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nommy-thoughts · 4 years

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Danger Noodles Chapter 6 Panic in the Living Room

Wordcount: 1.5 K

Summary: The others get home. Tensions run high, but explanations are had.

Note: This version of chapter 6 only occurs in the vore timeline. In the non-vore timeline, chapter 6 is Snuggles in the Living Room and is completely different!

Cowritten with @that-prey-lounge!

[Danger Noodles Masterpost]

~~~~~

Logan and Virgil had been expecting to come home to find a pair of giant nagas inside their house, but that didn’t prepare them for what they found when they opened the door. Remus and Roman were coiled around each other and taking up the entire living room, which wasn’t too far off from what they’d anticipated, but the look of utter horror on both their faces as they stared into their intertwined tails certainly was.

Roman’s eyes flicked over to the two humans in the doorway, and his expression turned to one of relief, though there was still a strong undercurrent of fright. “Logan, Virgil!” he called. “Come here, quick!”

Virgil dropped his bags, nearly running through the entryway. “What is it? What happened?”

“It’s Dee-Dee,” Remus explained, picking Virgil up. Roman used his hands to carefully hold some of their coils apart. Looking down, Virgil saw the familiar form of Patton’s little yellow naga, frantically searching for a gap between the layers of gigantic tails. Remus set Virgil down at the top of the opening, and without hesitation, he dropped to his knees and stuck his arm down. Dee-Dee quickly slithered up it, across the back of Virgil’s shoulders, and started down his other arm. Virgil lifted his hand off Roman’s tail, leaving Dee-Dee with nowhere to go.

“Dee. Dee-Dee, what’s the rush? Where are you going?”

Dee-Dee twisted anxiously around Virgil’s hand. Pointing at Remus, he cried, “He ate him. Virgil, he ate Patton!”

Virgil’s eyes widened in alarm, looking at the big green naga, who lifted both hands in an “I’m innocent!” gesture. Virgil’s eyes dropped to Remus’s belly, where he could see a slight bulge just above where flesh turned to scales, and he realized the truth. Some of the tension left his shoulders. Gently, Virgil ran a knuckle down Dee-Dee’s spine, knowing that it wouldn’t be enough to calm him, but also knowing that he couldn’t not try.

“Remus,” Virgil said carefully. “How about you let Patton out of your pouch so we can clear up some misconceptions?”

Remus put his hand on the bulge that was Patton, frowning reluctantly. Virgil stepped closer. Dee-Dee whimpered, tightening his grip on Virgil’s wrist. It was hard to keep his footing on the large sinuous coils, but Virgil made his way over to stand just in front of Remus’s belly. Batting the naga’s hand aside, he put his own in its place. “Patton, can you hear me?”

“Yeah,” Patton answered, voice muffled. “What’s going on out there?”

“Dee-Dee’s freaking out.” Virgil looked down at the micro naga, who pressed both his hands into Remus’s stomach.

“Patton,” he keened.

“Dee-Dee?” Patton said. “Dee-Dee, it’s okay.”

Dee-Dee shook his head, sniffling. “Patton, you’re eaten!” he cried.

“I’m not eaten. Dee-Dee, really, I’m okay!”

Logan stepped up, clearing his throat. Virgil turned to look over his shoulder at him, but Dee-Dee remained fixated on the spot Patton’s voice was coming from. Roman picked Logan up, setting him on their coils next to the others.

“Dee-Dee?” Logan asked softly. “I’ve been recording the differences between your species and theirs, and one major difference is that instead of having two stomachs in a row like you do, giant nagas possess what they call a ‘baby pouch,’ located in roughly the same position as your first stomach. It is completely disconnected from the digestive system, other than both having their entrance at the mouth. They use it to protect their infants from the outside world for the first few years of their lives.”

Dee-Dee looked at him. He looked quite bewildered, but at least the panic in his eyes seemed to be decreasing. “What.”

“Giant naga infants are apparently much frailer than micro naga infants,” Logan continued. “They can’t even slither for months, and most of the eggs in a clutch aren’t even fertilized, so the protection of the few that hatch is even more important. So the parents take their freshly hatched babies into their pouches to keep them safe. That’s where Patton is right now.”

Dee-Dee looked back at Remus’s distended belly. Pressing his hands harder into it, he said, “Patton?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“I don’t want you in there.”

Patton softly pushed back, and Dee-Dee could just barely hear him sigh softly. “Okay. Remus, I know I just got settled, but you need to let me out.”

Remus sighed dramatically. “Fine, I guess, if it’ll make the little noodle happy.”

Dee-Dee nodded quickly, and Virgil softly patted Remus’s stomach and took a few steps back. The large naga bent over, making a hacking noise. After a few moments, Patton fell from his mouth onto the nest of coils. Unharmed, undigested, safe.

Dee-Dee cried out in relief and reached for Patton, making grabby hands. Vrigil passed him over, and Patton immediately cuddled the micro naga to his chest, cooing softly.

“It’s okay. Papa’s here, Papa’s safe.” He softly stroked Dee-Dee’s back. “Breathe, it’s okay.”

Dee-Dee sobbed, taking handfuls of Patton’s shirt, clinging to him like he would never let go. His tail wrapped around as much of Patton’s chest as he could reach.

“It’s okay,” Patton said again, continuing to stroke Dee-Dee’s back and down his tail. “I’m sorry I scared you so bad.”

Remus glanced at Roman, biting his lip. He never wanted to freak the little guy out so badly he started crying. Roman looked guilty himself, and the pair looked like they wanted to disappear.

“We, uh. We’re sorry too,” Roman said. “I didn’t know bitty nagas didn’t have pouches either…”

Remus nodded. “I wouldn’t have grabbed Patton like that if I’d known it’d make the little guy… you know… cry.”

Virgil sat down on a loop of Remus’s tail next to Patton. “Freaked me out the first time too,” he commented.

Dee-Dee looked up, startled into silence.

Virgil shrugged a bit. “That first night? We all slept together in their nest, and I woke up on top of two big stomachs… obviously I thought my friends had been eaten.” He nodded toward Remus. “Threatened these two with my boot knife. But, it turns out they’d just put the others in their baby pouches cause they heard wolves in the middle of the night and got worried.”

Dee-Dee froze. Looking up at Patton, he asked fretfully, “You were inside him before?”

“Technically, I was inside Roman,” Patton said. “Logan was in Remus.”

Dee-Dee whimpered again, burying his face in Patton’s chest. “You could have died!”

Patton rubbed his shoulders, sighing. “We were worried about that too,” he admitted. “But it turned out to be perfectly safe.” Dee-Dee continued to shake, but Patton added, “Dee-Dee? Dee-Dee, am I even wet?”

Startled, the micro naga looked up again, then released one fistful of cloth to pat at Patton’s chest with his bitty hand. “No,” he said, surprised. “You’re dry.”

“Do you think I’d be dry if I had just been in a stomach?”

Eyes wide in a different way than they had been for the last several minutes, Dee-Dee shook his head. “No.”

Patton nodded gently. “See, kiddo? I was safe.”

“That was really scary.”

“I know, baby, I’m sorry.”

The scaled surface under them shifted slightly as the giant nagas settled down again, putting their faces much closer to the four smaller friends. “Dee-Dee,” Roman said, not an ounce of insincerity in his voice, “I swear to you, I will never eat Patton for real.”

“Me neither!” Remus chimed in from the other side. “Virgil or Logan either. We’re friends now!”

Roman nodded. “And friends don’t eat friends.”

Dee-Dee nodded softly. “Friends don’t eat friends,” he repeated, and some of the tension started to leak out of his little body.

Virgil softly patted Dee-Dee a little more, trying to calm him, and then sighed softly. “I’m going to get those leftovers Patton said he fixed. Can we go ten minutes without someone having a panic attack?”

The twins glanced between each other and nodded. “We won’t eat anyone. Promise.”

Patton softly cupped Dee-Dee to his chest. “I think we’ll be okay. Go get yourself some food, kiddo.”

Logan and Virgil stumbled off the coils, trying to not step on anything sensitive. After a moment, they vanished into the kitchen.

The common room was very quiet while they heated up their food. When they returned, they could see why.

Patton was snuggled up between the twins, back against Roman, with Remus over his legs. Dee-Dee stayed softly against his neck, holding on loosely. Scares had passed all around, and the four of them had had their energy sapped by the whole ordeal.

“Next time they come over.” Virgil paused to swallow his bite of food. “I’m getting in one of their bellies, fear be damned. It looks comfortable as all get out.”

Logan perked up. “Would you mind if I recorded it? For science, of course.”

~~~~~

Epilogue

#original #danger noodles #my writing #collab #that prey lounge #sanders sides

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beyondflashpoint · 4 years

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Prologue 2: Homeward Bound :

“I don’t understand the detour, Todd. We could have made port directly in Gotham bay and gone directly to father. Your palaver with the addict in Steel city cost us days. Hours at best.”

Jason rolled his eyes. He could sense the kid’s unease even without glancing at him in the rearview. A slight vocalization from the passenger seat indicated that Cassie agreed with the kid.

“First, the ‘addict’ has a name. Roy is an old friend. Second, that pal-whatever got us this car, so we aren’t walking. Third, the League would be expecting us to make landfall in Gotham, and I feel like an extended ninja fight would waste more time than my plan and also draw a lot more unwanted attention. Relax Damian. We’ll have you playing catch with daddy-dearest soon enough.”

“Smart.” Cassie said from beside him, her voice low and gravely from underuse. He couldn’t be sure, but Jason thought she sounded surprised. At least she was talking now, even if it was only one or two words every few days. The constant charades made his head hurt.

Damian clicked his tongue in that annoying way he did and prepared to retort, but Jason nipped that in the bud.

“Bruce has a bunker in Blüdhaven where we can swipe some equipment and feel out the situation in Gotham. According to Roy, Lady Shiva has been spotted in G-town, and there haven’t been any killings that fit her m.o., so it’s safe to assume the League dispatched her to catch us. So caution is the word.”

Cassie shifted uncomfortably at her mother’s name. They had never been close, but they had left things especially messy, as in duel to the death, excommunication messy. Shiva would kill Cassie on sight, and Jason probably not long after. Returning Damian al’Ghul to the Demon’s side was priority one. If he had to guess, Shiva would have deployed with a full attachment, foot soldiers and four other heavy hitters. A full Demon’s Fist, as the League called it. That could be very bad for G-town. Jason was by no means eager to put on tights again, but Bruce’s uniforms offered much better protection than swiped tourist threads, and he needed all the extra time he could get to figure out exactly how this reunion was going to go.

