder and further securing her by placing his own about her waist.

He casts another gaze around them, still looking for the creature which seemed to have disappeared. Some thing had gone in their favor however, as one of the columns holding up the crypt’s roof had collapsed in such a way as to create a makeshift bridge up to street level.

“Come on” the Scotland Yard detective says, slowly urging them onto the beam which seems to hold under at least the weight his testing foot could exert. “We must get you medical attention”.

“No” she hisses, wincing in pain at the massive cut upon her side which had even opened up some of her uniform. “Quella cosa” she says, speaking of the creature that had called itself, or at least he assumed it called itself, Solomon Grundy. “It’s still here”.

He moves them further up the beam, about halfway up towards the citizens who were now belatedly offering their assistance, reaching into the chasm to try and assist the two in moving up out of the hole.

“We can’t worry about it now” he admits, feeling much to weak to go yet another round with such a brute. “I...what even was that?”

“Un omunculo” she explains. “A corpse that the Blood Countess has given unnatural life. A creature that feeds upon the blood and flesh of others, just like her” she says while wincing again, her wound still seeping blood.

“Then perhaps we should both be off and away” he says wryly, looking down at his own wounds. “Us leaking blood like we are. He’s no doubt going to be attracted to us”. He assists her up over the edge where a spectacled man in a top hat assists her the rest of the way, before offering his hand to Vic who stops to gaze back at the rubble.

“I doubt any man can survive that”.

“We did” she says, making a solid point that he simply couldn’t refute while moving up out of the hole and onto the street. He moves next to her and collapses onto the ground, looking over her body. This causes Helena to smile and playfully swat his shoulder. “Ehi, non guardarmi”.

“I wasn’t ogling you..” Vic says, slightly offended though nonetheless impressed by the perfect physical specimen Helena was. She moves onto the next issue, which happened to be her crossbow, which she holds up in the air to inspect, happy to see that it suffered no damage.

“Ahh...peccato”. 

She turns and eyes him before winking. “I was ogling you”.

Before any more can be said about the situation, a rumbling from the hole interrupts them, the creature slowly rising and letting out a horrific roar as it reaches up for the edge, it’s massive digits curling around the stone that remains on the street level. “Solomon Grundy...born on a monday..” it moans, pulling itself up even more and causing many of the civilians to run, though others stay behind to watch, curious at what was happening.

Despite her wounds, Helena is up on her feet, drawing a bead on the creature with her crossbow. “Correre!” she shouts out at the crowd, wanting them to disperse. She hears the clicking of a revolver hammer being drawn back though, and turns to see the still dust covered Vic besides her, his pistol once more trained upon the creature.

“I meant you too”.

He lets out a sound of exasperation, turning to her with a smile that she already found she quite enjoyed. “I have a mission as well, albeit not a holy one”.

She turns back at the creature which had now pulled itself from the hole entirely, making its way toward them with a typical lumbering gait that fit the creature. “We have to kill it”.

“Technically, el gia morto”.

He frowns at that, not liking the odds that it presented. “Well then, we shall have to kill it again”.

Cobblepot Circus

“Ohh Jonah, why don’t you find any of this exciting?” Harleen asks exasperatedly as she holds onto her man, the two entering onto the carney grounds. “Who says I don’t?”

She pokes his nose. 

“The fact that you never smile”.

“Ain’t true” he says, pulling on her waist and turning her to look down at the shorter woman. “I just can’t smile. Looks scary. I’m a carney now, ain’t supposed to scare the kiddos who come to see our show”.

She rolls her eyes and places her hands upon his chest, rubbing gently. “My dear Jonah Hex, nothing about our show, no matter what Oswald says, is kid friendly” she teases, jumping up and down to emphasize her point. His eyes are instantly drawn to the top of her chest, where the corset pushed a generous amount of cleavage up and outward, which now only jiggled at her upward motion.

If not for how tight the corset was about her, he was sure they’d be free by now.

‘Not that ya’d mind much’.

“My upholstery is practically on display for a horde of salivating men, and you shoot at me” she reminds him, the festivities of the carnival and show having given way to unfiltered drunkenness and brawls as it was wont to do after dark.

“I don’t shoot at ya either”.

“Hmm...smile for me” she pleads, getting back to the point. “Please Jonah? For me?”

He sighs and looks away for a moment, hiding the damaged part of his face from her. “Lowdown dirty trick…” he mumbles. “Whatever are you speaking of Jonah?” she asks.

“Asking for you…” he answers. “Ya know damn well I’ll do anything ya ask me”.

She smiles at that, her heart beating very quick, a very normal but happy occurrence around the man she suspected of being emotionally stunted prior to meeting her. Of the few things she gleaned of his past over pillow talk? She knew it was the case. ‘I promise Jonah’ she vows to the man, though only in her mind. ‘Your future will be much better than your past’.

“Well then, why change things now?” she asks, turning his head and placing her hands upon his cheeks. “Smile for me Jonah. Smile for your Harlequin”.

At her command, his mouth slowly twitches until the corners turn upwards, the one strip of flesh on his right side hurting him just a bit from disuse in such a manner. Slowly though, the smile takes form. It looks a bit like a grimace, but it was a start.

“Well, it’s more open than those little smirks you give me from time to time” she says, moving onto her tippy toes to kiss his lips. “And I think it’s beautiful. Like you”.

“Stop lyi…”.

“I am not lying Jonah Hex” she pouts, stamping her feet cutely before him. She glares and grasps the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to look him straight in the eye. It was a comical sight, Harleen Quinzel, divorced trapeze artists, handling the toughest gunslinger the west ever produced as if he was no more than a puppy who was being naugthy.

“You listen to me, and you listen well” she begins chidingly. “I will never lie to you Jonah. I think you’re beautiful. I love you. And that is that”. It was the first time the words had been put out there so firmly. Of course, it was dangling there, clear to both that what they had was rapidly becoming more than just a simple flirtation, but neither had said it.

