|Bruce Wainright has (onerule) wrote in doorslogs,|
@ 2012-08-05 01:35:00
|Entry tags:||batman, catwoman, poison ivy|
Who: Ivy!Brielle, Selina!Wren, and Bruce!Luke (+ NPCs)
What: Dealing with Brielle's husband does not go according to plan. (part 1)
Where: Brielle's apartment.
Emerging from the hotel, she stretched skinny limbs like antennas and yearned against the night sky. Having spent most of the last several weeks influencing and experimenting with the control she had over this body, making the final leap into the driver's seat wasn't difficult. Brielle was the weaker one, there was no question or doubt to be had about that. Memories gave Ivy the knowledge that years ago things would have been different, a little more difficult. Before the marriage, the abuse, and before self esteem escaped in a bloody spiral down a polished platinum drain, Brielle had been a very different creature. She'd been proud and energetic, not necessarily book smart(or what Ivy would have considered such - as Ivy did not have an appreciation for literature or artistry, only science and equations), but a quick wit and a sharp mind ran through Maheu blood just as much as the high potential for damage and neediness.
It was a testament to Ivy's affection for Brielle that she planned this at all. It would be easy for her to go on controlling the damaged woman for the rest of her stay in Las Vegas, but a loss in control was something that she was willing to sacrifice in order to get a glimpse of the young, brilliant dancer that had once been. The one that could turn entire rooms with her contagious laughter, the one that ran off to New York on her own to follow a dream, the one that told her mother to bite it because she was becoming a dancer and that's all there was to it. That girl had been one of endless potential, and while Ivy secretly suspected that it was far too late to get the ghost back, she had to try.
Hailing a taxi, she climbed into the backseat while adjusting to the differences of this body. Where Ivy was lush curves and tensile muscle beneath, Brielle was practically scrawny in comparison. Limbs like a weeping willow, swan delicate with a fragility that Ivy could sense, like running her hands over some porcelain that had been broken and glued back together so many times that the ridges ran deep, chips were missing. She had practically no tits to speak of, and the cab driver was probably very confused as to the way the woman in his backseat cupped her chest with a solemn huff of disappointment. Arriving at the apartment complex, she fished through the pocket of a simple summer dress in order to scrounge up enough money to pay the fare. All she had was a ten, and the man rolled his eyes while accepting it even though she was $2.45 short. He cursed over his shoulder at her as she got out of the car, and she seemed to not hear him at all when she kicked the door shut behind her with a swift flick of her sandaled foot while staring up at the building just ahead. Selina would be here soon, she knew. It was something that she was counting on, and Ivy hadn't needed to count on someone in a long time.
Selina was exactly where she was supposed to be. She'd wasted too much time talking to Bruce that day, and it had left her wanting to scale every building in the city, as talking to the Bat that wasn't her Bat generally did. Oh, it wasn't that she was comparing them to one another. That had, surprisingly, stopped weeks ago. That wasn't where the frustration came from now, but Selina refused to be the one to go begging, and therefore a day spent pretending she was the very well behaved Ms. Maheu was undeniably taxing. And Selina actually hated Las Vegas. The city was too bright, too sunny, too dry, and nothing like home. She wondered when she actually began to think of the dirty alleys and rooftops of Gotham as home, but that was something she wasn't willing to put much thought into just then. It wouldn't do for the kitty cat to get distracted.
It helped, too, that Selina really hated all the ineffectual boys in Las Vegas just then. From Silver, who ran away when things got dirty. To Luke, who hid in the mind of a stronger man when the people he was supposed to care about needed him. To Jack, who went god only knows where instead of keeping an eye on Brielle. To Adam, Red's completely useless excuse for a boyfriend. Failures, each and every one of them, and so she and Ivy were left to do their work. What if they hadn't been able to? What if controlling the little Maheu cousins hadn't worked out? What then? Did they all just die? How long would it take them to even find the bodies? Yes, the kitty cat was slightly annoyed, and she was more than ready to dig her claws into someone.
