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If Amity Park has one rule for survival, it's commit to the bit. Whose bit?
Everyone's.
You go to Ember's concerts even though there's a better than even chance of being hypnotized. When Technus turns up you obligingly shriek about how terrifying unfeeling machines are. If Boxy's around, you put up a spirited but ultimately futile fight to protect your precious, valuable boxes.
You confirm it when your neighbor tells the GIW that the ghost went thataway, officer. Phantom says the weird eye-ghosts that are stalking him are delusional and he is not an authority figure of any kind, you agree that he'd be the one to know best. The Fentons are ranting about their latest weapons, you oooh and ahhh over their brilliant creation.
Your eyes glow because of special effect contacts you're testing, anyone who knows you can testify to that.
Don't run, don't break the rules, and heaven help you if a ghost decides you've disrespected their obsession. It doesn't matter how much time passes, they might not chase you, but they will remember the insult.
Ghosts are never more dangerous than when their obsession is disrupted. So smile and nod, or shriek and cower, and play the role you're cast in. You'll get out alright.
**
Gotham natives have a word for people who play along with a rogue's plan instead of getting out at the first available opportunity: morons. The closer you are to a rogue, the greater the danger, and none of them will spare you just because you decided to 'see where this was going'.
Civilians are little more than mobile props for most rogues - as long as you get out of their line of sight, they'll forget about you. Don't try to be a hero, don't draw attention to yourself. Playing by a rogue's rules is a great way to die.
Because the brain is just going this afternoon (perhaps inspired by comments on wip Merlin fic i have. Bless you who read old wip works)
A Tim Drake who, when he emancipates himself to claim his heritage as a wayne and the subsequent legal release of his trust fund from jack&janet, learns that Drake comes from dragon which comes from Pendragon and he just fended off one immortal dude interested in him please please please can the second one named Merlin leave him alone
A sizable chunk of the Drake fortune had been connected to a trust in Tim's name.
DI responsibilities had continued to be in Jack's proxy's hands, as he was never home, to be passed to Tim once he hit 25, and, presumably, had a business degree. A few museums had gotten donations. The house staff had gotten polite amounts, two months of wages, designed to hold them over while they searched for a new employer. It was the polite thing, after all. But there had been no relatives for Jack to distribute his wealth to, and Janet had long cut ties with the cousins who raised her.
But 90% of their wealth was beyond Tim's control until he turned eighteen.
Tim hadn't realized how much it was until he blinked down at the paperwork in the lawyer's office the morning of his birthday. His parents hadn't been fond of frivolous spending, many of their digs had been grant-funded, and Janet had a near-magical ability to choose smart investments. Three companies she had invested in had IPO'd, adding five million to his net worth in the past two years.
When asked next steps, the lawyer had shared contacts. The collection curator who managed the Drake artifact collection. The financial planner who had managed the trust and start-up investments, able to guide more growth and get Tim added to accounts. The real estate agent/property manager who could sell off any property Tim didn't want to keep.
"The curator," the Drakes' lawyer coughed into his hand, "was so eager to meet you he flew to Gotham."
"Flew to Gotham?"
"He lives in Glastobury. England. Your father mentioned him rarely, but I got the sense the company is one your family has used for a very long time."
Tim knew Jack's family had come from England, but that had been centuries ago. To keep ties with a company over there, which looked to be quite small when Tim googled the name, was odd. Surely there were American options?
"I suppose I should email him and set up a meeting then."
"Ah, he showed up at the office two hours before our appointment."
"Our appointment was at ten." Tim had wanted to get it out of the way. Dick planned something he refused to share all the details of, but Tim was looking forward to the surprise. Dick was good at them.
"Yes."
"You open at nine."
"And yet I found him, at our door, nursing a coffee, with his carry-on luggage."
Tim frowned. What could be so important about stuff his parents dug out to go through all this effort?
"He's been quite insistent. I recommend at least talking to him on your way out." The lawyer flicked his eyes over Tim's head to the door, brow furrowing.
Tim twisted in his seat. Through the frosted glass, he could make out the form of a person.
What in the world had to be talked about today? His parents' collection had been managed for years without Tim's involvement.
"And you're sure that's," Tim peered at the scribbled name, "Mark Emille Halley, that came to visit?"