‘Harleen just did’.

“Well...ah love ya too”.

“Is that so?” she asks, her eyes still hard as they continued to be firm with one another. He glares right back. “Reckon’ so”. She mulls his words over and nods. “Good. It’s settled then”. She plants a very passionate kiss upon his lips once more, the two smooching amongst the shocked and disapproving eyes of some of Gotham’s more puritan, already leaving the circus, while the more level headed or lewd and crass cheered them on.

The moment is interrupted by a loud explosion, which sends the two jarring apart to turn and look over their shoulders at the rising dust and smoke. Shouts echo out as well, something very big happening. “What the…”.

“Outta the fookin’ way!” 

Dinah brushes right past them, shoving the trapeze act out of her path and rushing forward, her feet carrying her across the soft and muddy soil. “What the hell is goin’ on ‘round here?” he asks as one of the Canaries move past, giving him an indirect answer. “Somethin’s fixin’ ta attack the circus!” he shouts, calling out to some of his comrades, calling on them to form some sort of defense at the circus.

Jonah was already reaching for his pistol at his hip, not willing to let a bit of old fashioned entertainment escape him. “Wait here…” he turns, trying to warn off Harleen from following him, though the blonde smirks and implies with her gaze that she had no such intention.

“You and I are an act Jonah” she says, rushing over to the abandoned high striker and grasping the mallet in her hands. She hefts it, finding her strength to be more than adequate to wield it before she tosses it over her shoulder. “We go together...puddin’”.

He smirks out of the corner of his mouth, already knowing that this would end with his acquiescence. “Stay with me…” he orders her, the two taking off and heading in the direction of the explosion or...well...he didn’t know what it was.

Something does occur to him at the last moment though, something that Harleen had called him.

“Puddin?” he asks, turning his head as they keep running, narrowly avoiding obstacles and panicked or shocked people. Harleen blushes, easily able to keep up with his pace. “Yes. Puddin” she says proudly. “That is my pet name for you”.

“Why?” he asks, not exactly fond of it just yet.

“Because you’re soft and gooey on the inside” she says with a wink, dropping the tact and mannerisms that she somehow managed to hold onto, even with such a revealing outfit on. “And because you taste delicious…”.

He didn’t say anything else, not that he knew what to say. Instead he focuses on rushing to the rescue once again, and this time without even having to be paid.

‘Puddin’ he thinks, shaking his head and already feeling the laughter that Mari or Greg would let loose at hearing such a nickname ascribed to him. ‘I ain’t soft’.

Right Outside the Big Top

They hadn’t been thinking of much, so lost in one another and in communicating the long hidden feelings they held for the other to care about the outside world. As long as they were hidden away, she was fine with that, and Giovanni seemed just as eager.

“Hippolyta” he whispers, nipping at her ear. “Sei bella”.

“Hmmm Giovanni” she moans, lifting her leg which store had the Amazonian greaves strapped around it. He reaches about her thigh, gripping it firmly. “You’re driving me parafron…”.

Their amorous explorations are interrupted by the explosion, and the panic that comes with it. Still, it takes them a moment or two to come down from the heady embrace, but they do, just in time to hear the shouts about some form of attack.

They aren’t able to even turn to one another when they see Harleen and Jonah rush past, heading into the thick of whatever is happening.

“Where are they going?” Giovanni asks, though Hippolyta already knew.

“We have to go with them” she says simply, stepping away from the man and grasping her sword which lay against an abandoned potato barrel. She strips it across her waist, knowing that a wooden weapon was better than no weapon.

“Che cosa?”

“They’re our best selling act Giovanni” she admits with an embarrassed little smile as she reaches out for his hand. “Though I much prefer your mageia my love..” she says, wanting to soothe any insult. “We can’t allow them to get hurt...aside from that?” she asks, moving out to join the rush towards the foe, whoever it was.

“Amazons do not back away from a fight!”

He wanted to shout out that she wasn’t an Amazon, not a real one anyways, but he didn’t believe that sentiment himself. Despite not having the power of Diana, Hippolyta radiated strength in a different way. Like Jonah before him, he is enslaved of his own accord to this woman who had won his heart long ago, though he stubbornly refused to concede it to her. 

“Ahhh...mio dio, quella donna sara la mia morte” he mumbles in Italian, drawing his wand and upon his magic to bring him through the battle he just knew in his bones was waiting for them.

One thing was going their way though, as Jason and Dick were reunited, both holding a watch over Diana, Timmy and Zatanna.

Jenny grasps Jason’s hand tightly, and Zee hugs Timmy close, tears of fear already leaking down her eyes. Diana sees this, and she and Dick get on their knees, soothing their respective surrogate brother and sister.

“Be brave Zatanna” Diana says, brushing her thumb over the little girl’s cheek. “You are safe”.

“Yeah!” Timmy says triumphantly as the Canaries surround them, knowing the importance of the children to Dinah and the circus. Nothing was going to happen to them, not in this ring of protection. “This is our family!” he says excitedly, pointing to the rough and ready men around them who smile at the children, belaying the implicit threat they were as they held pistols, shotguns, knives and an assortment of blunt objects.

“Our family?” Jason asks curiously, noting that Zatanna seemed to be included in his younger brother’s statement. “Yeah!” he nods excitedly. “I made Zee one of us! She’s a Canary now”.

Diana senses a way to ease the tension by turning to Dick with a quirked eyebrow. “Ahh...your little brother made Zee a Canary, but you haven’t offered such an honor to me?” she asks, moving into his side and batting her eyelids up at the blushing young man.

He wasn’t the only one though and Jenny lays her head on Jason’s shoulder. “Jason...I want to be a Canary too” she teases. “Why haven’t you asked me to join your gang?”

