damian calls the shots (forthecowl) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-04-07 16:49:00 |
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Entry tags: | catwoman, damian wayne, door: dc comics |
Who: Damian and Selina
Where: The Batcave
When: Friday, before this!
What: Making a Lazarus Pit
Warnings: Kelly's strange attraction to green goop that can bring back the dead.
Robin was glad to find the batcave still had a good amount of rock climbing gear despite it being so new. With a promise that he’d give Darman all of the next week to do what he needed for his job, Robin spent every night he could at the mansion slowly lifting supplies and upgrades for his suit and belt. The cave would be dark, so he reinforced his mask with even better night vision and infrared goggles. He also improved the grip of his gloves and boots, adjusted his grappling hook and sharpened his hand blades (which he now dubbed talons). The climb wasn’t too hard and eventually there would have to be a safer path forged through the cave, but for now it was slippery and one false move could mean a broken leg or impalement.
He wondered if Catwoman had ever been to the batcave before. It surely wasn’t wise to invite a sticky fingers thief into a technological gold mine, but his father probably didn’t have a choice. Or had learnt to trust her. Like you? No. Not like Damian. Catwoman could turn on him any second. He knew the moment he stopped being useful or something much more shiny came along, she’d turn on him like that. He simply had to accept this was likely a fleeting partnership that was doomed to fail from the start. And, he really had to get into the habit of disliking her completely. That would have been a lot easier to do when he was younger. Even if he had always liked cats.
Waiting at the bottom of the waterfall just outside of the cave, he stood just out of the cold water’s spray. He liked the cool mist that fell from the top of the cave. How it almost felt fresh when everything in Gotham seemed corrupted and sick.
Catwoman had never been to the batcave. Catwoman didn’t go anywhere looking for the Bat. She’d said that over and over, but she was pretty sure no one actually believed the kitty. But it was true. The Bat came to her - or, rather, her Bat had. She’d never gone hunting for him, and she wasn’t going to start now. This little kitty outing had nothing to do with annoying the Bat by tracking her paws all over his property (that was just an added bonus). No, this was about a baby bird who knew too much for his tiny feathery head. Not that this Lazarus Pit was a bad idea, but she wondered if they were biting off more than they could chew. Nine lives notwithstanding, this was a little touchy and she and the baby bird were both younger than she would have like. And wasn’t that just a kick in the tail?
She showed up at the waterfall in something a little less cat than normal. Not that she didn’t want to go crawling around the batcave in her best latex, but even the kitty knew that partnerships were based on trust. And, strange as it was, this little thing with feathers had definitely turned into a tentative, careful partnership. Black cargo pants, a gray Batman shirt with long sleeves and short black hair clipped at the crown. She was a harmless girl wandering a billionaire’s property. Oh, there was still enough cat in the approach to set her apart, and there was the sense that mistaking her for something without claws would be a very bad idea. Her whip was wound at her hip, and a utility belt rested lower still, and she slinked around when she saw the baby bird, not making even a purr until she was behind him.
“Hard to believe we’re still in Gotham out here,” she meowed from over his shoulder; the kitty liked making an entrance.
Damian turned to look at her, eyebrows raising slightly at the change of outfit. “Just far enough away to feel safe, but close enough to see the fires.” If Gotham ever burned or tried to do anything along the lines of imploding in on itself, he’d be able to see it. Not just from here, but from his window, from the cameras in the batcave, from the graveyard. This was a watchtower. “Nice shirt.” He motioned towards the bat signal on her chest and walked past her to the cave entrance.
The cave had one main passage that divided up into dead ends, straight drops and the actual belly of the cave. Batman’s base wasn’t the easiest thing to find for an experienced climber, but common sense suggested climbing towards the hum of electricity and echo of the occasional voice. They weren’t actually going towards the cave, though. No. Damian had found an underground pool that would be a perfect place for the Lazarus Pit. He hadn’t actually activated a pit before, but he hoped his bloodline would make it a natural process.