And it didn't escape Selina that this might all be a trick, an elaborate ploy to make good on a threat made in Gotham regarding a greenhouse. But she doubted it. She didn't trust Ivy, and going through Damian's little Batcomputer hadn't helped with that particular problem, but she believed Ivy wanted to live just as much as the rest of them. That meant for this little problem, at least, they were on the same team. And Selina wasn't being altruistic, not really; kitty cats never were, you see. If she and Ivy didn't take care of this problem, the antihero would go getting himself arrested with another sloppy murder, and then Blondie would go insane. And Blondie going insane, that meant Selina getting locked away. She'd already done that once in Blondie's mind, and she wasn't interested in doing it again.
And so it was, that Selina exited her own cab just as Ivy exited hers. They were polar opposites. Where Ivy was flowing white, Selina was denim and black, thigh-high black boots and hair gone wild with curls. She spied Ivy from across the walk, and she wandered over to her, hips and sway, and Selina really didn't like this softer, curvier body; it made her feel weak in a way her own didn't. "You still walk like yourself," Selina said as she neared, a smile on her ample, glossed over lips. There was a gun tucked in the back of her shorts, and a blade strapped to her thigh, and despite all that blondeness she looked as dangerous as she did in Gotham.
Forest-flecked eyes rolled in self-deprecating amusement when Ivy turned to note Selina's approach. "And I wouldn't mistake you for anyone else," she said of the slink and sway that actually brought nightlife traffic into a bit of a halt for some wolf whistling out of a limo window while it cruised slowly past them. Her attention crawled in a slow bloom over the unfamiliar woman's hips, appreciative. That looked a lot more like home, although it wasn't anything to dwell on, and Ivy fit a cool hand against the hatchet carve of her own whitewashed hipbone while taking in the apartment building's height once more. Cars buzzed by, polluting already rancid air, and it fluttered the demure hem of her beachcomber dress. The fabric was spun from angel wings and it rode the wind dreamily behind her, just like the bronze-cast chestnut of unkept waves.
Ivy hadn't had nearly the time to prepare for this event like Selina had. If that had been the case, she'd have been wearing a whole hell of a lot less and sporting some kind of weapon. A lack of superpowers wasn't promising, and while she could hold her own now and then in a Gotham brawl, Brielle's body type wasn't exactly meant for throwing the hard hits. But instead of getting prepared, Ivy been tied up in Gotham putting the finishing touches on her wind turbine project, and then she got into a lengthy conversation with her lover from this city's side. The one that promised to come to her rescue if she needed him. The idea made her smile a little, an expression that didn't fit the potential severity of this situation at all. Silly boy, she wasn't going to need any help. Not with little miss feral strutting like knives and feline gun flint at her side. "It isn't too late to turn back, kitty cat. This isn't your fight, and you have nothing to prove to me." Cool eyes flicked reptile quick onto the blonde, then back to the apartment building's main door.
"We have our differences in Gotham, but if it is any consolation to such things, there is no one I would rather head into this with than you." Brutal honesty from the out-of-body botanist. She might not have trusted the Cat in certain things, especially Bat-related things, but she knew that she could trust the woman at her back. There were too many memories to deny that, even if this Selina didn't share them at all. "If you are in, I say we go upstairs and at least pack up Brielle's things. If he doesn't show or call tonight, it's got to be tomorrow. Something has to happen.." Ivy didn't like having to wait, she didn't like when the danger went all still and silent on her.
"It is my fight," Selina replied, glancing over her shoulder as they continued to draw attention from passersby. "Not the same way as it is yours, but I still have a stake." She didn't know if Ivy knew the connection between Bruce and Luke. No, more like she didn't know if Brielle knew, in which case Ivy would know. Unlike Blondie, Selina didn't actually have a lot of faith in the antihero to keep his hands to himself when it came to the willow-thin Maheu cousin. But then Selina didn't trust men, and it wasn't very surprising that the opinion extended to Luke. The memory about him being with Brielle had helped, but she would always be a doubting kitty when it came to that. Having faith was entirely in Blondie's court. "If Brielle dies, Blondie loses it, and the kitty cat really doesn't like the thought of life in a straightjacket."
