batlanguage (batlanguage) wrote in sog_ic, @ 2012-08-20 17:00:00 |
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Current mood: | crushed |
Entry tags: | [npc] bruce wayne, old - cassandra cain |
Speaking the Language of Nothing
Who: Cassandra Cain
NPCs: Dr. Leslie Thompkins, Sam, and other Community Center regulars.
Where: Park Row. Includes the alley where Bruce was shot, the Park Row Clinic & Community Center, and Cass' apartment.
When: August 15, 2012 (backdated), beginning with the gunshots.
What: Cass finds Bruce Wayne's body. She's too late. Time for Batgirl.
Rating: PG-13 for violence.
When the first gunshot rang out, Cassandra was already in Business Mode. She was on her way home from a corner store with a small bag full of food. She was across the street from the Community Center she called home, and it only took a moment to toss the grocery bag up to the top of the fire escape where her apartment was located. The bag clattered onto the steel as a second gunshot echoed through a nearby alley.
She sprinted into the alley, as fast as she could. In the darkness, she saw someone standing over a body, and a third figure at the opposite end of the alley. The gunman -- short -- and the third figure looked gazes for a moment, but then they heard Cassandra's footsteps approaching. They both fled; the third figure ran out into the street, while the gunman ducked around Cassandra, evading her grasp and scampering out the end of the alley where Cassandra had entered. She spun around, about to give chase, but she noticed something about the body -- even in the alley -- that froze her in her stride.
That was Bruce Wayne. Life was fading from his body.
"No!" she screamed, and she crossed the short distance to the body in two steps. She crouched over his body, checking his vital signs. He'd been shot twice. He was bleeding out. Did he still have a pulse, or was she imagining it?
No. He had to have a pulse. He had to still be alive.
But his life ... his emotion--
No. He had to be alive.
She hefted him over his shoulder. He outweighed her by well over a hundred pounds, but she was deceptively strong for her size, especially when adrenaline was roaring through her system like a freight train. His body felt slack, and the way his weight shifted seemed uncomfortably like--
No. He had to be alive.
She carried him to the front entrance of the community center, where a few regulars from the neighborhood congregated. The sound of gunshots had intrigued them, so they'd been huddled around one of the windows facing the alley. They parted like the Red Sea to give Cass and her passenger some room. "Leslie!" she shouted, and within a moment, Dr. Leslie Thompkins appeared and led her to an operating table inside the clinic room in the back.
Soaked in blood, Cass placed Bruce on the table and stepped back, letting Leslie work her magic. She'd seen Leslie -- the closest person she had to a mother -- perform miracles before. She'd brought gunshot victims from the brink of death, and once or twice back from the point where most doctors would have given up. She had to do the same for Bruce.
For Batman.
She stood in a corner and watched in silence as Leslie tried to revive Bruce. She could only hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, drowning out everything else. Leslie knew Cassandra well enough to know that in her current state the younger woman wouldn't be able to focus on interpreting orders, much less carrying them out, so she had one of the clinic's other volunteers -- a gentle giant named Sam -- usher her out of clinic and into the community center proper. There were chairs and couches where she could sit, and exercise equipment she could use to keep herself busy.
But as he guided her, she caught a glimpse of Bruce's body. Still. Lifeless. Speaking the language of nothing. Leslie's crestfallen body language spoke volumes: Bruce was already dead, and there was nothing more she could do.
No. He had to be alive.
Cassandra shoved Sam aside like a ragdoll and rushed to the doorway. She'd taught self-defense here for five years, so the sight of wiry, petite Cass tossing around burly, massive Sam was not unusual. But the inarticulate shout that accompanied it was something new. Something primal.
She took one last look at Bruce's body, using every last drop of her innate ability to discern body language to search for the tiniest flicker of life.
No. He was dead.
She barely registered running upstairs to her apartment. She didn't even bother unlocking her door; she just kicked the door down and raced to her bedroom closet. In the dark, illuminated faintly by lights from the neighboring buildings, she opened the hidden panel in her closet and removed her Batsuit and gear. She put it all on in an automatic trance, still running on adrenaline.
Opening her window, she stepped out onto the fire escape, still on auto pilot. Her mind was churning with retracing the steps and movements of the two figures in the alley. She knew the likelihood of finding them now was remote, but she still had to try.
She leaped off the fire escape. While she came back several hours later for the grocery bag resting upon it, she didn't return to her apartment. She refused to, as long as Bruce's killer was still at large.