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thejusticelounge2015-01-01 03:35 pm
bossymarmalade) wrote in thejusticelounge2015-01-01 03:35 pm
Entry tags:
going, going, gone
It wasn’t as if Ollie made a habit of going down into the Cave if Bruce — which is to say, if /Batman/ — wasn’t in there, but when he happened to hear the Manor’s subtle computer AI chime the presence of Black Bat in the subterranean depths, it made him stop what he was doing. “Well,” he said to himself, putting down the heirloom linens he was nosing through (enough monograms on them to make alphabet soup with), “I guess that’s a nudge from the universe.”
Letting himself through the kitchen entrance to the Cave, Ollie called out through the vast space as he rode the escalator down. “Hey! Hey, Cass! It’s Ollie, I’m coming down, don’t attack me!”
It was possible the warning wasn’t necessary. But then again, given the rather adversarial relationship they’d had in the past, maybe it was.
Cass had swung by the Cave to upload a few new files, check updates on any activity she’d missed around her usual patrol, and to perhaps steal a few baked good from Alfred. A usual pit stop, in and out without too much of a trace.
What was unusual and unexpected was the escalator kicking to life and the booming voice that soon followed. Oliver. Oh fun.
"I wasn’t planning on it." she replies with a similar hollar to his own, one she’d enjoyed perfecting in her time spent with Rose and occasionally Mia. "You don’t have your quiver, it wouldn’t be fair for you.” Although if they weren’t going to fight, what exactly did he want?
Grunting, Ollie hopped down the last couple steps of the escalator and jogged over to where Cass was standing by one of the smaller workstations. Above them, the massive Crays whirred grimly onward, aggregating and presenting data scoured from the world over. It was like the stern eye of the Bat was watching and Ollie shook himself irritably.
"Fantasyland boasting aside," he said, "I got wind of something that I think might be right up your alley. Something sneaky-like, and I know from experience that you’re an expert at sneaking around." Cassandra’s suitability had, in fact, been a conclusion that he’d come to with much annoyance; Mar’i had been his first choice, but even Ollie had to admit to himself that maybe the two of them on a mission that called for some finesse might not be the best of ideas.
Resolving to find something that needed skull-busting to do after this and take Mar’i along for a whooping good time, Ollie folded his arms and regarded Cass. “I don’t wanna waste time giving you the whole pitch if you’re not interested in working with me, so tell me now to piss off if that’s what it’s gonna be.”
With Ollie in her sights, Cass can tell with a small smile he’s a bit uncomfortable here without Bruce. She’d like to think that maybe the location gave her the upper hand…in whatever it was he wanted.
As he gets going, Cass tries to appear as uninterested as possible. She begins to braid her hair even as a way to distract herself from his boisterous presence. But, as he explains his exact need for her, Cass’ fingers begin to slow, her eyes drawing over his face as he speaks. He needs a spy.
Any irritation she might feel working with Ollie aside, Cass knew if he was looking to her for assistance, then it must have been important. “Fine, give the pitch.” she requests, trying not to sound too irritated in her reply, “I’m interested.”
The hair-braiding had made Ollie bristle internally, since he read it as a dismissive action, Cass hinting that whatever he was about to say was less important than her personal grooming. But then she grudgingly gives in and he tamps down on that reaction, reminding himself that he needs her help.
"There’s this thing, apparently," he begins, "that’s gotten popular. Popular enough for us to maybe start worrying about it." Ollie leans back against the computer console, crossing his legs at the ankle. "The villains have been running a sort of travelling auction house called Club V." He lifts a shoulder in a shrug. "Might be nothing. Might just be a bunch of piddly doo-dahs trading leftover pieces of Bat-shrapnel. But then again, it could be actual baddies trading in actual bad items."
Ollie scratches his chin. “Sooooo I thought we could do some undercover recon. I got a lead on where they’re having an auction tonight and we can slip in and get an idea of it. No takedowns, not yet, just … sneaky stuff.”
She drops her hands to her hips, settling there. The position still felt standoffish enough, while still appearing tolerable to Ollie’s potential plan.
"Club V. That’s actually popular?" she scoffs, the name sounding silly to her- harmless even. Like a children’s clique, or a weak gang. Tamping down her desire to laugh, she purses her lips, eyes narrowed as she tries to consider the more serious nature of this roaming auction house. Not good. Leaning up against the console, leaving her hands to drum against the smooth surface she asks him, "Any leads on a leader yet? Or a group running it?"
At Ollie’s suggestion of undercover recon, Cass’s lips curve up in a genuine smile her interest peaked by the mission’s potential now, “Sneaky stuff. Good, okay. So who will you be, and who am I?” she could design an alias to play off his easily, but she wanted to see what he had in mind first, he had all the intel on the club after all.
"I’m Green Arrow, and you’re … what is it today? Batgirl? Kasumi? Black Bat? The Nothing?" Ollie waves his hand without giving Cass a chance to retort. "Doesn’t matter, I guess. One’s as good or bad as the other, huh?"
He turns to the computer and brings up a file photograph of a dark-haired, bearded man and a placeholder image for a female companion. “It just so happens that this Star City mook gave up a life of crime after I convinced him that his existence otherwise might get a little on the uncomfortable side due to my constantly dogging his penny ante ass. He was a mid-range crook, and since there doesn’t seem to be any hierarchy about who can get into Club V, should work fine for our little plan.”
Pointing at the female blankface, Ollie explains, “He’s been known to work with a female companion who calls herself Fei Fei, although nobody’s given a decent description of her other than she looks like she’s of Asian background. He’s got a reputation for being, uh, into Asian women.” Ollie coughs into his fist, turning slightly red in the face. “His name’s Mark Campbell and hiscodenameisCracker.”
Her smile drops just as soon as it appears. She doesn’t appreciate his dismissal of her aliases at all, “My identity can change, but the fight is constant.” is her quiet reply on the matter, trying to take the high road with him.
She turns her attention to the image he calls up on the computer. The beard on the man is more than enough to mentally project an image of Ollie there instead. She’d siphon her frustrations with the archer onto another imbecile, “So it sounds like a get rich quick scheme. Get popular too. Stupid.”
Cass’ face turns a furious bright red at the explanation of Fei Fei “Do you even need my help- or are you including me in this because I’m Asian? Is that it? I can work my way up to ‘Cracker’ because I’m Asian.” she grits her teeth trying to put a break on her accusations, thinking they might be a stretch, but with Ollie really it doesn’t matter to her. They don’t play nicely, “Green Arrow, more like Cracker Two.”
Ollie’s face continues turning red until he’s roughly the colour of a beet. Pushing off from the console, he rounds on Cass, sticking a finger in her face. “Hey, listen, girlie,” he snarls, “I asked you to help me out with this because I figured you could use all the good karmic balance points you could get!” It’s a cheap slam, but Cass’s earlier taking of the high road had rankled Ollie as intended and he fully intends to tumble her off it.
Throwing up his hands, he stalks away in a tight loop-de-loop as he rants, “I coulda done this myself but it’d be better recon with a partner! And just because our cover happens to be a massive rice king — the douchebag who /I’ll/ be playing, by the way — that doesn’t make me a cracker!” Ollie pauses. “Well I mean I /am/ white, but … but that doesn’t mean….” He rubs a hand against his chin. “Okay, I kinda lost my train of argue just there, but the point is … the point is!”
Vigor and righteousness renewed, Ollie growls, “I’d sooner trust a viper to watch my back than you. But you’re here and you’re suited to the job and we might as well do it. Regardless of how we feel about each other. All right?”
"Karmic balance points!? Now you’re trying to be ignorant." Cass pushes right back into Ollie’s face, teeth clacking as she snarls, "The only person here who has a problem with my past is you! I’m not going to apologize to you for who I am or what I’ve done. Take me or leave me, I don’t care." She did care, but that was for her to know, and him to ignore.
Cass stands as straight as she can manage, holding herself in one place as Ollie turns about himself. She snips back at him, “You don’t even have to try to play. You are a douchebag. That’s the point you’re getting at.”
Rolling her shoulders, Cass considers the terms they stand on, neither one trusts the other yet still they want to work this recon together. At the very least he could still recognize her skills, and she could acknowledge his own. For now that would have to be enough to get them through this, “Yeah, fine. Fine.” she agrees with a clipped nod.
