damian calls the shots (forthecowl) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-03-16 01:25:00 |
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Entry tags: | catwoman, damian wayne, door: dc comics |
Who: Catwoman and Robin
When: Earlier this week
What: Stealing stuff!
Where: Gotham Museum and around that area
Warnings: Minor Violence
Damian had been so busy telling everyone they had changed to ever admit he had, too. Being an adult teenager was a jarring experience filled with a new set of drives that were deemed untrustworthy by the likes of himself at the age of ten. But, there was nothing he could do about it now. Taking responsibility as the one person in Gotham who knew and lost the most forced him to press on. Since he knew more than Bruce or Catwoman combined, making sure that his mother and grandfather couldn’t get their hands on anything that had potential power was his new priority. There was a chance they’d never show up, but if they did, his efforts would cripple them considerably. It was the best thing he could do to help Bruce out, short of cementing over the Lazarus Pit, of course.
Plus, this gave him a chance to see if Catwoman would be a worthy ally. His first intention was to find a way to fight her in some petty attempt to show dominance, but she proved herself to be too interesting and possibly valuable to destroy so quickly. As a teenage boy, he liked the way she talked to him, the honesty that seeped through her need to keep her cards close to her chest. He could see why his father would chase after someone like that, but refused to follow so closely in his footsteps. Unlike him, Damian didn’t think Catwoman was better than being a thief. She’d never change, at least, not for a very long time. That suited him just fine.
Dressed in his updated costume of deep red, black pants, a utility belt and no cape to speak of, Damian crossed his arms and waited. Even though he was tiny as a child, Damian had grown tall like his grandfather, but strong like Bruce. He had the dramatic blue eyes and black hair that matched most of the Robin’s, but resembled Batman more closely than any of them ever could.
It would be an understatement to say Selina was having one of her least-best days. She hadn’t actually believed the baby bird’s claims about her Bat until the day before, but now it seemed impossible to argue with reality. Batman - her Batman - wasn’t here. In his stead, there was a stranger, one who didn’t care about what happened to her, and one who didn’t seem to understand things either. Her Bat was young, angry, idealistic and broken enough to see right through her bullshit; this one seemed more inclined to treat her like that aforementioned baby bird. It was a jarring wake-up call, going from lover to nonexistent. Selina hated wake-up calls.
But, when it came right down to it, she would have met with her new feathered friend regardless of how welcoming Batman had been. She was young, but she wasn’t stupid, and this Robin had a whole lot more answers than she did. Plus, if he wanted to steal something from under the inky cape of Batman, then there had to be a good reason for it. Like it or not, this was her Gotham now, and that meant she needed to be in the know. And she’d meant what she said to the apparent-billionaire-playboy-vigilante; regardless of what had changed, she still had her loyalties - even if they only made sense to her.
The museum was not the Cat’s usually territory. She preferred the darker parts of Gotham - even this new Gotham, where things were exactly like they should be - but she was in the mood for trouble, and there was little that improved her outlook like stealing from people who had more than they needed. The museum, like all of Gotham’s charity-funded institutions, was a place for the rich to sink dollars that could be put to better use making an actual change in the city. Even if Bruce Wayne funded the place, she had no crisis of conscience about helping herself to something inside.
Perched atop the stone ledge of the building opposite the museum, Catwoman was a crouching figure in shiny black. The boots that encased her legs to the shin bore no pointy heels, and the zipper on her catsuit reached to her throat. Her hair, beneath her cowl, was obviously short, and the goggles that covered her eyes were thick and amber. The whip at her hip made no noise as she unwound it, and she snapped it to a balcony across the way and swung down to land in front of a little bird that was older than she expected him to be, barely younger than her at all. “You’re taller than I expected,” she said, straightening and looking him over as she did. She paused. “And you look like him.”
“I told you I wasn’t little.” Damian turned his head to look over at her. The costume was familiar, but the frame was different. Nearly his age. He ignored the comment about how he looked like Bruce, knowing delving any deeper would unearth some truths about who he was. Didn’t people assume the Robins were related to Batman, anyway? Or was it common knowledge he took orphans off the street? He reached to his utility belt and held out a small ear comm. “That’s so we can talk if we get separated.” Robin then took out a flat, handheld screen that looked like a high tech phone.