Damian climbed the rocks with a quick youthfulness that his father had grown out of a long time ago. He still valued efficiency over brute force and though he’d never be as graceful as Grayson, he certainly had a way of flying up the cave rocks like a curious little sparrow.
“I was going for mocking,” she said of the shirt, even as she tugged her goggles from the belt at her waist and slipped them on, clawed gloves following suit.
She flexed her fingers, and she looked at the waterfall a moment longer, and then she followed him. She watched him climb for a few seconds midway, impressed enough with the agility of his movements to gift him with a whistle that was more bird than cat. The Robins were all fabled for their ability to make flying look like something that wasn’t only for Metropolis’ big man on campus, and the kitty could appreciate grace as much as any feline. A few seconds later, she made up the gap, her own climbing skills all cat and claws and the ability to stretch and move like something slinkily inhuman; she was only missing fur.
Even still she could hear the electric hum, and she chirped to herself on occasion during the assent, waiting for her voice to bounce back at her; the kitty knew all about echolocation, it seemed. There was something big and hollow in the other direction, and she tucked the knowledge away between her kitty ears as something that she might need someday. Daddy Bat’s lair, no doubt, and wouldn’t he just love her knowing exactly where to find it. She reminded herself that she was done with bats, and she reached the top rock just moments after the little bird, and she hauled herself over and stayed crouched, the pose all cat, even in the girl’s clothing. “Planning on telling me how the nasty little relic in the kitty’s utility belt works?”
“I don’t know for certain.” Damian admitted, but there was a little bit of excitement in his voice at that. He was easily the worst detective out of all the Robins and simply got by on “common sense” and assumptions. Still, he had just enough patience to at least have Roger read some comics for him. “Now that I’m an enemy of my grandfather’s house, I looked into things that could hurt him. Or hurt me.” Damian climbed up to a small rock tunnel that was smoothed down the middle with runoff water. “Stay on the sides, kitty cat.” He added, keeping his back nearly flat against the cave wall. “Usually there’s a ritual involved with some mumbo jumbo chanting. I don’t think it’ll be necessary. I think we just have to release whatever liquid is inside of that necklace into a pool of still water to make it work. Maybe add some of my blood if needed.” Damian was clearly unimpressed by the magic side of all of this.
The kitty wasn’t big on planning, and the little bird’s words didn’t concern her as much as they should have, maybe. “An enemy of your grandfather’s house,” she repeated as she followed him into the tunnel. She glanced down at the water with a frown. It wasn’t that the kitty didn’t like getting wet, but wet things made climbing hard, and the kitty was careful to do exactly as Damian said and keep her back to the wall. She watched him, mirrored his steps and motions with her own brand of naturally feline grace, and she smirked when he criticized the magical element of whatever they were about to do. “Baby bird doesn’t believe in magic?” she asked, because black cats certainly did. Maybe that’s why she was more concerned about playing cat and mouse with death than he was. “So we release the liquid from the evil green necklace, we cut the baby bird open and throw a feather or two into the water. How do we test it?” she asked, sure he had forgotten that crucial part of the equation. “I’m not giving up one of my nine lives to test. No one wants a crazy kitty cat on their hands.”
“I just don’t see the point in casting a fireball when a swift roundhouse kick does the same amount of damage.” Damian didn’t have the patience, mind or spirituality to be any sort of sorcerer. He was good with knives, wasn’t that enough? At the end of the tunnel was a cavern that branched off. Below was what seemed like an endless pit and the sound of flowing water could be heard in a couple different directions. Damian stopped at the edge, taking out his small electronic tablet for a moment as he determined the right way to go. “As for testing it, I’m not planning on putting either of our lives at risk. I accidentally killed a bat with a rock. It’s in my utility belt. We throw it in, see if it flies and then assume it’s the same for humans.” He clicked the device off and looked up at part of the cavern ceiling. Another second passed and he took out his grappling hook, shot it at a rock and swung over to the other side.