"It’s funny. You get along with everyone in my family," she smirks, but the curve of her mouth doesn’t quite meet the dark cold stare she levels at Ollie, "but not me."
"Yeah, well." Ollie lifts his chin, giving Cass a baleful stare down the length of his nose. "I tend to not get along too well with former assassins and sneaky types, no matter how much they say they’ve changed their spots. Not many others in your family fit the profile, do they? Better to be a douchebag, I think."
He shakes himself irritably. “But we’re wasting time. We should be suiting up and heading out, not sniping at each other here. There’ll be plenty of other time for sniping.” Ollie moves towards where he knows Bruce keeps the putties and wigs and makeup supplies for disguises. “I’m sure you’re a keen hand at the art of disguise. Let’s get to work and find these dipshits.”
Cass keeps her lips pursed as Ollie gives her his answer, “No, you’re right. I’m the only one like that. Which leaves you as our resident douchebag. So, sure. Keep thinking you’re better than me.”
Falling in line behind Ollie as they move to work up disguises, Cass can’t help but roll her eyes at him trying to move above the fray, “Yeah just put on your new beard, Cracker, and I’ll be quiet.”
The concentration of coordinating her disguise leaves her to stew over Ollie, considering his reasoning for disliking her over the rest of the family. Stupid she would’ve hoped that Bruce’s trust in her alone would more than make up for any past digressions, but apparently that wouldn’t work for Ollie.
She works to cover any visibly distracting scars and slides into a skimpy red dress- with the appropriate ‘Asian’ flavor. “So, sneaky and assassin isn’t your type.” she starts sniping again as she paints up her face, her hand working to exaggerate her features, “What. Did an assassin dump you or something?” she laughs softly, the thought aloud now sounding like a joke. He just hated her on principles alone as far as she knew.
Turning around in her seat to face him, Cass holds out a pair of polished chopsticks, “Putting these in my hair: too much or just right? I’m already wearing gold bamboo hoop earrings.”
Ollie pauses in slicking the temporary fast-drying black dye into his hair, staring at his mirror’s reflection of Cass. It’s the first time he’s really looked at her, to be honest; his memories are mostly of the creepshow rose-mouthed Kasumi mask, and the full-face black leather mask from the Bat getup. Unsettling — although that’s probably the point — and enough to make Ollie deeply suspicious of the young woman behind them.
Like this, made up to be the perfect Orientalist Madame Butterfly fantasy, it’s almost painful to look at her naked face without the full-coverage masks. She looks entirely too real, too … possible. He feels even more unsettled than when she’s wearing the masks. “Use the chopsticks,” Ollie says brusquely. “Might as well play this out to the extreme. Too nondescript and we’ll stick out like sore thumbs.”
He doesn’t say anything else to her until they’ve driven to the location, parked some distance away. The assortment of villains, low and high, heading into the building isn’t exactly obvious, but for seasoned vigilantes, it doesn’t look like they’re making a huge effort at subterfuge, either. They’re nearing the door when Ollie abruptly says, “I had a child with an assassin.”
Cass neatly arranges the chopsticks in her hair as she studies Ollie. His eyes shifting from her and quickly pulling away- she interprets him growing uncomfortable with her, and from this she welcomes the widening silence between them, not sure what else she wanted to say to the man.
On the ride over Cass lets herself slip into Fei Fei. She keeps a small half smile on her face in an attempt to look dim, as if she doesn’t even know why she’s here. Her mannerisms take on a fluttery feel, her hands hovering by her sides while her fingers flex and relax with a rhythm. It’s all small physical starts in trying to distract the villains around her from catching on to her awareness.
Cass links her arm around Ollie’s, pulling him back away from the door as she slowly primps her dress, “Oh?” she replies lightly, treating this like a common conversation for the both of them despite how much she wants to complain that they could’ve very easily discussed this on the car ride over, “Do I know her?” she turns, looking ahead at the door, letting Ollie decide if he wants to continue this sudden conversation or if he wants to stay on task. She can do both.
Leaning down, Ollie straightens the hem of Cassandra’s gown and untwists one of her heel straps. “You probably know of her, even if you never knew her while you were in the League of Assassins,” he says in an undertone, his voice strained even though his mannerisms, like hers, are unremarkable, routine. “Her name was Shado.”
With that, they’re approaching the doorman, who blinks — a nictitating membrane draws across his eyes under his eyelids — and says in an amused tone, “So this is Fei Fei?” before letting them in. Crazy Quilt shoves past them muttering about people with no manners and Ollie draws to the side once they’re in the room proper, so they can get a quick survey.
"Must be some kind of detente in effect, at least during the auction," he says, and Cass can tell what he’s talking about, since there’s a few of the more flamboyant Gotham underworld types in attendance who are sworn enemies. "Let’s find some good seats near the back so we can scope without being scoped."
"Ah," she hums, the name familiar enough to her, Shado and her skillset were commonly known among the League of Assassins. Although the woman’s personality and her history were a different story for Cass- much more of a mystery as they had never met before, "Was." she holds on this word, but does not push him. Shado was no longer. As for the child- that was a question for another time.
Cass smiles demurely to the doorman before she and Ollie are welcomed into Club V. She takes quick stock of the room while staying nearby Ollie. Just as he’d reported, villains of all ranks were in attendance, from gangs to the most notorious of foes. From here she even thought she might’ve spotted the The Penguin’s top hat bobbing, but she couldn’t be entirely certain from the growing crowd.
"Yes," she agrees, while there is some jostling and shifting among the crowd, there doesn’t seem to be much hostility in the air. That may come later, when the auction is in full swing. As they take their seats, Cass leans in, lips curved flirtatiously as she whispers, "You said you weren’t certain on what is auctioned. Correct?" with this many villains in one location he had to be some indication that what was being auctioned was more valuable than some old Batman shrapnel.
Ollie gives a knowing, smarmy laugh, as if Cass had just said something indescribably naughty. In this room, the smarmy laugh just helps them fit in more, and once he’s sure nobody’s paying attention he nods in answer to her question.
"The tip I got hinted that there might be some big stuff coming down the pike," he says. "That so far it’s mostly been a mix of smaller, mundane items for the low-lying villains and oddball collector’s pieces for the upper echelons. Nothing that would be considered a threat, but that Club V’s about ready to break into the big times."
He’s interrupted by an imperious squawk from the front auctioneer’s podium, where The Penguin is indeed mounting the dais, getting the attention of the attendees. “This traveling auction has graduated tonight,” he proclaims grandly, “because it’s managed to break in to Gotham City!”
A cheer erupts from the crowd, mostly Gothamites, although some of them roll their eyes or look otherwise unimpressed. ‘Cracker’ strokes his beard and nudges ‘Fei Fei’, muttering, “Well, the arrogance sure sounds like they’ve got something big.”
Cass moves a hand to rest comfortably on Ollie’s knee, giggling, “Delightful,” in reply to his report on what could be expected from the upcoming auction.
As the Penguin draws the attention in the room, Cass swallows thickly. Somehow familiar faces here didn’t feel comforting like they did anywhere else. She’d dealt with Oswald several times before, every time more irritating than the last. If he was involved this didn’t bode well.
'Fei Fei' gives a polite golf clap in return to The Penguin's proclamation, “Big talk doesn't equal big results.” she returns, not wanting to believe the Penguin's big talk up until she saw what he and the Club could produce.
"Are we surveying…" she lets her hand return to Ollie’s knee to keep up her act, "or can we place a bet or two? Keep it interesting." Not knowing just what will be brought out, it’s almost too tempting to stir the pot, to see who wants to rise to the top and be the winning bidder on these breakthrough items. "Not betting is weird." she adds, squeezing her hand around his kneecap.
"No, you’re right," Ollie says, although Cassandra’s Fei Fei act is making his head a little spinny. The girl’s always seemed so grim and joyless to him, so focused on getting the job done and not much else, a relentless crusader for her cause. Just like … well, just like the Batman, really. And it had been as much of a shock for Ollie learning that the Bat was the same Bruce Wayne who he’d traded banter with at parties and drunk champagne with in infinity pools filled with starlets.
