#I may also throw in for consideration the end of Rogue One where they watch as the explosion reaches them and it looks almost like a sunrise

[regicidal-defenestration]

There's a comparison to be made between the last line of Vampire Science being "Outside, the sun was rising" and the last line of the Silt Verses epsiode 37 being "Mm. Lights are back on" because it should be hopeful, right? The lights are back on, the sun is rising, we've made it through the night, except, except

How much have we lost? How much more will we lose?

[mochegato]

Even the Losers

Chapter 17

Chapter 1     Chapter 16

Marinette shook her head and tried to hide her giggles. Red Robin had to have thought he was being discrete, right?  Unless he was intentionally making himself known as a way to intimidate any more rogues from trying to get to her.  He was discrete enough that the average person probably wouldn’t notice him, but anyone paying attention, looking for him, would see him easily.

She waited until he was looking down at her again and waved at him.  He smiled and waved back before blushing, shaking his head, and motioning for her to continue. Marinette grinned and looked back at the map on her phone.  The restaurant Jason chose was around here somewhere.  One of the places he just ended up at a lot, he said.  Low key and cozy, exactly the kind of place she needed right now.

After that, he said he was planning on following her around for the rest of the day.  He’d said it in a joking tone, but she knew there was nothing joking about his intent.  He would be shadowing her for the rest of the day. He couldn’t hide the gravity behind the statement.  He couldn’t mask the concerned questions, no matter how casually he tried to play them off. The insistence on seeing her apartment, make sure the view was good enough and the kitchen was stocked enough. The way he casually suggested she teach him how to make a baked good she liked.  

Honestly, she was shocked he let her walk there on her own, but he said he’d be have eyes on her anyway.  She looked back up at Red Robin with a smile.  Clearly, he wasn’t kidding.  White lensed eyes.  The smile quickly morphed into a frown when she couldn’t see him.  He hadn’t been hidden this whole time, so where was he now? She squeaked and whirled around into a fighting stance when she heard someone land behind her.  She barely had time to put her hands down before Red Robin was standing next to her, his hand on her shoulder while he looked around, eyes sharp and calculating.

Marinette followed his lead and scanned the crowd. In lieu of knowing what she was looking for, she kept her eye out for anything that seemed out of place. Everything looked normal though. Nothing seemed suspicious.  There were a few people throwing them odd looks, but nothing that seemed hostile or calculating, instead it seemed more curious and fearful of what having a vigilante dropping down in the middle of the night meant for them.

Red Robin turned back to face her.  “Let’s get you somepl…” his hand went up to his ear. “Shit!”

Marinette’s eyes widened in fear.  “What happened?  Did someone get hurt?”

Red Robin’s eyes looked around them again and narrowed at one of the buildings.  He moved his arm to her back and firmly pushed her toward the building. “Nobody is hurt.”

She looked at him doubtfully.  “But…”

“There’s just an issue that needs attention, but nobody has been hurt,” he assured her, looking down briefly to meet her eyes.

Marinette nodded uncertainly, not feeling calmer with his reassurance.  She couldn’t see his eyes past the white filters to gauge his sincerity, and it was unsettling.  “So my friend and brother, my… the Waynes, they’re… nobody is hurt?”

Red Robin paused almost imperceptibly.  If she hadn’t become used to his constant pressure on her back, she wouldn’t have noticed.  He looked back down at her as they walked, the tense muscles in his face softened considerably.  “They’re all safe.  Your friend and brother and family.  They’re all safe.  I promise. I just need to go assist someone, but I don’t want to leave you alone.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow at him.  “I can defend myself you know.”

Red Robin gave her a deadpan expression. She’s sure if he didn’t have a mask, he’d have his own eyebrow raised at her.  “After last night, you can understand that we and your family are a bit concerned and perhaps a bit overprotective just right now.”

Marinette rolled her eyes with a sigh but didn’t fight him.  “So you’re going to, what?  Hide me in some abandoned office until everything blows over?  That sounds safe.”

Red Robin huffed out a laugh.  “Absolutely safe.  That is our standard approach.  I’m glad you understand how we operate.”  He gave her a look she couldn’t quite decipher with his mask in the way.  “No.  I think your family would hunt me down if I did something so reckless with you.  They’re quite protective, you know?”  

Marinette opened her mouth to say something but shut it quickly.  He was a stranger.  There was absolutely no reason to get into her family dynamics with him.  “No,” he continued, oblivious to her uncertainty. “I’m going to stash you with someone we know we can trust.”