‘Hi Bruce, I’m not dead anymore. Ras dunked me in the Lazarus Pit. Also, I kinda kidnapped your son from Talia because Ras was planning on having him kill you. Also, you have a son. In case you didn’t know. Also this is Lady Shiva’s daughter, but she’s cool. She kicks ass and has decided to leave the League. Also the League is after us.’

Bruce would have a stroke. Maybe he should lead with the son thing.

Jason merged as they approached the exit he wanted.

Come to think of it, there were probably a few of his old friends running the streets of his old stomping grounds. Probably most of them were dead or incarcerated, but one or two of them had to be out and about. He could use eyes on the streets, and slum kids saw things that even the big bad bat didn’t. He’d look into it.

Five years changed things. Roy was a big indication of that. Before Jason’s temporary vacation from the mortal coil, Roy Harper had been a Titan, and Jason’s top guy in the team. Finding out that he’d dropped the mask game had been shocking enough, but the fact that he had been hooked on H AND working out rehab really opened his eyes. Roy had stayed in touch with Dick, as an unofficial sponsor, but he’d completely cut off Olly and the rest of the Star City crew. And now he was running a garage, just a few hours out of the Haven. Jason shuddered to think how the Batfam had changed. And now that he thought about it, five years may as well be fifty on the streets, especially in the Haven.

When Bruce had taken him in, the Red Hood gang had mostly run the Haven, and the less formal Hoodz had sprung up to replace the smaller crews and cliques that permeated Blüdhaven. Time served with the Hoodz could lead to an opportunity at the big leagues with the real Red Hood Gang. That had been Jason’s plan, which had put him in the alley where the batmobile had been parked, which had made him hungry enough for the cred that would come from boosting the tires from the Bat’s whip, which had led him to getting caught by the big bad bat, yadda-yadda, Robin, mother, Clown, crowbar.

But the Hoodz had already been on their way out even back then, with the Black Mask Gang snatching turf on the outskirts. Jason couldn’t begin to imagine who was running the Haven now.

They rode in silence until Jason finally parked in the alley. The sharpness and clarity of memory had to be a result of his dip in the pit. He’d only been to this bunker once, and it had been in the frantic haze of searching for his mother, the first stop on his way out of Gotham for the last time in his old life. Now it was his last stop on his way back to Gotham for the first time in his new life. Ka is a wheel, to quote Mr Stephen King.

He shook these thoughts off as he scanned the street, making sure their entry would go unnoticed, then opened the secret panel and typed the old code into the hidden keypad. The section of wall slid back, and opened to a flight of stairs and the blessed buzz of ac.

“Alright gang, to the bat-bunker.”

He started in without waiting for a reply. Lights buzzed to life as the trio descended the steps and were deposited into the armory. According to Roy, Dick had lived here until he’d gotten on his feet after splitting from Bruce. He still used it as a backup base/crash pad, and Jason could tell from the ratty couch and scattering of clothes. But Grayson was running with Titans 3.0 at the moment, looking into the evil tech dealer called H.I.V.E. so they would have the run of the place for now.

True to fashion, though Dick’s personal possessions were a mess, the armory itself was perfectly organized and orderly. Jason could barely suppress a scoff at the tube containing one of Barbara’s spare batsuits. Vintage black and yellow. He always suspected the two were hooking up. He and Dick didn’t agree on much, but both were of one mind when it came to red heads in tights. It was a shame Roy had let himself go recently. Before he could get too lost in that thought, he realized Damian and Cassandra were both staring at him expectantly.

“Right. We have a few hours of daylight left. I don’t want to move on Gotham till nightfall. Till then, I want you two taking inventory of the gear we have available to us. While you do that, I’ll grab us some food, and scope out the situation street side.”

“If I never have to eat any more of that greasy slop you call fast food, it will be too soon.” Damian said as he made close study of a wall of weapons Grayson had no doubt thought were cool as hell.

“Now you listen here, boy. Big Belly Burger is a staple of American fine dining, and I will not have you blaspheme against it like that in my presence. Besides, you and Cassie order and eat twice as much as I do every time we stop there.”

“TT.”

Cassandra grabbed his shoulder and shared a look that said her next words would be of the utmost importance.

“Milkshake. Strawberry.” She managed without any of the usual false starts.

“Actually, since we’re in the Haven, I thought I’d treat you two to the height of fine dining. Bibbo’s Diner is only a few blocks from here, and you haven’t lived until you’ve had his chicken and waffles.”

Alarm flashed in Cassandra’s eyes, but before it could settle, Jason reassured her.

“And Bibbo’s happens to be the home of the world famous Robin shake. Strawberry, chocolate and banana. It’ll be right up your alley Cassie. And their homemade peach cobbler is out of this world.”

She looked as if she was about to argue, then considered, and acquiesced, lulled into acceptance by the promise of a new sweet treat. The poor girl had been practically made to starve as part of her training. Combined with the laundry list of other abuses she’d faced, Jason had no problem shelling out the extra cash to keep her quickly developing sweet tooth satisfied. Besides, it wasn’t really his money.

It had been quite the adventure so far, and while Bruce would halve balked at Jason’s decision to loot scumbags they’d encountered along the six month journey from Nanda Parbat, Damian and Cassandra saw the necessity of it. Jason had found his people.

“Pull that suit on under your clothes Cass, it’s Kevlar microfiber woven over a layer of high density impact gel. Might not look like it, but it can stop a bullet. There might be an old Robin suit around here somewhere. You’ll know it if you see it. That might fit Damian. Gear up, stretch out, and be ready to move as soon as I get back. If something goes down while I’m gone, find the tallest building in town and wait for me on the roof.” As he talked, he scooped up a spare utility belt from the shelves and clipped it on his waist. A cursory search rewarded him with a tank top sporting the blue bird Dick used as a logo these days (because of corse Dick fucking Grayson bought his own merch), a flannel Jason could tie around his hips to hide the belt, a Gotham Knights cap, and a wad of cash Dick no doubt kept for emergencies.

This qualified, Jason rationalized as he stuffed the bills into a pouch on his belt. Satisfied with his civilian disguise, Jason returned his focus to the duo studying the tools laid out before them. Damian had slipped a samurai sword into his belt at some point and was now testing the weight of the stylized throwing stars (Wingdings?) laid out on the shelves. Cassandra was running through forms with a pair of batons, and was mildly startled by the arc of electricity that cracked between them when she happened upon the triggers. Shock turned to awe, turned to a pleased smirk. They’d be fine for a few hours. Probably.

He tried not to think too hard about the many ways they could kill, explode, or otherwise maim each other in his absence.

They’d be fine.

It took him an hour of scoping the usual hangs to get anything useful. The Row kids had relocated to an orphanage in G-town. The Brown girl and the kid that followed her like a lost puppy were m.i.a., Rome was in Blackgate, Garcia was dead, Diego dead, Carter dead, Crock m.i.a., Philippe jail, Jessie jail, dead, jail, jail, jail, dead, dead, Morales was working the youth center after a stint in Blackgate, which was good to hear. Finally he happened upon a decent lead, almost by accident.

One of his old crew from the Hoodz days was still out and about, and running a little cluster of the Hoodz.

Jason entered the ratty apartment Sasha shared with her father Nico though the fire escape. It was just as messy as he remembered. On the table beside the couch was a glass bowl, packed but untouched. It was tempting, but Jason hadn’t gotten high since his Robin days. The siren song of the crumpled pack of full flavored cigarettes, however, was irresistible. He plucked one free and lit it as he dropped into the tattered leather recliner across from the couch where Sasha snoozed. That first draw was harsh, and started him coughing. Five years had robbed him of his experienced smoker status.

Sasha groaned groggily, stirred by his hacking and sat up slowly, blindly groping for a cig herself.

“Told you to stop snatching my smokes if you can’t handle ‘em old man.” She chastised drowsily.

“Just out of practice Sash. Haven’t had one since the last time we talked.”

It took a moment for the strange voice to register, but when it did, her hand flew under her pillow. Before it came back out, Jason freed a birdarang (wingding?) and sent the glock flying.

“Fuck!”

“Shit, Sash, you pack now? I must’a missed a lot.”

Her eyes darted from her hand, which would be bruised for the next few days, and Jason, who chanced a longer drag from the stolen cigarette and pulled off his hat. This one went down smoothly.

“Jay-bird?” She stuttered as the pieces came together. Even without the shoot of white hair and the scars crisscrossing his face, five years was a lot of growing room.

“Nah. Nah, man. You died.” He leaned over the table, plucked another cig from the pack and offered it to her. She took it and let him light it.

“Didn’t take.”

“Dude, you definitely died. Me and the crew crashed the funeral, had to cause daddy Warbucks wouldn’t let no street rats in. News said you bought it in a skiing accident in the Alps or some shit.”

“I ain’t here for that Sash. I just want some info.”

She dropped the cigarette half smoked into an open beer can, opting to wake-and-bake instead. Jason couldn’t blame her. It wasn’t often you woke up to a ghost chilling in your living room. She took a few hits and offered him the pipe and lighter.

“Another time Sash. I got shit to do.”

“Right, and you need little Sasha to tell you what’s what. But little Sasha wants some info too, Jay-bird. Like where you been for five, and why you look like rough road.”

“I got blown up, and ninja’s in the Middle East brought me back to life and taught me ninja shit. My turn. Anyone strange running jobs in the Haven, or is it all Loco shit?”

“Hold up, ninjas? The fuck man?”

“Sash.” She hesitated, then took another hit from the bowl.

“Okay. Since you been gone, the Hoodz and the Black Masks called a truce to push out the Riddler gang. Falcone’s kid made a comeback, and is trying to take the whole Haven. Masks and Hoodz are gonna push him out too. His boys mostly run the Narrows. Then there’s this new guy my dad is running supplies for. Very strange. Outsider type. Fuckin spooky. He wears a pig mask and steals kids. The Masks are scared he’s gonna bring the Bat down on us. I’m not gonna lie, I kinda hope the Bat does come for him. I only seen him once and he freaked me out. Lucky you dropped in when you did. Dad’s talking about splitting soon. He don’t like Pig-face either.”

Jason listened intently. By the time she’d finished talking, he’d finished his cigarette. Paying attention was hard in that woozy high that came from the sudden influx of nicotine, but he’d gathered what he needed. The League wasn’t moving in Blüdhaven.

“You filled out good Jay-bird. I’d almost believe you were hanging with ninjas.”

Jarred from his thoughts, Jason stood, swiping another cigarette from the pack.