“Nice work Tim” Dick says sarcastically, though it goes over the young boy’s head. “You should ask Diana to be a Canary!” he adds. “She’s strong! The strongest I’ve ever seen! I bet she could lift the whole Cherry Hill Gang and throw them into Gotham’s swamp”.

“And what about Jenny?” Jason asks, deciding to get even with the girl he was sweet on. “What would she do in the gang?”

Timmy seemed at a loss for that, and he turns to Jenny, wondering what she would add to the gang. “What can you do Jenny?”

Now? The tables had turned, and it was the flirt that was now being eyed teasingly though Jason decided to come to her rescue, seeing in their situation, something that might help distract the children as well. “She can sing...she can sing beautifully” he says, rubbing her back and eyeing her, as if to urge her on.

She makes to protest, but the eager eyes of Timmy and Zatanna urge her on. “Fine” she sighs. “Yes...I can sing. Would you like me to sing now?”

“Yes!”

“Si!”

“Very well” she says, setting herself down on a crate. She picks up Zatanna first, placing her on her skirted knee, and then turns to Timmy, pulling him up on her other. Jason was smiling, unable to pinpoint why, but her gentleness...it spoke to him. She smiles up at him, brushing her fingers through the nervous children’s hair.

Slowly, she begins to sing, a sad song made beautiful by her voice.

“Take a look ‘round lively ole’ London, buzzing crowds we sweat and we revel, red cheeked shouts and songs in the flicker of the gaslight….”.

And just like that, amidst the chaos, a safe haven is made.

Site of the Cave In, the Narrows

Vic had been backhanded by the creature, sending him flying across the street and directly into an apple cart, the delicious fruit landing all about him and rolling away. The shouts and screams of women being led away by their menfolk can be heard, the street rapidly clearing as Solomon Grundy begins his full on attack.

“Christened on Tuesday…” he moans, lurching towards the still prone Vic who lifts his pistol and fires yet another round.

It bounces harmlessly and ineffectually off of the hardened grey skin of the creature, certainly not adding to his mood. “Ohh bugger off that’s not fair”.

A crossbow bolt soars through the air and slams itself into Grundy’s hand, just as he lifted it to bring down upon the downed detective. The creature howls with pain, grasping its hand which now had the steel projectile imbedded inside and through it. He fights to pull it out, causing even more damage to his already dead flesh. 

Helena takes the opportunity and rushes up next to Vic, assisting him in the same way that he had before. “Stupido uomo” she chides. “What? I should’ve let him hit you?” he asks scoffingly as they slowly make their way up to their feet once more. “Also, how did your crossbow affect him when my bullets have done fuck all?”

She smiles lightly at his anger, pulling up her crossbow once again. “I dip the tips in holy water”.

He blinks, unsure if she was joking or not before deciding that he didn’t care. Not that he had time to care regardless. The creature pulls the bolt free and roars, turning back on the two people that had wound up being much more of a nuisance than he had bet on.

“Solomon Grundy...married on wednesday….” he begins, preparing for yet another attack as Helena brings up her crossbow and taking aim, knowing that it wouldn’t do much good. “Tell me there isn’t another one…” Vic says with a grimace, drawing his pistol regardless.

“It was un onore to fight beside you”.

He nods.

“Likewise”.

Both make ready to fire when the beast raises its fists, wanting to bring the massive, meaty claws down upon the two heroes, who appeared as if they were about to give their lives in the fight against evil.

He doesn’t get the chance though, as a piercing scream splits the air, having a physical effect on the beast. Grundy screams, covering his ear with one hand while trying to prevent himself from being forced back across the ground with the other.

Helena and Vic were shocked at their unlikely rescue, and they turn to see a Dinah standing there, her arms spread out and her feet dug in. Her mouth was open and she was screaming, though with much more power than any normal woman would use to scream.

“A banshee too!” Vic shouts out, though Helena smiles, already finding that there was something tough and rugged about the woman that she liked. “I think she’s on our side Detective Sage!”

The scream slowly dies down though, Dinah unable to keep it going forever. And as it does, the beast regains its footing, shaking it’s head and turning on its new attack who simply raises her fists, ready to fight it out. “Fookin’ mon then ya freak!”

“That isn’t very kind!”

A shape from above descends upon the large creature, the woman crouching on its shoulder, smirking at Grundy. He was confused, but reaches up with his gargantuan mitt to grasp her, something that she easily avoids by jumping up over his head. Grundy reaches up into the air, trying to catch the oddly dressed woman, but failing and instead allowing her to bring the mallet she held directly down atop his dome, adding a kick from her feet that sends him forward and sprawling to the ground.

With customary grace, the woman lands upon the cobblestone, perched like some jungle cat and sporting a wide grin across her white make up clad face. 

Grundy was still in pain, and thus didn’t see the grey uniform clad hero who steps out to join the woman, his pistols within his hands, ready to shoot but unlikely to do any more damage than Vic’s had.  

He turns to the woman as she rises to her feet. “Harleen...that was reckless”.

She reaches out and pats his arm with her hand not clasped about the mallet. “It’s all about the show my dear, within our without the big top”.

Grundy was getting even angrier, not enjoying how he was the one now constantly trying to make his way to his feet. He wasn’t exactly done yet as before he could even turn to roar at yet another new interloper, he found himself unable to move as spectral ropes form about him, tightening and pinning his arms to his sides and his legs together.

He tumbles once more to street, writhing in his bonds as a well dressed magical steps out, speaking the magic words. “Nethgit sih sdnob” he says with his hands in the air, causing the ropes to tighten yet again about Grundy.

Beside him was a woman who looked as if she had stepped right out of ancient Greece, and she makes to stand next to Dinah, her sword and shield drawn before her, ready to fight.

“Hey, yer the lass from the circus aintcha?” she asks. “All of ye are”.

“Hmm” Jonah grunts as he and Harley move around the bound creature, roaring in rage as he is unable to escape his bonds. “Yes, you are quite correct” Hippolyta says, formally introducing herself. “I am Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons”.

