welcome to the justice lounge

It could be the jeans, or maybe it’s the plaid shirt, but no one seems to really pay him mind as he enters the apartment complex where Cass, Bai, and Steph reside; he makes it all the way in, and up the stairs (not the elevator) to their place, rapping his knuckles lightly against the door.

Cass stands on her tiptoes to peer out of the peephole. She’s beaming wide as she opens the door, “Hi!”

Bruce is shocked to see her smile, so wide and so proud, it makes something inside of him twinge, nearly painfully as it awakens to the sight of it—God, she’s beautiful when she smiles—that he can’t help but return the expression with one of his own, a funny little thing that curls at the edges of his mouth. The crow’s feet at the edges of his gaze crinkle and he murmurs back, quietly. “Hi.” Glancing beyond her, he doesn’t see any sign of her roommates, and looks back at her for permission to enter.

Cass bobs her head backwards, inviting him in. Wrapping a hand around his wrist to tug him in just for a small bit of additional encouragement, “This is surprising. Were you in the neighborhood?” she takes a seat on the couch, pushing aside a few throw pillows to see if Bruce wanted to take a seat.

Bruce takes a seat where she has cleared the pillows, and holds out a small bow, wrapped carefully in dark red and silver themes: the paper is velvety to the touch, the box ornate but not so large as to be considered outlandish. “It didn’t arrive in time,” he explains, and nods at the present, urging her to take it.

( the places that you've been )

5:56pm, West Harlow - BREAKING NEWS - Unverified reports are now coming through emergency channels of an immediate lockdown at West Mercy Hospital in West Harlow. The nature of the lockdown is currently unknown but it is suspected that there may be a hostage situation taking place somewhere inside the hospital. The names of any potential hostages have not been released. The only information is coming from the nurses’ emergency protocol stations, civilian phones, and EMT radios on-site. Please provide any further information to the GCPD Hotline: *5656

6:14pm, West Harlow - GNN LIVE - We have now verified that an individual claiming to be the Black Mask and a crew of ten followers have occupied the Neo-Natal Ward on the eighth floor of the hospital. So far there have been five unconfirmed injuries to hospital workers and two - no, three deaths by gunshot. There has been no direct contact from the perpetrators with the authorities and no demands have been made. GCPD and SWAT are working tirelessly to prevent any further harm to innocent people. Please, if you’ve received any texts, videos or phone calls from anyone inside West Mercy, please contact the GCPD Hotline: *5656

6:32pm, West Harlow - GNN LIVE - Dr. Evelin Chen-McDougal is confirmed as one of the victims of the hostage-shooting situation at West Mercy Hospital. We do not at this time know whether the doctor is still alive. The leader of the gang, believed to be Arkham Asylum inmate Black Mask, is claiming possession of - oh god - of the newborns at West Mercy, stating that since the Asylum has been reopened he needs a new set of patients to repopulate. GNN has gotten a hold of a recorded voice message sent to Commissioner Gordon, and we will be the first to let the public hear this madman’s demands. Joining us now are two opinions on this current situation - West Mercy Hospital legal representative Petra Gupta, and former Arkham psychiatrist Dr. Kristoff Achtemichuk, who once worked with Jeremiah Arkham himself ten years ago. Stay tuned to GNN for all breaking news as this West Mercy lockdown continues.

( convergences )

The woman’s scream isn’t the short burst of sound that happens when a roach walks in the room, or even being surprised. The noise begins ragged and harsh, because she is trying to speak, to codify what is happening to her, because his entrance from her living room closet that evening, as she was putting away the groceries, was nothing short of confounding. So, she screams— baby, go upstairs—but barely gets farther than that before his fist ruptures the front of her nose.

Through the blood, she can see her daughter—forget-me-not blue sundress and summer-kissed skin—run up the stairs, to the second story, tumbling and tripping over herself. She screams again.