A glance at the building, grey eyes lined black. "We'll both make it out of this in one piece, Ivy, if I have anything to do with it," Selina assured, and she did know that the onus was on her here. Without her abilities, Ivy was crippled. Even Selina was at a disadvantage in this softer, untrained body. But her trigger finger was still good, and Blondie had one hell of a throwing arm, which the kitty cat was very pleased to learn early on while test driving these particular curves.
And Selina agreed about not waiting, too. She had a feeling Brielle's winner of a husband would show sooner rather than later, which was good. She still had all that nervous energy that was making her itch, and it was better for all of them if she was still wanting to scratch once he showed up. She graced Ivy with a pale, arched brow, and then she turned toward the apartment building, making quick work of the pathway leading into the building, and then up to the apartment itself, her heavy black boots heralding their arrival.
To discover that Selina's motivation for this event was in some way related to Luke would have been a laughable surprise. Ivy didn't think very highly of the man at all, although that tended to be the case for most of the weaker gender anyway. Living full-time inside the snowy static of Brielle's damaged thought process, Ivy could see where the sentiment for Luke developed from. Compared to David, Luke might as well have been Prince Charming and the Messiah rolled into one. That didn't mean that he got off light for this discomfort between Brielle and her cousin, which Ivy wholly associated on him. It was easy when he kept giving up all those soft hearted apologies for letting her take all the blame. Ivy might have found human relationships complicated, but it was generally because men were such cowards.
The back of a sugar pale hand drew dark hair away from her eyes as she followed Selina up the stairs on their way to the apartment. "I want him to sign the divorce papers, to drop the charges against her, and agree to never set eyes on her again." There was a pause as she dealt spindle fingers into one of the dress' deep pockets in order to retrieve the apartment key. "I think we've had tougher negotiations, so this should be a peach." Nudging the door open, Ivy extended a long arm in gesture for Selina to make herself welcome. The apartment opened to the pale carpet of the living room, where the wisteria patterned curtains were drawn wide to glimpse the evening sky. "Let's pack and wait for a little rat to come knocking." There were fruit crates from local farmers markets scattered across the living room floor, salvaged from dumpsters. Some were already sporting a folded dress or two, some ceramic bowls picked up from a yard sale. Varieties of potted plants were crammed along windowsills and countertops.. it went without saying that all of those would be coming with them at the end of the day.
"You can start in the kitchen, I'll get her clothes out of the bedroom." Ivy slid the door closed behind them and gestured toward the left for Selina while her own sandaled feet took her to the right. "There's some milk in the fridge, if you're hungry." Ivy's self-amused little smile went unseen as she turned away and started down the hallway to the lone bedroom. Opening the door, the interior was dark. The room itself boasted no ceiling light, and Ivy knew through habit and practice that she had to stride half through the room toward a vintage desk on the left where a lamp sat. Somewhere between the third and fourth pace, Ivy could tell something was different. She might not have had her supernatural powers or altered senses, but there was a new scent riding the air as she made her way further into the room. The alchemy of woody, notes of mandarin, and musk. She might not have been necessarily able to place it through memory, but that hardly mattered; it was distinctly masculine.
"Go on, turn on the light, Brielle..." His voice was expensive, deepened by vintage wines and foreign cigars. Memories of the way he said her name was enough to bring nightmares to the other, but not to Ivy. She didn't fear him when she quietly clicked on the light, bringing a gold rush into the simplicity of the bedroom. He was conventionally handsome, the kind of man that would have looked good roping cattle or sailing a yacht. Of course, he was of the second degree, and that was obvious by his crisp expression, even if he was dressed down in trousers and a black v-neck that was Ivy recognized as being more expensive than even Brielle's rent had been. "How did you get in here?" It had to be asked, even as she noted the dark metal of the handgun balanced on his chiseled knee. How lovely it was to be the only one unarmed. "You opened the lease with my bank account, Brielle, and we are married. The leasing office let me in."