The sudden feeling of recognition makes Ollie a little less sure about his motives for disliking Cass, but he pushes that aside for now, draping his arm over her shoulders and toying with one bamboo hoop earring. “You’re right,” he reiterates, “we should make a bid for something appropriately in our price range. And taste bracket. Cracker’s big on anything lockpicky or explosive.”
The Penguin announces that they’ll start small for the small among them, and the lower baddies laugh good-naturedly at this. A few biddables zip along — as expected, things like spent Bat/Robinarangs and trick arrows and pieces of costumes — all of which sell off swiftly. “Popular items,” Ollie notes, letting his hand trail down the side of Fei Fei’s neck as he uses the opportunity to look around at the audience. He frowns a bit, racking his brain for what he knows of the Gotham underworld.
"Tell me," he asks, fingertips tracing the length of her collarbone, "I realize the home team advantage, but just the same — does it seem like there’s an awful lot of Gotham hoods here for it being a traveling auction?"
Cass tilts her head, knocking her earring into his knuckles, “Lockpicky or explosive. Right. I can place the bets. Let me know if you see something you like.”
Sitting still, Cass allows Oliver’s hand to roam against her, her hand against his knee slowly drawing up and down his thigh, like a tease. It’s strange to consider the soft touch against her skin is coming from him considering all their past friction. This is all pretend, she reminds herself, an act they were putting on. It doesn’t mean he likes you.
She giggles along with the Penguin’s little joke, following along with the auctioned items as they are presented, paying attention to the small time crooks who place their bets, but with such small trophies to start she’s not seeing any significant correlation in buyers. However, what is apparent is the surprising amount of familiar faces among the crowd, more so than she would’ve expected considering Ollie’s intel on the club. This was supposed to be something new, underground even. And yet even some of the latest start up gangs she’d been in the process of breaking up were present.
"It’s too many," she agrees, leaning her head closer to his ear, her lips coming close to pressing on his skin, "Either they’ve promised something big, or there’s something else playing." Who could possibly want this many villains all in one arena? Was it a cover for a meeting? A sting?
"Maybe they have someone," her grip against his thigh contracts with worry, but it’s the only location on her body she lets it show. A kidnapped Gotham hero would certainly draw this kind of a crowd, but she couldn’t think of anyone who’d gone missing recently, "Something bigger than batarangs," is really the only conclusion she can feel confident in.
It’s not an avenue that Ollie’s eager to follow, the idea of a hostage, but it does sound plausible. More than. And Cass seems to think so too, from the way that her fingers tighten into the muscle of his thigh, the slight hitch in her soft breath against his ear. “Let’s not go borrowing trouble,” he says despite the spike in his heart rate. “For all we know they could be auctioning off Hawkman’s favourite chamber pot or something.”
"Hey, if you two are just gonna be gettin’ it on in here, you should shift aside for REAL bidders." A numbers runner named Frenchie Pontoon leans forward from his chair behind them, and although he’s complaining he gives Fei Fei an appreciative once-over. "I can see why you’d wanna, pal, but there’s business comin’ up. Important business."
"We’re REAL bidders, putz," Cracker sneers back, pulling Fei Fei even closer. "Here, you’ll see—" Ollie hands the bidding paddle to Cass, "—she’s gonna be the one making the calls. So you better have some considerable scratch in your pockets to keep up."
Frenchie looks like he’s about to complain some more, but the Penguin shushes the crowd. “Here’s where things start to get interesting,” he proclaims. “We all know that the past few months have been about giving the Bat—” he pauses for the requisite booing and hissing, “—the big shaft and reminding him who Gotham /really/ belongs to. And I bet you’ve all wanted to know what some of Arkham’s more illustrious members did in all that time they were free, don’t you?”
"Right. Okay," Cass lets her hand relax against Ollie. The possibility of her prediction still frightening, but it hadn’t come true yet. She might be wrong. Don’t jump to conclusions, not until it’s clear, till you know exactly what you’re looking at. Calm down.
At Frenchie’s sloborous advance, Cass plays her part as Fei Fei. She gives the scumbag a wink, a slight pout of her lips, and a once over for his pleasure and her information. He’s not familiar to her, at least not by face alone. Either he was new, or he worked too behind the scenes regularly for her know him.
Fei Fei spins the bidding paddle in her hand, teasing it close to Frenchie, “I like to play hard to get,” her free hand curls around the back of Cracker’s neck, her lacquered nails drawing against his skin, “Let’s see if you can try and keep up.”
Penguin’s call for attention pulls Cass away from any further taunting at Frenchie. At the crowd’s boos and hisses her lips pucker sourly. The expression is enough to pass on to Fei Fei as a look of disgust for Gotham’s vigilante despite her knowing good and well it was only the opposite. Here she would be betting on something directly connected to what had been draining Batman, all of the Bats, and all of Gotham, for months. She would be betting on whatever had been festering from the freedom of Arkham’s most notable inmates.
Tucking the paddle beneath her arm, Fei Fei gives another polite clap to the Penguin’s rousing speech. It’s invigorating the crowd towards a feeding frenzy for those who could keep up.
Fei Fei could keep up. She could at least bet on that.
The Penguin waits for the interested, speculative murmurs from the crowd to phase out somewhat before he goes on to explain.
"What we are auctioning, my dear fellows," he honks, "are lots which require some faith and imagination. We’ll begin with Lot 33." Everybody watches with anticipation when the attendant brings out what looks like an ordinary — if top of the line — cellphone. "Why should we pay for that?" snipes The Calculator. "Does it hold state secrets?"
Ollie grunts, not liking the look of this any more than Cassandra’s hostage suggestion. “Don’t bid on this one,” he tells her. “Bid on Lot 35.”
Penguin holds his pointed beak aloft. “This is why I said that purchasing these Lots requires imagination,” he says acidly. “Lot 33 is our Black Mask item. This telephone will connect you with our dear friend for further information on what he put into place while he was out of Arkham.” There’s murmurs now from the crowd, some doubtful and some excited, and The Penguin says, “…if it helps soothe your minds, Club V provides a guarantee that the information in each Lot is worth at least a hundred grand monetarily. And much more in terms of causing trouble for the superheroes.”
He opens the bidding then, and Lot 33 is slow to go … until the Mad Hatter puts in a bid. Then Cheetah follows. After that the bidding heats up and it sells at a final price of $45,000. “Well, after all,” Penguin intones as the item leaves the stage, “it /is/ only Black Mask.”
Lot 34 is Zsasz, and that sells for higher. When Lot 35 comes around, it’s announced as Professor Pyg, and Ollie drops his arm to Cass’s back, long fingers tightening on her side near the curve of her breast. “Here we go,” he says, and although his voice is a little terse, there’s some excitement there, too.
"Why thirty-five?" Cass asks, turning away from the current lot on the block. Does he want to give it more time? To gauge the interest in the room? To see who else could be on the other end of the phone? Too many questions, but still one more, "Am I betting to win?" she follows up in a soft whisper. It was one thing to play, and another to walk away with an item.
The Penguin’s invitation for imagination is an unfortunate one for Cass. She’s running high on it at the moment as she filled the role of Fei Fei and tried to stay alert to the room around her. She needed to stay on top of herself, to try not to let her ideas get the best of her or the mission she’d been tasked with.
Her current thinking in regards to the phone calls is that if they do win thirty-five, it could give them a possible break with everything still possibly ongoing with Bruce. It could shed light onto areas of cases across the city that’d been lost in the wild shuffle. It could be good, very good for them all.
"Yeah," she tenses as the anticipation on the lot and the bidding process ramping her up, "Thirty five." Professor Pyg at first glance might not be the most appealing or high profile, but he was known enough and worked his way into the criminal scene strong enough to make a name for himself. He was just enough of a prize as the rest of the crooks he was being sold with.
Cass stretches her arm up long, holding the paddle aloft as soon as the first bidding price is set. She continues to grapple with a few other club members seated in the back, a handful of paddles popping up sporadically closer to the front almost for sport. Driving the price up but never intending to buy. A pain.
When the price it just about to hit $50,000 Cass glances to Ollie, asking permission to continue. It would be his money after all, if they were to win. Or, in this case Cracker’s
"Thirty-five so we don’t seem too eager," Ollie murmurs in response as the bidding begins. Honestly Ollie doesn’t know much about this Professor Pyg character — he sounds like the kind of grotesquery that Gotham seems to grow like mushrooms — but Cass seems familiar with him and she’s already bidding. At a good pace, even though Ollie can hear her growl (in character for Fei Fei, too) when the high rollers at the front drive the numbers up.