“Yeah, the stage show. Got it. And you?” she asks, turning towards Giovanni in shock. “Yer magic is real?”

He nods and waves out his fingers, summoning a flock of doves which instantly take off into the air. “A magician never reveals his secrets”.

Dinah turns towards Harleen and Jonah, nodding respectfully as they were part of the circus that she was most familiar with, loving the racy aspect of the show as well as the top notch gunplay. She moves over Harleen’s outfit with an appreciative eye. ‘Wonder if Matches would want ta see me in somethin’ like that’.

“Nice tits” she says aloud, her eyes finally addressing the two unknowns who had started this fight against the monster, now limping towards her. Harleen covers the top of her corset with her arm and blushes. “Madam!”

Jonah just smirks, finding it humorous and deciding that he liked the other blonde, though not as much as he loved Harleen.

“And who are ya supposed to be?” Dinah asks finally, looking at Huntress and Vic. “Some sort of...hey, yer Scotland Yard” she spits out at the man, having a natural distaste for anyone and anything having a smack of Englishness about them.

“How astute” he drones out, much too injured to deal with whatever gripe the super sonic scream powered woman had with him due to his employment at that moment.

“And you?” she asks, turning to Huntress.

The black haired woman glares back, not exactly a fan of how she had spoken to Vic and deciding to return the treatment in like manner despite the fact that she saved their lives. “Non sono affari tuoi”.

“What is that fookin’ word babble?” Dinah asks.

Giovanni tightened at that, being a huge fan of his native tongue which he considered vastly superior to the English he used most of the time. “Look whose speaking” Hippolyta says with a smirk. “The Cockney maid”.

“Watch it lass” Dinah warns. “I ain’t no fucking anglo gobshite. I’m from County Cork”.

As the argument progresses, Grundy begins to work his way out of the magical bonds, groaning and beginning to recite the poem from which he’d drawn his name. “Solomon Grundy...born on a monday…”.

Giovanni doesn’t notice nor feel the bonds breaking, so engaged was he in defending Hippolyta’s honor, which Dinah had insulted with some comment or another. The entire group descended into bickering, and for a moment it looked like they would wind up fighting themselves instead of the creature which was now free and lumbering towards them.

“Christened on a Tuesday…”.

At that they finally turn, all gasping as he had so quickly overtaken them despite his large size. “Married on a wednesday…”.

They were all about to act, this time in conjunction with one another until the whining of a horse breaks through the fog that had formed down the street. All turn, wondering what could possibly be happening now that adds to the situation when a all black charger emerges from the fog which swirls about it’s flank.

A black shape was perched upon its back, the pointy ears and harsh glare giving away to at least two members of the impromptu group the new additions identity. Harleen claps her hands together, dropping her mallet on Giovanni’s foot and causing him to jump up and down in pain, though the blonde doesn’t notice.

“Ohhh! It’s Batman! Our old friend Jonah!” 

She shouts out to the man, waving. “Good evening Batman! It’s me! Harleen Quinzel!”

Jonah just groans, not sure of what he should say, or even if he should speak to the famed vigilante he had seen for perhaps a minute or two at best. Nobody expected what happened next though, as Batman leapt from the horse against Grundy, punching the creature in the face with a force that they all cringe at in unison.

Grundy is thrown back, though Batman continues on, falling to the cobblestone and rolling getting up, two batarangs in his hand. He turns and comes eye to eye with Dinah, the two staring at one another and sensing...a recognition that Dinah at least couldn’t explain.

He’d tell her...soon.

He knew at this moment that there was no way he could avoid it any longer. Dinah was his world, and keeping her in it, not giving her a choice, without her knowing of this? It was wrong. 

Grundy roars, tired of the games and not waiting to draw it out any longer. He charges forward, arms out to the side with the intent of capturing as many of them in their grip as possible. Dinah gets ready to scream once more, while Giovanni summons two orbs of light to his hands. Huntress, Jonah and Vic all draw a bead on the creature as Batman prepares to throw his batarangs.

Harleen just laughs, raising her mallet, eagerly wishing to give the creature another whack.

“Together!” Bruce shouts, knowing it was the only way they’d take the creature down.

They counterattack.

Chapter Text

Gotham City, Border of the Narrows and Park Row

“Look out!”

Vic is able to push Helena out of the way just in time for Grundy’s fist to come down upon the street, cracking the sidewalk and rattling the building to its immediate right. “Took ill on thursday” the beast roars out, continuing on with the nursery rhyme.

“How the fook are we gonna take this thing out?” Dinah calls, ducking under its leg to get under the lumbering beast. Grundy reaches for her, but misses with his massive hands as she slides right past him, using her position from behind to kick him in the rear end.

It doesn’t do much, except send him forward a few inches.

That was when Hippolyta struck, throwing herself forward and smashing the edge of her shield into the creature’s stomach. It growls in agony and holds its arms across its midsection, managing to focus just in time for him to grab Batman, who’d approached him in an attempt to punch the grey beast in the face once more.

He rips the Dark Knight, a moniker he’d acquired from the papers, into the air before tossing him into the side of a building, where his back impacts harshly against the bricks. “Your mother should’ve told you to play nice with others!” Harleen shouts, jumping about the battlefield and trying to get a good whack upon the creature’s head.

As she tosses herself into the air, the creature shows a surprising speed and reaches out, grasping the head of the mallet and tossing the acrobat with all his strength, which is only added too by the forward momentum that she’d already gained.

She shouts in horror as she flails through the air, seeing no way to steady herself or even assure that she won’t land directly on her head.

Luckily for her, and unluckily for Jonah, she was flying right towards the man, who is wide eyed as she barrels into him, knocking them both to the floor in a way that resembled how a ball worked in a game of ninepins, with Jonah being the pin.

They skid along the street a bit, finally coming to a stop with the man effectively taking the brunt of the damage, especially to his back which he already knew was going to be sore. “Ohhh…”.