“Here’s the floorplan of the museum. There’s sensor lasers, guards and protective glass. All things you should be able to handle.” Damian actually didn’t know her capabilities, but if Catwoman couldn’t steal from a measly Gotham museum, she didn’t deserve to wear the mask. “I’ll take care of the guards, security cameras and whatever else I can. Your main goal is to focus on getting the skull, located here on the second floor.” He pointed to where the skull was located.
She tucked the comm into her ear with an entertained smile. She almost felt like she was playing for the good guys, which was laughable, except for the fact that she was helping one of the good guys double cross his own mentor. If she wasn’t in such a bad mood, it would be entertaining. As it was, she just switched the comm on and grinned. “If we get separated, I can find you without a little earpiece, baby bird,” she assured him.
Her attention was quickly diverted to the plans, and she looked them over with a steady professionalism that should be foreign to the girl with the purr and the whip at her hips. She swiped her claw-gloved fingers over the screen, memorized lasers guards and glass, and she quirked a brow when he said they were things she should be able to handle. “Should I?” she asked, all entertainment. She handed the tablet back, and she unfurled her whip at her side, snapping it back to the balcony over his shoulder. “You can do whatever you want. I don’t actually need your help, you know. This is like taking candy from a baby.” And it should be. And if it wasn’t? Well, she was going to have to remind herself of what life was like without an inky black security net at some point. She relished the idea that maybe it was dangerous inside. She needed to feel alive again, and nothing helped her feel alive like a threat.
She didn’t wait for him before using the whip’s snap to somersault over his head and land on the balcony. Seconds later, she was scaling the building with the experience of someone who had been doing this long enough to have lost any fear of heights or falls, claws making purchase a guaranteed thing. The whip led her onto the opposite roof, and she was in the air ducts within seconds, heading to the grate that would lead to the room with the lasers, guards and skull. There was one thing about the cat that made her very, very good at what she did; she wasn’t scared of dying. It was the perfect edge.
“Why would I let you have all the fun?” Robin asked, watching the thief bound over and past him. What Catwoman didn’t know was that Damian had been itching to get back into the action himself. Beating up common street thugs was one thing, but this let him utilize all of the stealth and hand to hand combat he had been taught. Plus, this plan was risky. If Bruce found out, he’d likely try to ground Robin or something similarly ridiculous. He’d never understand that Damian was trying to keep the city safe, too. Just in his own, backhanded way.
Taking a running leap, Robin shot his grappling hook and swung around the side of the building. He’d cause as much shadowy chaos as he could in different locations of the museum to buy her time and hopefully shut down some of the security tech the museum had. Landing near the loading bay in the back, he began climbing boxes and scaling fences until he was past the main garage and into the employee only area. He dropped down on a nearby guard, delivered a quick chop to the man’s neck and waited for him to fall before taking his security keys. First stop, the employee roster for the night.
“Catwoman.” Robin whispered into the comm. “It’s slow season at the museum. There’s only five guards on the second floor. Eight on the fi-” He hushed as the faint sound of a man barking HEY in the background could be heard. The comm switched off abruptly for a couple seconds before the little bird’s voice could be heard again. Calm, cool, collected. “Seven on the first floor.”
She was working on the grate when his voice chirped in her ear. She almost laughed at the tourist-like description of slow season, because that took some balls, and she appreciated cocky sons-of-bitches as much as the next kitty, but it was the hush that made her pause in her work. She was almost expecting to need to save the baby bird from his nest, but the cool collected seven made her grin. Alright, maybe this is exactly what the doctor ordered to chase the blues away. And, reluctantly, she admitted that she was slightly impressed with Robin’s attitude; she did like bad little things.
The last screw on the grate loosened, and she shifted it aside and looked into the room beyond. The lasers made the place look like it was strung with candy floss, and she felt the thrill chase along her spine at just how well guarded this one little skull was. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think we were stealing something important, baby bird,” she purred into her comm, even as she watched a guard circle the perimeter of the room. “One patrol,” she said, and there was anticipation in her voice; yeah, this was definitely what the doctor ordered.