"And we’ve got enough the way we are to make it up another twenty-five thou at least; any more and we’ll look like chumps, paying out a hundred grand for it." Ollie notices one of the nearby gangsters listening in and raises his voice in rough bonhomie. "No matter who’s made what guarantees, hey, fellas?"
He does /want/ the phone, though. It would go a long way to figuring out if Club V is merely a nuisance, or an actual threat. “Keep it comin’, girl,” he murmurs to Cass, both of them sitting on the edges of their chairs.
“At least.” Fei Fei coos, curling her free hand around the back of his neck, her long nails drawing along his skin. She can feel the eyes of the gangsters falling on them, and tries to distract with flushed cheeks and pouting lips.
At Ollie’s encouragement, Cass continues to bid higher and higher, the big rollers in the room making the price continue to soar. “He’s not worth this much.” Cass, as Fei Fei hisses back to Ollie, but she has to remember that the possible contents were worth more than the individual.
The price tips to the very edge of their price point, Cass once again raising the paddle, but the interest has faded in the item, eager to see what’s coming next, “Sold!” the Penguin squawks, pointing out in the crowd to a victorious Fei Fei. Turning to Cracker, she wraps her arms around his neck, pressing a kiss against his lips in triumph.
It’s a combination of things — the triumph of winning the bid, the palpable feeling of danger and greed in the room full of their enemies, and the sudden unexpected warmth of Cass’s mouth against his — and Ollie feels a sharp, searing wrench low in his belly when he tastes her lipstick. Wrapping his arm around Cass (Fei Fei? no, /Cass/), he digs his fingers into her shoulder and kisses back, fiercely, deep enough to leave them both breathless.
"Break it up, lovebirds," one of Penguin’s lackeys says. She’s brought over the phone and a small amount of paperwork, and this is where Club V differs from regular auctions; the transactions are carried out immediately and in front of all the other bidders, villains being a naturally suspicious and duplicitous lot. Ollie pays the money with Cracker’s usual reluctance to make good on a promise, and then the phone is theirs, sealed in an evidence bag of thick clear plastic that Ollie immediately puts into his inside jacket pocket.
He stands up, pulling Cassandra up with him. His hand on her waist feels heavy and promising, the twist of her body against him as they stand, and Ollie grits his teeth against the spike of heat through his chest. “Let’s get outta here,” he mutters. This would be the worst idea. This would be a lapse in the hard-won climb away from self-destructive behaviour that he’s been dutifully working on for the past few years.
/Get a hold of yourself, Queen./ Ollie shakes his head hard as they hit the street outside, the cold Gotham air snapping him back to his senses. It was probably all just Cassandra getting into the part, anyhow. The girl didn’t like him and he didn’t like her right back.
There’s a bit of a thrill- a rushing swimming sensation that fills her head as her lips press to his. This is not entirely an act brought on by Fei Fei, but Cass won’t admit as much out loud. Especially not with Ollie being involved. Oliver Queen of all people.
"Good idea," she whispers in reply, knowing now was the best time to take their leave, and to get in touch with Pyg. Fei Fei slinks out of Club V with Cracker, her hips swaying against him, teasing a wink to the losers grumbling in the back.
Once outside, Cass takes a sizable steps away from Ollie, but still doesn’t stray far, still feeling conflicted over their kiss following the auction. Had it meant anything? Should it? No, it shouldn’t. “Are you going to call Pyg right away?” She asks trying to stay on task as she plucks a chopstick from her hair, twirling it between her fingers like a miniature baton.
"Well, Cracker loves Fei Fei." She teases him with a small laugh, feeling impressed that their quickly thrown together plan had yielded some success, "Oliver does not."
"Oliver has good reason," he mutters. "And maybe so does Cassandra." He pats his jacket pocket, making sure the bag with the phone is still in there. "We’re gonna take this back to the Cave and see what we can get off it physically before we even turn it on," Ollie says as they approach the car. "I don’t wanna miss any possible clues about what Club V is capable of. You know what it’s like—"
He pauses to open the car and they both slide in, doors shutting out all the street noise and encasing them in a private little cocoon.
"—sometimes it’s like you’re only barely one step ahead," Ollie finishes, and reaches across to cup Cass’s face and kiss her, thumb dragging along her jawline, her half-undone hair tumbling down with its points pricking one side of his cheek. He makes a low, angry noise in his throat and reaches for her with his other hand, that thumb coming to land on her ribcage just along the soft undercurve of her breast. Holding her still, holding her steady as he strokes his tongue into her mouth.
Cass simply shrugs at Ollie’s rationale for continuing to dislike her. If that’s where they stood, so be it. She at least understood it. She eyes the portion of his jacket his hand pauses against- where the phone was located, “You don’t think it has a tracer. Do you?” she asks, but really he had already likely considered the possibility. It wasn’t a question that needed answering.
"I-" Cass begins, but her sentence is smashed by Ollie’s kiss, throwing her entirely off guard. One hand wraps defensively around her remaining chopstick (a decent disarming weapon if need be), as her other hand cups gently against the side of his neck. She wasn’t keeping up, feeling as if she was barely understanding what this meant or who this was for. It had all become so blurry for her, and she felt at risk of falling behind so she carried on.
She follows the motions of his mouth against her own, breathing slowly, feeling her chest rise and fall as his hand cups against her side. Dropping her hand from the remaining chopstick in her hair, Cass pulls away from Ollie for a second to give her time to shift from the passenger seat and into his lap.
"What was that." her eyes are sharp as she looks at him, as a warmth (embarrassment? delight?) glows out from her cheeks and down to her bare shoulders.
"I dunno," Ollie says, licking his bottom lip. The taste of her is still there, lingering and evocative, and he shifts his hips beneath her in a way that makes them both catch their breath. He wraps a tendril of her hair around his fingers and leans in, dragging the tip of his nose along one bared collarbone, her skin gilded by the yellow of the streetlamps. In the hollow of her throat there’s a small, secret cache of her perfume and he presses his mouth to it, swallowing the dark edge of smoke that curls through the sweet fragrance. Cass herself, sinuous through Fei Fei’s perfume.
Ollie wraps his arms around Cass — it’s not hard, in such close quarters and with her being whip-thin — and rests his palm on the back of her neck. “Nothing real,” he says, looking at her, holding her gaze. “Nothing lasting.” It’s entirely suited to the ways that they’ve known each other; both of them brimming with secrecy in the Elite, both of them breathing subterfuge in the Outsiders. Ollie’s only ever known Cass in the liminal places, just on the outskirts of the reality of their lives. She’s only ever seen him at his worst, and in a strange, bloodily satisfied little way, there’s a pleasure in that. A relief.
He doesn’t kiss her again, just holding her there. Thumb sliding up the rigid bone at the back of her neck, feeling her hips press against his and the heat mirrored between them.
She tilts her neck back as he leans in to her. Glancing to the ceiling of the car she catches her breath and works her way back to where Ollie has landed. His action slowly make more sense as she holds her gaze on him a second time- now only seeing Ollie through his disguise. It was a break in their tension, but it wouldn’t mean anymore than that.
"Yeah. What I thought," She blinks, leaning forward against him as her back curling in a cat-like way. Holding her forehead against his shoulder she sighs, dragging a hand across his jaw, "It’s fine."
Cass holds herself there against him for a few long breaths more before pulling back. She draws herself off his lap and sinks back into the passenger seat, “We’re not going to talk about this,” she states, looking forward through the windshield. Plucking the second chopstick from her hair, and smearing her warm hands against her thick eye makeup she huffs, “And I won’t say anything. To either of them.”
"Yeah. Okay." Ollie stays where he is for a while, listening to Cass as she twists and turns in her seat, dress rustling, the slight smack of her hand against her cheekbone. His heart is thudding, loud and annoyed, in something that’s not quite desire and not quite anger. Something that makes him want to do the bad thing instead of the right thing, lean over and grab Cass again. Or maybe take off in a steaming screech, make the speedometer climb steeper all the way back to the Manor. Maybe get so drunk everything’s clear again and go out fucking and fighting. Maybe maybe maybe.