Marinette looked up at him with narrowed eyes.  “A babysitter.”

The corners of Red Robin’s mouth quirked up. “Well, if you’re going to whine like a baby…” he teased.

Marinette gasped dramatically.  “If you want whining, I can show you whining.  I grew up with the most spoiled brat in existence.  I can give new meaning to the word.”  Red Robin actually laughed as he opened the door to the business.  “You know, I’m supposed to meet my… um… br… brother,” she stuttered over the word.  “Jason’s going to wonder about me.”

Red Robin cringed slightly.  “You should probably text him.  It isn’t a good idea for you to go out until this is resolved.” Marinette nodded and shot a text off to Jason letting him know she was okay and Red Robin was putting her somewhere safe for a bit.

They heard movement from the building, finally drawing Marinette’s attention to the business they had gone into.  “Can I help… T… Red Robin?  Marinette?” Roy asked pushing out from behind a motorcycle with its transmission in his hands.

“Hey, I was hoping you could watch Marinette while I take care of something.  You’re a friend with the Waynes right?” Red Robin asked pointedly.

Roy stared at him for a few seconds before realization set in.  “Yeah. Yeah, we’re like fam…” he looked over to Marinette, “well, not family family.  But, uh, yeah.”

Red Robin cocked his head to the side and pursed his lips.  “No, I’m pretty sure you are con…” he was cut off by something in his com.  He paused for a moment to listen before turning back to Roy with what Marinette was pretty sure was supposed to be a glare.  “I’m trusting you,” he growled.  “There’s some madness going on.”

Roy’s face turned serious and he gave him a determined nod.  “I’ll protect her.  Go.”

Red Robin looked between them for a second then nodded and took off.  Roy and Marinette watched him leave for a second before turning back to each other. Marinette gave him a shy smile. “Hi,” she waved sheepishly. “Sorry to just drop in on you like this.”

Roy gave her a welcoming smile and motioned to the garage bay.  “Not at all. I guess you’re just visiting sooner than we anticipated.  Can’t say I’m upset at all.”  He moved some parts off of a stool and motioned toward it for her to sit.  “I should say sorry that you have to hunker down here. You definitely look like you were going somewhere a bit nicer.”

Marinette looked down at her outfit analytically, a blood red, long-sleeved blouse, black skinny jeans, and black heeled boots. She’d wanted to wear ladybug colors after the previous night in the Riddler’s facility and the Wayne dining room. Ladybug colors always reminded her of the strongest, most resilient parts of herself.  She looked back up at him, her eyes catching on the coat rack behind him.  “Excuse you. All I need is that jacked over there and I’d fit right in.  In fact, I’d match your baby.”

Roy looked to where she was looking, seeing his black leather jacket hanging up.  He blushed slightly at the idea of her wearing his jacket.  He could picture it on her, the jacket hanging loosely off of her significantly smaller frame, her clinging to him as they rode on his bike… He looked back at her with a soft look. “And you would still be too classy to be here.”

Marinette pouted at him.  “You say that like I don’t fit in.”  She didn’t want to say the ‘with you’ that was running through her head.  Did he think she wouldn’t fit with him?  “I can fit. I can even be helpful.”

Roy shook his head.  “No, not at all just…”  He motioned to his own clothes, an old tee, stained jeans, and a backwards ball cap that was just as stained with grease as his jeans, and then motioned to her.

Marinette looked between the two of them and grinned. “You underestimate my ability to get dirty.  Give me a few minutes and I’ll be as dirty as you.”

Roy’s eyes snapped to the wrench in his hand. Based on the complete lack of amusement or sultriness in her eyes, she did not at all realize what she just said. He took a few seconds, it may have been minutes, to calm his heart and mind.  “Okay, how about you prove it?”

Marinette raised an eyebrow at him.  “Prove what?”

“That you can be helpful.  Roll up those sleeves and help me with this engine.”  He motioned to the transmission on the workbench next to her.  “I can also get you some coveralls so your outfit won’t get dirty if you prefer.” He looked back at her with an amused glint in his eyes.  “They’ll be a bit big on you…”  Marinette narrowed her eyes at him but his eyes danced with even more amusement at her reaction.  “Since you’re so litt…”

“You know what…” she cut him off, standing to get in his personal space.  She stared up at him, her eyes meeting his for a moment before her cheeks burst into color.  She looked away and cleared her throat.  After a second to recover, she motioned to the transmission as she rolled up her sleeves. “Just tell me what you’re doing and how I can help.”