“You don’t need to get as close to throw the fireball,” was the kitty’s answer. It was the same allure guns had, throwing fireballs. “But I agree with you. The kitty doesn’t like to fight from a distance, even when she is shooting something.” Because Selina didn’t carry a gun, not normally, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t an expert shot. Keeping up in Gotham, surviving in Gotham as she had, that took a lot of skills, some of which the kitty didn’t much care for. But like all animals, she didn’t let herself get lost in melancholia or remembering. Life was immediate, and they had reached the end of the tunnel. The water below was impressive, and if it was anyone other than the baby bird leading she would have suggested they were lost, but this little bird was the kind to have catalogued every spare inch of Daddy Bat’s property - whether for good or bad. A second later, she was eying the distance, finding a good rock to wrap her grip-tipped whip around, and using the pull to send her to the other side, with an effortless land beside him. “Are we going to watch it fly to see how crazy it goes?” she asked of the bat, because she knew they wouldn’t be able to get a very good gauge on that with a bat. “The baby bird doesn’t have daddy’s scientific streak,” she commented and then, after a pause. “He’s also not the do-good Robin the kitty expected.”
Robin looked over at her, a seriousness crossing over his face that he couldn’t help. Yes, being a teenager loosened him up, but at the end of the day he was still a battle-born assassin with two nearly psychopathic parents. Well, that and she also kind of hurt his feelings. “Disappointed?” He kept his gaze on her face, really watching her features before walking ahead of her.
In the echo of the cave, his voice changed into something a little more friendly. Childish. “Holy hairballs, Catwoman! I sure do hope we solve the mystery of the ancient Lazarus Pit.” It was a pitch perfect impression of Burt Ward- obviously putting his mimicry skills to good use. Damian had learnt it after Roger forced him to watch the old tv show when he complained too much. It was exactly how everyone expected Robin to sound, to act. As Damian continued down the dark tunnel, he changed it to Christian Bale’s Batman. This Batman. “WHERE’S RACHHHEEELL?” He growled, “I don’t wear hockey paa-” Damian coughed, unable to keep the barking act on for very long.
She didn’t get a chance to respond to his question about being disappointed before he was striding past her, making his voice bounce off the walls. The kitty didn’t know Burt Ward, but she got the picture. And she could have done without the name of the woman that made Selina want to sharpen kitty claws on her face. But the kitty was a smart kitty, and she got the picture. The coughing made her smile, and she finally moved to his side, glancing up at the walls and their natural acoustics. “Not afraid he’s going to hear us?” she asked, before tipping her head back and screaming without any hint of girlish or womanly restraint. She might as well have been a boy standing beside him just then, all the anger of the world in the bellow that bounced off the stones and came back to them as they moved along the dark tunnel. “Also, baby bird, not being a do-gooder, that was a compliment,” she added, a sway of hips as she edged past him along the tunnel. “If you had squeaky clean feathers, I wouldn’t like your chirping as much as I do.”
There was definitely a part of Damian that wanted to be caught. Just like any rebellious kid, the best part of doing something wrong was coming inches away from being found out. Even if Batman eventually caught up, which he would if he was worth anything in this world, Damian wanted the attention. It appeared Catwoman wanted the same thing for different reasons, mixed with that admirable trait of just not giving a damn. They both had a lot of pent up frustrations at this point. Anger towards their new home and the loss of the old. He fought back a smile when she howled, feeling a little stupid for getting so upset over a passing observation. “It helps that I keep things interesting,” Damian added as she passed by, allowing himself to watch her silhouette strut.
At the end of the tunnel was a surprisingly quiet, tomblike dead end. In the middle was a still pool of clear water that had collected over the years by falling residue of the wet cave. Robin moved around the perimeter, sticking adhesive lights to the walls before switching them on and taking off his mask. “The necklace.” Damian took off his large utility belt and unhooked one of his talons.