Ollie glances over at Cass and she’s staring straight ahead, her thick eyeliner smudged into a mask around her eyes, and he feels the cords in his throat tense up as he reaches to turn the key in the ignition. “You’re not my secret,” he says sourly. “Don’t do me any favours.”
The tires squeal excitedly as he pulls out, but it’s only for a moment. And then everything’s back to normal.
Letting himself through the kitchen entrance to the Cave, Ollie called out through the vast space as he rode the escalator down. “Hey! Hey, Cass! It’s Ollie, I’m coming down, don’t attack me!”
It was possible the warning wasn’t necessary. But then again, given the rather adversarial relationship they’d had in the past, maybe it was.
Cass had swung by the Cave to upload a few new files, check updates on any activity she’d missed around her usual patrol, and to perhaps steal a few baked good from Alfred. A usual pit stop, in and out without too much of a trace.
What was unusual and unexpected was the escalator kicking to life and the booming voice that soon followed. Oliver. Oh fun.
"I wasn’t planning on it." she replies with a similar hollar to his own, one she’d enjoyed perfecting in her time spent with Rose and occasionally Mia. "You don’t have your quiver, it wouldn’t be fair for you.” Although if they weren’t going to fight, what exactly did he want?
Grunting, Ollie hopped down the last couple steps of the escalator and jogged over to where Cass was standing by one of the smaller workstations. Above them, the massive Crays whirred grimly onward, aggregating and presenting data scoured from the world over. It was like the stern eye of the Bat was watching and Ollie shook himself irritably.
"Fantasyland boasting aside," he said, "I got wind of something that I think might be right up your alley. Something sneaky-like, and I know from experience that you’re an expert at sneaking around." Cassandra’s suitability had, in fact, been a conclusion that he’d come to with much annoyance; Mar’i had been his first choice, but even Ollie had to admit to himself that maybe the two of them on a mission that called for some finesse might not be the best of ideas.
Resolving to find something that needed skull-busting to do after this and take Mar’i along for a whooping good time, Ollie folded his arms and regarded Cass. “I don’t wanna waste time giving you the whole pitch if you’re not interested in working with me, so tell me now to piss off if that’s what it’s gonna be.”
With Ollie in her sights, Cass can tell with a small smile he’s a bit uncomfortable here without Bruce. She’d like to think that maybe the location gave her the upper hand…in whatever it was he wanted.
As he gets going, Cass tries to appear as uninterested as possible. She begins to braid her hair even as a way to distract herself from his boisterous presence. But, as he explains his exact need for her, Cass’ fingers begin to slow, her eyes drawing over his face as he speaks. He needs a spy.
Any irritation she might feel working with Ollie aside, Cass knew if he was looking to her for assistance, then it must have been important. “Fine, give the pitch.” she requests, trying not to sound too irritated in her reply, “I’m interested.”
The hair-braiding had made Ollie bristle internally, since he read it as a dismissive action, Cass hinting that whatever he was about to say was less important than her personal grooming. But then she grudgingly gives in and he tamps down on that reaction, reminding himself that he needs her help.
"There’s this thing, apparently," he begins, "that’s gotten popular. Popular enough for us to maybe start worrying about it." Ollie leans back against the computer console, crossing his legs at the ankle. "The villains have been running a sort of travelling auction house called Club V." He lifts a shoulder in a shrug. "Might be nothing. Might just be a bunch of piddly doo-dahs trading leftover pieces of Bat-shrapnel. But then again, it could be actual baddies trading in actual bad items."
Ollie scratches his chin. “Sooooo I thought we could do some undercover recon. I got a lead on where they’re having an auction tonight and we can slip in and get an idea of it. No takedowns, not yet, just … sneaky stuff.”
She drops her hands to her hips, settling there. The position still felt standoffish enough, while still appearing tolerable to Ollie’s potential plan.
"Club V. That’s actually popular?" she scoffs, the name sounding silly to her- harmless even. Like a children’s clique, or a weak gang. Tamping down her desire to laugh, she purses her lips, eyes narrowed as she tries to consider the more serious nature of this roaming auction house. Not good. Leaning up against the console, leaving her hands to drum against the smooth surface she asks him, "Any leads on a leader yet? Or a group running it?"
At Ollie’s suggestion of undercover recon, Cass’s lips curve up in a genuine smile her interest peaked by the mission’s potential now, “Sneaky stuff. Good, okay. So who will you be, and who am I?” she could design an alias to play off his easily, but she wanted to see what he had in mind first, he had all the intel on the club after all.
"I’m Green Arrow, and you’re … what is it today? Batgirl? Kasumi? Black Bat? The Nothing?" Ollie waves his hand without giving Cass a chance to retort. "Doesn’t matter, I guess. One’s as good or bad as the other, huh?"
He turns to the computer and brings up a file photograph of a dark-haired, bearded man and a placeholder image for a female companion. “It just so happens that this Star City mook gave up a life of crime after I convinced him that his existence otherwise might get a little on the uncomfortable side due to my constantly dogging his penny ante ass. He was a mid-range crook, and since there doesn’t seem to be any hierarchy about who can get into Club V, should work fine for our little plan.”
Pointing at the female blankface, Ollie explains, “He’s been known to work with a female companion who calls herself Fei Fei, although nobody’s given a decent description of her other than she looks like she’s of Asian background. He’s got a reputation for being, uh, into Asian women.” Ollie coughs into his fist, turning slightly red in the face. “His name’s Mark Campbell and hiscodenameisCracker.”
Her smile drops just as soon as it appears. She doesn’t appreciate his dismissal of her aliases at all, “My identity can change, but the fight is constant.” is her quiet reply on the matter, trying to take the high road with him.
She turns her attention to the image he calls up on the computer. The beard on the man is more than enough to mentally project an image of Ollie there instead. She’d siphon her frustrations with the archer onto another imbecile, “So it sounds like a get rich quick scheme. Get popular too. Stupid.”
Cass’ face turns a furious bright red at the explanation of Fei Fei “Do you even need my help- or are you including me in this because I’m Asian? Is that it? I can work my way up to ‘Cracker’ because I’m Asian.” she grits her teeth trying to put a break on her accusations, thinking they might be a stretch, but with Ollie really it doesn’t matter to her. They don’t play nicely, “Green Arrow, more like Cracker Two.”
Ollie’s face continues turning red until he’s roughly the colour of a beet. Pushing off from the console, he rounds on Cass, sticking a finger in her face. “Hey, listen, girlie,” he snarls, “I asked you to help me out with this because I figured you could use all the good karmic balance points you could get!” It’s a cheap slam, but Cass’s earlier taking of the high road had rankled Ollie as intended and he fully intends to tumble her off it.
Throwing up his hands, he stalks away in a tight loop-de-loop as he rants, “I coulda done this myself but it’d be better recon with a partner! And just because our cover happens to be a massive rice king — the douchebag who /I’ll/ be playing, by the way — that doesn’t make me a cracker!” Ollie pauses. “Well I mean I /am/ white, but … but that doesn’t mean….” He rubs a hand against his chin. “Okay, I kinda lost my train of argue just there, but the point is … the point is!”
Vigor and righteousness renewed, Ollie growls, “I’d sooner trust a viper to watch my back than you. But you’re here and you’re suited to the job and we might as well do it. Regardless of how we feel about each other. All right?”
"Karmic balance points!? Now you’re trying to be ignorant." Cass pushes right back into Ollie’s face, teeth clacking as she snarls, "The only person here who has a problem with my past is you! I’m not going to apologize to you for who I am or what I’ve done. Take me or leave me, I don’t care." She did care, but that was for her to know, and him to ignore.
Cass stands as straight as she can manage, holding herself in one place as Ollie turns about himself. She snips back at him, “You don’t even have to try to play. You are a douchebag. That’s the point you’re getting at.”
Rolling her shoulders, Cass considers the terms they stand on, neither one trusts the other yet still they want to work this recon together. At the very least he could still recognize her skills, and she could acknowledge his own. For now that would have to be enough to get them through this, “Yeah, fine. Fine.” she agrees with a clipped nod.
"It’s funny. You get along with everyone in my family," she smirks, but the curve of her mouth doesn’t quite meet the dark cold stare she levels at Ollie, "but not me."
