#I imagined Man-Bat is hiding out above where it's all nice and sheltered

[chiropterx]

Neon lights illuminated the shadows of the city streets, the recent rainfall earlier that evening sending up a dazzling lightshow as every shade of the rainbow bounced off the surface of puddles to colour the usually dismal aesthetics of black and grey with a festive glow. Despite these bright visuals, few people were so warm and welcoming in a place like Gotham City. The shadows teemed with trouble, especially at this time of night. Rustling his wings, Man-Bat peered out from behind his protective curtain. The rain had stopped, the wind dying down to more managable levels and leaving the air wonderfully fresh now that the recent downpour had washed away the stench of smog from before. However, it hadn't quite washed away every scent. There were still a few stragglers on the streets that the rain hadn't quite deterred and Man-Bat's neck craned, pointed ears swivelling in the direction of wet footsteps approaching the area... "Hey freakshow. What's somebody like you doin' around here?" A male voice called out, echoing faintly in the cold night air. Not directed at Man-Bat, no. These were other people, skulking in the alleyway like rats as they waited for a lone victim or two to pass by. His attention sufficiently piqued, Man-Bat's neck craned some more, beady black eyes peering down from the balcony in which he'd taken refuge from the rain directly above the alleyway where the altercation was taking place. Three people, dressed in thick hoodies concealing their features had sprung out to accost a smaller being passing by, the one who'd spoken flanked by two larger men who had something shiny in their hands. Guns. Man-Bat recognized what they were, both from past experience and a vague memory that such shiny sticks let out painful noises and even more painful stings when fired. His hackles rose, teeth chattering in rage at the danger these men posed. Man-Bat did not like guns. One claw twitched, then another, Man-Bat descending from his roost as he crawled crawl down the wall as quietly as possible, dark eyes fixated on new prey before he glanced over the smaller being and grimaced. That one's smell was not to his liking, but the others... now those would suffice. The one who spoke approached the newcomer, shoving them back none too gently as he raised his voice. "Not gonna ask you again. What's a freakshow like you doin' in a place like this? This place being our turf, which means you're trespassing..." "Trespassers gotta pay a fine or else." One of his companions chuckled dumbly, causing the others to join in which only served to agitate the beast further but they were unable to see the hunting Man-Bat from their point of view, their attention being completely focused on Em. @draggeddowntothedark

[floweryfandomnerd]

Invisible Wings - 5

Near where I live there's a wide river with an old stone bridge rising high over it. Running my hands along its sides results in moss and dirt covering my hands. At the top of the arch, above the keystone, I stop to stare down at the thrashing waters. They're a murky green colour with a swirling current that quickly moves bobbing driftwood down it. Fish, minnows I believe, swim just beneath its surface, heads occasionally breaking through before they duck underneath again. I climb atop the side of the shallow walls, holding tightly with both hands as I sit on it. I've often wondered what it would be like to sit in a little boat and float down it; where the current would take me if I let it. What kind of power is the water? Kicking my legs in the air, I imagine myself simply letting go and falling - then I push it away; that's not how I wanted to disappear. If I were to disappear it would be on the wings of a dove, I could fly far away from here to anywhere I wanted. Letting go would make my disappearance a matter of moments; my freedom, if I ever gain it, would be born of wings not water.

Pulling myself away from that whirlpool of thought, I climb back down onto the bridge. Feet once again steady, I resume my wandering. At the other side some ways down the road is the outdoor market, it stays open no matter the weather but today at least the shopkeepers won't be so grumpy. They enjoy the soft sunshine as much as I do - sun-showers are my favourite though; I love the rainbows that form overhead when rays of light shine through little raindrops.

I love the market's pretty little stalls too, even if some only sell strange second-hand items that they claim are antique - although normally they're not exactly in mint condition. Where they get said "antiques" is somewhat of a mystery to me. It's bustling there today, full of background noise and half-familiar faces doing their shopping. The first stall I pass sells flowers, I never buy any - I don't even have a vase to put them in - but I can never seem to help myself from stopping to stare at them.

