Who: Talia Al Ghul [open to reactions/logs from people who intended to go, if wanted] What: As per Sam's request, Talia submerges herself in the pits. However, it goes a bit beyond 'injure'. When: 11:00pm [accessible to all characters on the 11pm local news] Where: The Lazarus Pits Rating: P-13 [brief death]
The trepidation on her face was a real as it was on the faces of the many ill of Los Angeles who had never seen the Lazarus Pits before, but Talia's was for a different reason. She wrinkled her nose as she stared down at the main Lazarus Pit and then looked back up at the crowds and the cameras and the shores beyond them. Most importantly, she stared at the male servant standing nervously just about ten feet in front of her holding the AKA-47 she'd loaded and cocked for him.
"You're going to have to do this." She spoke to him in a low Dzongkha, his native language. "I mean it. Empty the magazine completely –head and chest-- or when I come back I'm going to be severely upset with you. Do you understand?"
"Your father would have me killed if—"
"My father isn't here and I am the Vanguard," Talia glared at him and put her hands over his on the gun. "Hold it firmly, make sure your grip is steady. Make sure you don't miss. Give the body ten minutes and make sure everyone here knows that I've died. Ashi and Dechen will make sure I'm easily in and out of the Pit and then you and Singye will bring me back to the house once they've seen that I'm alive. I won't have them witness my madness. The Detective should arrive… you'll show him in and up to my room and then leave us." I hope he arrives, she thought silently. He needs to come.
Talia let go of her servant's hands and gave him one last warning look before reaching for her waist and the holster resting there. Her palm wrapped around the handgun sitting there and she pulled it out, gesturing to a camera man and tossing him the weapon before he could object. "Lucky volunteer number two. Come here," she ordered.
The shock on the man's face was very obviously real, hopefully proving to the crowd that he wasn't a plant of any sort. He certainly protested enough, a quiver coming into his voice that made Talia almost regret choosing him. But finally he stepped back next to her servant holding the larger weapon; both their hands were shaking.
Talia had never asked for immortality. She could remember a time when her father had gotten his hands on the Holy Grail and tried to force her to sip from it. She'd knocked it from his hand, telling him she would spit it back in his face if he dared try it. She knew that he did it for her own benefit, because he loved her and wanted her to be alive to rule the world when he finally took it over. "Dear God, that even sounds like lunatic ravings…" Talia scrubbed her hands over he face, forgetting for a moment the cameras taping her every movements. She had to do this. The city needed to be cleansed and done without the burning and pestilence and armies her father worked with. If people didn't believe in her or the pits, then she would have to resort to his methods.
She loved Ra's with every fiber of her being, but she couldn't bring herself to live forever for him. She was thirty-six and she knew she had the body of someone in their late twenties from that first and only dip she'd taken. This next trip would likely set her back another five or so years. Most women would have been thrilled, but Talia wanted to live a fulfilling life… not an everlasting one.
"If this is the only thing I can do to prove my intentions, then I will. I save you all from a worse fate."
Talia Al Ghul died, live and on camera, at eleven-oh-one. The AK-47 had twenty rounds of M43 bullets, all of which were emptied into her body as per her instructions and when that was done a final bullet was shot through her head, just for good measure. Her servants would be scrubbing the blood of the platform for days afterwards and no doubt picking up pieces as well, but that wasn't important at the moment. People and cameras rushed forward, eager to get a view to see if the heiress really had just killed herself in front of their eyes. Several people, professional and not, announced the obvious. The woman was dead. Completely and thoroughly.
At eleven ten, Talia was lowered into the pits by two female servants and at eleven eighteen she was brought up again, dripping wet and gasping and coughing desperately for air. The two women hurriedly wrapped a cloth around their mistress' body to cover the skin bared by bullet ridden clothing, but not before cameras had gotten a clear shot of completely healed flesh and a face that now looked about twenty-three, even through the curtain of soaked dark hair.
Two more servants emerged from the crowds and stood on either side of Talia, strong arms holding her steady as if they were prepared for any sudden outburst she could possibly give. They started her up towards the house, almost carrying her, before reporters could ask any questions.
"Tomorrow," said one of the female servants to the cameras. "Tomorrow she will answer your questions, but for now she must rest from what you've made her do."
She turned back around then, and started helping the others fish bullets out of the Pit.