Cass whips around at the scream, just down the block from her current post. She goes top speed because you don’t wait. You can’t possibly let yourself stall in a situation that has your heart pounding before you even know what you’re facing. She lands on the second story’s fire escape, checking the space around the window before she bursts in. She tries to follow the screams, the sounds of movement as she sweeps the top floor.

The little girl is under the bed, because she had been too young to get the cellphone or to even think of it. Her mother had said to run, and she had done just that, running up the stairs and going to the safest place she knew: mama’s bed.. Downstairs, his voice booms, loud and rattling like thunder: “..ya think I don’t KNOW what you’re doin’ out there, you fuckin’ slut?!”

( bleeding from the past )

Rain in Gotham in the summer. Somehow the droplets aren’t warm with the promise of sunlight or new beginnings; the rain is cool, as it slaps against his face as he rappels across the space between where they are and where the Commissioner is standing, collar turned up at the neck to keep the rain from soaking its way into his clothes.

Commissioner Gordon doesn’t look over at the darkness, and instead, stands besides his Detective, who is getting just as soaked, and is holding the case file and an umbrella in her hand, unopened.

Robin swings just behind Batman, his landing hard and devoid of the careful finesse that allows his father to move with the shadows. When he hits the cement, Gordon knows it immediately, and Robin strides up to him with a barrage of demands: “Give me the file. How long ago? Where are your men now?”

Commissioner Gordon doesn’t look over at the darkness, and instead, stands besides Detective Montoya, who is getting just as soaked, and is holding the case file and an umbrella in her hand, unopened.

Commissioner Gordon ”I’ll keep the pleasantries down to a minimum,” the Commissioner states, looking to Montoya.

Detective R. Montoya raises an eyebrow at Robin even as she waits for the rookie to bring her the smokes she sent him off to buy. Because God knows she needs them right now, in this mess, with this file in her hands.

Batman moves to stand besides Robin, looking over at Montoya. His jaw is locked, a deep grove in both sides of his jaw, from how tightly he has it clenched. They haven’t used the signal in a while. A long while.

Detective R. Montoya tucks the umbrella under her arm when the rookie comes running back with a fresh pack of Marlboro. She holds out the file towards Batman, despite this being very against regular Gotham PD protocol, and once he’s taken it, begins rifling through her coat’s pocket for a lighter. Once she finds it, she peels the little golden seal from around the cigarettes, tapping one out and tucking the wrapping back in her pocket. “Spree killer. Four dead in two weeks, all hispanic.” Detective Montoya seems to chew on the last pieces and she cups her hand over her cigarette to keep the rain from it and the lighter. “Hispanic single mothers. All cut in half.”

Batman takes the file when it is offered, opening up the plastic casing and thumbing through the rain sheet paper, the ink doesn’t run, doesn’t smudge—field notes. He feels the question forming on the tip of his tongue, but doesn’t voice it— “Cut in half?”— as he flickers through the photos, careful to keep them from Damian. His jaw continues to clench, his forehead wrinkling, furrowing the brow of the cowl with how deep the motion runs.

Robin rises on his toes to view the file as it is passed, not to him, but to Batman— he’s accustomed to it, but he huffs anyway. The nature of the crime leads him to not object beyond a cursory sneer. “Zsasz broke out of Arkham two weeks ago,” he points out, unable to see anything graphic with the way the book is angled, “but he— not to that extent.”

Commissioner Gordon feels obligated to point out: “Any of the shreds of a trail that he left have gone cold on our side.”

( set fire to the rain )

The dog is wearing a Robin costume as it runs down the street in Gotham that night. The domino is too tight on it and it pants wildly as somehow, someway, the animal picks up on radar. Sooner, rather than later, it becomes evident why: inside its belly, behind a row of fresh stitches, the screen to a countdown clock blinks beyond the animal’s shaved skin. The screen blinks between each second that passes: WHAT IS THE QUIETEST TYPE OF DOG?

——————————

His first thought is that his enemy knows too much about him.