Roy grinned and twirled the wrench in his hand. “Yes, ma’am.”  

He leaned over the transmission and started loosening one of the nuts holding the piece together.  His hand faltered for a fraction of a second when Marinette leaned next to him, close enough for him to feel her breath as she let out a sigh, close enough to feel her body heat.  Close enough he could easily wrap his arms around her and pull her against him.  He had to tighten his hands to keep them from reaching over.

He took a breath to focus.  Now was not the time.  She had just been kidnapped and people could take a bit of time to recover from something like that, especially considering the things she had said about having a breakdown.  He flicked his eyes over to her trying to assess how she was doing.  Her eyes were intently watching his hands as they moved around the transmission.  They were sharp and her body seemed to be relaxing the longer she watched him work.  If he didn’t know better, he’d never know she had been kidnapped and threatened the night before.

She looked up at him questioningly when his hands stilled as he analyzed her.  He gave her a small smile and motioned toward the tool box.  “Um… I need… Can you, um, get me the, um… 5/16th wrench, please?” he stuttered.

Marinette jumped up to search through the wrenches in the box.  She frowned, her lip jutting out as she searched.  “I don’t see it here.  Is there somewhere else it could be?”

Roy’s face scrunched as he tried to remember where else he might have used it.  He’d been working on the bike almost all day.  He looked back at the motorcycle trying to remember what he had done with it. He was broken from his concentration by Marinette’s light giggle.  He looked over to her with a raised brow.  

Marinette looked away quickly, another blush on her cheeks.  She followed where his line of sight had been and searched around the motorcycle, focusing her energy on her search for the wrench instead of the adorable face he made when he was concentrating and the way his nose wrinkled up in thought and his lips quirked to the side.  After a minute of looking she shook her head and held her empty hands out for him to see.

“Any other ideas?” she asked as she came back over to her stool.

Roy sighed deeply and scanned the workbench. He had a backup set of wrenches, but he knew he had used that one recently.  It couldn’t have gone too far. His attention was brought back to Marinette when she giggled again, her giggles turning into full blown laughter.  He gave her a confused look which made her laugh louder.  She reached over the workbench, almost climbing onto it to grab the wrench that was behind the transmission.  She held the wrench out to him triumphantly with a smug, teasing smile on her lips.

Roy fought choking on air at the sight of her climbing onto his workbench and all the images that immediately flooded into his mind involving that particular scenario, especially in his jacket… and nothing else.  He took the wrench, hoping she believed the blush he knew was on his cheek was from embarrassment rather than where his thoughts had gone.  “Thanks,” he managed to mutter out.

“Anytime,” she grinned back.  “See?” she motioned to herself.  “Helpful.”

Roy chuckled and shook his head fondly. “Guess I’ll have to keep you around then.”

Marinette chuckled and let her focus settle back on the part he was working on.  She watched his hands move effortlessly and confidently over the pieces.  “Flathead screwdriver,” he asked, holding out his hand for her.  She quickly grabbed one and slapped it in his hand like he was a surgeon.  He looked up at her with a grin.  “Thanks, nurse.”

Marinette shook her head and let her gaze pass over the garage bay.  She quirked her head to the side when her eyes settled on a bow leaning up against the wall by the door.  “What’s with the bow?”

Roy’s head jerked up.  His eyes immediately found his bow and quiver.  He looked back at her with an almost natural smile. “Oh, I just… like to shoot.”

“It’s yours?” she asked perking up.

“Yeah… I just pulled it out… recently.”  His eyes flicked to the cut on her cheek quickly before returning to the transmission.

Marinette looked back at the bow.  “That sounds fun.  I always wanted to learn.  How did you learn?”

Roy’s eyes took on a far off look and a sentimental smile spread on his lips.  “My father, my adopted father.”

“Oliver?” Marinette asked, confusion clear in her voice as she tried to reconcile the sentimental smile with his description in the bar.

“Ah, so you know,” Roy said quietly, eyes suddenly in focus and pointed at the transmission.

Marinette gave him a sympathetic smile.  “Sorry.  Damian… he um… thought I knew,” she stuttered out.  She really didn’t want to get into that conversation right now.  She was sure Roy would be upset and it was just something she wanted to leave between her and Damian, not someone else.  “He just mentioned it yesterday.”