"Yeah, well." Ollie lifts his chin, giving Cass a baleful stare down the length of his nose. "I tend to not get along too well with former assassins and sneaky types, no matter how much they say they’ve changed their spots. Not many others in your family fit the profile, do they? Better to be a douchebag, I think."
He shakes himself irritably. “But we’re wasting time. We should be suiting up and heading out, not sniping at each other here. There’ll be plenty of other time for sniping.” Ollie moves towards where he knows Bruce keeps the putties and wigs and makeup supplies for disguises. “I’m sure you’re a keen hand at the art of disguise. Let’s get to work and find these dipshits.”
Cass keeps her lips pursed as Ollie gives her his answer, “No, you’re right. I’m the only one like that. Which leaves you as our resident douchebag. So, sure. Keep thinking you’re better than me.”
Falling in line behind Ollie as they move to work up disguises, Cass can’t help but roll her eyes at him trying to move above the fray, “Yeah just put on your new beard, Cracker, and I’ll be quiet.”
The concentration of coordinating her disguise leaves her to stew over Ollie, considering his reasoning for disliking her over the rest of the family. Stupid she would’ve hoped that Bruce’s trust in her alone would more than make up for any past digressions, but apparently that wouldn’t work for Ollie.
She works to cover any visibly distracting scars and slides into a skimpy red dress- with the appropriate ‘Asian’ flavor. “So, sneaky and assassin isn’t your type.” she starts sniping again as she paints up her face, her hand working to exaggerate her features, “What. Did an assassin dump you or something?” she laughs softly, the thought aloud now sounding like a joke. He just hated her on principles alone as far as she knew.
Turning around in her seat to face him, Cass holds out a pair of polished chopsticks, “Putting these in my hair: too much or just right? I’m already wearing gold bamboo hoop earrings.”
Ollie pauses in slicking the temporary fast-drying black dye into his hair, staring at his mirror’s reflection of Cass. It’s the first time he’s really looked at her, to be honest; his memories are mostly of the creepshow rose-mouthed Kasumi mask, and the full-face black leather mask from the Bat getup. Unsettling — although that’s probably the point — and enough to make Ollie deeply suspicious of the young woman behind them.
Like this, made up to be the perfect Orientalist Madame Butterfly fantasy, it’s almost painful to look at her naked face without the full-coverage masks. She looks entirely too real, too … possible. He feels even more unsettled than when she’s wearing the masks. “Use the chopsticks,” Ollie says brusquely. “Might as well play this out to the extreme. Too nondescript and we’ll stick out like sore thumbs.”
He doesn’t say anything else to her until they’ve driven to the location, parked some distance away. The assortment of villains, low and high, heading into the building isn’t exactly obvious, but for seasoned vigilantes, it doesn’t look like they’re making a huge effort at subterfuge, either. They’re nearing the door when Ollie abruptly says, “I had a child with an assassin.”
Cass neatly arranges the chopsticks in her hair as she studies Ollie. His eyes shifting from her and quickly pulling away- she interprets him growing uncomfortable with her, and from this she welcomes the widening silence between them, not sure what else she wanted to say to the man.
On the ride over Cass lets herself slip into Fei Fei. She keeps a small half smile on her face in an attempt to look dim, as if she doesn’t even know why she’s here. Her mannerisms take on a fluttery feel, her hands hovering by her sides while her fingers flex and relax with a rhythm. It’s all small physical starts in trying to distract the villains around her from catching on to her awareness.
Cass links her arm around Ollie’s, pulling him back away from the door as she slowly primps her dress, “Oh?” she replies lightly, treating this like a common conversation for the both of them despite how much she wants to complain that they could’ve very easily discussed this on the car ride over, “Do I know her?” she turns, looking ahead at the door, letting Ollie decide if he wants to continue this sudden conversation or if he wants to stay on task. She can do both.
Leaning down, Ollie straightens the hem of Cassandra’s gown and untwists one of her heel straps. “You probably know of her, even if you never knew her while you were in the League of Assassins,” he says in an undertone, his voice strained even though his mannerisms, like hers, are unremarkable, routine. “Her name was Shado.”
With that, they’re approaching the doorman, who blinks — a nictitating membrane draws across his eyes under his eyelids — and says in an amused tone, “So this is Fei Fei?” before letting them in. Crazy Quilt shoves past them muttering about people with no manners and Ollie draws to the side once they’re in the room proper, so they can get a quick survey.
"Must be some kind of detente in effect, at least during the auction," he says, and Cass can tell what he’s talking about, since there’s a few of the more flamboyant Gotham underworld types in attendance who are sworn enemies. "Let’s find some good seats near the back so we can scope without being scoped."
"Ah," she hums, the name familiar enough to her, Shado and her skillset were commonly known among the League of Assassins. Although the woman’s personality and her history were a different story for Cass- much more of a mystery as they had never met before, "Was." she holds on this word, but does not push him. Shado was no longer. As for the child- that was a question for another time.
Cass smiles demurely to the doorman before she and Ollie are welcomed into Club V. She takes quick stock of the room while staying nearby Ollie. Just as he’d reported, villains of all ranks were in attendance, from gangs to the most notorious of foes. From here she even thought she might’ve spotted the The Penguin’s top hat bobbing, but she couldn’t be entirely certain from the growing crowd.
"Yes," she agrees, while there is some jostling and shifting among the crowd, there doesn’t seem to be much hostility in the air. That may come later, when the auction is in full swing. As they take their seats, Cass leans in, lips curved flirtatiously as she whispers, "You said you weren’t certain on what is auctioned. Correct?" with this many villains in one location he had to be some indication that what was being auctioned was more valuable than some old Batman shrapnel.
Ollie gives a knowing, smarmy laugh, as if Cass had just said something indescribably naughty. In this room, the smarmy laugh just helps them fit in more, and once he’s sure nobody’s paying attention he nods in answer to her question.
"The tip I got hinted that there might be some big stuff coming down the pike," he says. "That so far it’s mostly been a mix of smaller, mundane items for the low-lying villains and oddball collector’s pieces for the upper echelons. Nothing that would be considered a threat, but that Club V’s about ready to break into the big times."
He’s interrupted by an imperious squawk from the front auctioneer’s podium, where The Penguin is indeed mounting the dais, getting the attention of the attendees. “This traveling auction has graduated tonight,” he proclaims grandly, “because it’s managed to break in to Gotham City!”
A cheer erupts from the crowd, mostly Gothamites, although some of them roll their eyes or look otherwise unimpressed. ‘Cracker’ strokes his beard and nudges ‘Fei Fei’, muttering, “Well, the arrogance sure sounds like they’ve got something big.”
Cass moves a hand to rest comfortably on Ollie’s knee, giggling, “Delightful,” in reply to his report on what could be expected from the upcoming auction.
As the Penguin draws the attention in the room, Cass swallows thickly. Somehow familiar faces here didn’t feel comforting like they did anywhere else. She’d dealt with Oswald several times before, every time more irritating than the last. If he was involved this didn’t bode well.
'Fei Fei' gives a polite golf clap in return to The Penguin's proclamation, “Big talk doesn't equal big results.” she returns, not wanting to believe the Penguin's big talk up until she saw what he and the Club could produce.
"Are we surveying…" she lets her hand return to Ollie’s knee to keep up her act, "or can we place a bet or two? Keep it interesting." Not knowing just what will be brought out, it’s almost too tempting to stir the pot, to see who wants to rise to the top and be the winning bidder on these breakthrough items. "Not betting is weird." she adds, squeezing her hand around his kneecap.
"No, you’re right," Ollie says, although Cassandra’s Fei Fei act is making his head a little spinny. The girl’s always seemed so grim and joyless to him, so focused on getting the job done and not much else, a relentless crusader for her cause. Just like … well, just like the Batman, really. And it had been as much of a shock for Ollie learning that the Bat was the same Bruce Wayne who he’d traded banter with at parties and drunk champagne with in infinity pools filled with starlets.
The sudden feeling of recognition makes Ollie a little less sure about his motives for disliking Cass, but he pushes that aside for now, draping his arm over her shoulders and toying with one bamboo hoop earring. “You’re right,” he reiterates, “we should make a bid for something appropriately in our price range. And taste bracket. Cracker’s big on anything lockpicky or explosive.”