“I’d get out of town if I were you Sash. And out of gang-life.” He paused and scooped up the stylized ski-mask that marked members of the Hoodz. “I’d rather not have to crash your funeral.” She watched him make his way to the window, but said nothing.

With daylight to burn, Jason began his trek back to the bunker, taking a detour by Bibbo’s to acquire the promised delicacies.

He was not prepared for what his triumphant return to the bunker brought him.

Silence hung eerily over the now dark headquarters. The space had been tidied thoroughly, Dick’s discarded clothing organized, folded, and neatly stacked. Pinned to the chair in front of the large Bat Computer doppelgänger with a batarang (wingding?) was a note written in neat, curling scrawl which Jason instantly recognized as belonging to Damian.

“Todd,

In your absence I have determined that your course of action is actually strategically sound. After overcoming the computer’s laughable attempt at security, I have ascertained that there is a criminal element operating in this city which might draw,” the word father was struck through with two neat lines, “Batman, and potentially ruin any attempt at stealth. I believe we must handle the meeting between ourselves and Batman delicately, and on our own terms. Because of this I have determined the best course of action is to deal with this so-called ‘Professor Pyg’ with haste.

Should you return before we have settled matters, and wish to join us on this mission, you may find all the relevant information pertaining to Pyg (alias to one Lazlo Valentin) by pressing the large rectangular key which reads enter. I’m sure Cain and I would benefit from your expertises in these matters.”

Jason hadn’t believed it was possible to convey sarcasm through the written word. Until today.

“Ps. If you are determined to acquire sustenance before returning, I still do not like ketchup. Mushrooms are okay. Cain requests extra fries.

Pps. In keeping with the traditions laid out in your tales of the Batman’s adventures, Cain and I have decided to wear masks. If you do decide to join us, you might not recognize us, but we have agreed not to harm you.

Sincerely,

Damian al’Ghul, Grandson of the Demon, Heir to the Demon’s Head.”

Jason crumpled the note. The Batgirl uniform was gone, as well as a reasonable chunk of the armory. He’d have to move quickly.

The decision to pursue and subdue Valentin had been mostly motivated by three things. The first he had laid out in his letter to Todd. The second he had shared with Cain, boredom. The third he would reveal to no one, on pain of death. In the years since he had regained his memory, Todd had recounted every story he knew pertaining to Batman. Those stories had motivated him to come to Gotham and meet his father, leaving behind his mother and grandfather, possibly abandoning his great destiny. Those stories had told him more about his father as a man than his mother or grandfather ever had. They painted Bruce Wayne as a titan among men, a pillar of strength and will, and a paragon of virtue and honor. In all honesty, Damian was intimidated by that man. But he was also inspired. The third reason he had decided to pursue and subdue Valentin was to feel connected with his father.

Locating “Pyg” was a simple enough matter. First he plotted out all of the kidnappings that matched Pyg’s M.O. it would seem that Batman had been keeping an eye on Pyg, because he was the chief suspect in the manufacture and distribution of a drug gangs were using to pacify prostitutes. But he’d overlooked the kidnappings. By mapping those, cross referencing places that stored or manufactured components for the drug, Damian was able to triangulate possible hideouts this Pyg could be using. Of the three possibilities, only one was currently unused, an so Damian had settled on the abandoned theme park, ignoring how horribly cliched it was.

Cain had followed Todd’s instructions and donned the Batgirl uniform, but had decided against layering civilian clothes over it. He couldn’t blame her, with the summer heat stifling as it was. Damian had opted for the League’s stealth uniform which he’d carried across half the world. Then the two had gone at the veritable armory like children in a candy shop. Few of Todd’s stories included Grayson, and those that did made him out to be asinine and annoying. But his selection of toys was impressive by all accounts. Smoke bombs, flash-bangs, teargas, plastic explosives, acetylene torches, inferred flashlights, air powered line launchers, and many of the oddly shaped throwing stars Todd had called “batarangs.” The belts which Damian had crisscrossed his chest like bandoliers were jam packed with more of these tools than Damian had imagined was possible, as well as a first-aid kit and handcuffs.

Once they were outfitted and armed, Damian led them to the car Todd had conned out of the addict. The drive to their location was in silence, both mentally preparing for whatever they might encounter along the way. They passed the location several times, marking potential hiding places, paths of retreat and places that could host an ambush.

Once Damian was satisfied he parked the car a block away and they took to the rooftops to preform reconnaissance from above. The park was dilapidated, derelict, and most likely overflowing with vermin. But for the most part it seemed structurally sound. After brief deliberation, the duo decided they were adequately prepared for whatever they may encounter, and thus began their assault.

There is an old proverb that Damian would often think back on when remembering this first act of vigilantism.

“Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.”

He thought he was ready for anything, but he was wrong.

Dick Grayson had apparently undergone a biker phase, which was good for Jason, because Roy’s car was gone. The modified superbike flew through the streets and cut between traffic like a dream. Jason had intended to return everything he’d stolen from Dick, but with every hairpin turn he grew more and more inclined to keep the bike. And maybe the jacket too. It matched the mask he’d swiped from Sash. And it was way too badass for Richard John Grayson.

He’d rushed out of the bunker with a stomach full of rage and fear, blended poorly so an acrid burn stung at the back of his throat. He imagined this was how Bruce must have felt every time he did something reckless. The dynamic dumbasses hadn’t even taken communicators with them.

He briefly wished he’d inventoried his belt before stepping out, but Dick had always been anal about his gear. So had he, now that he though about it. Bruce had drilled him on it relentlessly, having him empty and refill his belt over and over for hours until Jason knew exactly how much of what was in each pouch, and could find anything blindfolded or in the heat of battle. Thinking about it brought back the sharpened calm that came with patrols and missions. It was like the emotions were compressed and pushed back into a compartment on his brain’s utility belt. Not gone, just stored away. He twisted the throttle as far as it would go.

Once upon a time, he’d have cased the joint before getting close. Once upon a time, he’d have come from above, all stealth and shadows, and only dropped in once he had a clear vision of what was happening inside. Today he barreled through a hole in the fence at almost two hundred miles per hour with the engine screaming and fishtailed to a stop as close to the park’s rotting funhouse as he could without transforming himself into a pancake.

Kickstand dropped, and feet pounded against dry rotted wood. Jason had almost made it to the door before his ears registered the sounds of a struggle from within. He cursed his favorite curse as he filled his hand with smoke pellets and prepared to join the fray. With his free hand he pulled the line-launcher and took aim. He was topside in a heartbeat, and could practically hear the cape flutter that would have accompanied the motion in his Robin days. With practiced proficiency he located a skylight and paused to survey the scene from above.

Damian and Cass were surrounded. As if that wasn’t bad enough, their attackers were the aforementioned legion of League foot soldiers Jason had been eager to avoid. They seemed to be holding their own well enough for now, but outside their field of view Shiva was preparing to join the battle. Also moving in were the rest of the Demon’s Fist. Bronze Tiger, Cheshire, Ubu, and Mara al’Ghul. Things were well on their way to getting messy. Jason cursed again. Ubu was the meanest and the ugliest. Also the closest.

“Fuck it. Prison rules.”

He tossed the fistful I’d smoke pellets and dropped in as the cloud spread over the crowd.

Ubu was a hulking brute, and made a piss poor cushion, but he was a big enough target that Jason had no fear of missing. The sound the giant’s head made when Jason’s knee made contact with it was something like a watermelon falling off a truck at fifty, and was nostalgically comedic combined with the guttural grunt he released before flopping onto the floor like a sack of potatoes. But Jason couldn’t say if he laughed or not. All of his attention was on hurling wingdings (wingdings) into the smoke at the predicted positions of his foes. There were more than a few grunts, and a couple of clatters as weapons were dropped from struck hands. But not nearly enough, and the disorientation didn’t last long. This was League tactics, after all, and only slightly modified by Batman. Cass and Damian also got back to business, and everything was chaos once more.

Jason registered a shift in the cloud with barely enough time to dodge, and one of Shiva’s twin swords cut through the haze only millimeters from his chin. It was quickly followed by the other, this time arching towards his chest. Robin loosed a volley of wingdings in rapid succession, but the clash of metal on metal told him how effective that tactic was. Gripping one of the larger tools like a set of knuckle dusters, he advanced.

In his day the birdarangs had focused more on reducing weight than on durability, and it seemed that was still the case. Robin had only redirected a few glancing blows, and he could already feel the thing cracking. The smoke was fading quickly, and he could mostly see Shiva now. Which meant she could see him too. After blocking yet another strike which came way to close to opening his throat Robin stepped back and loosed one of the explosive discs that had been his favorites. Shiva was an expert, and had her swords prepared to swat it aside when it detonated, and the small explosion sent her blades flying.

Pressing the advantage Robin moved in. Hand-to-hand odds not in his favor either. Better than unarmed against swords. No cape to distract or disorient. Fight dirty.

Dodge high, block low. Opening when she kicks high, knock her off her feet.

It was alarming how quickly he fell back into his training. Batman had taught him a lot, and years of street fights had taught him more. Then there was his time playing amnesiac with the League. Jason winning.

Shiva was on her feet again before anything more than her shoulders touched the ground, and at some point she’d regained her swords, but Jason was ready, and before she realized what was happening, he clapped her ears. The pressure of the strike would have been disorienting on its own, but coupled with the detonation of the micro-flash-bangs cupped in Jason’s hands, Shiva crumpled like a rag doll.

The cloud had completely dissolved now, and Jason easily dodged the sai Cheshire flung at him. Of course this put him in excellent position to catch Bronze Tiger’s shin with his whole stomach. Breathless and airborne, he could do nothing about the pinwheel kick Cheshire dropped on his rib cage. The familiar crunch told him that two were cracked before the pain started up.

Jason landed hard, and Cheshire straddled his waist the second he had. Her other sai raised in both hands, prepared to fall into his throat.

“Enough.”

Silence fell in place of the killing blow. Cheshire looks to her left and Jason followed suit.

The few League grunts that remained standing parted as Talia al’Ghul strode across the battle field to Damian, who still held his blade in a ready position with eyes glued to his cousin. She hadn’t lowered her weapons either. The two had been bitter rivals from the day they’d met.

“Mother.” Damian said with all the tenderness of a freezer burned pork chop.

Without another word she dropped to her knees and embraced him.

After a brief awkward silence, she turned his face towards hers.“What is the reason for this foolishness, son?”

Damian freed himself from her grip. “Is it foolish for a boy to seek his father?”

Talia clicked her tongue in the same fashion that Damian was so fond of, and rose to her feet.