Roy nodded and flicked his eyes up to her for a second, gauging her reaction, waiting for the questions.  There were always questions.  Questions about Oliver, questions about their relationship, questions about their money.  The exact combination might change but they were always there.  “Sorry for bringing it up,” she said quietly.

Roy shook his head, with a small smile.  “No.  It isn’t your fault.  No not Oliver.  It was before Oliver.  My birth father died saving me from a forest fire and a man named Brave Bow adopted me. He raised me.  He was a really good man.  He taught me how to be a good person and how to shoot… and just about everything else I know.”

The smile on Roy’s face made Marinette smile too. “He sounds like a good father.”

Roy nodded.  “He was,” he said quietly.  He looked over at her hesitantly before focusing back on the piece he was working on. “How are you feeling?”

Marinette quirked her head to the side.  “Feeling?  Not as useful as I could be.  A burden on you more than a help, if I’m being honest,” she shrugged.

Roy snorted.  “Sorry, I’ll try to get you to do more of my work for me.”  He sent her a smirk that got an eye roll out of her.  “And I would never call you a burden.  In fact, I’d fight to keep you nearby,” he added quietly, no longer meeting her eyes.  He tried to focus on the transmission but he could feel her eyes on him, making it impossible to think of anything else.  

After a few seconds he cleared his throat.  “I mean after,” he motioned toward her face, his hand still grasping the gear he had just removed.  “How are you handling it?  The Riddler’s no joke.”

Marinette scoffed and picked up a wrench.  She spun it in her hand as a distraction while she spoke.  “He really isn’t.  I didn’t find him funny at all.”  Roy gave her a flat look and returned to working on the part, letting her decide to continue discussing it or not.  “How did you know?” she asked quietly.

“He broadcast it to all Gotham.  Everybody knows.  Everybody saw you deliver the verbal smack down of the century,” he grinned at her.  “It was inspiring.  You were amazing.”

“I was pissed is what I was,” she grumbled.  She looked away and sighed, running her hand over her face and grimacing when she accidentally touched her cut.  “I forgot everyone would see that.”

She stared at the wrench as she twirled it in her hands.  She knew the Waynes probably knew she was taken.  She’d called Jason to let him know she was fine, but had pretended she had to go talk to the police and cut the call short.  She really didn’t want to talk to them after the scene at dinner. She didn’t want to have the conversations she knew they were going to want to have.  She just wanted to move on.  It didn’t have anything to do with them, especially the kids.  It was her past, one they had no way of knowing about and no way of helping with.  There was no reason to hash through it all again.

But she hadn’t realized they would get to see the full video.  She frowned at the thought.  She’d said so much while she was yelling and she couldn’t remember what all she had said. It was a moment of weakness that now the entire city, possibly the world now knew about.  Thankfully she was positive she didn’t mention anything about the miraculous so to anyone watching she would have looked like any other normal, non-miraculous wielding person.

And on top of it all, she wasn’t sure if she was grateful or upset that M. Wayne hadn’t reached out to see if she was alright. All of the kids had even Lucius had, but not him… or Alfred.  After the way she left, he might not feel like he’s allowed to.  But still… he hadn’t bothered to check on her at all.

She looked up with a weak smile.  “Guess I’ve truly experienced Gotham now.”

Roy grimaced.  “Sorry about that.”  He watched her as she seemed to work through her feelings on the matter, going from annoyed to hurt.  He returned his attention to the engine part.  “I think I need to start calling you Fire Flower.”

Marinette looked up at him curiously.  “Fire Flower?”

“Yeah,” he looked up briefly with a spark in his eyes. “It’s like a fire cracker, but cuter. More impressive to look at.” Marinette blushed and looked down, accidentally dropping the wrench she had been playing with.  Roy grinned widely at her before focusing back on his work. “You sure you feel safe?” he asked, still focusing on the engine.

Marinette nodded.  “I have Adrien and Max.  We might not look like we can protect ourselves, but we’re pretty good at it.” Actually incredibly well.  She was possibly the best protected person in the world right now, but he didn’t have any way of knowing that.

“I’m actually pretty surprised Adrien isn’t with you right now or Max.”  He looked over at her with a raised eyebrow.

Marinette nodded.  “You’re not wrong.  They would be but Max just started work and couldn’t really take a day off immediately and Adrien had a job interview in Metropolis today.  And this is the one he’s really excited about.  I was supposed to go with him and check out Metropolis, but then I wouldn’t have had anyone with me while he was in the interview and that made them a bit too nervous.  Here at least they know I have the bats following me at all times so, they were pretty confident I was safe.”