She didn’t surprise him, the patrol, though she could have taken him unseen. Instead, she waited until he was close, and she reached out a claw and dragged him close enough to whisper a playful meow in his ear. Silence hit the comm, and a second later she was back, sounding cheerful as ever. “Make that four on the second floor,” she said, as she approached the grid of lasers, staying clear of the cameras as she moved. “Window on cameras is going to be tight. Any chance you can make things a little darker?” It was a challenge, and she knew it. He’d have to get near the security system for that little trick, or main power. Challenge issued.
Robin collected one more security card and slipped through a janitor door. He liked the stark difference between the warm, decorative museum and cold, efficient hallways and storage closets that layered the belly of the building. Everything in the museum was a designed fantasy that had to run on the stark reality of hidden pipes, switches and copper wiring. “And, here I thought you wanted your face in the papers tomorrow.” Robin moved to the main power grid, finding everything conveniently labeled. Instead of simply flipping the right switches, he opted for pulling out one of his hand blades and slicing the wiring. That would make getting the lights back on a pain for the other guards. The job was intentionally sloppy, losing power in different parts of the museum so that it was unclear what the problem seemed to be.
“Dark enough for you?” Robin asked, sweeping up the stairs before anyone could come down and see what the problem was.
“I love some publicity, but I was trying to avoid you having to deal with eleven men converging on your skull all at once,” she said, the grin in her voice saying she wouldn’t have minded the challenge. When the lights started going dark, she neared the lasers and stood there, hands on her hips, taking her time, like there was no rush in the world. She could get to the nearest wall after two rows of the glowing strands, and she could wall-to-ceiling the remainder of the way, with a whip drop to the skull. Piece of cake.
Well, except for the fact that the new darkness had the guards on alert, and they’d just upped the ante a hundred-fold. “That’s better. I was getting bored,” she said into the earpiece, already past the first row of lasers. “What are the chances one baby bird can distract eleven little soldiers?” she asked, claws sinking securely into the drywall as she climbed to the ceiling. “And, if he manages, what are the chances Batman won’t wonder why this teensy skull was so important?” It was a rhetorical question, of course. She knew he expected her to take responsibility, taking the heat off him for whatever this really was.
“He’ll probably want to study it.” Robin’s eyeroll could be heard through the comm. That was the one thing he didn’t have in common with his father or this Batman. Robin didn’t need to extensively study something to know it was dangerous. He didn’t want to learn how it could be used or where it originated. He just wanted to smash it so no one could use it to hurt Gotham. On the far side of the second floor past a maze of several exhibits, a door was kicked open followed by the crash of an ill-fated vase. It was probably a couple hundred years old and reasonably valuable, but not enough to be hooked up with something that would put the whole museum on lockdown. The buzz of nearby guard intercoms snapped through the stinging silence following the crash and one by one the guards started to come after Robin. He decided to take his time with all of them, lazily dodging their attacks and only inflicting his own when he felt they might out number him. The blades could do a great deal of damage if he wanted them to, but these guards didn’t deserve to go home with stitches.
Just like Batman, Damian moved with that laser focus precision. The other Robins improvised their fighting style too much. They usually played with anyone they fought, which was a fine tactic in youth, but Grayson never seemed to grow out of it. Damian never had the chance to act like anything but a grumpy old man trapped in a child’s body. Well, not until now. Being a teenager had lit something inside of him that was new. Something that made him smile a little when he played cat and mouse with these guards. It would be troubling if it wasn’t so enjoyable.
The eyeroll made Selina smile because, really, this baby bird was so young. “You’d rather he destroy it and then ask questions?” she asked, knowing that’s precisely what the little Robin would do. She shared his impatience, actually, never thinking anything through, living life on impulse and her kitty senses. But that’s what made Batman better than both of them, and Selina respected the man in the cape enough to give him kudos without losing any pride. The baby bird? Not so much. “He could teach you a thing or two,” she said, because Batman had certainly taught her a thing or two.