Perhaps it was coincidence that a dog was the victim used to taunt him, but Damian knows it’s more likely— more likely in Gotham City, at any rate— that the perpetrator determined through observation that Robin displays more empathy toward animals than toward the humans he fights to protect. He admits to himself that it’s not a preference he strives to conceal.

"It’s just fine, dog," he assures the animal after he’s restrained it with a throwing bola. It struggles, frightened and in pain, the countdown flashing its steady rhythm beneath the taut surface of skin. When it realizes it has no chance of escape, it lays its head upon the cement with a low whimper, and Damian echoes it with a distressed noise of his own.

( the loaded deck )

back in the saddle again

Selina sits on the floor of her living room surrounded by cats and papers. There have been rumors flying about a trade route running between Gotham and the rest of the world via the wicked step-sibling Bludhaven—but then, isn’t there always some new rumor? ”Some work of art or museum piece or priceless jewels belonging to some rich-but-long-dead celebrity or royalty is coming through town, blah blah blah.” Selina learned long ago not to listen to so many rumors, or, at least, how to hear the real ones through the din. This one seems real enough, though there’s something about it that sets her on edge. Nothing tangible, just a feeling, a tingling of wariness from doing what she does for so long.

She takes a long sip from her water-filled martini glass, batting away a cat when she reaches for it. ”I know, Isis. Mama wants gin in it, too, but she’s gotta get herself back in shape.” Isis loudly meows her displeasure with that statement and takes to scratching her new diamond collar. A week later, and it hadn’t even been reported missing. ”I’m losing my touch.”

Selina looks over the papers again and sighs, a low purr rising up from her throat. Smuggling route that spans two cities of Bats.

"This is going to be fun, Isis."

( golddiggers of 2014 )

You find yourself in an all-black building, pure obsidian walls and gentle oil lamp sconces that illuminate the room that you are in. You are among five people: Kyle Rayner, Clark Kent, Roy Harper, Mar’i Grayson, Cass Cain.

You have been fully healed.

There is an owl and a raven perched on the bower of an open doorway, and they seem to be bickering at each other and ignoring you and your group. Eventually they quiet and still when a figure steps into the room.

He is tall and long, with dark night stars for eyes and a mop of wild black hair. His skin is pale but also not quite skin. It looks more as if it is being illuminated brightly from unknown sources. He carries with him a single oil lamp.

"Welcome. You may call me Dream. First I shall assure you that everyone you care about is safe. Some have even returned home. Some of you I have met before. Hello again Clark Kent, and greetings Kyle Rayner.” He nods at them both coldly and looks back at the group. ”Allow me to explain this situation." Dream goes on to explain.

"Your path homewards is through this door, and you may each go through and speak your confession. Once you go through to the next room, you will be in the realm of the beings. We cannot protect you. If you try to fight them, they will kill you. There are some things that even you cannot try to control, no matter how much you believe you can.” Dream looks a little sad at this, and the owl and the raven both flap their wings, as if agitated.

"Speak the truth from your heart, and be well."

( once upon a dream )

Plink plink plink as the final few hard black plastic falls to the floor in on the heap that she’d quickly expelled and Cass wonders if this is what it felt like for Steph last night when she too vomited up her own black beast. With her saliva covering some of the buttons they almost look like obsidian jewels, but they’re not.

Bette nods. “Good idea. Let’s see who else is around in the longhouse, maybe others have already found something?" She picks up her racquet and gives it a sad look, but says nothing as she leads the way to the other building. “Mmm, something smells good. Oh, hey, Ollie!"

Candy makes a beeline for the coffee, on the other side of the longhouse from the other two. “Hi, Ollie. Either of you want a drink?"

"Water, thanks, Kate." She sets down her racquet on the table and follows Kate to the kitchen to dish up some hashbrowns and scrambled eggs for herself and her cousin, and carries both plates back to the dining room. “You make this?" she asks the archer when she sits back down with her breakfast.