“The bats are keeping an eye on you, huh?” Roy asked with a secretive grin.

Marinette nodded.  “I’m not sure if they’re trying to be subtle, but yeah.  I don’t know what kind of relationship they have with the Waynes. They mentioned… the bats certainly act like they talk a lot and know each other well.”

Roy froze for a second.  Well, they certainly weren’t being as discrete as they normally are, it would seem.  Although after last night, he could imagine they were pretty flustered.  He had been and she was just an acquaintance to him. He wanted it to be more but… that wasn’t the point.  But at this rate, she was going to figure it out before they told her and he didn’t imagine that going well for them.  “So you’ve caught them a few times?”

“Caught is a liberal term for it.  Is it catching if they aren’t really hiding?  I think Red Robin might have been trying… maybe, but Batman was on our balcony, standing vigil all night last night.”

Roy glanced over for a second.  “Batman was watching over your apartment last night?”

Marinette nodded.  “Markov said he was there until Red Robin took over some time around breakfast.”

Roy paused for a few seconds then tapped the screwdriver against the workbench.  “And… Bruce? Did Bruce check in on you?”

Marinette looked away and licked her lips before pursing them.  She twisted the wrench around a few more times, focusing entirely on that, not meeting Roy’s eyes.  “No,” she finally said in a falsely calm voice.  “I… I didn’t…  Dinner didn’t go so well.”

Roy moved closer to her until he was close enough to reach her comfortably but still gave her space so he wasn’t crowding her. He ducked his head to try to meet her eyes.  She yielded quickly and met his eyes.  “He’s worried about you.  I guarantee you he is.  He’s just… shit at emotions and reading a room.  

“If you guys fought, I promise you he isn’t less worried about you, he’s just afraid that seeing him or hearing from him will upset you more.  I promise you he’s finding out everything he can about how you are from anyone that will tell him.  He cares. Your fight didn’t push him away. He’s just a fucking idiot.  And an asshole, so there’s like a 97% chance if you did fight, it was his fault.  And he probably knows that, just not how to make it up to you.”

Marinette huffed out a laugh despite her eyes suddenly turning glassy. “I don’t need him to make it up, just… it’s not even his fault.  It was mine really.”  She fiddled with the wrench in her hands, testing the strength, trying to bend it, focusing on that as if it was the most interesting thing in the room.

“I doubt it.”  He sighed and readjusted his cap as he tried to come up with the right words.  “I’ve found that when bad things happen at the manor it’s almost always because Bruce was being a controlling little bitch.”  Instead of laughing, she frowned at the wrench. Right, calling her father, she’s trying to connect to a ‘controlling little bitch’ probably isn’t really helping. He sighed and looked back up trying to figure out how to remove the frown.  It didn’t look right on her face.  She should be smiling.  Always. “Do you want a hug?”

Marinette finally looked up from the wrench in surprise.  After a second she gave him a weak smile and shook her head, returning her focus to the wrench.  “I’m fine.”

Roy lightly placed his hand on the wrench to stop its motion. “That’s not what I asked,” he said gently.

She blinked at him a few times before a smirk quirked her lips up. “I mean… I’m not going to object to a handsome man wrapping his arms around me,” she answered slyly, throwing his words from days earlier back at him.  Roy grinned and wrapped his arms around her, gently at first but holding her tighter as the hug went on.  His arms were strong and reassuring, giving a sense of warmth and safety and Marinette quickly found herself melting into his embrace.  She nuzzled into his chest and dear God, she could feel his muscles moving through his shirt with every minute movement.

She tried to hide her frown when he pulled away after a few minutes. But, it turned into a smile when he stopped after a few inches, just enough to look down at her.  Roy smiled softly and rubbed her cheek with his thumb a few times.  Marinette leaned into his hand, captivated by the feel of his hand on her face.  He started to lean down but jumped away with the sound of clattering right next to them.  Roy moved in front of her, caging her in behind him as he looked for the source of the sound.

Marinette grimaced and leaned down to pick up the wrench that had slipped through her fingers when she was looking at Roy.  He chuckled awkwardly and moved back to his transmission. He started working on it again a lot slower than he had been before.  His hands were shaking slightly.  He could still feel the traces of her on his fingers and around his chest, trilling through him.  “Can you… um… the.  Can you hand me the Phillips head, please?” he stuttered, unable to get his mind settled.

