NOT GOOD! growled the Batman, instinct lighting him up with the urge to dodge that incoming embrace---- but Bruce Wayne had no reason to be anything but tickled pink by the adoring attentions of a perky blonde. He let it happen, pulling on a stunned but happy expression as the newly released Harley Quinn pulled away. In the back of his mind droned on the voice of his conscience-- the same voice that emerged when he put on the cowl. It rambled on cheap psych analysis about Quinn’s relationships with men, her self worth, all the things wrong with her that Arkham couldn’t fix, and it worried him for her. The swipe of his black card... a tiny bit of kindness... those things shouldn’t have impressed her so, nor begotten such gratitude. It spoke too many volumes of all that was still broken in his city. Still he can’t help but to hope, as he always does when he looks in on the asylum’s inmates, that she’ll be alright now.

“Mr. Gray?” The sudden whisper of soft-soled shoes on that exquisite hardwood was his cue to stand and turn, Bruce Wayne taking the fore for this particular mission. With the persona came that adorably daft expression that endeared so many of Gotham’s elite and kept him in their good graces---- even when he failed to attend so many of their parties and galas. No longer quite so young a man, he yet remained the city’s favored son; his public tragedy forever a protective cocoon for his misadventures and flaky reputation. Poor, poor, Bruce Wayne.

Of course, the question was for show only; that much needed act that separated Bruce Wayne and the Batman. The latter had been made aware of the gentleman socialite’s identity the moment he’d moved into Gotham, but as the former Bruce had yet to fall oh-so-casually into the same circles that Dorian honored with his velvety presence; and that was despite them having many a guest list in common.

It would have been another in his place now, if only there were any other that he could trust. Alfred alone made up that short list and Bruce was too indebted to the man to waste his afternoon making him make nice with one of the city’s elite in his stead. He’d even considered outsourcing the delivery to any of the takers in town, but there’d been no guarantee of avoiding a double-cross and second robbery. In his left hand, the one he doesn’t offer for a shake as propriety demands of him, is a small leather duffel filled nearly to the brim with the gold and artifacts Joker and Harley had recently divested this man of. If they happen to bear hidden trackers that the Batman can follow, well, the city’s dark knight does need a means with which to keep an eye on the city’s on-goings.

[ @wcync is stuck with me ]

       “ Mr. Wayne. ”

       It’s not a question. Everyone knows who he is and why he’s there. Much like many of the other guests, Lou assumes he’s there to show just how wealthy and charitable he is. He is the crowned prince of Gotham, after all.

       But she doesn’t approach him to be seen with him or to get a chance to fall over herself just to speak with him like many of the glaring women want to. No, she’s at his side for business, and business she just so happens to want no part of.

       “ I don’t believe we’ve met. ”  She holds out her hand, perfectly manicured nails flashing in the low light, just glitzy enough to match her gown.  “ Lou Wolfe, assistant to Jacob Stack of Stack Investments. ”  He’s probably heard of him. Most have, for a multitude of reasons.  “ I’m sorry if I’ve disturbed you; you just look as bored as I feel. ”

“Bruce, please-- at the risk of sounding cliche, Mr. Wayne was my father.” A lie, to him his father had always been simply ‘Dad’-- to the rest of the world he’d been Dr. Wayne, but despite getting on in age these were the answers expected of Bruce Wayne, and he rarely failed to give them. The truth was that he was nursing cracked ribs courtesy of a run-in with Victor Zsasz and leaning more heavily on the scotch in his hand than he strictly should have. If he’s a touch smarmier tonight than usual, it’s only because he expects the usual interest from her-- and while she’s a sight to behold, he doesn’t have it in him to show her the kind of night his reputation demanded.

It’s a staggering relief then when she seems to want to keep professional, speaking casually, yes, but not in the fashion of a woman interested in the legend. He gives her a taste of him just the same, turning his smile up a few notches as he takes her hand. “I think I’d remember,” he agrees in that charming way of his, managing to give her a once-over without being a complete cretin about it. The mention of Stack Industries fires up Batman’s brain, but the cover of Bruce Wayne, socialite airhead, never falters.