But then she went quiet, her claws dig-catching into the soft detail of the ceiling work. It was slow progress, dangerous, and there would have been a million easier, safer ways to cross the field of lasers. This one was a thrill, and that’s why she liked it. Oh, she was planning on making the news, just not until after the fact. She stopped above the clear box that held the skull, and she pulled a grappling hook from her utility belt and punched it through the ornamental circle of raised white above her head. Once the hook was secured to the pipe beyond, she began to lower herself to her prize. With any luck, she’d have company in three... two...
Glass smashed, and the localized alarm buzzed as she tucked the skull into the bag at her hip. “Now the fun begins,” she said, just as the first few men that entered the room disabled the lasers. Much like the bird in her ear, she wasn’t trying to break anyone. But a little scratches never hurt, and she swung out to the men, her feet landing soundly against the center of their chests and knocking them down, confusing them just long enough for her to crawl over them and slam their heads together. “Have a nice nap,” she purred. “I have a little skull for you,” she added into the comm, already on the move again.
Any kind of lecturing or claiming that he needed to learn from Batman was ignored. Damian had learned enough to handle a new Gotham. If he had more time in his city, things would be different. “Meet you outside.” Robin said as his distraction slowed to an end. The guards had either ran for more support or made the mistake of taking the vigilante on and were crumpled, passed out on the ground below him. The police would be there soon. Possibly with a helicopter. But, that wasn’t anything the two couldn’t run from.
Once he was given a chance to escape, he slipped into the remaining darkness, smashed a window open and swung his way to safety. Landing on the building across from the museum, he looked for Catwoman and then signalled her to start running. If they jumped a couple rooftops into some darker part of the city, they’d have time to destroy the skull and he could give her the jewels.
She lingered just long enough to get some more adrenaline out on two guards, legs swiped out from under them a foot to the face after one managed to get a fist to her jaw. It felt good, the fist and the returning stomp that broke the man’s noise and, okay, so maybe she was a little on the raw side that night. When she heard Robin’s voice in her ear, she vacated the building as quickly as he had, the sound of helicopters over head only make the blood in her veins pump faster. The skull was securely tucked into the bag at her hip, and she snapped her whip and used it to swing across to the rooftops he already had a head start on.
He was right in assuming they could evade the spotlights of the copters, though enough of the light caught them to make it clear who was running away from the museum. His costume, new as it was, probably gave him some cover. Hers didn’t give her even a smidgen, and she didn’t give a shit. The city darkened, and she went lower, to the parts of Gotham even the helicopters couldn’t touch. There, she crouched on an old metal balcony, booted feet on the railing and the skull in her hand. “It looks unimpressive, baby bird,” she said into the comm, even as she turned it to watch the stones catch the solitary sliver of moonlight that made it where she was.
Robin was glad to see he was just as fast as he remembered, if not a little more. Ending up an awkward teen like Tim Drake would not be acceptable. He landed above the balcony she sat on, jumped and slid down the side of the building to join her. “The jewels will fetch you a decent amount of money, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Robin snatched the skull from her hand and held it up to the city’s artificial light to examine it. He hadn’t seen the skull in person, but knew the second he touched it that he needed to smash it into pieces. Turning it around so that the jewels were protected by the palm of his hand, he suddenly hit the skull against the brick walled building.
First it simply cracked, but he persisted and soon it was a mix of shards and powder in his hands and at his feet. He thought, for a moment, that he could hear the skull howl as it was destroyed. Good. One last surprise he’d have to worry about later. “Here.” Robin held his hand out. Between the worthless broken crystal were the shining gems he promised her.
“Superstitious much?” she asked, but she didn’t turn down the jewels, even after the show with the smashing of the skull and the odd sensation that there was something wrong with it. This kitty cat knew better than to play with curses, even if she did have nine lives, and she tucked the stones into the bag the skull had resided in a few minutes earlier. She dragged the back of her gloved hand against her lip, where blood was trickling from the fight, and she quirked a brow at him. “So much for the Bat examining it, huh?” She thought it was a ballsy move, destroying something Batman might want to play with, but who was she to judge? She stood on the railing, balance perfect and effortless, and she rolled her shoulders. “How many more?” she asked, and the grin that followed was all cat-in-the-cream. “Assuming I passed the baby bird’s test?”