“I would have taken you to meet him in time, Damian. When I decided you were ready.”

“Taken me to kill him. Todd told me everything.” Talia turned her gaze to Jason, who waved awkwardly.

“Let him up, Cheshire.” The masked assassin complied quickly, and even gave Jason a hand standing.

“So this was your doing Ibn al Xu’ffasch?”

‘Son of the Bat.’ The name they had given him at the dawn of his second life. Jason pulled off the mask which was apparently doing him no good, and shrugged.

“Tt” Talia turned her attention to Cassandra, who had frozen in place with her baton less than an inch from a grunt’s nose. There was a circle of (probably) unconscious goons at her feet.

“I’d suspected you’d finally had your fill of your mother’s poor treatment and taken the boys hostage.” She turned back to Jason. “When did you regain your memory?”

“Midway through my second year with you all.” Talia nodded as if she’d expected as much, then turned back to Damian.

“I assume that you are serious about meeting your father, yes? Even if I were to drag you back, you’d simply escape again, isn’t that right?”

“Yes mother.” Talia nodded again. Then produced a sealed envelope from within her jumpsuit.

“I expected as much you are at that age where you think you know everything. This letter will explain everything. Deliver it directly to your father, and no one else. Understand?” Damian took the envelope cautiously, as if expecting it to bite him. Once he had it in hand she knelt again, placing her hands on his shoulders tenderly. “I would never send you to kill your father. Nor you Ibn al Xu’ffasch. My father would do no such thing either.”

“But Todd said-“

“Do not misunderstand me, I do not claim Ibn al Xu’ffasch lied. There are those within the League that believe Ras al’Ghul has been too long the Demon’s Head. There are whispers of a coupe. I do not doubt such plans involve removing my beloved from play. I intended to see you in his care soon enough.” She turned to look over the assassins. “We return to Nanda Parbat. None shall further impede these three, by my word, or face my wrath. My will is the Demon’s will.”

The assassins snapped as one into a bow, and set about gathering the wounded. She moved through the crowd to stand in front of Jason and cupped his face, smiling gently.

“Father swore to make no move on Gotham for as long as my beloved draws breath. He made this oath before the whole of the League of Assassins, and forbade any of them to move on Gotham in his name, on pain of death. This was his penance for your death. His sole intent was to return the son he’d taken from my beloved.”

“Uh, okay?”

“I have enjoyed having you in my home Ibn al Xu’ffasch. You have been as a brother to my son, and a son to me. Look after him, Ibn, for he is too much like his father for his own good.”

“If he’s anything like Bruce, I won’t have to.” Talia chuckled, pat his shoulder, and turned to Cassandra, who seemed to materialize at Jason’s side.

“Cassandra, you are welcome to return with us. You have my word that you will have no trouble.” Cass shook her head.

“They die without me.” She said, patting Jason’s shoulder. His jaw dropped, he’d never heard Cass say so much at one time. Talia had never heard her speak period, but to her credit she only cocked an eyebrow.

“Quite.” She said then returned to Damian.

“When all is well once more, I will send for you, my son. Learn what you can from your father. He is a great man.” Damian nodded, and Talia only lingered for a moment before following the last of the assassins out of the building.

The trio stood in silence for a time, until Jason realized they were waiting for him to tell them what to do next.

“Well. That was fun. Who wants soggy chicken and waffles?” Damian narrowed his eyes, but Cass’s hand shot up. “What? So I picked up food. I wasn’t expecting you two to run off for some daring-do and stumble into an obvious trap.” Damian’s eyes narrowed further. “Okay, after we eat we’ll go straight to the Batcave, no detours, no shenanigans, scouts honor.”

Damian rolled his eyes and started for the exit. “I’ll drive.” He stated as Jason and Cass fell in behind him.

“My turn.” Cass retorted.

“Do you even know how?” Damian probed, eyeing her doubtfully.

“You’re mighty talkative today Cass.” Jason quipped. Cassandra replied by sticking her tongue out. He understood her good mood. Their six month misadventure was almost over. As they stepped out into the summer night Jason looked to the sky, and pulled the pair to a stop. From this side of Blüdhaven you could see it clearly enough. For the first time in five years Jason looked up at the Bat-Signal, and pointed it out to the others.

He couldn’t hold back the smile brought on by the wonder he saw in his companion’s faces.

Homeward bound.

-END

Author’s Notes: this chapter is long, and maybe a bit rambling, but mostly because there’s room for two whole multichapter fics in here. Seriously, I was half tempted to start writing a Damian Cass and Jason cross country road trip full of shenanigans and hilarity. For those wondering, this takes place five years after prologue 1. It took me longer than I thought it would to edit, between baking cheesecake, doing some bag work, and feeling out crafting with worbla. That being said, the next prologue will take even longer (unfortunately(?)) because I want to make sure my events make sense and everything is lined up perfectly and ready for the series proper to begin immediately after.

Feel free to comment, complain, keysmash, or just like and reblog. I THRIVE on your reactions.

Till next time!

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the-squinkle · 4 years

Text

A short piece about an elf in love with an orc

Original characters, please let me know what you think!

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With a brutish yell, Nokk’s war hammer slammed into the bandit’s temple. She was dead before she hit the ground, a horrific dent in the side of her head as her knees buckled under her own weight, and she fell without a sound.

Nokk panted, shouldering the hammer. All five bandits lay dead on the dirt paved road, scattered around the cart. The horse whinnied pitifully where it lay, it’s two front legs broken and mangled in the mud. Nokk’s greenish skin was flecked with pink gore and dark red blood. She licked her tusks that grew out from her bottom jaw and tasted salty copper. Her hearts pounded in asynchronous rhythm as she approached the wooden cart and held out her palm in a human show of peace.

Seven hostages were bound and captured, thrown haphazardly in the back of the carriage. A couple humans, one dwarf, and an orc girl not even eleven years old. All females.

They recoiled and shifted into each other as Nokk stepped closer, unsure if she was another marauder.

Nokk huffed, her hand lowered to her side. She ground her yellow teeth as she glareed the hostages down. “Fine. Stay in the cart. I don’t care.”

“My dearest, you were incredible!” Came the lilting, high voice of her traveling companion. From his hiding place behind a cluster of moss-covered trees sprung Sylvester, dressed in a fine purple cloak, a silk white shirt and red trousers. His outfit made Nokk’s eyes hurt, and his voice caused her to drag a hand down her face.

“You were so brave to defend these good people! And to protect me! You saved my life again, my love.” He swooned and rushed to her side. He squeezed her burly green arm. He tried to slide his arm around her own, and she pushed him away by his head. The elf barely came up to her elbow.

“Oh, you poor little dears.” He gasped when he turned to the cart, raising a hand to his mouth. His glossy nails and soft hands had never seen a day’s work in their lives. He leapt into the cart with ease, his silver-blond hair hanging loose over his shoulders, glistening in the sunlight that broke through the leaves above like a waterfall of the purest platinum.

“Your wrists, how tender they must be. I’m going to cut you loose now, but have no fear. This knife would never kiss your soft skin.” He winked at one of the human girls as he cut the rope about her wrists. The girl had been as stiff as a corpse just moments ago, but now her shoulders shook with nervous laughter as a smile tugged her lips.

Sylvester climbed out of the cart and offered his hand to the human girl, helping her down. She lighted on the dirt path and thanked him under her breath.

One by one, he helped the women from the cart, drawing a blush even from the dwarven maid. He carried the fierce orc girl on his back as he turned to Nokk, a giddy smile on his face.

Nokk snorted, her nostrils flaring as she began to lead the group back to the village. She could feel Sylvester’s obnoxious grin, even when she wasn’t looking at him.

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“Another round for the heroes who brought my daughter home!” Madam Bellanora cheered, lifting her tankard into the air with one hand, and the dwarven girl’s in the other.

The tavern cheered, lifting their drinks to the orc in dull, blood-splattered leather and the elf dressed like a peacock. Sylvester stood up in his chair and took a few long bows, flourishing his hand in the air. Nokk’s lip curled in disdain before she lifted her tankard to her lips. Damned things were too small, she could swallow the contents in three gulps.

Nokk’s chair creaked under her weight as she leaned back in her seat, watching Sylvester roam about the tavern to shake hands, drink and talk. He never stopped talking.

She wanted peace, wanted quiet. Wanted to get back on the road and leave this village far behind, but he’d insisted they stay the night. She downed her tankard and slammed it on the table with a low grunt.

“Knock-Knock?”

She snorted, then turned to her left with wide eyes. How could someone so loud and colourful sneak up on her.

The elf had his fist in the air, rapping at an invisible door. He grinned and took his seat beside her, dumping twelve little pouches on the table. “Look at this, my love! Look how grateful the people are to you, this is nearly twice what the Madam promised us!”

Nokk grumbled, eyeing her tankard for the last few drops.

“You look like an angel when you scowl, but my heart aches for you.” Sylvester pursed his lips into a pout, clasping his hands to his chest. “Oh, my darling… What is it? Perhaps you’re tense after your fight. Shall I massage your shoulders?”

“They are grateful to you. Not me. I killed the bandits. You claim the gold.” Nokk snarled, lowering her eyes to the elf.

“Not at all! This is all yours, sweetness. All of this is from the families of the girls. I would never suggest to be the hero.” He leaned forward to place his elbows on the table, his chin in his hands. A slow, dreamy smile crept up his lips. “You will always be my knight.”

Nokk ground her teeth, her bottom jaw jutting forward.

Sylvester tilted his head, like a curious dog. “Do you scoff at my love?”

The orc barked out a single note of thunderous laughter. The music and fanfare of the tavern faltered to look back to their table. A member of the city guard standing by the doorway reached for his sword, his eyes narrowed on their table. After a few moments, the music began again.

“Like silver bells in the lightest breeze…” Sylvester’s eyes fluttered shut, his words a whispered coo. his eyes falling shut. They snapped open as Nokk seized him by the front of his shirt and pulled him close.

“Do not make me laugh. I do not want your love. You share it freely.” Nokk growled. Her anger only boiled when he swooned under the flecks of spittle that splattered over his face. She let him go with a huff and wiped her hand on the tabletop.

“Your eyes are like diamonds when you sneer and snarl.” Sylvester placed a cool hand to his hot face. “Oh, my. Darling! My love, please. Don’t turn away.” He placed a hand on her arm as she moved to stand. He cleared his throat and pat his cheeks to calm down, then met her gaze with a more level stare. “Nokk, I enjoy beauty in all it’s forms. I cannot help but appreciate a sunset, a pretty woman’s smile, or the whistle of blades through the air.” His hand danced through the air in a dramatic flourish, smiling with all his white, perfect teeth. He turned back to Nokk and his smile faded. “But of all the most beautiful creations in this world, you are the most intoxicating. You are who I dream of when I close my eyes, who gives me butterflies in my belly. I will travel with you to the ends of the world, if you would have me. But if I am too much, I understand.”