"Figures," Ivy noted on a lackluster sigh, and her hazel eyes followed the migration of David's expression as his eyes narrowed with a kind of unfamiliarity. This was not the withered pet that he'd kept under lock and key. Standing, David brought the gun up with him and kept the barrel level with the avian bones of her chest when he approached. Having been shot before, that was the only real incentive that Ivy needed to take a cautious step back, even if it put the wall at her back.
"Tell your company to leave, Brielle. We have much to discuss, and we shouldn't be rude." The gun barrel dug into her sternum with warning and Ivy took a deep breath before turning her head to one side. He obviously didn't want her to set off any alarms, but he wouldn't recognize the one code that she tossed out to the dark of the hallway. "Wren, you should go. I can finish this packing on my own, oui?" Not Selina, Wren.
Selina didn't actually need the code, the warning. Maybe it was the fact that the kitty cat never had powers to fall back on, maybe it was just that her senses were honed on streets and in alleys, where background noise was a constant and picking things up using her other senses was a requirement. Maybe it was just the cat in the cat burglar, but she picked up the masculine scent as soon as she walked in the door. Expensive, the kind of thing that made her think of the rich clients that had visited the home she'd lived in from the age of twelve on. It should have given the Bat away as Bruce Wayne in her world, but it hadn't, that smell of expensive soap, of cologne, of wealth. Maybe she'd just been too distracted then, but she wasn't now.
The kitchen was no longer on the agenda, and Selina spent the few seconds she knew she had coming to her to examine the layout of the apartment as best she could. She really should have come here before this, scoped out exits and seen how sound carried, but she'd been expecting to do this at Turnberry, and Turnberry was completely catalogued. This place, however, wasn't, and she paced the living room, entirely silent on the heavy boots, and wished for her slimmer frame as she glanced into the kitchen, into the bathroom, taking in as much as she could without making sound or casting a shadow across Brielle's open bedroom door.
Selina heard the voice from the bedroom, deep and male and wealthy, and she glanced around for rope, for something useful. There was nothing, of course, and she slid her whip-belt loose of the denim shorts without even a whisper of sound, already moving forward. She was better with the whip than with the gun, and the gun was really for show. Men feared metal more than leather, and that was why Selina chose the whip as her primary weapon in the first place. It gave her an advantage.
Ivy's voice was the thing Selina was waiting on, and she held the whip in a hand that was just behind her hip. "Are you sure, cousine?" she called out, knowing that was what Wren called her cousin, even if her knowledge of French ended there. Russian? She could do. Italian? Sure. French? Not so much. There wasn't very much use for French in Gotham's underbelly. She moved after she asked the question, but her steps were silent, and there was no indication she was going to put up a fight until she appeared in the doorway.
Selina was the picture of confused, blonde ditz as she stopped there, at the mouth of the room. She bit her lip, effected a halo of innocent confusion, and she let her grey eyes go wide with a gasp as she saw the scene in front of her, as if there was nothing more shocking in the world than the man that was standing there, a gun to her cousin's chest. She looked, for all the world, like a scared, pale mouse, precisely like the kind of woman who would end up like Brielle. Her lip trembled, and Selina bided her time; the gun was too close.
"You've got some pictures that need explaining, Mrs. Gentry," the voice was cool satin against Ivy's face when one of his hands came up to grip her jaw. Through Brielle's memories, she knew that this was one of his favorite methods of reigning in his dominance. Forcing her to look at him, forcing her to look wherever he wanted her to look, even if it was only in a mirror while he hissed about all of the ways that she was his and his alone. From the corner of her eye, Ivy could see some quality developed photographs spread across the bed where he'd been sitting in wait. Many were taken from a distance, but were notably high resolution. Especially the one sitting right on top. Brielle had looked lovely that night at the party, in her blue dress and her French twist, with black lace peeking from the high cut of fabric that rode one thigh. In the picture, her hands claimed Jack's shoulders where she'd drawn him into a rather one-sided kiss. The night hadn't ended very well, but it was incriminating she supposed. Current reality came spinning back when David tightened his grip on her chin and rattled her head like a doll. It took everything in Ivy to keep from narrowing her eyes in venom. With a rough swallow, she managed to make her expression quite pitiful. The tremble in her jaw was very real, as the pressure from his fingers promised five perfectly formed bruises. The muscles spasmed and twitched in an ache that couldn't be faked.