The Penguin announces that they’ll start small for the small among them, and the lower baddies laugh good-naturedly at this. A few biddables zip along — as expected, things like spent Bat/Robinarangs and trick arrows and pieces of costumes — all of which sell off swiftly. “Popular items,” Ollie notes, letting his hand trail down the side of Fei Fei’s neck as he uses the opportunity to look around at the audience. He frowns a bit, racking his brain for what he knows of the Gotham underworld.
"Tell me," he asks, fingertips tracing the length of her collarbone, "I realize the home team advantage, but just the same — does it seem like there’s an awful lot of Gotham hoods here for it being a traveling auction?"
Cass tilts her head, knocking her earring into his knuckles, “Lockpicky or explosive. Right. I can place the bets. Let me know if you see something you like.”
Sitting still, Cass allows Oliver’s hand to roam against her, her hand against his knee slowly drawing up and down his thigh, like a tease. It’s strange to consider the soft touch against her skin is coming from him considering all their past friction. This is all pretend, she reminds herself, an act they were putting on. It doesn’t mean he likes you.
She giggles along with the Penguin’s little joke, following along with the auctioned items as they are presented, paying attention to the small time crooks who place their bets, but with such small trophies to start she’s not seeing any significant correlation in buyers. However, what is apparent is the surprising amount of familiar faces among the crowd, more so than she would’ve expected considering Ollie’s intel on the club. This was supposed to be something new, underground even. And yet even some of the latest start up gangs she’d been in the process of breaking up were present.
"It’s too many," she agrees, leaning her head closer to his ear, her lips coming close to pressing on his skin, "Either they’ve promised something big, or there’s something else playing." Who could possibly want this many villains all in one arena? Was it a cover for a meeting? A sting?
"Maybe they have someone," her grip against his thigh contracts with worry, but it’s the only location on her body she lets it show. A kidnapped Gotham hero would certainly draw this kind of a crowd, but she couldn’t think of anyone who’d gone missing recently, "Something bigger than batarangs," is really the only conclusion she can feel confident in.
It’s not an avenue that Ollie’s eager to follow, the idea of a hostage, but it does sound plausible. More than. And Cass seems to think so too, from the way that her fingers tighten into the muscle of his thigh, the slight hitch in her soft breath against his ear. “Let’s not go borrowing trouble,” he says despite the spike in his heart rate. “For all we know they could be auctioning off Hawkman’s favourite chamber pot or something.”
"Hey, if you two are just gonna be gettin’ it on in here, you should shift aside for REAL bidders." A numbers runner named Frenchie Pontoon leans forward from his chair behind them, and although he’s complaining he gives Fei Fei an appreciative once-over. "I can see why you’d wanna, pal, but there’s business comin’ up. Important business."
"We’re REAL bidders, putz," Cracker sneers back, pulling Fei Fei even closer. "Here, you’ll see—" Ollie hands the bidding paddle to Cass, "—she’s gonna be the one making the calls. So you better have some considerable scratch in your pockets to keep up."
Frenchie looks like he’s about to complain some more, but the Penguin shushes the crowd. “Here’s where things start to get interesting,” he proclaims. “We all know that the past few months have been about giving the Bat—” he pauses for the requisite booing and hissing, “—the big shaft and reminding him who Gotham /really/ belongs to. And I bet you’ve all wanted to know what some of Arkham’s more illustrious members did in all that time they were free, don’t you?”
"Right. Okay," Cass lets her hand relax against Ollie. The possibility of her prediction still frightening, but it hadn’t come true yet. She might be wrong. Don’t jump to conclusions, not until it’s clear, till you know exactly what you’re looking at. Calm down.
At Frenchie’s sloborous advance, Cass plays her part as Fei Fei. She gives the scumbag a wink, a slight pout of her lips, and a once over for his pleasure and her information. He’s not familiar to her, at least not by face alone. Either he was new, or he worked too behind the scenes regularly for her know him.
Fei Fei spins the bidding paddle in her hand, teasing it close to Frenchie, “I like to play hard to get,” her free hand curls around the back of Cracker’s neck, her lacquered nails drawing against his skin, “Let’s see if you can try and keep up.”
Penguin’s call for attention pulls Cass away from any further taunting at Frenchie. At the crowd’s boos and hisses her lips pucker sourly. The expression is enough to pass on to Fei Fei as a look of disgust for Gotham’s vigilante despite her knowing good and well it was only the opposite. Here she would be betting on something directly connected to what had been draining Batman, all of the Bats, and all of Gotham, for months. She would be betting on whatever had been festering from the freedom of Arkham’s most notable inmates.
Tucking the paddle beneath her arm, Fei Fei gives another polite clap to the Penguin’s rousing speech. It’s invigorating the crowd towards a feeding frenzy for those who could keep up.
Fei Fei could keep up. She could at least bet on that.
The Penguin waits for the interested, speculative murmurs from the crowd to phase out somewhat before he goes on to explain.
"What we are auctioning, my dear fellows," he honks, "are lots which require some faith and imagination. We’ll begin with Lot 33." Everybody watches with anticipation when the attendant brings out what looks like an ordinary — if top of the line — cellphone. "Why should we pay for that?" snipes The Calculator. "Does it hold state secrets?"
Ollie grunts, not liking the look of this any more than Cassandra’s hostage suggestion. “Don’t bid on this one,” he tells her. “Bid on Lot 35.”
Penguin holds his pointed beak aloft. “This is why I said that purchasing these Lots requires imagination,” he says acidly. “Lot 33 is our Black Mask item. This telephone will connect you with our dear friend for further information on what he put into place while he was out of Arkham.” There’s murmurs now from the crowd, some doubtful and some excited, and The Penguin says, “…if it helps soothe your minds, Club V provides a guarantee that the information in each Lot is worth at least a hundred grand monetarily. And much more in terms of causing trouble for the superheroes.”
He opens the bidding then, and Lot 33 is slow to go … until the Mad Hatter puts in a bid. Then Cheetah follows. After that the bidding heats up and it sells at a final price of $45,000. “Well, after all,” Penguin intones as the item leaves the stage, “it /is/ only Black Mask.”
Lot 34 is Zsasz, and that sells for higher. When Lot 35 comes around, it’s announced as Professor Pyg, and Ollie drops his arm to Cass’s back, long fingers tightening on her side near the curve of her breast. “Here we go,” he says, and although his voice is a little terse, there’s some excitement there, too.
"Why thirty-five?" Cass asks, turning away from the current lot on the block. Does he want to give it more time? To gauge the interest in the room? To see who else could be on the other end of the phone? Too many questions, but still one more, "Am I betting to win?" she follows up in a soft whisper. It was one thing to play, and another to walk away with an item.
The Penguin’s invitation for imagination is an unfortunate one for Cass. She’s running high on it at the moment as she filled the role of Fei Fei and tried to stay alert to the room around her. She needed to stay on top of herself, to try not to let her ideas get the best of her or the mission she’d been tasked with.
Her current thinking in regards to the phone calls is that if they do win thirty-five, it could give them a possible break with everything still possibly ongoing with Bruce. It could shed light onto areas of cases across the city that’d been lost in the wild shuffle. It could be good, very good for them all.
"Yeah," she tenses as the anticipation on the lot and the bidding process ramping her up, "Thirty five." Professor Pyg at first glance might not be the most appealing or high profile, but he was known enough and worked his way into the criminal scene strong enough to make a name for himself. He was just enough of a prize as the rest of the crooks he was being sold with.
Cass stretches her arm up long, holding the paddle aloft as soon as the first bidding price is set. She continues to grapple with a few other club members seated in the back, a handful of paddles popping up sporadically closer to the front almost for sport. Driving the price up but never intending to buy. A pain.
When the price it just about to hit $50,000 Cass glances to Ollie, asking permission to continue. It would be his money after all, if they were to win. Or, in this case Cracker’s
"Thirty-five so we don’t seem too eager," Ollie murmurs in response as the bidding begins. Honestly Ollie doesn’t know much about this Professor Pyg character — he sounds like the kind of grotesquery that Gotham seems to grow like mushrooms — but Cass seems familiar with him and she’s already bidding. At a good pace, even though Ollie can hear her growl (in character for Fei Fei, too) when the high rollers at the front drive the numbers up.
"And we’ve got enough the way we are to make it up another twenty-five thou at least; any more and we’ll look like chumps, paying out a hundred grand for it." Ollie notices one of the nearby gangsters listening in and raises his voice in rough bonhomie. "No matter who’s made what guarantees, hey, fellas?"