“Ya alright?” he asks, moving up a bit and already wincing. “Yes, thanks to you”.

She pushes a hand upwards into the air, allowing the two of them to inspect it. “Except my arm is cut”. He rolls his eyes and gently pushes her off of him, the two needing to get back into the fight. “I’ll kiss it better fer ya later”.

“I’ll be holding you to that my gentle beast” she says, already in a fighting stance with two knives in her hand. She looks out over the battlefield that had been formed by their impromptu meeting, gauging what was going on and the opportunities open to them.

She didn’t see anything.

“Il suo cuore!” Huntress shouts, waving her hands to get the blonde woman’s attention as Hippolyta and Giovannia were busy besides a risen Batman in trying to subdue the beast. Giovanni summoned electricity with his hands, speaking in that backward speech of his, while Hippolyta smashed her wooden sword across Grundy’s face.

Batman jumps upon it’s back, wrapping both of his arms around the creature’s neck, and even then realizing that he was barely able to hold the grip. He tried to chock it, though this only enrages Grundy who tries to reach for the man on his back, his arms swaying this way and that.

The beast finally manages to get a grip upon his head, which he clenches in his fist painfully, almost cracking the vigilante’s skull like a walnut. He is tossed again, skidding across the cobblestones in much the same way that Harley had, riding atop Jonah, moments ago.

Miraculously he gets up, swaying on his feet but still in the fight.

“I’m afraid I don’t speak Italian my dear” Harleen says, remaining ever in good humor. “We shall need you to repeat that in a language we can understand. Perhaps English or French?” she asks before turning to Jonah and tapping him. “What do you speak dear?”

The man was still dusting himself off, and thus wasn’t fully in the mood for Harleen’s games. Nevertheless, he answers, drawing his pistols more his own comfort than any usefulness they might provide. “English and Apache”.

“Ohh! Perhaps you speak Apache?”

“It’s heart!” an exasperated Batman shouts out, translating the woman’s words as Canary lets loose with another one of her sonic screams that still manages to put the beast a bit off of his best. “Ohhh...where is it?”

“Harleen…” Jonah says, having already understood the plan that was taking shape. “Just follow me lead”.

“How so?”

He hands her one of his pistols and aims it at the creature who was now holding both Giovanni and Hippolyta, smashing the two together and tossing them aside, his preferred method of battery indeed being the act of picking them up and throwing them around.

It might seem like harmless fun...until you remembered how many broken and bruised bones could be caused by the cobblestones that made up the roads of Gotham.

“Ohhh how fun!”

She cocks the pistol and lets loose a round which impacts against the solid back of the creature before the bullet simply ricochets off, slamming into the ground. He roars mightily as he turns to face the renewed attack upon him, with Jonah joining in and firing his own revolver, thought the bullet does just as much damage.

“Ohh this is so much fun!” Harleen shouts, letting off another shot and egging the creature on into a charge aimed directly at the newest acquisition of Cobblepot’s circus. “Harleen..” Jonah growls out, no longer quite so sure of this plan’s feasibility.

“When I say run? Ya run”.

“Without you?” she asks. “Poppycock. Over hear you big dumb brute!” she shouts out, further incensing the creature, though the former confederate didn’t think such a thing was possible.

Huntress moves to her feet, unsteadily aiming at the creature now that a shoot had been opened up for her. She trains her eyes against him, trying to perfectly time the firing of her bolt to land it directly in the creature’s weak spot. “Signore” she calls out to her God. “Guida la mia mana” she pleads.

Not everyone had gotten the memo about what they were trying, as Dinah was still standing in the creature’s path, ready to let loose with another scream that Bruce was sure had no chance of stopping the beast. He makes to his feet, seeing everything practically in slow motion as he rushes forward, throwing himself at Dinah’s midsection and pushing her out of the way.

It was fortunate that he did too, as Grundy didn’t even see the woman, so intent was he upon sating his appetite for violence upon the firearm toting duo, that he was looking right over her. At that moment, Huntress lets loose with her crossbow, assured that it was a now or never moment and that she wasn’t going to get a better shot.

The steel projectile sails through the air, just as Jonah turns to grasp Harleen about the waist, getting ready to effectively throw her out of harms way.

With a whistle, the holy water dipped point presses itself into the creature’s chest, its momentum carrying it forward through the dead flesh and into the somehow miraculously still beating heart.

It was a near perfect shot, entering right through the right ventricle in such a way as to block the mitral valve that stopped Grundy in his tracks, though surprisingly not killing him outright. He brings his massive grey mitt up to his chest, doing the worst possible thing he could do in retracting the bloodied bolt, which he then throws to the ground.

Huntress smiles sadly, proud of being able to have stopped the creature but not exactly happy about taking a life, even that of an undead creature. “Riposare in pace” she says, crossing herself and finishing by bringing her hand up to her lips, kissing it.

Hippolyta was being helped to her feet by the ever intrepid Giovanni, whos suit showed numerous signs of tears and stains that would undoubtedly have to be repaired prior to his next show. “Stai bene Hippolyta?” he asks, helping the equally bruised woman to her feet. “I am fine Giovanni” she says, brushing off his assistance in a way as to make the embarrassment she felt at being assisted clear.

The magician just smiles, grasping his sleeve and flicking it back, revealing a white rose that he hands off to her. “The Amazon Queen, who rises boldly from the ashes of guerra, is made only more bellissima by her wounds”.

With that he takes her wrist in his hand and places a kiss upon it, causing her embarrassment to melt away, replaced with affection and love. People had assembled however, and were all watching as Grundy finally fell to his knees, the blood spurting out of his chest like a geyser, turning black.

He groaned and then fell forward onto his face, looking out lifelessly at Jonah and Harleen, the woman herself so frightened by the creature’s visage up close that she lets out an “eeep” and moves into the gunslinger’s arms.