Jack never mentioned Halley or his company. Tim didn't doubt he was real, but it could be a fake Mr. Halley outside. Tim was a public figure; his birthday was public knowledge, and the gossip magazines had been running articles about what Tim might do with his inheritance. This could be a kidnapping attempt.
But at a lawyer's office? With witnesses?
As a precaution, Tim shared a link to Halley's business in the extended family chat.
::Halley flew in for a surprise meeting. Anyone know him?::
A subtle ask for a background check and notice that Tim's day had been disrupted.
::Let me ask around:: Bruce sent back. Barbara added a green heart to the chat.
"Well then," Tim gathered his papers and stood. "This was a productive morning, and thank you for serving my parents. I hope we can work together too."
"Of course, Tim. Happy birthday."
With a nod of farewell, Tim left the office.
Mark Halley, presumably, leaned against the wall across the hall. He was tall and long-limbed, with dark hair and fair skin. Dressed in jeans and a worn shirt, he did not look as put together as Tim expected a private curator to be. When Tim met his eyes, he jolted. Halley may look to be in his forties, but no one forty had a gaze that deep.
Tim held back a shudder as Ra's face flashed in his memories.
"You have the same blue eyes," Halley said.
Tim tried to ignore the odd comment. "What's so urgent about my parents' archaeology finds that you had to track me down as soon as possible?"
"You, you don't know who I am."
"Mark Emille Halley, I assume."
"Yes, and no." Halley ran a hand through his hair, the light catching on a dull silver ring. Antique, Tim categorized.
"I don't think a coffee shop is the place for this conversation." Halley jerked a finger toward an open office door in silent invitation.
With no vibration in his pocket from the rest of the family, Tim followed him in. He held tight to his phone, lamenting how he hadn't worn cuff links this morning as he'd modified every pair to work as an impromptu weapon.
Halley closed the door behind Tim and gestured to the chair in front of the office desk.
Tim ignored it. "I have plans, so I can't stay long. I'll ask again, why the urgency?"
Halley floundered. "I, honestly, I just wanted to see you. I've been waiting for a while. I told myself to wait until you reach your majority, and so always planned to...here."
Halley pulled off his ring and held it out. After a moment, Tim extended his hand to receive it.
It was a signet ring. Similar to the one Tim received when Jack died, a solid silver with an embossed dragon motif. The dragon on the ring Halley had was different than the ring in Tim's pocket. Bigger wings. Legs. Tim's family crest, despite being an English family, had more of a serpentine creature reminiscent of Eastern dragons.
Tim moved to give it back to Halley, who didn't take it.
"You don't recognize it?"
"Should I?"
"You...What do you know about your family history?"
"The Drakes came over from England around the time of the American Revolution."
"Before that. In England. Waaay far back. 6th, 5th century."
"I don't even know my maternal grandmother's name."
Halley pushed Tim's hand back toward him, refusing the ring. "Drake is the American version of your name. It got shortened. Your family was originally Pendragon."
"Like in Arthurian tales?"
"Yes. Yes, Tim, exactly like in the Arthurian tales. And I knew as soon as I saw your eyes that you're him. You're Arthur. I've waited fifteen hundred years for you to show up again, and here you are. It's me. Merlin."
"The immortal wizard from the tales."
"Yes!" Halley reached out, and Tim took a step back. Then another, until he was within reach of the door.
He was no more this man's Arthur than he was Ra's detective.
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It's one year KPDH anniversary for me because I discovered @a-contentious-ev-scenario's work last year in August and it has since inspired and shaped most of what I drew for kpdh. This comic strip is inspired by her fic pale white skin (with strawberry gashes)
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The princess, the dragon and the knight are actually good friends and meet regularly for a game night under the guise of her being kidnapped and the knight rescuing her, only this time the king sends a different knight, after the previous knight failed to prevent another "kidnapping".
Chartreuse blows smoke through her nose, and Marybell waves a hand through it. Normally, she doesn't mind the smoke, but normally it's not so thick and in her face.
"Charlie will be here soon," she insists.
"He's usually here the morning after your 'kidnapping' so we can have the most time possible for a game session. But the sun's nearly over the mountain peak!"