He does /want/ the phone, though. It would go a long way to figuring out if Club V is merely a nuisance, or an actual threat. “Keep it comin’, girl,” he murmurs to Cass, both of them sitting on the edges of their chairs.
“At least.” Fei Fei coos, curling her free hand around the back of his neck, her long nails drawing along his skin. She can feel the eyes of the gangsters falling on them, and tries to distract with flushed cheeks and pouting lips.
At Ollie’s encouragement, Cass continues to bid higher and higher, the big rollers in the room making the price continue to soar. “He’s not worth this much.” Cass, as Fei Fei hisses back to Ollie, but she has to remember that the possible contents were worth more than the individual.
The price tips to the very edge of their price point, Cass once again raising the paddle, but the interest has faded in the item, eager to see what’s coming next, “Sold!” the Penguin squawks, pointing out in the crowd to a victorious Fei Fei. Turning to Cracker, she wraps her arms around his neck, pressing a kiss against his lips in triumph.
It’s a combination of things — the triumph of winning the bid, the palpable feeling of danger and greed in the room full of their enemies, and the sudden unexpected warmth of Cass’s mouth against his — and Ollie feels a sharp, searing wrench low in his belly when he tastes her lipstick. Wrapping his arm around Cass (Fei Fei? no, /Cass/), he digs his fingers into her shoulder and kisses back, fiercely, deep enough to leave them both breathless.
"Break it up, lovebirds," one of Penguin’s lackeys says. She’s brought over the phone and a small amount of paperwork, and this is where Club V differs from regular auctions; the transactions are carried out immediately and in front of all the other bidders, villains being a naturally suspicious and duplicitous lot. Ollie pays the money with Cracker’s usual reluctance to make good on a promise, and then the phone is theirs, sealed in an evidence bag of thick clear plastic that Ollie immediately puts into his inside jacket pocket.
He stands up, pulling Cassandra up with him. His hand on her waist feels heavy and promising, the twist of her body against him as they stand, and Ollie grits his teeth against the spike of heat through his chest. “Let’s get outta here,” he mutters. This would be the worst idea. This would be a lapse in the hard-won climb away from self-destructive behaviour that he’s been dutifully working on for the past few years.
/Get a hold of yourself, Queen./ Ollie shakes his head hard as they hit the street outside, the cold Gotham air snapping him back to his senses. It was probably all just Cassandra getting into the part, anyhow. The girl didn’t like him and he didn’t like her right back.
There’s a bit of a thrill- a rushing swimming sensation that fills her head as her lips press to his. This is not entirely an act brought on by Fei Fei, but Cass won’t admit as much out loud. Especially not with Ollie being involved. Oliver Queen of all people.
"Good idea," she whispers in reply, knowing now was the best time to take their leave, and to get in touch with Pyg. Fei Fei slinks out of Club V with Cracker, her hips swaying against him, teasing a wink to the losers grumbling in the back.
Once outside, Cass takes a sizable steps away from Ollie, but still doesn’t stray far, still feeling conflicted over their kiss following the auction. Had it meant anything? Should it? No, it shouldn’t. “Are you going to call Pyg right away?” She asks trying to stay on task as she plucks a chopstick from her hair, twirling it between her fingers like a miniature baton.
"Well, Cracker loves Fei Fei." She teases him with a small laugh, feeling impressed that their quickly thrown together plan had yielded some success, "Oliver does not."
"Oliver has good reason," he mutters. "And maybe so does Cassandra." He pats his jacket pocket, making sure the bag with the phone is still in there. "We’re gonna take this back to the Cave and see what we can get off it physically before we even turn it on," Ollie says as they approach the car. "I don’t wanna miss any possible clues about what Club V is capable of. You know what it’s like—"
He pauses to open the car and they both slide in, doors shutting out all the street noise and encasing them in a private little cocoon.
"—sometimes it’s like you’re only barely one step ahead," Ollie finishes, and reaches across to cup Cass’s face and kiss her, thumb dragging along her jawline, her half-undone hair tumbling down with its points pricking one side of his cheek. He makes a low, angry noise in his throat and reaches for her with his other hand, that thumb coming to land on her ribcage just along the soft undercurve of her breast. Holding her still, holding her steady as he strokes his tongue into her mouth.
Cass simply shrugs at Ollie’s rationale for continuing to dislike her. If that’s where they stood, so be it. She at least understood it. She eyes the portion of his jacket his hand pauses against- where the phone was located, “You don’t think it has a tracer. Do you?” she asks, but really he had already likely considered the possibility. It wasn’t a question that needed answering.
"I-" Cass begins, but her sentence is smashed by Ollie’s kiss, throwing her entirely off guard. One hand wraps defensively around her remaining chopstick (a decent disarming weapon if need be), as her other hand cups gently against the side of his neck. She wasn’t keeping up, feeling as if she was barely understanding what this meant or who this was for. It had all become so blurry for her, and she felt at risk of falling behind so she carried on.
She follows the motions of his mouth against her own, breathing slowly, feeling her chest rise and fall as his hand cups against her side. Dropping her hand from the remaining chopstick in her hair, Cass pulls away from Ollie for a second to give her time to shift from the passenger seat and into his lap.
"What was that." her eyes are sharp as she looks at him, as a warmth (embarrassment? delight?) glows out from her cheeks and down to her bare shoulders.
"I dunno," Ollie says, licking his bottom lip. The taste of her is still there, lingering and evocative, and he shifts his hips beneath her in a way that makes them both catch their breath. He wraps a tendril of her hair around his fingers and leans in, dragging the tip of his nose along one bared collarbone, her skin gilded by the yellow of the streetlamps. In the hollow of her throat there’s a small, secret cache of her perfume and he presses his mouth to it, swallowing the dark edge of smoke that curls through the sweet fragrance. Cass herself, sinuous through Fei Fei’s perfume.
Ollie wraps his arms around Cass — it’s not hard, in such close quarters and with her being whip-thin — and rests his palm on the back of her neck. “Nothing real,” he says, looking at her, holding her gaze. “Nothing lasting.” It’s entirely suited to the ways that they’ve known each other; both of them brimming with secrecy in the Elite, both of them breathing subterfuge in the Outsiders. Ollie’s only ever known Cass in the liminal places, just on the outskirts of the reality of their lives. She’s only ever seen him at his worst, and in a strange, bloodily satisfied little way, there’s a pleasure in that. A relief.
He doesn’t kiss her again, just holding her there. Thumb sliding up the rigid bone at the back of her neck, feeling her hips press against his and the heat mirrored between them.
She tilts her neck back as he leans in to her. Glancing to the ceiling of the car she catches her breath and works her way back to where Ollie has landed. His action slowly make more sense as she holds her gaze on him a second time- now only seeing Ollie through his disguise. It was a break in their tension, but it wouldn’t mean anymore than that.
"Yeah. What I thought," She blinks, leaning forward against him as her back curling in a cat-like way. Holding her forehead against his shoulder she sighs, dragging a hand across his jaw, "It’s fine."
Cass holds herself there against him for a few long breaths more before pulling back. She draws herself off his lap and sinks back into the passenger seat, “We’re not going to talk about this,” she states, looking forward through the windshield. Plucking the second chopstick from her hair, and smearing her warm hands against her thick eye makeup she huffs, “And I won’t say anything. To either of them.”
"Yeah. Okay." Ollie stays where he is for a while, listening to Cass as she twists and turns in her seat, dress rustling, the slight smack of her hand against her cheekbone. His heart is thudding, loud and annoyed, in something that’s not quite desire and not quite anger. Something that makes him want to do the bad thing instead of the right thing, lean over and grab Cass again. Or maybe take off in a steaming screech, make the speedometer climb steeper all the way back to the Manor. Maybe get so drunk everything’s clear again and go out fucking and fighting. Maybe maybe maybe.
Ollie glances over at Cass and she’s staring straight ahead, her thick eyeliner smudged into a mask around her eyes, and he feels the cords in his throat tense up as he reaches to turn the key in the ignition. “You’re not my secret,” he says sourly. “Don’t do me any favours.”
The tires squeal excitedly as he pulls out, but it’s only for a moment. And then everything’s back to normal.