. (spacecowboys) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-11-26 19:34:00 |
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Entry tags: | catwoman, door: dc comics |
Who: Selina
What: Narrative
Where: Gotham
When: Recently
Warnings/Rating: Brothel bonfire?
Bad news traveled fast in Gotham. It slithered along on its belly through Gotham's crooks and cons, and it nipped at ankles and reminded everyone of where they lived. But this news, this news was music to the ears of Gotham's very worst men. It carried into Blackgate City, and it carried to the crime bosses, and it carried to the mafia men with arms that spanned all the way to Italy and Russia.
New Arkham was letting Scarecrow go.
And that was music to every little crook's ear, because it meant that if they just played their cards right, they too could be untouchable and so very, very reformed. Just like Jonathan Crane. Just like Edward Nigma. If Gotham's big names could get out, then why couldn't they? And the news sped up and up, and by the time it reached the kitty cat's ears it was more caterwaul than purr.
Selina had spent the days since her chat with Eddie trying to find her footing. Oh, it wasn't just that little bit about Eddie warning Bruce that she couldn't be trusted, and it wasn't the tiny, bitty change of plans with Blackgate that rendered her obsolete, and it wasn't even Crane being set loose, while she had to remain endlessly on the run. It wasn't anything, really, all by itself. But all of it together left her feeling like she didn't know this Gotham, and like she might never know it. She wasn't sure there was a place for anyone like her in the city. And she wasn't a stupid kitty cat, despite Eddie's mocking about her ability to break into places; she knew she sounded a little like the kitten. But the difference was she didn't have any intention of letting anyone see that. No, if even the people she called friends were starting to doubt her abilities, to doubt her in general. Well, maybe it was time to bid her beloved city goodbye. And for all that she lived in a very, very grey place, she had her own moral compass, and that moral compass said some things couldn't be forgiven. And she was tired. She was so very, very tired.
But there was something to do first. Something she'd been planning since she'd casually dropped by "Em's" and found the place empty. It was big, the funeral home, and it was going unused. It was the perfect little place for the girls from Egorovs brothel she'd been eying for the past week. And what would a day matter? It wasn't like she was in any real rush.
And so she did it slow, and she did it careful, and by morning eleven teenage girls were all tucked away inside the dreary Peaceful Passing Funeral Home. But however somber the place was, it was better than the brothel Selina turned inside out before sunrise. She didn't kill the men who ran it, and she didn't tie them up for the police to find, because she didn't see the point. Instead, she torched the building once it was clear - just another fire in Gotham's slums - and she made sure there wasn't even the tiniest trace that led back to the girls. And, after a few more hours of work, the little ex-prostitutes had a very, very nicely sized duffel-bag worth of cash, acquired from different banking institutions around Gotham.
And more than that, they had a promise.
Selina had learned years ago that moving money from Gotham to the desert didn't work. Bills were counterfeit out in Las Vegas. Painting and jewels had the same problem, and she assumed carrying anything into another door would yield the same results. But she had a plan, did the kitty cat. She still had a key to Marvel, and maybe some time in quiet New York would make for a nice change. She could set the girls up there, once she had enough money put by. Rinse. Repeat. And stealing things in a new setting, that might be just the kind of distraction she needed.
And that was a lie, of course, but she'd cut her first teeth on lies, and that wasn't something easily forgotten.
She didn't have anything to pack, because she still hadn't managed to find anywhere permanent since Blackgate City. Even Gotham's more open-minded citizens were wary of the Feds, and staying on the move had become a requirement. Nothing to pack, nothing to move. Well, there was something to be said for not setting down roots; it made for easy relocation.
For the first time in months, she typed out a note for Blondie, and she found a nice, tall rooftop and watched the smoke climb and mingle with the smog that perpetually coated the city. It was freezing, winter and twinkling lights on even the poorest balcony. She'd stay a few hours, she decided. Watch the sun come up, and then she'd cross, jeans and a belted trench, no kitty cat ears in sight.