The gasp from the doorway was what disrupted the scene, and David's hand fell away from Ivy's face as his attention made a quick veer onto the blonde in the boots. The cousin he'd never met. Maybe he couldn't help but to stare for a moment, and Ivy took a deep breath while glancing down at the gun still pinned to her chest. There was a miniscule tilt of her head to examine the barrel and then the sudden, exotic bloom of a winner's smile. "David, darling," she whispered with the husky drop of a secret just for them. "You left the safety on." Confusion creased his brow when he glanced from Wren, to Brielle, and down to the gun just as delicate hands wrenched his arm up. The element of surprise accounted for a lot, especially when a girl was physically outmatched. But Ivy gained a two-handed grip on the gun barrel and tore it free from his fingers just before she sent the grooved handle slamming hard against the side of David's face.
Selina figured maybe all of Blondie's curves were good for something after all. She knew Ivy was going to take the opening just as soon as she heard that purr in her voice, that sound that was all Ivy and nothing like she imagined Brielle to sound. Her gaze had dropped to the pictures on the bed, and she didn't recognize Jack at all. It didn't take a genius to connect those dots, though, and it was an easy jump from there to the conclusion that Ivy had been using Brielle's body to meet with her Las Vegas lover.
But there wasn't time for that kind of speculation, and as soon as Ivy grabbed the gun, Selina had her whip out. No sooner had the grooved handle met with David's face, than Selina's whip was hissing across the room and wrapping itself around David's throat without even coming near Ivy, even with the close distance. A sharp yank sent David slamming onto the floor, and Selina was on his back quicker than anyone had a right to be able to get there. Her knee dug into his spine as she knelt on him, grinding her kneecap against the middle vertebrae, and she looked up at Ivy, just before pulling David's hands behind his back, intending to secure them with the whip. "You're going to bruise," she said to Ivy, looking at the mottling marks on her face, as if there wasn't any threat at all from the sadistic bastard on the floor. She glanced over at the photos on the bed then, even as she blew a blonde curl from her eyes. "You've been busy."
Ivy drew a deep breath of release, as if that whole shivering bird caught in the bear trap routine had been a great deal more trying than expected. She'd never made a good victim. That one time all those years ago was enough, repeats left a bad taste in her mouth. With David torn away from her, Ivy was free to stretch that ballet body, pleased to witness Selina in her element when the Cat in disguise jerked the struggling man's hands behind his back. David shouted with demands to know what the hell was going on, and Ivy ignored him entirely in favor of Selina. The mention of bruises to come had her tonguing the edge of her mouth, exploring the stretch of her jaw. It hurt as effectively as any punch would have, which was impressive.. the bastard must have had a lot of practice at getting it just right. "That's okay," Ivy assured her ally while watching David continue to struggle and swing out against the bind of the whip, "So will he." Stepping out of her sandals, Ivy moved freely around the bedroom. She was a Grecian goddess in bare feet, the simplicity and decadence of milk and honey. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.. a punctured lung for a punctured lung," she dropped a girlish pout and playfully accusatory eyes on the man pinned to the floor.
Bypassing the bed, Ivy picked up that picture of the kiss and examined it with an amused smirk. Up close, she could see the knot of tension between Jack's brows, how adorably perplexed he'd been. "Not really," Ivy explained with a sigh as she dropped the picture back down onto the bed. "He didn't appreciate the effort." Turning to regard Selina and the husband of the year, Ivy took a sardonically thrilled inhale as she sat on the edge of the bed, depositing the gun beside her out of disinterest. "Now onto the negotiations. What should be first?" Hazel eyes studied Selina thoughtfully. "Money? The girls could use money."
Selina concentrated on securing the whip behind David's back, ensuring the cinch was tight and that he couldn't slip their trap. It had been painfully easy, but she really hadn't been expecting anything more in the way of a struggle. Everything pointed to him being an unskilled sadist, the kind that hurt women because he could, because he got off on it, not because he had any training in being effective. It was the kind of man she hated most, if she had to boil it down to that. The kitty cat had plenty of experience with men like the one under her knee, and it just made her grind her boot against his back with unforgiving force as she stood, all smooth silk in the overexposed curves. She secured his ankles in the same manner, tugging them up until he was hog-tied. Her boot kissed the side of his face a moment later, keeping it pressed to the cream carpet, keeping him from lifting his head.