Soft laugher escaped Terran’s lips, and his smile lit up his whole face.

Being pulled close brought that feeling of unease, again, immediately followed by internal voices berating him — he should be grateful; he didn’t know how lucky he was to have caught Bruce Wayne’s attention. It had nothing to do with the billionaire being undesirable — he was handsome enough and oh, goodness, that firm body against his was nice — but Terran wanted to be able to approach people on his own terms, to invite them into his space — a concept that had been too long ignored.

Still, being this close helped him to follow along in the dance, feet finding their way with minimal stumbling. He’d managed to get a lesson or two in-between shoots and flights, but not enough to have any mastery. 

“Italy was beautiful,” he gushed, more of that genuine emotion meeting his eyes. “There’s so much history there, the people are wonderful — and the food!” He had bulked up since his time on the streets, just enough to look healthy without putting his new career at risk. A few indulgences in Italy had been enough to make up for years of PB&J sandwiches and unpalatable frozen meals.

He’s got a wry grin on his lips at the mention of the head of the Versace brand. “Oh, she’s lovely! She’s been very kind to me from the beginning – I can’t say enough about her.” Which was, of course, his way of not saying anything more about her. “When was the last time you visited Italy, Mr. Wayne? Anything new on your itinerary, these days?”

That genuinely innocent reaction had Bruce hit by a pang of guilt-- his oldest and most familiar companion. Cleaned up, well fed, and happy, Terran was a vision of a boy too pure, too good for the billionaire’s secret dark intentions. It was almost enough to thwart what had not yet really been begun, but that was the fatal flaw and difference between Bruce Wayne and the Batman; Bruce was human, pathetically so. Unlike the Batman, he could be corrupted-- he was corrupted. It was enough that he had a greedy need and the horrible means to fill it... If not Terran, and soon, it would simply be another, and if he wasn’t careful, it ran the risk of being someone it should never be. Tim... Dick...

“There’s a secretary somewhere that ought to know-- frankly, where I’m due is a bit above my pay grade. Although... it’s rarely something that can’t be moved, if you wanted your people to talk to my people.” He knew no such thing had been Terran’s intention with that query, but the script of the socialite playboy called for him to twist the other’s words in his favor like that; both the words and conspiratorial lean and grin ripped straight from memories of his time at Princeton. If he stopped just shy of implying the model was up to something-- like angling for a private Italian getaway together, it was only because he needed him to stay interested, and not offended. Skirting the line between charmingly vacuous and actually boorish was a skill he was well practiced in. And surely the setting had to help, live music and the fashionably dim lights of a party, the easy twirl and sway of being lead by man who danced often...

Come one, come all to see the black cowled flying spectacle himself!! Go ahead and give this post either a like or a reblog if you’re interested in The Batman. He’s mostly Nolan inspired with a healthy swirl of TAS thrown in. Rated NC-17 for sex and violence-- sometimes all at once. Sign up now and get yourself a chance to win a date with Gotham’s most eligible bachelor, Mr. Bruce Wayne! This is not at all a one time offer, the dick does not come in limited quantity, all one night stands are entitled to 1 free English breakfast, check out is at paparazzi o’clock sharp.

According to Alfred he’s to blame for this-- the hope he’s given people has turned into action, albeit foolish action. Now they don replicas of his cowl with hockey pads, prowling the streets like some demented neighborhood watch, putting themselves in danger that he’s not always in time to save them from. Or, like this Elliot Alderson-- aka FSociety on the darknet and IIRC forums, they’ll do their vigilante-ing via their computers, using their internet connections to seek out and expose Gotham’s criminal underbelly. They don’t care enough about their lives, conveniently forgetting that the same men they expose can hire other people just as skilled as them to return the favor-- they certainly don’t care about police procedure, or chain of custody for evidence. He’s fast becoming bitter at having to spend more time saving these people from themselves than preventing the misdeeds of goons like The Joker or Scarecrow.