Oliver looks up from his book with a start, then smiles widely when he sees the Kane cousins. He puts the book down and goes to join them in the dining room, pulling up a chair. “I did indeed. Hardly gourmet, but it’s better than cold cereal, hey?"

"It’s great," she grins back, “And anything is better than cold cereal with that powdered milk. Ugh."

Oliver curves his hands around his coffee mug, although it’s long since gone cold. “And I see you’re making your own Bette twist on the available fashion," he laughs.

Candy shrugs a shoulder. “Powdered milk isn’t so bad," she grins a little handing Bette her water and settling next to her with her coffee.

"I know, I’m such a rebel," she laughs. “I just don’t like having my arms tangled up with drapey sleeves, and everything tighter-fit is a bit warm for this weather. Maybe I can sew some of the loose sleeves tighter with that sewing machine, but I figured first things first, I need to make a weapon I can use. Can’t let the other bats have all the fun," she gestures to her tennis racquet.

Oliver raises his eyebrows at the racquet. “Heeeey now," he says, “that’s a thought! What’re you gonna do with it? Nails studded around the edge? Poison on the strings? Poison-tipped nails?"

Candy snorts, raising an eyebrow at her.

( plans and secrets )

She sat out on Stephanie’s fire escape, her knees curled up against her chest and her hands between her legs. She was done searching for Cain, finished spending her days wandering around in the slushy streets of Gotham, and most importantly she was done being upset with Steph. Resting her forehead against the window she wondered how best to start things off, there really was no good way to try and apologize for this.

Just dive in. She tapped lightly against the windowpane, holding her breath that Steph would even let her in. “Hey…” she whispered, imagining that the glass vanished and nothing was separating them. She tapped against the glass again, maybe the cats would notice.

She’d been sleeping, curled herself around a pillow because she’d felt cold and blankets didn’t help. Steph dismissed the hollow tapping sound at first as a part of whatever hazy dream she was having, but it continued and she opened her eyes unwillingly, blinking blearily around the room until her eyes settled on the window. Had she not been living with Bats for years, she might have jumped or screamed at someone peering into her window, but it wasn’t that simple.

Steph stood up and ran a hand through her bed head. She opened the window wide stood there, looking back at Cass. She lacked both the drive and the energy to glare or yell or anything else, she just looked her over and, upon and finding she wasn’t physically hurt, whispered back, “Hey.” And she touched Cass’s wrist lightly, trying to coax her inside. She didn’t want to be angry anymore. Steph sat them down on the edge of her bed, not touching, but wanting to.

A smile cracked through her blank expression as Steph’s fingers wrapped around her wrist. She wasn’t mad, or at least she didn’t want to be. “Hey.” Cass nodded back as she was led inside, grateful for the heat. Rubbing her hands together to get the feeling back in her fingers she tried to think over how best to make amends with Stephanie. How do you say sorry?

Bowing her head, she whispered, “I didn’t mean it…I’m sorry.” It would never be enough, but it was a start towards making things better. Reaching out her hand she looked up to Steph, “I’m sorry.”

And that broke Steph’s heart more than a little, because Cass was here and not hurt (physically, at least) and she’d said what Steph would have said a week ago had she known how to track the girl down. She moved her hand back to Cass’s outreached one and laced the fingers. If there was one thing her friend had taught her, touch spoke volumes and bridged the gaps clumsy words created.

She squeezed. “I’m sorry, too. I mean it. I just, I fucked up and I didn’t mean to hurt you either and I’m just really sorry. And whatever you had to do with your dad the past month … That’s your business. I don’t get to judge,” she said, turning sideways to face Cass where they sat. Steph let go and hugged her closely, tightly, like she was afraid she might lose her again because secretly she was. She’d forgotten how much you could just miss someone’s arms around you. “Can we be okay again?”