She snorted when he made the cocky comment about keeping things interesting, preening baby bird, all puffed up. She really did need to work on hating him. She didn’t do teams, and this was starting to feel like a team. A team created to piss someone off, which made it even better, because she really liked pissing people off. Claws weren’t the only way to get beneath a Batsuit. But it was still a team, and kitties didn’t do packs. The silence of the watery tomb brought her attention slamming back, because she was very much like a cat in so many ways, and she didn’t like the strange silence. It made her nose twitch, and her hip swayed, belt swatting the ground in an odd mimicry of a tail.
She pushed the goggles atop her head as he affixed the lights, feline green eyes bright in the glow as she followed him around the perimeter. The kitty had a bad feeling she’d be taking a bath in this thing eventually, and she almost didn’t give him the necklace for that reason alone. Personal death wish notwithstanding, the kitty didn’t want to come back like the Joker. Just like pretty much everyone in Gotham, he was her litmus test for insanity. She knelt beside the water, and she glanced down at her reflection as he took off his mask and belt, and she spared him a look a moment after. He really did look like his father. Like her version of his father, and she tipped a curious head, all confused cat. “Does he look like you? Or does he look different?” she asked of this Bat that wasn’t the Bat. “Because you look like mine, mostly.” She dug her claws into the utility belt, and she pulled out the necklace, which was wrapped in newspaper and a shoelace, and she held it out to him.
“Not enough that people are going to believe I’m his actual son.” Damian was sort of proud he looked like his real father. It was only somewhat apparent as a child, but now that he was growing up the similarities were much more obvious. “At least he has our giant forehead.” He reached for the paper package and tore it open, eyes widening a little at the slight green glow it gave off. There was no doubt in his mind, this was connected to his grandfather. To him.
He hesitated a second, coming to terms with what he was about to do and then jumped into the pool. It was about waist deep with a smooth floor and he was surprised to find that it was only a little chilly. Damian waded to the middle, held the talon over his head with the necklace firm in his hand and brought the blade down as hard as he could. There was a faint crack as the necklace glowed brighter. He stabbed it again and again until the glass holding the ancient chemicals back shattered and seeped into the water. Like milk in coffee, the green swirled through the clear water, stretching to the edges before it began to bubble and glow. Damian felt a little light-headed and struggled to keep above water even if he had easily stood there only seconds before. “Selina!” He dove towards the side of the glowing pit, hand outstretched for her to help pull him up.
Selina frowned. The kitty hadn’t actually considered that the faux-Bat wouldn’t still look like hers, and she very obviously didn’t like it. She looked younger when she sulked, closer to her age, but it only lasted for a second before the newspaper was being opened. She bit back the urge to hiss, and she refused to get up and back away, though she wanted to. She didn’t like that thing, and she’d never met a piece of jewelry she didn’t like until that moment. Her hand moved to her whip, and her claws curled around the handle, but that was the only indication she gave that she might want to arch her back and run.
She almost told him to stop, because she had a bad, bad feeling about this. She almost told him they should consult with Daddy Bats, and then she reminded herself that they were on their own, no Daddy Bats and no safety net. Maybe they were too young to be making decisions like this on their own, but this was Gotham, and no one stayed a kitten for very long. The same went for baby birds, it seemed. She watched him stab at the necklace, and she gave in and allowed herself to sit back against her booted feet. It wasn’t much distance, but it was something, and she breathed a little easier as she watched his competent swings at the green jewel.
But then it all went to shit, as things always did, and she leaned forward without thought to what might happen to her if she got sucked into the water with him. She snapped her whip back, using the end to hold onto a rock at her back, and she leaned into the water and grabbed for his hand.
Damian latched his hand onto her forearm and pulled himself away from the bubbling, glowing bath. He landed somewhere on the ground next to her, suit dripping with the green water as he tried to catch his breath. That thing was evil in the most basic sense, even if they had planned to use it for good. It must have slowly drove his grandfather insane every time he took a dip. Must have latched onto Jason because he was angry and weak. This was going to make things complicated, but it was better that they had control of the pit before anyone from his mother’s side of the family showed up.