He stood up from his seat. He lifted her heavy hand that dwarfed his own and kissed the back of her calloused, cracked knuckles. “We have traveled very far. If this is truly the end, I do not regret a minute of it.” He gave her index and middle fingers a gentle squeeze before pulling away completely, drawing his cloak tighter around himself.

Nokk wrenched her hand away from him as soon as he let go. She growled something low in her throat before standing up and moving to the bar.

Her arm struck the metal pauldron of the guard. An iron grip caught her wrist, and the orc whirled around with a snarl, jutting her tusks out.

“That’s assault on a member of the crownsguard. And that’s a threat.” He gestured to her expression and tightened his grip on her wrist. “Disturb the peace again, and you’ll be spending your last night here in the stockades.”

Nokk snorted and drew herself up to her full height. She had at least a foot and a half over the guard. Her eyes scanned the tavern before they landed on him again. “Try it. You are alone.”

The guard grasped the hilt of his sword and pulled. Nokk left her hammer in the inn, but her fists would be enough. She snarled, bending her knees and lifting her hands into the air.

“Jonah! I thought that was you.” A lilting voice called from her right. She faltered and glanced down to see the elf approach the pair with a smile, then clapped the guard on the shoulder. “Have you accepted my offer for a dance? I told you, people love a man in uniform, just so long as they’re agreeable. So come along! I know the blacksmith’s boy had an eye on you.” Sylvester winked.

“Not now. I’m right in the middle of something, you pompous twat.” The guard known as Jonah sputtered, batting the elf’s hand away. He paused, then glanced across the tavern. A muscular human male stood among some of the musicians, bobbing his head to the beat. His brown, tousled curls bounced with the movement.

“... Did he really?” Jonah asked in a whisper.

“He did!” Sylvester pulled the guard closer and spoke in a low, conspiratorial tone. “He says he keeps trying to get you into the forge and make you some custom armor, but you never have the time!”

“The capitol sends us our armor.” Jonah mumbled uselessly. “I don’t need anything special.”

“I know! It’s common knowledge! So why does he keep pushing it?” Sylvester pulled back with a grin, then pushed Jonah toward the crowd by his shoulders. “Go, get out of here.”

Sylvester snickered to himself as the guard awkwardly staggered through the tavern, his head bowed and his shoulders hunched. The blacksmith’s son turned to him with mild surprise, then an eager smile.

Nokk snorted. Sylvester craned his head to meet her gaze, then tilted his head to the side. “Anything wrong? Oh! Right. Leaving you alone. I’m very sorry, darling-... I mean, Nokk. I’ll get right on that now.”

Nokk rolled her eyes. A thick hand tousled his perfectly combed hair. “Could have handled that myself.”

“Oh. Oh!” Sylvester stammered, unsteady on his feet when she pulled her hand away. He chuckled, combing through his hair with his fingers. He shifted his weight as he stood in place. “I know, of course you could have. You’re amazing.” Nervous fingers tapped together. “I just thought, perhaps, that you wanted a peaceful night. In a bed, rather than in the city dungeon.”

Nokk pushed her tankard into his hands. “Get us more drinks.”

Sylvester swooned, placing the back of his hand to his forehead. “A noble quest for the fairest maiden~.”

Nokk crossed her arms over her chest.

“You have no sense of humour.” Sylvester stuck out his tongue and turned for the bar.

Nokk chuckled under her breath, just as soon as she knew he was far away enough not to hear.

#writing #writing prompt #fantasy #fic #fiction #orc girl #elf ears #elf oc #orc #elf #dndcharacter #dnd #original story #writerscommunity #writer #fluff #excerpt from a book i'll never write

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last-wish · 4 years

Photo

Feainnewedd: Chapter 5

Summary: Ciri meets the witchers and starts her training at Kaer Morhen, Geralt struggles with his new role and unexpected troubles demand outside help.

Pairing: Geralt x Yennefer

Word Count: 3,7k

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: None

A/N: Sorry for the long wait! This chapter took me longer than I thought, with the change of setting in the fic and all the stuff happening in the world. I hope you enjoy it, let me know what you think! Cross posted to AO3. Special thanks to @mclintocks for her invaluable help.

“Ciri, stop right there!”

The girl brought her horse to a halt some fifty yards ahead of Geralt. “You’re such an old man!” She laughed. “Why do you hate fun?”

“I am an old man,” he said as he caught up with her. “But wait until you see Vesemir.”

Ciri spotted a half-smile on the witcher’s face as he overtook her.

“Well, if he raised you, he must be even more boring than you.”

Geralt chuckled. “When I ride into a new town, kids not much younger than you stare at me with their mouths open. The very bravest among them even dare ask me about my exciting life hunting monsters.”

“I have seen through you already. You’re just a boring old man hiding beneath that armor.”

“You’re really hurting my pride, Ciri. Don’t you have any mercy?”

“Not when you don’t even let me run a little. Come on, I’m hungry! Can’t we go faster to the next town?”

Ciri put on her saddest face—to little effect on the white-haired witcher.

“You have dried meat in your pouch.”

“But it’s awful! We’ve been eating this shit for weeks.”

“Language. You don’t want Vesemir hear you say that. And yeah, this meat gets tiring pretty quickly. But we can’t stop at every tavern and risk someone recognizing us. Or someone remembering us when certain people come later asking for a certain rebellious, ashen-haired, green-eyed princess. Maybe it wouldn’t be so obvious if we had cut your hair short.”

Ciri stabbed him with an unambiguous look.

“But I see that’s still not an option,” the witcher added quickly. “Anyway, don’t worry too much, the next town is the last one before Kaer Morhen. Then it’s a couple more days and—”

A rider appeared out of a gully that descended from the nearby hills. He hastened his horse in their direction, looking nervously towards the hilltops.

“Good morning,” Geralt said.

The man stopped before them.

“Another one of you? Are you coming to help?”

“What are you talking about?”

“There’s a man-eater around here. I just guided one of your kind to the place where it attacked yesterday.”

“What, who—”

“I’m not staying here!” The man hurried his horse. “Go up the gully and you’ll find him. Or what’s left of him!”

“Fuck,” Geralt cursed as he dismounted Roach.

Ciri noticed then a shadow on the ground. At first, she thought it was just a cloud. But as it grew steadily, moving towards the rider, she felt something was off.

“Geralt…”

She raised her head and stared in disbelief. A beast that looked like it had jumped out of a tapestry crossed the sky, piercing the cold morning air with a horrifying shriek. Folding its monstrous, bat-like wings, the creature dived towards the rider, quickly closing the distance despite the man’s desperate efforts.

“Ciri, hold Roach!” Geralt said as he unsheathed his silver sword.

Ahead of them, rider and horse fell to the ground. The animal neighed when the monster plunged its claws deep into its belly. The man wheezed as the fangs pierced his throat mercilessly. The man-eater stood on top of them, raising its bloodied head with an almost royal look. The impression quickly vanished when Ciri noticed its hideous face crowned by two long horns. It was then that the girl saw a figure nimbly descending from the hillside, sword in hand.

Before it could get close, the monster lashed with its long scorpion tail in a semi-circle. Ciri looked at the man’s face as he stopped, wielding his sword before him. A long, ugly scar crossed half of his face. The beast must have been fixated on the man, too, since it did not notice Geralt approaching it from behind. With a quick pirouette, the witcher slashed its left wing. The man-eater roared and writhed. Instead of trying to dodge the tail coming at him, Geralt crossed his wrists, stopping the sting amidst an explosion of sparks and blood.

It must be one of his witcher tricks, Ciri thought as the two men circled around the beast, its wounded wing preventing it from taking off again. Suddenly, as if they were reading each other’s thoughts, the two men attacked at the same time. But the monster was still very much alive, fending off the men with a lash of its tail, a dodge and a counterattack.

From her vantage point, Ciri watched the fight with fascination. The girl had seen skilled warriors dueling in tournaments back in Cintra but this was completely different. Instead of the slow movements of plate-armored knights wielding heavy maces, the nimble jumps, spins and dodges of the two seamlessly coordinated men resembled more of a court dance. The man-eater started moving more slowly as the dark blood spilling from its left wing formed puddles on the ground. Noticing this, Geralt and the scarred man got closer to the beast.

The end of the fight was quick. In the blink of an eye, the scarred man bisected the monster’s tail and Geralt sliced off one of its legs. The other man then jumped on top of the beast and buried his sword up to the hilt, instantly killing the monster.

The man with the scar landed on the ground and sheathed his sword into the scabbard strapped to his back. The witchers wrapped their arms around each other in a quick, tight embrace.

“Still sharp, Wolf.”

“It’s either sharp or dead, Eskel.”

“As Vesemir always says. Are you going to winter in Kaer Morhen too?”

“Yes”—Geralt looked at Ciri—“We are.”

“You’re bringing a boy? It’s been a long time.”

“Not a boy,” Geralt said while Ciri approached them, pulling back her hood. “This is Ciri.”

“Oh. Forgive me, Ciri. Geralt, are you sure Kaer Morhen is the right place for her?”

“As long as your food is better than the dried shit we’ve been eating,” Ciri answered for him, “I’ll put up with you.”

***

“Again!”

Ciri wiped the sweat off her forehead with her wrist and looked at her feet, one in front of the other, standing on a narrow beam four feet off the ground. She held the wooden sword in front of her, keeping perfect balance.

“Now!”

The girl took two quick steps and swung the sword with all her might against the target—a leather sack roughly shaped as a person.

“Way too high. We’re aiming for the carotid artery. You remember where it is, right?”

“I’m not stupid, Coën.”

The young witcher smiled at her from below, his yellow-green eyes glinting playfully against his bronze skin. Both outsiders—Coën came from the School of the Griffin in Poviss—they had connected with each other from the start. Besides, Eskel was too calm for the energetic girl, Vesemir could be too protective and Lambert… Well, Lambert was insufferable.

“That’s what I thought,” Coën said. “Again, come on.”

Ciri returned to the starting position. She glanced from the corner of her eyes at the opposite side of Kaer Morhen’s courtyard. Geralt had said he would be sharpening swords but every time the girl looked at him, he was staring into the distance through a wide gap in the ruined wall. The girl focused back on the target and attacked.