“And that…” the beast whimpers. “Is the end...of...Solomon...Grundy”.

With that, the beast expires, apparently dead, or at least something akin to being dead for a zombie. All is quiet at the moment, but slowly cheers and chattering break out from the civilians who had wandered back in towards the end of the battle, or who had likewise never left from the start.

“That was an excellent shot!” Vic says excitedly, allowing the injured woman to lean upon him, not tired and her wounds showing with the battle over. He himself didn’t feel as if he was fully up to par either.

“Grazie” she says, looking around at the embracing couples and realizing that from afar, they might look the same. ‘Protrebbe pure’ she thinks, turning her face and moving upwards so that she herself kisses the man who’d helped her along so far.

When she releases his lips, all Vic can do is sputter. “My word...what was that for?”

“That is simply how we say thank you in Italia” she says, wincing as they begin to hobble out. She had no time in her life to deny attraction or affection. Not with how fleeting it could sometimes be. ‘He’s even piu carino when he’s blushing’.

“Well...I’d bloody well love to know how you say goodbye then”.

“Hmmm..we need a bed, a bath, wine and cheese...and oil...si, oil”.

“Ahh yes” he says, finally seeming to understand something. “Spiced oil. You dip the bread inside of it. I have seen that delicacy before”.

“It isn’t for eating” she corrects, a smirk gracing her features.

“My word…”.

She laughs, knowing that the uptight Scotland Yard detective would prove more than just a fun diversion on this trip that was quickly going to lead to utter horror. ‘Especially if the Blood Countess walks the Earth’. She shivers, and it had nothing to do with the cold.

Jonah and Harleen continue to look at each other, shocked that they had both encountered something so...unnatural, though Jonah was less so...after all, he’d seen his fair share of strangeness while out west.

“Jonah sweetie?”

“Yah Harleen”.

She peaks over her shoulder and smirks. “While I am perfectly happy to have your hands all over my derriere, which, if I may humbly say so, is perfect” she says, emphasizing said perfection by wiggling her butt in his hands. “I would prefer if you do it when we do not have an audience...however, if you so desire one, perhaps that would prove itself enjoyable as well”.

Jonah sees that he had indeed grabbed onto the woman’s rear end in his panic, attempting to throw her away to safety and not thinking much of where he grabbed to do it.

He lets go, though he just moves to her waist instead.

“Ya know, I never woulda thought’ that a high class society woman like you would be quite so teasin’ with me”.

She places her arms over him and smiles, nuzzling his nose with her own and standing up on her tippy toes. “Ohh sweet, dear Jonah” she says, leaning into his ear and lightly nibbling it before speaking. “It’s us sweet, docile and horribly repressed creatures known as housewives that so desire to be free. So much so that we can be capable...of all manner of vulgarities” she says. “Doubly so if a brave, dashing man they love swoops onto the scene”.

Jonah blushes, holding the woman close as she begins to kiss his neck, drawing the attention of a police officer who had just showed up on scene. “Hey! Knock that off” he calls out. “We’ve got public decency laws for a reason! Keep your gutter acts in the big top!”

“And that is the thanks we get for saving the day Jonah” the blonde pouts, stepping back and taking his hands in hers.

“Ah reckon I’ll make it up to ya later”.

“You did promise to kiss my wounds, so yes, you can “reckon” all you want Jonah” she teases, mocking the way he spoke in a good natured way.

Across the street however, Dinah was still under the Batman, who had so easily thrown his body in front of her own that she didn’t have words to thank him. ‘Wait….’ she reminds herself as they slowly rise to their feet, remembering what he shouted before he threw himself at her.

“Ya know my name” she accuses the man, though he remains silent. Part of his mask had been torn, right from the corner of his lip to his right eye socket. She looked deeply into his eyes, feeling an instant familiarity to it that she couldn’t instantly place.

He tried to pull back away from her, sensing that she was trying to read him in such a way, though the blonde gang leader doesn’t allow it. She grabs his wrists and holds him there, and for some reason the highly capable vigilante doesn’t resist, part of him resigned to this.

She looks into his eyes again, letting their more than familiar gaze wash over her.

She remembers where she’d seen them before.

Lit up in laughter at one of her jokes at the tavern. Ablaze with passion above her as she focused on them, allowing the man to drive himself into her. Settled by love and affection as they laid in bed following their rough lovemaking.

Her eyes widen in shock.

“Matches…”.

He nods slightly, perceptible only to her, before he casts his eyes up at the gathering crowd. “I need to go”. His voice was no higher than a whisper, but it carried with it an insistence, a pleading insistence that she couldn’t deny.

She didn’t have a leg to stand on however, and she wouldn’t be able to stop him if he tried. “Matches...I…”.

“I’ll explain everything Dinah” he says quickly, moving away and leaving his words only for her. He whistles, calling Ace to him as he comes trotting out of the mist towards his master, allowing him to saddle up to the applause and stares of the people he wanted to avoid being seen by.

He takes one last look at Dinah and utters a phrase only meant for her.

“I love you”.

With that, he pulls on Ace’s reins and takes off, disappearing into the mist. He wanted to investigate Grundy further, but with things rapidly escalating the way they were he couldn’t risk milling about.

He angrily forces Ace onwards, wanting to rush back to the manor and compartmentalize all that had happened. “Dammit..dammit” he seethes, not knowing how it could’ve gotten so far that he’d reveal his identity to someone, even a woman like Dinah.

‘Can you trust her?’ he asks himself, wondering if the blonde would turn over such information for monetary gain. If it was for her gang? He knew she’d do it in a heartbeat, and he didn’t blame her for that. ‘You’re also a member of her gang’. That complicated things, devolving his mind into a debate over which would prevail with Dinah. The good of the many or the good of the one.

This was all to hide his true worries, the ones that concerned his crusade, the seemingly random appearance of a previously unknown, at least outside of story books and campfire stories, paranormal entity and the continued Ripper copycat murders.