Chartreuse's whine is high pitched for a dragon, which brings her voice up to a tenor. One day, Marybell would like to sing in a quartet with the dragon and knight, but she'd have to find another princess willing to go through the charade of kidnapping. Kathylyn might be an alto...
Marybell shakes her head. "There's a first time for Charlie to be late. Maybe his horse threw a shoe. Or -"
"RELEASE THE PRINCESS AT ONCE!" a voice shouts.
"That," Chartreuse hisses, "is not Charlie."
She rises quickly and scrambles for the cave mouth, careful of the game set up. Marybell scurries after her, hiding behind the dragon's leg to peek outside.
The knight below struggles to control his mount at Chartreuse's appearance before being knocked off. The animal runs away, shrieking in fear, hooves clattering on the stone. The knight struggles to his feet, picking up his shield. It was dented in the fall, but Marybell can see the coat of arms clearly - a beehive at the bottom of a tree.
It's the signal of House Krondell, and more troublesome, the ruling house of the kingdom to the north. Marybell's father hadn't just sent someone other than Charlie, he'd sent the visiting prince.
The visiting prince who is the whole reason Marybell asked for a game day, because she really, really did not want to entertain him around the castle. He thinks cheese is the best food in the universe and has no desire to read, be it law or poetry. Marybell bet Charlie a Beltane pie that Prince Leo de Krondell of Purlynn would be a puppet king, doing anything his advisors recommend, by the third year of his rule.
Leo holds his shield up, arm shaking in terror. Marybell sighs, ducking back behind Chartreuse's leg.
"That's Prince Leo, my betro~thed." She shudders, leaning into the dragon's calf.
Chartreuse clacks her teeth. She cannot speak softly, and neither of them wish to let Leo know they are friends.
"I'd much rather he stay in his kingdom and me mine," Marybell continues.
"I will char you!" Chartreuse roars. "I will burn your bones until they crack!"
"I appreciate the sentiment, but I would appreciate not watching my friend commit murder."
"OKAY!" Leo shouts back.
Marybell darts out from around Chartreuse's leg to watch Leo turn on his heel, particularly sprinting over the rocky terrain and avoiding the path back down toward the palace he came from.
"Is he...going home? He gives up on rescuing me? Just like that?! THIS IS THE MAN DAD WANTS ME TO MARRY!!"
"I thought you didn't like him."
"I don't, but honestly, I'm insulted now. I'm worth saving, Chartreuse. Charlie does it all the time."
"He's more your ride home-"
"Shut it, sulphur breath."
For an hour, they watch the shiny dot that's Marybell's false knight get further away, the glint of sun on his armor giving away his progress.
"I guess we're having an extra-long sleepover. Been a while."
Chartreuse rumbles. "Not since we realized Charlie was cool."
"Dad better send him next."
It took two days, but eventually Charlie shows up, barging in on them curled up and sunbathing on the ledge out the back of Chartreuse's cave. "I'm sooo sorry. The king thought I was a poor knight and sent Prince Leo, and I tried to remind him of all those knights Chartreuse used to eat."
"I've broken that habit, thankfully. Bad for my gut."
Marybell pats Chartreuse's snout and gestures for Charlie to continue. "But when Prince Leo, wait. Char. The kingdom thinks you ate him."
"I did not!"
"Well, he hasn't returned to the palace. And I'm sorry, Marybell, but we can't stay for game day. Not if we are to convince your father that I'm an established knight so we can play next month."
Marybell sighs. "I expected that. But at least Char and I got to hang out. I'm surprised Leo didn't go back. He's struck me as a guy who likes creature comforts, for all that he doesn't read." She pauses, thinking. "Actually, Char, didn't he head over the mountains?"
"Yes."
"That's west. Charlie, I'll bet you another pie he can't read a map or compass either and thought he was heading north toward Purlynn."
"No bet, because I'm sure you're right. Should we rescue him?"
"And risk the off chance of Dad going through with the engagement? No." Marybell shook her head. A dead prince couldn't be a husband, and there's no guarantee a weak, cowardly one wouldn't be either.
"I did promise to set him on fire..."
"Char, no," Charlie groans.
"I just told you I don't eat knights anymore," she snaps, offended. "But what if I chase him, push him to the coast."
"This is why we're friends," Marybell declares.
"Well, you were right! You deserve a prince who even tries to rescue you." Smoke pours from her nose.