The florist who sells them is an adept hand at arranging pretty bouquets. The old man must have been making them for a very long time. I wonder if he ever makes them based on the meanings of the flowers or whether he just makes them to look wonderful. I wouldn't know, I don't know their meaning myself. I tug my bag back up onto my shoulder, smiling up at him as I leave. He smiles back at me.

Among the hubbub of the market I'm a little lost, unsure of what I came for now that I'm here. There's a list in my pocket, groceries written on scrumpled up paper. I do my best to smooth out all the crinkles, the inky pen I wrote it in is smudged but still legible:

Five apples,

Five oranges,

Five bananas,

An ounce of grapes,

An ounce of strawberries,

Ten carrots,

Onions,

Three peppers.

It's a longer list than that but that's as far as I skim at first, it takes me a moment to find where I should buy them from.  When I locate it, one of my classmates is at the register, a customer passes a bunch of coins into his hand, he counts it carefully then places it in the machine. They also give him a flower, a red orchid bought from the other stall. He beams up at the customer as they walk away with their brown paper bag of fruit and veg. I'd forgotten that his dad ran the grocery stall. When they're gone, he stares at the flower - puzzled until I distract him. 

Waving at him, I walk up to him, "Hi Michael."

"Hey Kallima, what do you need?" His curly brown hair hides his eyes as he smiles, I half want to push it out of his face but he beats me to it.

I quietly hand him the list, he reads it and starts grabbing what's stated, shoving it carefully into a paper bag for me. When he's done he gives me back the list so that I can continue with my shopping after I pay. I carefully fit them into my shoulder bag.

"Thanks. See you then," I'm about to go buy sugar and flour, along with anything else still on the list when I hear him.

"Wait!"

I stop in my tracks, twisting around to look at him. He looks ready to say something before glancing away from me for a second. Whatever it is, he doesn't say it.

After a pause he finally makes up his mind, "Did we have homework for chemistry?"

I shake my head, "No," then turn back to shopping. I'd rather be home before the threatening grey clouds looming overhead become a steady downpour. It doesn't take particularly long for me to finish gathering what's on my list. Almost done, all I have left is my winter tradition of buying a handmade hat. Charlotte's grandmother makes them; her grandmother is a lovely old woman - she used to babysit me when I was particularly small. That was how I became friends with Charlotte, really.

She's working there today, boredom sitting quietly on her face. There's a million places she'd rather be, I'm sure. Instead of being there she's just daydreaming about them, letting her silky auburn hair blow into her eyes. Charlotte doesn't even notice me browsing the hats. I rifle through the piles, slightly unsatisfied. They're nice hats but so far none of them are that special one I find every year.

Re-folding the pile I messed up, I move onto the next one. A few hats down sits a light purple hat with a little white bird skillfully embroidered on the brim. It stands out to me so much that I choose it without a second glance at the rest. Charlotte jumps when I stand in front of her, dangling the hat in her face.

"Hey! You scared me!" She reaches over the counter to jab my sides, I dodge away but she still manages to poke her finger into my ribs. I squirm uncomfortably and she laughs. She knows poking makes my body do something weird - it's exactly why she does it.

I bat her fingers away, giggling as I do, "Stop that!"

She keeps trying though. I do my best to put on a stern face, "Come on Charl, that tickles!"

Sighing, she slides back over and stands behind the register again, nodding at the hat, "That's the one you're choosing?" She eyes it for a moment, thinking pout on her face. "It's pretty. The colours are very you - purple with white embroidery."

"It almost feels like Grandma had me in mind when she made this one..."

Charlotte chuckles, whipping the hat out of my hand and placing it on my head, "I wouldn't put it past Grandma. Hey! Have you seen the new jewellery stand?"