They all coagulated as major concerns, which were only added to by the fact that Dinah now knew his identity, or at last that Matches Malone was the Batman.

Another secret, another layer to his lie.

He made his way in relative silence back to the manor, sticking to the foggy, gaslit back streets to avoid further detection.

Back on the Scene

Grundy’s body was slowly beginning to disintegrate, the skin peeling away to reveal the putrid rotting flesh beneath. The stench alone was enough to force everyone back, even the heroes who defeated the creature.

Dinah kept looking towards where the Batman had ridden off, her mind unable to comprehend what had been revealed to her tonight.

“Ohh by the heavens, that stench!” Harleen shouts, burying her face in Jonah’s tunic, trying to avoid it. The man himself was nonplussed, having smelled the very same scent upon the countless battlefields he’d fought upon.

Huntress simply brings up a mask to cover her nose, while Victor retrieves a neckerchief from his pocket, both advancing upon the corpse which was almost nothing. Soon, the last of the flesh falls from the bones in a gelatinous mass, evaporating even as it slithers across the ground like rain after a particularly hot day.

The bones that remained were massive in their scale, and a few steel trinkets that clatter out from where the beast’s pockets had once been. Huntress moves forward, dropping her mask as the smell had all but evaporated with the disappearance of the flesh.

She moves down to her knees, beginning to pick through the bones to reach something that might possibly give her a further clue on the whereabouts of Elizabeth Bathroy.

While moving through his ribcage, the others join her, all crowding about the woman who knew more than the rest of them combined about what they were facing. “What are you looking for?” Victor asks, moving besides her.

“Evidence detective” she smirks, stopping for a moment to regard him warily. “Should you not be doing the same?”

Reminded of his job, the man takes to his new task with gusto, rifling through and moving the bones to the side, still careful to not desecrate the dead too completely as he rifles through the remaining fabric of Grundy’s clothes.

His hands enclose around something steel while moving through what seemed to be a pocket. He pulls it out, allowing the moonlight to catch upon it. “It’s...it’s a coin”.

“We can see that” Jonah says, moving in besides the two with Harleen at his back, nervously touching the skull with the tip of her shoe. “It has writing on it” Hippolyta interjects, causing Victor to look down and see that this was no ordinary coin. “I...I can’t read it” he admits. “I don’t even know what language this would be”.

“Give it here per favore” Giovanni says, reaching his hand out.

“I’m a bit of a linguist” he says in way of explanation, and Victor casts a glance towards Helena who was also looking at the strange coin. She nods, acquiescing to the man’s offering of assistance and Vic hands over the coin into the magician’s hands.

Gio flips it and peers at it, not quite able to make it out until he raises his hand and whispers “Raelc”.

With that, the dirt and grime evaporates from the coin, the displaced particles moving into the air and dissipating, momentarily attracting the attention of Harleen who giggles at the movement they make in the wind.

“What’s it say then Mr. Magic?” Jonah asks, skeptical of anyone who relied on what he considered mambo jumbo when a firearm was available.

“It says” Giovanni begins. “Of the Party of Captain John Logerquist, Year of Our Lord 1635”.

“That’s when our city was founded” Harleen interjects, having a knowledge in this area. “It was in Norwegian correct? If it is okay that I presume to ask Mr….”.

“Just call me Giovanni, Harleen” he insists with a wide smile, the woman still walking on egg shells and protocol around the two of them. “We are colleagues, no? And now, apparently, vigilantes”.

He turns to see Dinah, still looking longingly down the street where the Batman had fled following the battle. “Si, it is norvegese”.

“Norway is a very far land from here nai?” Hippolyta asks, being somewhat confused.

“Logerquist was a mercenary” Harleen explains.

“Mm, and mercenaries go anywhere the gold sends them” Jonah adds. Harleen smiles at him and nods. “Just ask my Jonah, he’d know about that. He follows a different kind of gold now though”.

“And what gold would that be?” Hippolyta asks with a smile upon her face, liking the acrobat despite her best efforts not to. “My beautiful locks of course”.

The group descends into laughter, finally breaking Dinah out of her mental malaise and forcing her to join them, settling into the conversation, though she adds precious little herself. “He was contracted by the king of the Netherlands to establish a city here” Harleen continues on. “He did, but decided against handing it over to royal decree. He fought for years to keep Gotham in the name of Denmark, though King Christian the IV simply wasn’t interested”.

“I thought you said he was Norwegian?” Hippolyta asks, confused.

“Yes but Norway was a land belonging to Denmark, well, in union with Denmark, from 1524 to 1814”.

“Ahh, so very recently”.

“Yes”.

“Enough a’ this fookin’ history nonsense” Dinah finally pipes in, angered about how things had gone tonight. “What does all this mean? A corpse comin’ up outta the street and tryin’ to kill everyone, talkin’ ‘bout some bloody nursery rhyme. None a’ this makes sense”.

“It makes all the sense in the world now” Helena says, looking at the bones and realizing that the evil in Gotham ran much deeper, and possibly separate from Elizabeth Bathroy. “Well then, explain it ya gobeshite!” Dinah says, practically screaming in Helena’s face, though the Italian remains calm.

“Si. I will..but somewhere it is sicura”.

“The circus!” Harleen says, knowing that at the very least they’d be able to receive medical treatment and a warm meal.

Before anyone could agree or disagree with her idea, a man in a police uniform walks directly up to them, flanked by other officers who had their weapons drawn. His uniform was spiff and shiny, and he wore spectacles over the bridge of his nose. He also had red hair that had only recently started to grey at the edges.

“I’m Commissioner Gordon” he says gruffly, apparently broking no further nonsense tonight. He softens before he says the next sentence. “We thank you for your assistance tonight, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to vacate the crime scene”.

Helena looks at Giovanni and decides to use their shared native tongue to communicate her desire for that moment. “Nascondi la moneta” she says, and the man nods, secreting the coin into one of his pockets. Gordon apparently doesn’t understand a word of what has been said, and simply continues on, assuming that it was nothing.