Marybell twists to look Chartruese in the eye. "Do it."
Chartreuse grins, all teeth. Charlie groans, all regret.
"Fine! Go terrorize a fellow knight. Char, it was good to see you, but the sooner we get going the better. See you in two weeks." Charlie pats her foreleg.
"You better be the knight who shows up."
Marybell sticks out her hand and Charlie helps her up and over Chartruese's legs. Once clear, the dragon stands and they make their way to the front entrance of the cave. Charlie looks mournfully at the table, still set up for their missed game session.
"We'll be back in soon," Marybell consoles him.
Outside the cave is Charlie's horse. There's already a blanket for Marybell across the back of the saddle and the gelding's rump. Charlie mounts, then Chartreuce picks Marybell up gently before depositing her behind the knight. She wraps her arms tightly around the man.
"Don't have too much fun with your knight," Marybell tells the dragon.
"I'll have as much fun as you," Chartruese shoots back with a wink.
Marybell doesn't get it. She always enjoys spending time with Charlie, who is much better company than Leo.
Charlie coughs and turns his gelding down the mountain, and once they're a safe distance away, Marybell hears the low snap of wings flapping, like laundry on the line.
"Did Prince Leo really not try to rescue you?"
"YES!" Marybell sinks into her rant, filling her friend in.
She might not have gotten the time with friends away from her annoying betrothed she wanted, but she no longer has the annoying betrothed, so that's still a game-day win.
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Alfred: It must be done. *Picks up red phoneline* We're going nuclear
Dick: Don't do this!
Alfred: I must.
Jason: What's happening?
Tim: I...don't know
Damian: What? Drake doesn't know? We're all gonna die.
Alfred: Not to worry children. This will only harm me and your father.
Dick: Noooooooooo!
Two hours later at the watch tower:
Bruce "Lightweight" Wayne drinking with Clark and Diana for the first time: And then- and then he told me I need to be home by 12 am. Me! I'm an adult. I make adult decisions on my own and don't need no butler to put a curfew on me!
Clark: You sure do, Honey. Have about some water?
Diana: He's a rather adorable drunk isn't he?
Clark: He is. He hasn't stopped hugging me since his third shot.
Bruce muttering into Clark's pec: I love you, farm boy and your country muscles.
Clark: Love you too.
Diana: Aw. You make a good couple. How long has it been?
Clark: Thanks. Our first year anniversary is coming up. I want to-
Bruce spring up suddenly: Did you feel that?
Clark: feel what?
Bruce: The red phone has been activated.
Diana: What?
Bruce: We got- we have to-run. Not safe here! *stumbles* No! I'm uncoordinated. Love, help!
Clark: What's going on, Honey? What's wrong?
Bruce: He's coming!
Diana pulling out her sword: Who is?
Danny appearing in a bright green portal: Bruce Thomas Wayne! What's this I hear about you breaking curfew?
Bruce: Dad! I can explain!
Danny: Are you drunk? You know the legal drinking age is 221, young man!
Bruce sobbing: I'm sorry Dad, I just wanted my boyfriend to think I'm cool.
Danny: I don't want to hear it! You're grounded! You're going to spend the summer with me harvesting natural ectoplasm in the Infinite Realms without internet!
Bruce: No! Anything but that Dad!
Clark: Oh, you must be Alfred's ex-husband. The immortal that adopted Bruce and legally made him fall under a different dimension laws correct? It's lovely to me you sir, I'm Clark Kent.
Danny: Put that hand away. I know the reputation you Els have. You won't turn my sweet boy down the path of delinquency. You are never seeing him again.
Diana: Sir, Bruce is a full-grown man-
Danny: Not in the eyes of the ghosts council, he isn't. Look at him!
Bruce: *trying to sneak out a window* Why wont this open!?
Diana: Did he forget we're in space?
Danny: This is what underage drinking leads to! Once I get Bruce safely home, I'm going to go beat Alfred's ass. How dare he let our boy get this bad? And you!
Diana: Me?
Danny: You seem like you're far into your 200s. How dare you buy these boys alcohol? I'm calling your mother.
Diana sarcastically: I'm sure you are
Danny pulling out his phone: Hello Hippolyta? Your daughter is encouraging underage drinking