“No, no, this time you got too close. Shorter steps. If you get that close to a good swordsman, they’ll hack you to pieces before you swing.”

“Ugh.”

“Come on, you were begging all day for sword practice.”

“Because you have me all day practicing stances!”

“What’s so bad about it? It’s just like learning to dance. Didn’t they teach you in court?”

“Oh, they did,” Ciri scowled at him. “And I hated it.”

“Don’t look at me like that with a sword in your hand,” laughed Coën as he approached her. “Hold the sword in front of you. See, your grip is wrong. You have to hold it… like this. Try again.”

Ciri got into position, took a deep breath and tried again.

“Better!” Coën patted her shin. “Your steps were fine, the strike was alright. But you have to swing faster or your enemy will parry easily. Again!”

The girl took a moment. She re-tightened her ponytail, stretched her arms and looked at the leather sack. There was a wrinkle in its surface that seemed familiar, almost like a frown staring at her above a pair of sharp cheekbones. She saw a dark helmet, crowned by two feathered wings. Cold sweat trickled down her back. But Ciri tightened the grip on her sword and fire burnt through her.

“Great! You did it perfectly! You have to show that to Geralt. Hey, are you alright? Ciri!”

Ciri felt the sword leaving her hand. She looked at it, slowly falling towards the ground. But the ground was further and further, and the sword became so small it disappeared from her sight. A sudden gust of cold wind stung her face and darkness surrounded her. Somehow, the girl knew she was standing on the same spot of the witchers’ keep. She then saw lights at the other side of the courtyard where Geralt had been sitting just a moment ago—only this time the wall was no longer in ruins. The air grew warmer and she was relieved to hear distant voices. But as the voices grew nearer, she recognized something unpleasant among them.

The torches were close. The stench of smoke, sweat and blood inundated the courtyard. An endless tide of people marched towards her. Ciri saw their eyes and shivered. They all glimmered with hate. Hate and bloodlust.

“Good men of Kaedwen!”

She noticed the clubs, the axes, the pitchforks. Stained with blood.

“You have done the hardest part. You must finish the job now!”

She heard sobs beside her. A group of kids. Some cowering in fear, some standing defiantly with short swords in their hands.

“To exterminate the pack one must kill every wolf, even the pups!”

Only two wounded witchers stood between the mob and the boys.

“You want to end this plague of mutants and freaks?”

A roar answered. Geralt and Coën looked back at her.

“Then have no mercy.”

***

The old man was sitting at an austere table. Surrounded by piles of books and parchments, he pored over the pages of a leather-bound volume. With each page he turned, a small cloud of dust took off, barely illuminated by a dying candle. The man was so focused on the book he barely heard the light steps approaching.

“Across the Veil,” said the voice behind him. “By Sebille Tilly, if I’m not mistaken.”

“One of the most influential books on the arts of revelations, prophecies and dreams, or so they say. Although poor Sebille’s prose wasn’t the lightest, I was just about to go from theory to practice on this dreams chapter. How is she, Geralt?”

“She just woke up. Fine, just a bit agitated. The vision she had…”

“What?”

“You know she called out to Coën and me. What she described, Vesemir… It must be the Fall of Kaer Morhen.”

A tense silence followed, finally interrupted by a sigh from Vesemir.

“And you both were in the vision, I suppose.”

“Ciri saw us at the courtyard, trying to protect a group of kids from the mob.”

“That happened almost a century ago, how would you…? I was one of the first to arrive here after the Fall. We saw the bodies, what remained of them. And I’ll never forget it, there was a group of students there, lying on the courtyard. I don’t know a damned thing about these visions of the past and the future, I’m just a fencing instructor. But I can’t help but feel this is bigger than Kaer Morhen, bigger than us.”

“I know. And she should be here by now. If she can’t help her… I don’t know what to do. I didn’t even believe in destiny before finding her, what am I supposed to do with this? I don’t care about the meaning of the visions, I just want her to be safe. And I know enough about mediums and Sources to realize someone must teach her to control her power before she hurts herself or someone else.”

Vesemir stood up and put his hand on Geralt’s shoulder.

“You said you trust her. She’s helped you before. She’ll help us now.”

Geralt squeezed Vesemir’s hand and nodded. “When I was hurt in Sodden, I don’t know if it was a fever dream but… I saw my mother. Visenna. She didn’t answer my questions but the look in her eyes was enough. Her silences were enough. She abandoned me because her life wasn’t fit for a child. She must have tried, I know that, but in the end it wasn’t enough. Look at us, what are we supposed to do with her? You took me, you trained and raised me, and I’m grateful for that. I would be dead otherwise. But I don’t want this for her. The danger, the hate, the loneliness of the Path.”

“Geralt. When I took you in, the School of the Wolf was in shatters. We were a ragtag collection of the few witchers lucky enough to be running errands far from here when the Fall happened. I had been on the Path, sure, but most of my life was here. I’d have never imagined I’d have to raise you, Eskel and Lambert. I did my best. But you… You shared the table with kings. You took impossible choices and bore the consequences. You saved a cursed princess and you protected the oppressed. You have friends among the elves, the dwarves, the dryads and the sorceresses. You are so much more ready for this than I ever was. And most important of all, you saved this girl. Destiny has brought you together for a reason. And I see how you look at her. You’re not Visenna, Geralt. You’re not me. And you’re not alone.”

“I just… Every night I close my eyes and I see Yen. I wish she were here. Because Ciri and I wouldn’t be here right now if it wasn’t for her. And I don’t even know if she’s alive… I must do this for Ciri—but also for her. Thank you, Vesemir. For everything.”

***

A few weeks passed since the incident in the courtyard. Ciri continued to train without experiencing more trances but her nights were becoming more and more restless. She usually woke up agitated in the middle of the night, covered in sweat. Strangely, she didn’t remember anything about her dreams after the incident, which did not make it any easier for her. And the lack of sleep was starting to affect her during the day.

“Ciri! Are you listening to me?”

“What?”

Geralt sighed. “Another bad night?”

Ciri yawned and nodded.

”Those damned nightmares,” Geralt said. “And this book is not helping. Too much dry theory. Let’s see… Do you see that shield over there, leaning on the wall? Well, this is the first Sign every witcher learns—Aard.”

Ciri saw the witcher’s fingers twisting and forming a strange gesture in front of him. An instant later, flames roared in a nearby hearth, an empty sack flew to the other side of the room and the shield fell with a heavy thud.

“Oh,” she gasped. “It’s like the trick you did with the manticore.”

“That was Heliotrop. Useful against a sudden attack. But it’s more advanced. Let’s focus on Aard, it’s the easiest Sign. You only need two things to do it. First of all, the gesture. Open your right hand. This finger… here. Bend this one… like that. And now extend these. Good. You can practice the full gesture now.”

“Aha! Not too hard. But why is it not working?”

“The second thing you need is concentration. You have to focus on what you want to achieve.”

“Alright. I want to knock that basket off that chair.”

“Good. You have to see in your mind how you’re going to do it. Close your eyes. Can you see it?”

“Mhm.”

“Then do the Sign.”

Ciri opened her eyes, arranged her hand forming the Sign of Aard and stretched the arm forward. But nothing happened. She tried again, with the same result. And again.

“It’s alright, Ciri. Sometimes it’s hard at the beginning. Remember, close your eyes. Focus. And… Don’t worry, I’ll do it again for you. Remember, you have to picture yourself doing it. Like this!”

The basket flew across the room.

“That’s what I’m doing! And I didn’t even moved it a bit. There’s no point, I’m blocked. I can’t do a simple Sign, I can’t control my visions and I can’t even sleep. It’s only getting worse. And I don’t see why this Sign is worth the effort, you only made an empty basket fly for a few yards and the people pursuing us are a bit heavier than that.”

“Hey, I know this is frustrating. But we’ll get through this, you’ll see. And Aard is very useful, I was just showing you how to do it. Besides, Signs can be intensified in some ways.”

“How?”

“Witchers have potions. Certain preparations can improve reflexes, build up stamina or accelerate healing processes. And strengthen the Signs too. But don’t get any ideas, a witcher potion would kill you on the spot. Only those who pass the Trial of the Grasses can bear the toxins and you know that’s not an option.”

“Then what’s the point of learning it?”

“There are other ways of intensifying Signs and magic in general. What you did that night in Cintra when you screamed… When you are pushed to your limits, your body and mind react differently.”

“So this will only be useful when I’m about to die?”

“Well, you can also provoke those reactions. In the end, what you need are heightened emotions. That stuff is not written in witcher books, I learned it from Yennefer. And I can tell you, it works.”

“Oh. Mmm. But how do you—”

The girl stopped when she saw the strange expression in Geralt’s face. The witcher cleared his throat. For an awkwardly long time.

“Anyways,” he continued. “We’ll get to that when you learn the Signs.”

The witcher was interrupted by hurried steps coming from the corridor. A smug face framed by rebellious red curls appeared from the doorway.

“Hey, you two! We have a visitor and I think you both know her. Come with me.”

Geralt and Ciri followed Lambert through the corridors of the eastern wing, making their way to the entrance hall of the old keep.

“Geralt, I knew you were fond of a certain sorceress. But I thought her hair was black. So tell me, does she enchant her hair when she gets bored or is this a different one?”

“Lambert.” Geralt looked at him with a stone face. “Stop.”

The witchers and the girl crossed the last doorway and arrived at the entrance hall. They almost bumped into Coën, coming from the stable laden with saddlebags. Behind him, among a sea of chestnut locks, a familiar face was nodding and smiling at something Eskel was saying.

“Welcome to Kaer Morhen, Triss,” Geralt said.

“Greetings, Geralt. You keep this castle of yours well hidden, I almost froze to death finding my way here.” She grabbed a wooden mug Vesemir brought to her and drank. “Now that’s better. Fiona! Glad to see you again, you look different. Come here, let me see you.”

“Fiona?” Lambert laughed. “I think you got the wrong girl, this here is Ciri.”

Triss looked at Lambert with a raised brow. Then at Geralt. She left the mug in Ciri’s hands and crossed her arms.

“We couldn’t take risks.” Geralt said. “There will be time to explain everything, but yes—her real name is Ciri.”

“You witchers are always full of surprises. Well, I have news for you too, Geralt.”

The sorceress noticed his suddenly blanching face and hesitated. Ciri saw him clenching his fists.

“Say it,” the witcher demanded.

“Yennefer is alive. We found her in Tor Lara, she portalled there from Sodden Hill somehow.”