“I’m doing him a favor.” Damian brushed his hands off and then leaned on the wall behind him, crossing his arms. “This Gotham is simple. I want to keep it that way.” He watched her move to the balcony, finding it strange how cat-like she really was. Being Robin meant taking a title, it had nothing to do with the way he acted or fought. It made him wonder if she was the same way outside of the costume, or simply reserved all her mannerisms for nights out with a disobedient sidekick.
Robin caught himself looking at her for longer than a couple seconds and his gaze shifted elsewhere. “The other items are going to be much harder for you to get your claws on, kitty cat.” He lacked any kind of humor or flirtation in his voice. Instead it came across as a challenge.
Somehow, Selina didn’t think Batman would see this as a favor, but she wasn’t the one breaking the holy vows of sidekickery, and so she she just grinned and licked that last bit of blood off her lip. His statement about this Gotham being simple made her wonder if she still had problems with the brass here, and she decided to find out when she had a chance. Might as well know if she was still in a world of trouble for stealing some dirty cops’ green. Maybe this Gotham had a law-abiding police force; might make for a nice change of pace.
She watched him stare, and she grinned when he looked away. “Done, baby bird?” she asked, all smug feline. The fact that he didn’t laugh or flirt, that just reminded her old Inky, and she tipped her head as she regarded him. “Are all the Robins related to him? Or just you? Looks like old Batsy gets around.” And the jealousy in that statement was all sharp claws and displeasure. “And I hope the other ones are harder to get. I’d get bored otherwise.” Which was, simply, the truth.
Robin went quiet for a moment. Grayson still felt like a brother. Hell, even Drake did in that annoying idiot middle brother way. But, when it came down to it, Damian was the only true bloodline. The only lasting connection to a man he’d likely never see again. “It’s just me.” He caught the jealousy in her words and managed a smile. “Don’t worry. I’m a science experiment gone wrong.” That wasn’t to say his father didn’t get around. But, there was no happy home in the future. No mom and dad fighting crime with their little Damian.
He stepped next to her, gripping the metal railing she was perched on. “I’m not sure where the next item is. I heard some local crime lord has it in a vault somewhere, but I don’t know which one.” Damian looked over at her. “Keep your ear to the ground about some kind of amulet. Asian origins. We’ll go from there.”
“You’re not bad for a science experiment,” she admitted begrudgingly, because dammit if she wasn’t growing to like the feathered nuisance. “I’ll skulk around until I hear something, and I’ll let you know once I do.” Her network was pristine, as far as networks went. If this amulet existed, she’d hear about it once she put herself out there as an interested party. Part of her knew she was doing this to try to attract a certain nocturnal creatures attention, but the other part was just glad for something to concentrate on, something that wasn’t just how different this Gotham was from hers, how different her life here was from what it had been back there. “Crime lords are my speciality.” Some undercover work, that would scratch the itch. She hadn’t been under since the mob bar, and that had ended spectacularly; she did like tempting fate.
She unfurled her whip, ready to use it to move to the next building, the roof, the skyline, but she hesitated long enough to look over at him in the dark. “Keep him safe, even if he isn’t him. Anyone who comes after him, they won’t realize he’s gone soft.” Because this Batman, he was definitely softer than her version - no doubt about that. The last thing they needed was someone to break him. “Find out if he can fight,” were her parting words, just as the whip sang through the night.
Damian’s smirk was nearly genuine. He liked her, despite better judgement. “You’re not bad for a stray cat.” He murmured and then nodded when she told him to take care of Batman. That was clearly the plan, even if his methods weren’t what Bruce wanted from him. He couldn’t expect all the Bat family to operate the same way. Not when the Justice League was filled with people that had their own agendas. He watched her go and then the pop and hiss of the grappling hook sent him back to the manor.