Selina watched Ivy pick up the picture, watched her amused smirk. It wasn't a lovesick expression, and she didn't know why that surprised her, but it did. Maybe she expected to find her own weakness in the other woman, maybe she was just constantly surprised by the things Ivy did. Either way, she was glad when the topic turned to negotiating. Selina had never been particularly good at this part of things. She was good at fighting, and she was good at stealing, but she'd never been able to keep enough of a distance to be a good negotiator. Oh, playing a part? That she could do. Lying to get what she wanted? That too. But negotiating was about playing it cool, and Selina wasn't very good at cool, not past an entirely effected surface calm.
Selina's grey eyes - so very different from her true, bright green ones - regarded Ivy. Money was always good, but it wasn't on the agenda, at least not that she was aware of. "You negotiate. I'll just break him if he doesn't cooperate," she said, finally, after a long, long look at her partner in crime. She ground his cheek beneath her boot to drive the threat home.
"I'd both love and hate to watch her destroy that gorgeous bone structure of yours, David baby.. but I think it would just be quicker if you sign yes on all of my dotted lines." Ivy crossed the dancer's legs and dragged back the endless hem of her white dress so that it was not in the way. Something that resembled a glimmer of regret danced on the tip of her tongue, casting the faintest twist of sighing calligraphy onto the words. This would have been a lot more fun and simpler if she'd just had her abilities, and being in this so-called real world was so much more of a curse than a blessing. Those less informed would have likely viewed it as the other way around; no life-altering chemicals, no deep-rooted connections to the Earth, no pheromones, the chance at a normal life. But what Ivy had never told anyone in Gotham is that she'd already found the cure for her condition, the antidote that would relieve her back into the terrible monotony of humanity. She was a world class scientist, after all, and out of pure curiosity, she'd developed the formula several years ago. It would never be used, it was to be forever locked away in one of Gotham's bank vaults because as time went on, Ivy couldn't imagine a life where she was disconnected from nature. She imagined it would be what those angels felt when they were cast out of Heaven.
"You're going to sign the divorce papers, and you're going to drop the arson charges. I don't want alimony." David's pretty blue eyes watched her in utter distrust even when he failed to speak up just yet, there was surprise at the denial of alimony, then more distrust. "I want you to simply stay away from me." There was a beat before her hazel eyes sharpened, nowhere near the toxic glow of Ivy's bewitching stare, but wholly captivating by the thrill that rode through her pupils. "Do not think that I will stay away from you, however, Mr. Gentry. I am going to check in on you from time to time. I am going to monitor your dating life, and if you take another wife, I am going to be very watchful for any unexpected trips to the emergency room. If I see so much as a bruise on one of their wrists, I will blackmail you to within an inch of your trust fund, you piece of fertilizer.. am I understood?"
"You crazy bitch," he muttered against the floor where his face was crammed against the carpet. Despite that, however, defeat was in his eyes. Ivy's glance rolled slowly up to meet Selina, and she smiled, but the softness froze at the sound of a knock on the door. Sooty lashes narrowed on the Cat, "Expecting someone?"
Selina would have found the fact that Ivy had an antidote but didn't use it more troubling than most things, which was saying something. Even in her world, where Ivy had gone good, there had been trouble eventually. Ivy, more plant than human, always tended to fall off that wagon of good intentions. Sometimes it was an accidental death, a kiss, like in the memory. Sometimes it was intentional, like her fallout with the Birds. But there was a reason Ivy was one of Arkham's regular residents. Reading through the information Damian had given her, the intel about his world, told her that the desire to redeem Ivy wasn't new for her, but it was still hard to know that particular desire had turned around and tried to kill her more times than she could count.