Cass’s arms looped around Steph on instinct, her body curling against her friend as if she was the only thing holding her together. She buried her head against Steph’s shoulder, “I want to be okay.” with deep breaths her body relaxed against her friend’s, muscles that had been alert for weeks were now slowing down.

She leaned back away from Steph, scrubbing at her face to wipe away the tears that had fallen down her face. Steph had been right about her father, if she hadn’t been so determined, so set that she still understood a man that had shaped her. “You can judge.” she whispered softly, “I didn’t find Cain.”

For reasons she couldn’t quite explain, Steph felt a pang of hurt for Cass. It wasn’t the empathy that surprised her, no, it was that she realized some teeny-tiny-itzy-bitzy (or so she liked to believe) part of her had actually hoped Cass could find her father and confront him. Nonetheless, when she heard the tone of resigned sadness in her friend’s voice at telling her the news, Steph reached a hand out and this time squeezed her knee gently.

“We’re okay. We always will be. And still not judging,” she told Cass with a soft smile, meaning it. If their argument had proved any one thing, it was that despite their different views upon their similar roots, they both shared a little hope that maybe someday they could fix or at least stop their evil daddies. And it was a heartbreaking thing to feel, so it oftentimes went unacknowledged, but when it resurfaced in either of them …

Her friend looked tired. Physically, emotionally, just completely spent, and Steph couldn’t blame her. It had been a hell of a week. She pressed on Cass’s shoulder until she was lying down on her own side of the queen bed. She grabbed a pair of sweats, her Gotham U hoodie, and a pair of bright yellow and black fuzzy socks and gave them to Cass. “Please take off the suit already,” she all but pleaded, climbing under the covers after shutting the window. Steph pressed a kiss to her friend’s forehead. “You did good out there, hon. You’ll get Cain another day. But now? Please just get some sleep. Wouldn’t want you to keel over and be eaten by my cats, huh?” she joked, the two cats in question asleep in a pile of laundry.

She closed her eyes, paying attention to only Steph’s words. There was forgiveness in her voice, and her hand resting on her knee grounded her further in feeling that despite all they had said to one another things were getting better. They would be better. With an exhale she smiled, scrubbing her hands against her hair as if that would erase all the worry she’d had towards patching things up with Steph.

“You don’t have to ask twice…” Cass smiled from her position on the bed, grabbing the hoodie and sweats to prove her point. Slowly, she sat up and changed out of her suit, leaving it beside the laundry basket. She took a moment to give a bit of attention to the snoozing cats, both lazily swiping their paws at her hands. She’d missed Olive. “No snacks for you two.” she teased.

Sliding under the sheets next to Steph, Cass wiggled a bit closer to her friend. She closed her eyes, trying to allow her mind a bit of rest, but one thought still remained. “I don’t want to get Cain. Not like that. He’s not mine anymore.” she whispered, rolling onto her side to face Steph. Resting her hand on her friend’s shoulder, Cass continued, “There’s no next time.” she’d felt now that her defeat had only showed her one thing: she was no longer Cain’s daughter, and she didn’t understand him as she once was able to. “I’m not the only thing Cain wants anymore.”

Steph turned on her side and let her socked feet bump against the other girl’s. She didn’t know what to say to that realization other than, “He’s a fucking idiot, then.” And she’d said it so confidently, without a bit of hesitation. There was no doubt she believed that-believed that anyone who gave up on Cass had to be beyond any and all hope in regards to their IQ.

She smiled softly at the subtle touch of her shoulder. The thing she’d come to respect about Cass was that she never said anything she didn’t mean, and although verbal speech had literally been a second language for her, their was always touch, and her skin spoke volumes cupped against her own. They could be okay again. The hurt could be forgiven. “Whomever else he’s after, we can help them. Nobody should have to deal with him on their own. You never know, maybe you’ll make a new friend and start a really cool assassin-ninja-princess super squad or something. Can I design the t-shirts?” she asked, pulling the quilt up to their chests and slinging an arm casually over Cass’s waist.