Marinette stared at him for a few seconds, her cheeks still bright red, as her mind tried to kick back into gear.  She looked at the tools in the toolbox and back to him. “Is… that’s a tool, not like a horror movie thing, right?”

Roy blinked a few times before breaking out in laughter.  Marinette smiled at his laughter, beyond grateful for the change of topic.  “The one with the cross for a head,” he said motioning toward the screwdrivers.

“Oh,” Marinette nodded in understanding. “Tournevis cruciform,” she muttered to herself as she searched through the tools for the right screwdriver. “Americans and their naming things.”

Roy grinned at her outrage.  “And what do you call it?  The cross screwdriver.” he teased.

“That is literally what it translates to,” she deadpanned.

Roy puckered his lips in an attempt at keeping a smile off his lips and make his annoyed wrinkled brow more believable.  “Oh, well I bow to your superior naming capabilities,” he snarked with a fake bow.

Marinette nodded graciously and passed the screwdriver to him.  “Thank you. That’s all I ask.”

Roy laughed and returned to the transmission, pretending like he could focus on that instead of the kiss they almost had. Marinette watched, almost transfixed as he moved the gears synchronously on the transmission, creating intricate and ever changing patterns.  She pulled her sketchbook and pencil out to capture a sudden idea.

“The wrench?” Roy called out, not looking up from the transmission.  He held out his hand and waited for a few seconds before adding, “Please?”  He waited a little longer before repeating it a bit louder.  “Wrench, please?”  He finally looked up when she still hadn’t handed it to him.  “Marinette?”  He looked over to her concerned.  His face immediately softened when he saw her.

Marinette’s face was frozen in intense concentration on her sketchbook as she drew confidently and without hesitation.  She held the sketchbook out and tilted it slightly. She narrowed her eyes at it and tilted it a different way.  Her mouth curved into a satisfied smirk before she added in more details and notes. Her eyes lit up with inspiration, bright and clear.  She shook her head to get a stray strand of hair out of her eyes, hands too busy committing her inspiration to paper to waste time with such trivialities.  Roy shook his head, mentally berating himself for having backed off before.  She had been right there and leaning toward him.  Maybe Jason and Dick… and Tim and Damian, were right.  He was an idiot.

Before Roy realized what he was doing, he had reached out to tuck it behind her ear, being careful to avoid her cut as his fingers brushed her face.  Marinette jumped at the unexpected contact.  She looked up at him wide eyed but a sheepish look quickly overtook her expression. She looked down in embarrassment, but that only pressed her face further into Roy’s hand, which made her embarrassed blush deepen but not due to embarrassment this time.  “Sorry.  Did you need a tool?”

Roy shook his head.  He smiled and moved his hand slightly so it was cupping her face this time.  “It’s fine. I was enjoying watching you get caught up in inspiration.”

Marinette looked down again and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.  It is probably the most embarrassing face.”

Roy smiled softly at her, his eyes shining with sincerity and fondness.  “No. It wasn’t.  It was cute.”  He took a step closer to her and leaned a bit closer, more intimately.  “I wouldn’t mind seeing it more.”

“More of my too distracted to pay attention to you face?” she smirked and leaned closer to him.

“Any version of your face you’ll let me see. Although I would prefer to see it with fewer cuts,” he frowned at the cut on her cheek as he rubbed a soothing line just below the bruise that had formed around the cut.  He leaned closer to examine the cut until his lips were centimeters from her cheek.  He flicked his eyes to her half lidded ones and leaned to close the distance.

“Hey, guys!” Dick boomed as he came into the room. Marinette and Roy jumped apart, or rather Roy jumped away and Marinette straightened up on the stool, grabbing the workbench to keep from falling off.  “Sorry I’m late.  And sorry I’m here instead of Jason.  He got… caught up in the attack.  Not personally!” he rushed to assure Marinette when her eyes widened and body stiffened.  “I meant he’s dealing with the fallout.  Jason is fine.  He’d just be really, really late and asked if I could come over here instead.  If that’s okay.”

Marinette nodded, but her eyes were still slightly widened.  “Of course. But you’re sure Jason’s okay?”

“Absolutely,” Dick shot her a charming smile.  “He’s just going to need a bit of time to deal with things,” he lied smoothly.  He looked between Marinette and Roy with narrowed eyes and moved between them as he hugged Marinette.  “He really, really wanted to be here with you today.  I think he’s planning on attaching himself to you tomorrow though.”