Victor steps forward, more than angered at the distinct lack of help he’d been receiving from Gotham’s police force despite having been asked to come all the way across the Atlantic to assist. “Now, you simply cannot..”.

“Victor” Helena interrupts, not wanting him to ruffle too many feathers, not when the stakes were so great. She decides to add some charm, coquettishly batting her eyelids. “We have what we need dolcezza mia”.

She takes his hand as well, adding to the already convincing argument she had put up for him. “Thank you Commissioner” she says with false obeisance. “We shall take our leave then”.

“Harleen, you suggested that we all go to the circus si?” Giovanni says, looking towards the two new friends they had made. “I think that idea is magnifico. Seeing as most of us live there anyways” he chuckles, Hippolyta moving up beside him and nodding.

“You two” he says, looking at Helena and Vic. “I insist you come. For refreshment and rest. It was...a very interessante night”.

“Si. We agree” Helena answers for her and Vic, leaving no more room for conversation as they begin to move off, leaving the unenviable task of cleaning up to the police. “We’re going to need your statements!” Gordon shouts out to them. “Don’t leave the city!”

“We won’t commissioner!” Harleen shouts, waving back and smiling before turning her head and scowling. “He’s going to take all the credit for all of our hard work”.

“Hrmmm”.

She turns to Huntress and smiles, patting Jonah’s chest. “Don’t mind him. He is a man of precious few words most of the time”.

The group enters into the crowd that had been watching, all of which seems to split before, a hush of awed silence moving over the seemingly random group. A man steps forward though, a bowler hat perched upon his head and a note pad in his hand. He used a stick of charcoal to write already beginning as he introduced himself.

“Hello, my name is Jimmy Olsen, a journalist for the Metropolis Observer? I was wondering if you had some time for questions?”

“We’re very tired dear”.

“Fook’ off”.

“Hrmmm..ah hate reporters”.

“This is official police business I’m afraid”.

“No, no commento”.

“Si, same as Giovanni”.

“Amazons do not answer to reporters”.

The group moves on, past the dumbfounded reporter who didn’t truly know what to write down. “What can I call you for my story at the very least?” he calls out, hoping for something, anything to jot down. ‘I guess I’ll have to come up with a name…’ he thinks, jotting down ideas. ‘Hmm...Ohhh! I know!’

The quill begins to move across the paper, the man certainly wanting to note the name down for posterity, or at least so he wouldn’t forget it when he told his readers about this amazing group of heroes he’d seen taken down a creature most foul.

“There we go”.

He pockets the paper and the charcoal stick, joining the rest of the group of varied onlookers in staring at the backs of the retreating heroes. The papers would soon be printing Mr. Olsen’s, a visiting reporter to Gotham, version of events, and all of America, indeed possibly the world, would know the name he jotted down.

The Justice League.

Gotham Swamp

There was barely any sound, which was strange for a swamp even at this time of year. But her presence...it seemed to suck up all the warmth, all the life from her very surroundings. She entered out onto the pier that wound its way into the dark bog before it, her eyes sensing the way without the aid of lamplight her servants so desperately needed.

She was a predator of the night after all.

“Mistress” Thomas asks once again. “May I enquire as to what we are doing here?”

“You may not Thomas” she says simply as the man is irritated by getting his shoe caught in the mud once again. It takes a bit of force, but eventually he is free of the muck’s cold embrace. “Did you summon Cyrus as I asked?”

She had no such problems navigating the mud with no problem, her feet only truly touching the ground when she is above the wood of the fishing skiff.

“I did mistress” Thomas supplies, seeing the others she’d assembled as well, already waiting at the end of the docks with the man she was so interested in seeing. Cyrus Gold stood out as a giant amongst men, and now, with Crane and Langstrom flanking him on either side, the difference was more readily apparent.

“Good” she hisses before sighing, pretending to be sorry for snapping at him. “I apologize my love” She says simply. “I am...distraught. My golem, the one I christened Solomon Grundy, has perished. Killed by one of the assassins who plague me and her cohorts.

“How can you tell mistress?”

She smiles sadly, looking back at the man who had spent so much time with her, yet learned so little. “I found his corpse, festering in this diluted bog Thomas” she explains. “It was my blood that brought him to life. All he sees, I saw”.

“Ahh..yes...when...when I taste of your blood...you shall see all I see as well?” he asks though he already knew the answer. “Yes beloved. I shall see your great love for me. All your sacrifices, and I shall reward you..now shh, the others. They mustn’t know that you are my favored” she whispers, the duo getting closer and closer.

“Yes mistress”.

They were now mere feet in front of Cyrus and the doctors, all of which smile at her dreamily, convinced of the same lies that she’d told each and every one of them, that they were the one she’d choose and that the others were simply toys.

She smiles, hiding it as joy at being able to see them, with each man supplying their own reasons within their mind, while she knows the truth. ‘It is so easy to play a man by promising him what he wants’.

“Jo estet” she says, greeting them all though focusing on Cyrus, advancing upon the man who held a goofy smile upon his face. “Cyrus...Cyrus my love” she says, caressing his face and causing the others to frown, all itching to reach for the butcher’s knives they held in secret on their bodies. “My lady” the man says in his deep baritone while he places his hand atop her own. “You called upon me, and I came”.

“That you did Cyrus. Such a lucky woman I am to have one such as you”.

Her hand moves to his neck, her fingernails slowly elongating into claws and tracing along his neck, though the man doesn’t react, too enthralled was he by her eyes.

“Would you do anything for me Cyrus?”

“Anything” he affirms.

“Even die?”

“Y…”.

Before he can get the next syllable out, she has slit open his throat, practically ear to ear, causing blood to instantly pour out over his neck. In vain his hand moves to his throat, trying to stem to loss of life giving nectar.