Laying on his back, Damian held up his hand and looked at the green that slid across his fingers. He rubbed his thumb and pointer finger together as if checking the consistency, but he was really reminding himself that if something went wrong it was going to be his fault.
She placed a clawed hand on his waist once he was beside her, to ensure he didn’t slip back in, and then she watched the green liquid drip off his suit. This wasn’t a good fucking idea. All her kitty senses were screaming, and she knew it was too late to do anything about it. Selina knew all about mistakes, and she knew exactly what it felt like when she made one - problem was, the kitty never heeded the early warning signs, and by the time it was a done deal it was was a done deal. This pit, it was a done deal. And, for once, she actually thought Batman was going to be justified in the eventual batfit he was going to throw about it.
She retracted her claws when he rolled onto his back, and she let the whip in her hand go lax. She watched his perusal of the green on his hand, much like a cat watched an interesting toy that they weren’t quite sure about yet. “Has the baby bird learned what that oh, fuck, what did I do? feeling in the pit of his stomach feels like, because I think now is the time.” She said, rolling to her feet in one motion, no tensing or advance warning, and looking down at the water. “What was it trying to do to you?’ she asked, though she knew it was bad, whatever it was. This was getting too intense; she needed a thrill. “Please tell me you need the kitty to steal something else for you,” she said, no segue.
Damian just made a faint groaning sound at the idea that this was a mistake. It probably was, but at least here they had more control than if the Lazarus Pit fell into different hands. There wasn’t a point in dwelling on it anymore. What was done was done. Damian propped himself up and got to his feet, looking at the pit. He’d have to build security measures, make an easier route for carrying a body and eventually tell his father.
“It was trying to turn me ten again.” Damian felt like he lost a month off his life. Any longer in that goop and he’d be right back where he was before. And, for the first time since he arrived in this Gotham, he didn’t want that to happen. He reached down to pick up his utility belt, sliding out a broken, tiny bat inside of a plastic bag. Without taking a moment to examine the dead thing, he simply tossed it into the pit with a plop. Its fragile body sank to the bottom like a feather in some murky sewer, vanished for a couple moments and then with a screech emerged at full strength with gleaming eyes. It swooped towards them and then out of the cave. “You go on ahead, Catwoman. I need to work on securing the perimeter.”
Oh, the kitty didn’t like that whole thing about wanting to turn him ten again. That wasn’t how it was supposed to work, was it? Or maybe it was. See, the kitty’s only knowledge of the Pit had to do with rumors of Hood’s return from the dead, not from any grandaddy bad guys using it as a fountain of youth. Whatever it did, she knew it was bad news, and the revived bat only made her claws swipe at the air as it swooped on its way out of the cave. This, the kitty knew, was what was known as a bad take. A job that ended up costing more than it netted in the end. She had a feeling the baby bird knew that too, even if he’d never admit it.
She grinned at his order that she leave, a chuckle following his command. “Does the baby bird think he controls the kitty cat now?” she asked, her expression saying he didn’t, not really. But she didn’t want to stay around that green pool, and the entire evening made her want to steal something shiny, possibly with wheels, and ride away on it. She wondered where Bruce Wayne kept his toys. But no, not tonight. She didn’t want to get caught, not this evening. “The kitty wants to be here if you dunk anyone in there,” she said, and despite her wording, it wasn’t a request. She wasn’t sure about whatever would walk out of there, and she’d be quicker to throw them back in and keep them under than he would. A kindness, the kitty thought, depending on what emerged. She backed up, and she didn’t wait for his reply before returning the way they’d come. Exploring, that would be for another night.
“I’ll have Pennyworth knit us ceremonial robes.” Damian said flatly like it wasn’t a joke. Deadpan was in his genetics, after all. He turned his head a little when she left and then pulled out his hand held tablet. The planning part of this operation was something he wasn’t used to, but without Grayson or any of the other Robins to rely on, he’d have to just buckle down and do it himself.