@thebrokenrobin asked:
āI know I said we needed to meet somewhere low key, but Jesus, this place is shady even by Gotham standards. If someone spots you here and recognizes you, theyāre gonna think youāre looking for a hooker, just so you know.ā The young man in the dark red hoodie murmured as he slid into the dingy booth, his face barely visible under the dim lighting; just a glimpse of black hair falling just above his jaw, and turquoise eyes studying him carefully through the fringe of his bangs. He looked young, early twenties. Not wasting any time, he pulled a file out of his pocket and flipped it open so Harper could take a look. There was a picture of an awkward looking but smiling young teen standing with a few others her own age, with bright brown eyes and long pale blonde hair.
āThis is the girl I was telling you about, Cassie, 16. Up until two years ago she had a different nameā¦ James Thompson. Her parents were socialites and kicked her to the curb after she came out at 14. She was turning tricks on street corners to get by until I found her and got her a room at a group home run by the Wayne Foundation six months ago, and she started attending school again, getting therapy, she was excited to start HRT and maybe arrange a visit with her estranged cousins. She wants to be an art therapy teacher one day and work with disabled children. Sheās a good kid.ā He insisted firmly.
The vigilante hesitated and flipped the page. The next photo was a crime scene, a boy around eighteen or so laying in a pool of his own blood, with a large kitchen knife embedded in his chest. āTerry Lockhart, went to Cassieās former private school. He was found dead outside the home she was staying at. She was covered in blood and hysterical, I havenāt been able to get a moment alone with her but when we spoke on the phone she wouldnāt say what happened.ā Another page turned and it showed Cassie standing in an orange jumpsuit, her pretty blonde locks were now a short and choppy bob, as though sheād tried to hack it off with a pair of scissors herself. She looked sad and empty, no makeup, just dull brown eyes staring blankly at the camera for her mugshot.
āShe needs help, but because sheās a minor, the state will only let her appointed guardian - a Wayne Foundation foster parent from the group home - or her attorney talk to her. I thought you might be able to reach her because at this point, if she wonāt say what happened, sheāll be assumed guilty by default.ā
"It wouldn't be too farfetched, considering half the hookers in this neighborhood have my number on speed dial for when pimps or client decide to forget they're not walking punching bags. And the owner of this particular place owes me a foot-long list of favors so he won't make a peep about seeing me here."
The lawyer turned towards the counter to wave at the owner as he slid into the booth in front of the red-hooded figure, the old man giving a somewhat nervous but sincere smile in return. Harper had opted for a more casual wardrobe than his usual suits, just a pair of washed-out jeans and a grey jacket with the hood firmly pulled up, although he did push it back once he was seated, revealing ruffled brown hair and bright yet calculating hazel eyes behind a pair of glasses.
"Nice to finally put a face to the voice that's been asking for help. I apologize for my insistence on wanting to meet up in person, but it wouldn't be the first time one of the criminals I've refused to represent tries to lure me into a trap using a potential case as bait, I had to cover all my bases." He leans forward with his elbows on the table, chin resting on his own intertwined fingers as he looked at the hooded figure from over the rim of his glasses "I'm all ears."
His face did not betray a single emotion as he listened to the story, only his eyes giving a glimpse of what he might be thinking, narrowing in annoyance or rage, brightening in interested and dulling in sadness. He was silent for a long moment after the man in the red hoodie finished speaking, eyes lingering on the pictures of the young girl, of her awkward but happy smile and her dull, hopeless expression in the mugshot. Then he reached out with one hand, expertly flipping the folder closed and pulling it towards himself.
"I'll make a phone call in the morning, perhaps even later tonight, I've got a few contacts in foster care that might be of help. Cases are never easy when there are minors involved, but I've faced worse. If things go well, I'll have an interview with young Cassie scheduled first thing tomorrow morning. She's probably scared and unsure who to trust, but I'll do my best to help her out."
He looked up at the young hooded man then, eyes narrowing as if he was trying to analize him through a microscope "You don't strike me as the type that willingly exposes himself, given your reluctance to meet up in person, yet here you are, doing just that. To request help for someone no one else is willing to assist. You're one strange man for sure, Red Riding Hood."