Geralt closed his eyes and sighed deeply. The expression on his face was something Ciri had never seen before. She saw relief, regret and hope. Her throat dried up all of a sudden and she drank from the mug. For a moment, she did not even notice the strange taste. Not until Triss looked at her with her mouth open.

“Ciri, that’s not for—”

The girl felt a freezing wind stinging her face and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she was floating close to the high ceiling of the hall. She saw Geralt, Triss, Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert below. Coën came back to the hall in that moment too. She saw the fear in their eyes. And she heard a metallic, unpleasant voice. It took a moment for her to realize her lips were moving and the voice came from within her.

“Verily I say unto you, the era of the Wolf’s Blizzard is nigh! The sword and the ax will flood the earth with hate and discord for it will be the Time of Madness and the Time of Contempt! Beware, you two, who will fall in this struggle as your kind fell here before. Two teeth will kill the Griffin! Three teeth will slay the Wolf! Past and future converge now, the serpent sinks its fangs in its own tail. The world will end amid the frost and begin anew from the seed of Hen Ichaer. Watered with the Elder and the Altered Blood, the seed will not sprout but burst into flame! Watch for the signs! You will know it is time when the rivers run red with the Blood of Elves.”

#the witcher netflix #geralt x yennefer #geralt of rivia #cirilla of cintra #eskel #witcher coen #vesemir #lambert #fanfiction

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akhylsthebat · 4 years

Photo

🦇Bat Fact! Do you know of the Yellow-bellied Sheathtail Bat (Saccolaimus flaviventris)? Also known as just the “yellow-bellied sheathtail” or “yellow-bellied pouched bat,” this bat is found throughout most parts of Australia and in pockets in Papua New Guinea. Very little is known about this bat due to its elusiveness to researchers. Males have a large prominent throat pouch, while females have a naked ridge of skin. This bat roosts in tree hollows and old sugar glider nests in colonies of up to 30. This bat is insectivorous and will almost always eat their prey while flying despite not being the most agile of flyers. Natural predators are goannas, hawks, owls, and pythons. This bat is listed as “Least Concern” by the IUCN🦇

📸Photo by Les Hall📸

#batfacts #bats #bat #akhyls #education

⬇️Follow Bat Facts⬇️ https://akhylsthebat.tumblr.com/ https://www.minds.com/akhylsthebat/ https://twitter.com/AkhylsBatFacts https://t.me/AkhylsBatFacts https://www.facebook.com/groups/137858924078846/ Disclaimer: All images used here are for educational purposes and are not used in any way for profit or to promote any products or services. Copyright Disclaimer under section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for “fair use” for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, education and research. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing

#batfacts #bats #bat #akhyls #education

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incoherentbabblings · 5 years

Text

First Date (7/9)

Tim has one more test to pass before Bruce will allow him out as Robin. Like Dick and Jason before him, he has to avoid being caught by Batman for one night. He has already failed once, and is determined to succeed this time. Determination which might not count for much when Stephanie Brown is on the run from the mob. Her mother kidnapped as a way to threaten her father, Stephanie manages to escape and run into Tim. Unable to leave Stephanie alone when she is in need, Tim decides to try and multi-task. All he has to do is rescue Stephanie’s mother, take down the mob, avoid Batman, and get Stephanie to agree to a proper date all in one night. Absolute anarchy ensues Ao3 link here!

“Don’t suppose there’s a spare Robin suit in here Oracle?” Asked Tim, rummaging through assorted shelves. There were some black clothes, armoured no doubt, but nothing red, yellow or green.

“No, I’m afraid you are not going to be able to save the day looking like a traffic cone.”

Tim sighed and began stuffing a belt full of explosives, sharp things and sticky things. He looked for items that could, in general, cause the most chaos in a warehouse filled with men with guns and a (potentially) unconscious (dead? No. Not dead until there’s a body.) bat.

“I still think this is a bad idea.”

“Then Stephanie and I take full responsibility if it goes belly up.”

“This is serious! You are not –”

Tim angrily tugged a pair of shoes off the shelf.

“I swear if someone else says I’m not ready or I’m not taking this seriously… I can do it. I’ve been training for years! I can do it!”

“I could lock you in here and that would be the end of it.”

“Then I will start opening up my stitches Ms Disembodied Voice From Above.” Stephanie snarked, sat on the table aside Tim. She’d pulled her hair up into a ponytail, a few pieces of hair too short to make it to the elastic fell cutely on her forehead and neck.

Tim pulled a face. “Please don’t do that.”

“If she lets us out, I will not do that.”

Tim huffed, walking over to a counter. Stephanie leered as he stripped down and then geared up, assorted straps holding belts and containers in place. He really was preparing for whatever could be thrown at him.

“Anything for me?”

“You… are staying in the car.”

“The batmobile? That car?”

“Yup.”

Rolling her shoulders, she mused on that thought for a moment.

“Can it shoot things?”

“Not with bullets but…”

“I can help from within the car though right?”

“Oh yeah, knowing Batman there’s probably a rocket launcher in that thing.” He realised what he’d said, and whirled round, trousers halfway up over his underwear. His eyes were wide, like he genuinely thought she would blow up half of the Narrows.

“Forget about that part.”

Resisting the urge to laugh, she nodded very seriously. “I promise I won’t blow anybody up.”

“The car can do lots of things, Oracle can help you help me. Right O?”

Oracle gave a very deep sigh that crackled oddly with her vocal alteration.

“Yes. I can do that.”

“Thanks O. You can help Steph, promise. Also, there isn’t much place safer than the Batmobile.”

“…I can live with that. But what about you?”

“I have more equipment on me than I ever have had before.” He reached over to a pocket and pulled out a small cylinder. When he flicked it in certain manner, it extended at both ends into a staff. It looked very good for smacking people with. Tim whirled it between his hands a few times, getting used to the weight of it.

“You know Nightwing says I’m better at the bo staff than him.”

“Really?”

“I mean, I can’t beat him hand to hand, and when his got his escrima sticks… but if we’re on equal standing… I can floor him.”

Stephanie smiled, fascinated by his tentative show of confidence. Tim snapped the staff and it reduced once more. He pocketed it in one of the pouches round his waist.

Muttering to himself, he paced around, looking for anything else to take.

“Okay. Think that’s it. Let’s head out.”

He moved to Stephanie, getting ready to pick her up. She pushed him away and ignored his slight look of betrayal. Stephanie didn’t look like she was still made at him, so instead he was left confused. She kept her hand on his chest, a compelling touch.

“At least put a mask on Tim.”

“Huh?”

“You’re gonna go superheroing right? Superheroes need a mask!”

“She’s right y’know.”

“Thank you!” She turned her eyes upwards briefly, but returned them quickly to Tim’s, who had tensed at the two women ganging up on him. She squeezed his shirt, and he nodded, turning away to look for one.

Folding her arms, Stephanie laughed when Tim returned to her, looking somewhat more like a vigilante.

“Now we’re ready.”

****

If Tim were honest with himself, his driving of the batmobile was a bit dodgy. He was used to driving his little red car, not a hulking tank that the batmobile was akin to. He was impressed with how roomy it was though. The steering wheel was less of a circle and more like what could be found in racing cars (or arcade games) which made Tim a little clunky with it trying to turn corners. He was trying to go fast, but the car definitely went faster than the average Ford, and despite her impatience, Stephanie was understanding of his nervy driving.

“Batman’s never let you drive the batmobile before, huh?”

His eyes jutted away from the road, but a slight swerve made him jolt back to full attention. “Oh, oh no. Oracle is the only one who can do that. And she does it remotely. Don’t even think Nightwing’s…” They bumped into another lamppost as they turned a corner. “Whoops.”

“I’m sure the lamppost is more damaged than the car.”

“Oh sure, this thing could take a nuke blast and survive.”

“Really?”

“Well, no. Probably not.”

“Hmm.”

“It is pretty sturdy though.” Looking at the GPS on the dashboard, Tim saw they were getting nearer the warehouse.

“Hey Tim?”

“Yeah?”

Resting her head on the rest, she turned her neck around, playfully smiling. “When this is all done, you promise that you’ll take me out on a proper date?”

Tim’s mouth dropped open in a moment of shock, but he quickly composed himself. “Yes! Yes. Easiest decision of my life… yes.” He laughed, nearly whooping and punching the wheel in jubilation.

“Where’d you like to go? Dinner? We could do that.” She gently prodded.

“Bit fancy?” He said, peering into the cameras that showed the sides and rear of the vehicle. “I mean, do you want to get all dressed up?”

“No, no, not to start, but I know this really nice diner. The lady who runs it smokes like twenty packs a day, but they do really good burgers.”

“That sounds good. I can pick you up, drop you off, and if you feel up to it, we can just walk about, not worry about being jumped…”

“A proper date.” She smiled sweetly. “Listen, I’d give you my phone number but I think it - along with my house keys and purse - are chilling at the bottom of Gotham river right now.”

“Oh. Well I can pay for dinner, if that takes a weight of your mind. A gentleman always pays on the first date… or something like that.”

Shifting to reassert a more comfortable position, Stephanie could only roll her eyes. “Wow.”

“Wow what?” Tim glanced sideways at her. She paused, realising he was being genuine, because that was all Tim seemed to be capable of being.

“You’re serious?” She asked, clutching her seat belt and leaning towards him. She ignored a sharp stab of pain that tugged on her stitches the doctor had done on her.

“Yes?”

At his stupefied tone, Stephanie huffed and muttered, “Of course you are. God, you are something else.”

She raked her eyes up and down at him, totally head over heels, and Tim blushed at her flirtatious tone and gaze. It was silent, but only for a moment before Stephanie began her prodding once more.

“So, you on Facebook? Or Twitter? Or whatever you bats and birds and oracles use? You don’t strike me as an Instagram fan.”

“Ha. No, not Instagram. The others sure, I’m not completely cut off from normal teenage things.”

“Well, what else do you like to do with your time?”

Tim tutted, flexing his fingers on the wheel. “This is getting into first date conversation territory.”

“Oh, come on! Tell me.” She urged, tapping his shoulder.

“Uhhh okay. I… like music? I mean, I play the guitar. Not well, but… well.”

“I used to play the piano.” She interjected gently.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Maybe we can play together. See how much I’ve forgotten and see how well you actually play.”

“Heh. That sounds perfect.”

“What else?”

“Oh. Um.” He sounded so reluctant to talk about himself, but Stephanie knew it wasn’t from a lack of anything to say. Tim would have stories for days. Stories about his parents, stories about Batman, about Nightwing, about his training. Stephanie wondered if it was just because he didn’t get the chance to talk about himself very often.