But it wasn't the time for that, because Ivy was finally getting to the reason they were there. Divorce papers, arson charges, and Selina found that the itch she'd been wanting to scratch all day wasn't actually getting any better by being there with David's cheek ground beneath her boot. Maybe it had been too easy, or maybe it was just starting to feel like it had been too easy. And maybe it was her senses, but she wasn't surprised when the knock came.
"No," Selina replied, because there was always the possibility that Bruce had known precisely who he was talking to on the journals, but she knew him well enough to know he would never do something as mundane as knock on the door like a visitor. She moved away from David, knowing the ties would keep him bound, even without her boot on his face. A glance to the gun on the bed told Ivy to take it, and then Selina turned for the door, pulling her own gun from the small of her back and unsheathing the knife at her thigh as she moved, sway and curves and the wish that she had her own, much more capable physique available. Sure, the blonde bombshell was useful on Brielle's husband, but that wouldn't be the case with real trouble, if that's what was waiting on the other side of the door.
Selina tugged open the door, chain still in place and intentionally vacant grey eyes blinking innocently at the man there, a tall man that looked to be in his mid-thirties. Selina didn't need Wren's knowledge of Silver's body language to understand that this man's was the same. Retired government, she guessed, and she knew then they were in trouble. She could take a good handful of men like him, assuming David was smart enough to have a detail of that calibre, but Ivy's skills (as far as Selina knew) were all pheromones and enhanced DNA, and not the kind of thing that would do them much good in a fight. It might actually hurt them.
He was kicking at the door a moment later. Selina cried (she was good at faking tears), and it slowed the man down for all of five seconds before he shoved inside. Yeah, the ditzy blonde routine wasn't going to work. How about the palm-heel to the chin and knee to the crotch? That worked better, and the roundhouse kick that knocked him flat on his ass worked even better still, but the press of cold steel to the back of Selina's head said she should have checked the window entry points better. She couldn't see how many of them there were, but there were two more at the door, and this had just gotten very, very complicated.
The only visitor that Ivy could have possibly foreseen making an unannounced arrival was Jack, for although he didn't know where this showdown was occurring, he did know the location of Brielle's apartment. When Selina ease off of David's back, the man was still spitting with unyielding rage about the divorce papers Without Selina's boot digging into his cheek, the shouts ricocheted off of the quiet walls of the bedroom. He'd never sign the papers, he'd see her dead first, the cunt, the bitch, he'd -- Ivy caught him across the face with a swift side kick, the kind that would send a soccer ball shattering through a plate glass window. "Shut up," she hissed while listening for any sounds coming from down the hall. The sound of her front door being kicked in was proof enough that something had gone wrong, the girls hadn't accounted for David to come with backup in tow.
While Ivy relied on her powers more often than physical violence, she was no stranger to the latter. Nobody in Gotham survived very long if they didn't have more than one trick up their sleeve. And while Brielle's body was lean and flexible from years of extensive dance training, the girl was also delicate as an antique faberge egg with a history of multiple fractures. She could hear Selina in the other room. Although it was not Selina's voice, Ivy had no doubt of who had just brought about the groan of pain from at least one man. There was the sound of glass breaking, and Ivy knew it was one of the windows in the living room. Taking the gun from the bed, Ivy knelt down beside Brielle's bound husband. "We've still got business to conduct sugar, so sit tight," and with that she brought the brought down against the back of his skull with all the strength a ballerina could muster. The force snapped his eyes closed and finally silenced him.
Unclicking the safety, Ivy stood and made for the hallway. She was swift in bare feet, that angelic dress fluttering like some ghost bride in a dream as she made her way toward the living room. Unfortunately, she didn't get very far. A flicker of movement in her periphery had her turning just as an armed man caught her wrist as it flew in his direction, and some pressure point mojo had her dropping the weapon with a wince. He twisted that arm behind her, high and tight and painful, with the muzzle of his gun warm against the back of her neck. "Mr. Gentry!" The man shouted, and upon getting no reply, he gestured to one of the others to search the premise. The search didn't last very long, and after a moment, a young man emerged from the bedroom with a stony expression. "He's unresponsive, sir.." The solemn turn of phrase made Ivy wonder if that meant more than just unconscious. Maybe she'd struck him harder than intended...
