nine of nines

I’ve been over at @interphrase for the past year while this blog was lost to the abyss so like. if anyone still following me here never heard where I went, that’s where I am now.

“That’s exactly what I’d give you–my abilities,” she says. It’s a little bit of a work around, but she knows it’s a good card if he’ll just fucking see some sense and stop mocking her like some D-list mob villain.

Zee sits a little straighter, recrosses her legs. It’s a thin ploy, sure, but it’ll work.

“There’s no one else like me, with my sort of specialty. I’d be an asset, and before you say something about the fact that people are never assets, starting out on your own only means you’re devoured alive. But, more or less: I know I’m a skillset.”

“On the contrary,” Nick says. “People are always assets.”

He knows he can use people. He has no shame in that.

But he leans forward with a little more interest, smiles a little. He is intrigued. And he drops the charade of a bad movie cliché, just a little.

Asks more earnestly, “How can I trust you, though, Zatanna Zatara? If I’m willing to train you and take advantage of your skills, I need to know that you’ll keep in line.”

A beat.

“Because some bitch-witch turned me into a cat twenty-three seven and it’s out of my control, like, trust me, if I had any say I wouldn’t have just implicated myself to make you pet my hair or whatever- um, like, you can let go.” 

Please?

Like, she’s human now, and Poison Ivy is Poison Ivy, it’s not like Tara’s gonna outrun her or anything.

She has … a pocket knife. And a twenty dollar bill. And she’s pretty sure that’s it. Last turn feels like ages ago. 

Tara slooowly kind of tries to move a bit because ow. Also maybe to get some sympathy. Please? Please.

Thanks. 

... Well, the sympathy play surprisingly works.

Pamela doesn’t normally care for humans all that much, but she’s not here to hurt them unnecessarily. And one who was a cat most of the time probably hadn’t done anything wrong (recently).

So she lets go and stands up, folding her arms over her chest and watching the girl.

Ow ow ow ow okay yeah no it doesn’t hurt exactly but it’s like, when you say ‘ow holy fuck’ out loud because you expect something to hurt even if it hasn’t actually hurt yet? Tara’s doing that thing in the way she’s kinda leaning into the tug on her hair and grimacing because ow. Ow please no don’t hurt me miss Poison Ivy please. Thanks. 

“I absolutely literally was just on my way through, swear to fucking god, like - shit, shortcut”, she says, kind of in a jumble, but it’s also definitely true. 

She definitely definitely wouldn’t have just hung out if she knew it was Poison Ivy’s lair or something. 

Is it her lair?

Is it lairs with villains these days, anyway, or is that hero propaganda? 

Does Tara actually care?

No.

No she does not.

She has Poison Ivy pulling her hair, her focus is kind of on that right now. 

Just on her way through...

She seems scared enough that she could be lying to save her hide. Or she could be telling the truth because she’s too scared to lie.

Humans weren’t always easy to read.

Ivy loosens her grip somewhat, but doesn’t let go. Just narrows her eyes.

“And why were you a cat?”

‘Just’ a cat. 

Tara almost laughs but she’s kind of in a race against time here, but she’s torn between like, getting the fuck out of there and maybe blowing her cover, because this is Poison Ivy she’s not gonna take any chances what the fuck, and trying to act a bit more like a cat and make a more sneaky exit so she’s absolutely sure she remains unscathed -

like, she doesn’t know much about Poison Ivy. Obviously. People know shit all about her other than her whole plants are more sacred than people thing. She doesn’t think she’ll die though. But like.

It’s Poison Ivy! 

Poison is in the name!!!

So all that thought kind of keeps her there for a moment, hand in her fur, okay, that’s fine, she purrs a little bit for good measure, and then just as she’s about to start getting out of there -

yep, that’s 3am.

She knows because she’s suddenly a person kneeling in the grass with Poison Ivy’s hand in her hair.

Great!

This is great!

Everything is fine!!

-- well, that was unexpected.

Ivy automatically tightens her grip a little in the girl’s hair as she’s suddenly a girl and not a cat. Not so much that it will hurt (much), but enough that this girl can’t easily escape her grip.

Pamela has half a mind to just let her go and let her be, but she doesn’t trust humans--as this cat apparently was--and especially not sneaky ones, so she doesn’t.

Instead, she narrows her eyes and demands, “And who are you? What are you doing here?”

“What, ‘s bad what you were expecting?“

He leans a little into the fingertips on his cheek, more playful than intimate, eyebrows raised.

“Sorry to disappoint.” 

Lena just winks at him, then makes to straighten up.

—Well, that’s new.

Diane looks up from her book with a raised eyebrow, watching his hands carefully. He’s not even really speaking with his words, which is fine, but just….odd. She didn’t mind, per se, but he didn’t really ever sign with her. That was Lena.

“Something something sign language?” she asks, skeptical, but not negatively so.

“What’s up?”

Damian smiles a little, because well, she’s at least paying attention. And trying, at least a little. He doesn’t expect her to ever be fluent... but it’s nice. To know she cares at least a little.

So he repeats the gestures, and says aloud, as he does, “I’m going to teach you sign.”

          John is frustrated, runes and little spells aren’t what he came to Nick for. He wants power, magic, real magic, he wants to feel it flowing through his veins again, he wants that ecstasy that comes with a powerful spell, he’s been chasing that high for years. And for Nick to make him study runes and symbols, that’s just not what he imagined this would be like.  ❝ My gut tells me you’re wasting my time, ❞ he replies, a little harsher than intended, but also trying to suppress a shiver at Nick’s touch. He has enough on his mind right now without thinking about anymore wants & desires. 

Nick resists the momentary urge to grab John’s arm a little tighter, a punishing gesture, but he’s not really mad. Not yet. And he’s much more interested in rewarding John, right now, provided that John does something worth rewarding.

He looks up at him and watches him with about as much patience as he can muster (it’s not much). He touches John’s arm a little more.