“I skateboard!” The idea seemingly came to him abruptly, and he immediately seemed embarrassed the moment he uttered it. “I know that’s a bit lame nowadays and at my age –”

“Who told you that?”

“Um… my dad.”

“Huh, well, he’s wrong so there’s that.” She was flippant, tone brokering no argument. She didn’t know Tim’s father, but what she’d heard, she was not impressed. “It’s really cool, watching those guys in the park. I can’t do that. The balance you need…”

“I can teach you, when your stitches are out…” He said, a smile on his face at imagining the two of them at the skate park in Robinson.

“You can try boy wonder, no promises though.”

The nickname made his chest flood with warmth. “…Thanks Steph.”

“Well, you’re welcome. If you want, I can teach you to sew in exchange. There’s something not cool.”

“And who told you that? You know when the apocalypse comes, you’ll be the one actually wearing functional clothes and making objects whilst I’ll just…lay down and freeze.”

She laughed sharply. “From what I’ve seen tonight Tim I don’t think you’ll go down easy when the zombies come for our brains.”

He shook his head and began to slow down. The smile slid off his face, and she recognized it as him slipping into superhero mode. She readjusted herself once more, bracing against the door and dashboard, not knowing where Tim was planning to plant the car.

He leaned forward, peering through the screens. Jolting the car sideways, he slowed right down, and slid down one alley, barely wide enough for the batmobile to open its doors. He then dimmed the lights and cut the engine. The car remained on however, dozens of little knobs and buttons lighting up their faces like an airplane cockpit.

Tim took a deep, albeit unsteady breath, and turned to Stephanie.

“Serious talk.”

“Yup.”

“If I’m not out in half an hour. Call the police. Tell them where you are, tell them to swamp the place. Do not go after me, or your mother, or Batman. With us falling off the bridge, they may think we popped it. I don’t know. I’ll get your mom out first. When your mom is out, call the police.”

She nodded, but her concerned look did not fade. “And what about Batman? What if he’s really badly hurt?”

Tim swallowed uncomfortably, his throat dry, and turned back to the wheel. He chewed his lip. “I might have to leave you behind, depending on how bad he is, and get him back home. You’ll be safe so long as you’re in the car. If it gets really bad, and the car starts to get swamped before the police arrive. Oracle will drive you away.”

“Towards the police?”

“Towards the police, yeah.”

A soft kiss on the cheek made him jump.

“Big brave superhero.” Her gentle teasing made him relax. Just a little. He turned and kissed her on the lips, a wet kiss that made a loud smack when they separated.

“Wish me luck.”

“Good luck.”

Tim smiled. “Oracle can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear. I’ve connected you to the car too, so we both can keep track of you.”

Tim nodded at the thought of an audio audience. He gulped once more, then smacked a button which opened the roof of the car. He climbed up, fired a grappling gun up to the roof, and shot away. The car roof swiftly sealed once more, with a definite suction noise sealing out external air.

Stephanie sat alone in the silence and the low light, her stomach gurgling increasingly with dread. This was going to be a long thirty—

“Right madam, I need you to move over to the driver’s seat.”

“Huh?” She gripped the sides of her seat tight, as if she’d been caught doing something naughty. Oracle did not seem totally amused.

“You wanted to help right?”

“Yes…?”

“Then you can help by getting Tim a map of the building. The car has a sort of sonar. It can create a 3D map depending on what it bounces off.”

“Oh. Wow.”

“Hop over, come on.”

Stephanie did as she was bid, hissing in pain as she shuffled her bum over the other seat. She swung her legs round, and fastened herself back in. She grinned, and excitedly grabbed the steering.

“Oh, wow. I’m in the driver’s seat of the batmobile!”

“Yeah, yeah but you’re not driving anywhere. Upper left, a row of four buttons, near the left window. See them?”

Leaning forward, she nodded and sounded off with a half-hearted, “Yes?”

“Hit the one of the left, hold for three seconds.”

She did just that. She felt a high-pitched ring go through her ears, and the car shuddered.

“Do it three more times.”

“Do you get the image wherever you are?” She asked as she pressed the button.

“I do. Can see there’s fifteen bodies in there. You two and Batman took out a few on your city travels.”

“Is Batman in there?”

“Can’t say for certain, it doesn’t give a clear enough picture. It’ll help Tim know what way to enter, so thank you Stephanie.”

“You’re welcome.” She said, tone genuinely in its gratitude.

Tim’s connection crackled on.

“Going in now. See if she can get the EMP to go off. It’ll cut off my communications, but the other tech should still work. It’ll mess with their stuff real good.”

“Be careful Tim.”

“Promise.”

Stephanie leaned forward, as if she could somehow spot Tim and where he was in the building. All she could see was a brick wall, and no windows or light.

“Oracle? How do I set off an EMP?”

“One sec…” An awkward pause, then Oracle picked up the line once more. “By the gear stick, there’s a circle of smaller buttons with a big button in the middle?”

“Hit the big button?”

“No. Do not hit the big button.”

“What’s the big button do?”

“Don’t touch it.”

“What can I touch?”

“Bottom right. Hit once, no more than one second. It’s pretty fierce and will knock out a block if you hold it too long.”

Gulping, she pressed it firmly. The resulting noise from the car made her jump and squeak. Her stitches complained brutally from her sudden movement, and she clutched at her side, trying to control her breathing.

“Did it work?” She managed to ask.

“Tim’s no longer hearing me, so yes. Well done, Stephanie.”

“…Welcome.” This time her response was quieter. Neither woman sounded too happy about the fact that Tim was well and truly alone.

Stephanie attempted to make conversation with the voice above, to distract herself.

“You work for Batman?”

“Ahem. With Batman.”

“Oh. That’s cool. How…how did you enter…that…profession?”

“Long story.”

“I have time?”

“Uh-uh Stephanie. Just… think of me as mission control.” A pause, then a gentler, “Your wounds, they feel okay?”

“They hurt. But that’s fine. I’d rather feel the pain than not. Something would really be wrong then, huh?” She laughed shakily.

There was no response.

“Oracle?”

Gun fire sounded off then, and Stephanie gasped in fear.

“Sit tight.”

There was no other noises loud enough to be heard in the car through the brick walls, so Stephanie listened as the sounds got louder and quieter, seemingly at random. Sometimes it was obvious that multiple shots from multiple guns were being fired, other times it seemed like just the one.

The moment the gunfire fell quiet, she panicked.

“I have to help.”

“How? You’ve been told. Sit tight.”

“Oh God.” She fell forward, head smacking off the wheel.

The car lit up then, bright as it had when Tim had been driving.

“Stephanie turn the car off.”

“Sorry, sorry I—” She began frantically, foolishly, pressing assorted buttons. An explosion rang out from the roof of the car with such force that the wall the car was pressed against caved in. The fearsome blast led to two men on the other side being knocked out with the momentum of the bricks hitting them. She couldn’t see Tim, but one man and one woman saw the batmobile and seemed to enter an absolute rage at the sight of it. They turned from whatever they were shooting at (Tim? Mom?) and began firing at the car. Stephanie flinched at the sounds and the impact of the bullets on the windshield, but of course the material was tougher than any shotgun, and they bounced off with no damage to the screen.

One of them gave an over the top yell, as if he were in a war movie, but neither person moved.

Something distracted them all then. Stephanie couldn’t see what was going on inside, but she could hear. A horrid screech, one from a man, cut off quickly and sharply.

“What was that?” Stephanie asked, monotone but frightened.

“Uhhhhh…”

“Oracle, hey, what just happened? Can you see?”

The two people watched as something (someone?) was flung across the room. The lady’s mouth dropped open in disgust. Stephanie blinked, and looked down at the wheel of the car.

“It…well. Everything’s fine.” Oracle sounded just like Tim did when they were in the stolen car, and Stephanie by this point had learned her lesson, and did not believe anything was fine for one moment.

The mob pair slowly returned their gaze to the car, as if deciding they had better chances against it than whatever was on the other side of the wall.

They began to run at the batmobile, aiming to swamp it. If they managed to get the door open, Stephanie wouldn’t be able to fight back, she was practically immobile. Panic took over.

“Oh my God, what do I do?”

“Stephanie—”

“What do I do what do I do.”

“Steph—” The man began to incessantly smash his gun down on the windshield, trying to break in, whilst the woman moved the driver’s side, trying to bust the door. They couldn’t see in, thanks to the shaded windows, but that didn’t stop their faces being uncomfortably close to Stephanie’s. “It’s fine, there’s no way they can get in.” Oracle was trying to be reassuring, but Stephanie remained unconvinced, and leaned back further into the driver’s seat.

With a thunderous crack, the man managed to severely damage the front screen, and Stephanie squealed like a six-year-old. He was seemed a man possessed and laughed maniacally like he was a genuine supervillain. Stephanie thought in brief flash of contempt that he was just kind of pathetic.

Dangerous though, and nearly cracking his way in.

“Oh, okay, okay, okay, okay, no worries.” Oracle somehow did not seem to be exhibiting the right level of fear, if anything she seemed very blasé, thinking on the go. "Hit that big centre button.”

“The one you told me not to—”

“Smack it!”

With her fist Stephanie slapped it harder than probably necessary, but she was running on adrenaline at that point and was just doing as she was told with extra gusto. Both mobsters were thrown back with an aggressive crackle. The landed on the ground, one further up the alley, one being thrown back into the warehouse. They stayed on the ground.

“Oh wow.”

“Tasers. They’ll be fine. Maybe peed themselves a little.” Oracle sounded entirely too pleased at the thought.

“…I threw up on myself earlier.” Stephanie offered dumbly. Oracle actually laughed.

“You’re not having a great night are you?”

“I’ve… had better.”

Stephanie reached out for the gear shift, and lowered her feet to the pedals. There were two, hopefully one to go forward and one to brake. She moved the gear shift up, and tentatively put her foot down, wanting to enter the warehouse.

"No, wait!"

The car shot forward through the hole in the wall uncontrollably, like it was her first-time driving a stick shift 1990s Toyota. Bad enough and embarrassing enough, if not for the fact that her mother had come running out towards the hole in the wall the moment Stephanie jerked forward. Crystal bounced off the car with a loud humph and fell to the floor. Stephanie stared in abject horror as her mother wheezed and rolled around on the ground. She was not hurt too badly, just in shock at being smacked by the batmobile more than anything, but that didn’t stop Stephanie from crying out.

“Oh God. I just ran over my mom!”

“…Wow you are having a terrible night.”

#dc #timsteph #tim drake #stephanie brown #barbara gordon #my fic tag #update!

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