Her eyes found Selina's, unfamiliar hazel on unfamiliar gray, and neither of them had to say a word. This wasn't good.
It wasn't the gun pressed to the back of her head that worried Selina. It wasn't even the sound of glass crashing, or the fact that she was slowly lowering her arms and dropping both her gun and the knife, or the fact that her whip was currently occupied in the other room. No, it was that look in Ivy's eyes, the way the voice assured them all that David wasn't responding. The look she shot back at Ivy was all wide grey eyes and what? No, he wasn't supposed to be dead. He wasn't dead seconds ago. She wasted precious seconds on the realization that there was, likely, a dead man in Brielle's bedroom, and that the collected men in the room could probably identify both the women that she and Ivy were controlling.
Bad to worse, and Selina couldn't help but think of her Bat, and all the times he'd told her she was going to get someone killed with her carelessness. She should have known better that to leave Ivy alone with the husband. But there wasn't time for that, and she gave Ivy a warning look before she slammed her head back against the chin of the man holding the gun, counting on the shock to keep herself from getting a bullet to the brain. That wouldn't help Ivy, though, and Selina was counting on Ivy being able to manage it on her own, because Selina was rounding and kicking the gun from the man's hand, a high kick to his chin coming up short a second later, and damn Blondie and her useless softness.
Unarmed and at a disadvantage, all Selina could manage was a dive for the fallen gun, and a shot that caught the man holding the gun pointed at Ivy in the wrist, causing him to lose his grip on the weapon, even as the man she'd clocked recovered enough to grab at her blonde hair.
Timing was a hit-and-miss. There were instances when the Bat’s was impeccable, almost impossibly so, and others when he was too late, whether by a second or more. Then, of course, there were the times when he was early, but this was neither that nor the latter. Between dropping Gus off, ensuring Ms. Robinson reached the hotel safely, and preparing for whatever he might find when he tracked Selina down (because he knew men like Brielle’s husband, knew the rich and powerful liked to surround themselves with allies, as power depended on those to exert it over) fate decided that Bruce’s arrival came just before things could get even worse.
The bedroom, which had previously been empty save for a man who might or might not have been dead, was now dark. A minor blip, really, one hardly noticed by men too preoccupied with guns and troublesome women, and only a quiet whistle of metal heralded what came next. The man holding a handful of blonde hair brought his free hand to his neck, puzzled, and his fingers came in contact with something smooth and razor-sharp before his eyes glazed over and he collapsed into a useless heap. The others looked around, like startled animals sensing the presence of a predator, and there was another metallic twang, silver through the air, before the same thing happened to the man nursing a wounded wrist and reaching for his fallen weapon. Two down, all in a matter of seconds, and that was when attention turned to the now-darkened bedroom. These men were no common thugs, which meant they were intelligent enough not to rush into the darkness impulsively, but the shift of their gaze to the depths of blackness was enough.
What came out of the dark was not the Bat, but it was not exactly a man either. Unhindered by heavy armor and his own bulk, Bruce moved quickly, a black blur as he lunged at the closest men, a pair, his outfit something vaguely military; dark clothing, boots, a thick sort of plate around his chest, and a mask that made his eyes oddly shiny. It took more effort to make his blows as heavy as they usually were, but anger (both his and Luke’s) and determination did the trick. He said nothing, and so the only sounds in the room were the crack of bone, the thud of flesh against flesh, and the cries of the men unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of this avenging stranger’s wrath. A couple shots were fired, but they were slow, delayed, and Bruce was able to easily predict their direction and dodge accordingly. Being shot at only made him more brutal; he did not kill, of course, but he wasn’t quite merciful either. The gun dropped when the man holding it found his arm suddenly snapped in two, and his strangled cry was cut off with the crack of the gun across his jaw, his body meeting the floor a second later.
No direction was given to the women in the room. Perhaps it was because Bruce was too busy plowing through David’s personal army and avoiding bullets to speak, or perhaps it was because he assumed that they would have a shred of common sense, enough to get out of the way. It might even have been a mix of both.