"I can't see anything, you pulled the hat over my eyes," I readjust it on my head and follow the direction she points in. I'm slightly surprised that I didn't notice it earlier, but it's not exactly flashy. Can't exactly blame me for being unobservant...

"Think you could check it out for me? I'm on shift all day and I want to know if they have any good or really unique pieces," she asks with her sweet as syrup voice. She always uses it whenever she wants anything, I really have to stop falling for it.

I groan in response; I'd rather go home than spend anymore time out here in the cold. Even with my coat the biting wind is starting to feel chilly. 

"You won't have to pay for the hat if you do."

And just like that, my mind is changed, "Deal. Now let's shake hands to show no going back on your word. This hat is free."

Charlotte laughs, firmly taking my hand in hers and wiggling it up and down. It's only to show how ridiculous I'm being but hey, I'm not the one paying for an expensive handmade hat. Jokingly saluting, I head off towards the new stand.

"Bye then!" she shouts behind me. 

Inside a glass viewing case there are lots of necklaces, rings, bracelets, tiaras and anklets - any accessory I could name and they'd have it, looking at the display I'm fairly certain of it. Some are silver and some are gold. They sparkle prettily, the dimming  light reflecting off of coloured jewels. Not every design is as simple as that, a few twist intricately around the stones encased in them. I wonder whether they're real or fake...

As if reading my mind, the stall owner's attention snaps to me, "They're real if you're wondering, real diamonds, and real gold. Handmade too."

I glance up at them, their piercing green eyes are just slightly unsettling. Somehow they almost look familiar. She seems candid enough, enough that I believe her anyway. Her pieces of jewellery are easily some of the highest quality I've seen. Then again, it's not like I'm a jewellery connoisseur. I can't help staring at them though, they're completely captivating... They're captivating but not unique and they're way out of Charlotte's price range anyhow.

Still, I can't quite tear my eyes away. I don't even realise that my face is practically touching the glass until my breath mists it over and I have to wipe away the fog. A single wooden ring, carved wood twining around a small emerald, is what truly catches my eye. A hand reaches inside the display case, taking out the exact ring I was staring at. I can't afford it, even so, a pang of disappointment runs through me at the thought of someone else having that ring.

Deciding it's about time I started on my way home, I stand up and pull my face away. I'm a few steps away, making a face and gestures at Charlotte to signal how expensive everything is, when I realise there'd been no one but me around.

"Don't you want it?" She holds the ring between two fingers.

"Yes, but I doubt I could afford it..." Without even knowing I'd moved, I'm back at the stall.

She reaches over and pulls my hand toward her, "That's alright, you can take it," she drops the ring into my palm and closes my fingers around it.

Stunned, I'm about to protest until I feel a drop of rain hit my head. I dart straight back to Charlotte, taking shelter under the waterproof fabric roof. "So, how long until you finish? This coat has no hood and I know you aren't gonna lend me your umbrella so I'll just wait and run to your place under it with you."

She glances at her watch, "I'm here another hour even though there's no one around. And Kallima, you're wearing a hat, you don't need a hood or an umbrella..."

"You know you make a very good point. Enjoy the rest of your shift then!" I sprint home as quickly as my slow legs will take me. I don't particularly want wet groceries.

Somehow they're dry when I dump them on the table and begin organising. It's a shame the cupboards are such a mess, it means I have to organise them too. I have no idea what my Dad does but he always seems to leave everything in disarray. I find myself stacking tons of peas and beans for the good part of an hour before I'm all done.

Satisfied, I shove my hands in my pockets, scrutinising everything one last time. One of my hands brushes the ring, I'd almost forgotten about it. I turn it over and over in my hand. Up close, I can see even better how well carved it is. It looks like the roots of a tree twining over a mossy green rock. I slip it on my ring finger and go to check my planner. If I do all my homework on a Saturday night it leaves Sunday free.

There's not much written down, much to my joy. There is, however, chemistry homework...