Marinette chuckled lightly.  “That’s okay.  We’ll have fun doing something.”  Her face suddenly sobered.  “Oh, no, wait.  I have lunch with Duke and Cass tomorrow.  I mean… I think I have lunch with them.  We had planned it, but that was before…” she trailed off, not wanting to go into detail at all, but especially in front of Roy.

“I’m sure you still do,” Dick assured her.  “They’re probably just waiting to get confirmation from you in case the last few days were a bit much and you wanted a break.”

“No!” Marinette exclaimed.  “No.  I’ll text them.  Thanks.”

“But I get you for tonight.  How do you feel about a movie marathon?” he grinned widely, already planning a full night’s marathon with her, Adrien, and Max.  She had to love Disney movies, right?  Who didn’t love Disney movies?

“I like movies,” Roy chirped with a teasing grin.

“No,” he answered sharply.  He turned back to Marinette with a mock sympathetic smile. “You must have been so bored here.”

Roy narrowed his eyes back at him but Marinette jumped up to defend Roy.  “Not at all. It was interesting watching him working on the bike.  I got some good inspiration too.”

Roy raised a pointed eyebrow at him with a smug grin.  “Motorcycles remind her of her grandmother.”

Dick looked back at Marinette who was looking back at Roy with a surprised expression.  “Good memory.”

“I remember important things,” he shrugged.

Dick glared at him.  “Uh huh.  But not to check if things are loaded.”  He looked back at Marinette.  “You’ve got something just there,” he motioned to the cheek Roy had stroked earlier. “You might want to get that grease off.”

“Oh!” Marinette exclaimed grabbing her cheek, almost succeeding in covering the blush that flushed on her cheeks.  “Do you have a bathroom I can use?”

Roy nodded and motioned toward the bathroom. “Just right over there.”

As soon as the door closed, Dick punched Roy’s shoulder.  Roy frowned at him.  “What?”

“What the Hell are you doing?” Dick hissed and motioned toward the bathroom.

“What?” Roy answered rubbing his shoulder.  At least it was just Dick.  If it was Jason, he’d be rubbing his jaw right now.  “Tim dropped her off here.  What was I supposed to do?  Ignore her?”

“You were supposed to not hit on her,” he grumbled.

“That’s just unreasonable,” Roy rolled his eyes and leaned back against the workbench.  He motioned to the bathroom.  “Have you met her? She’s smart and sassy and really sweet.  She's funny and obviously gorgeous.  Who doesn’t want to hit on her?”

“Yeah.  I’ve met her. Didn’t hit on her.” Dick let out a long suffering sigh. “Jesus, Roy!  I’ve had her as a sister for like a week.  I don’t want to lose her because I’m in jail for killing you.”

“You’re her brother, you don’t count in the hitting on her count.  And please,” Roy scoffed, “you’re too good to go to jail for it.”

“True.  Just…” he narrowed his eyes at him and pointed at him threateningly, “if you mess around and hurt her… I’ll choose her over you.  And I won’t forget to load the magazines and Jason will be more than happy to use them.”

“That’s hurtful,” Roy groused.  “One time.  I forgot to load the magazines one time.”

“Yeah, in the middle of a mission!” Dick whisper hissed.

“You survived,” Roy shrugged.  “Stop being such a baby.  But I get it.  I’d choose her over me too.  Or you. But if you were going to kill anyone for hurting her, Riddler wouldn’t still be alive… or Bruce.”

Dick pursed his lips at the reminder of how Bruce had treated Marinette, of everything that had come up the night before. His anger quickly deflating.  He looked toward the bathroom, his eyes softening. They really needed to work harder to support her, to assure her they weren’t holding her at arm’s length. Maybe talk to Bruce about telling her the truth.  That seemed like the only possible way to salvage this.  “How does she seem to be doing?”

Roy shrugged and watched the bathroom door to make sure she wouldn’t walk in on the conversation.  “Actually doesn’t seem too bothered by the Riddler incident.  She’s more anxious about the family knowing.” He pursed his lips and picked up a transmission piece, pretending to examine it.  “Bruce hasn’t said anything or made any attempts as far as she knows.”

Dick sighed and massaged his temples.  “That should surprise me more than it does.” He let out a heavy sigh.  “Last night… dinner didn’t… some things came out that Bruce didn’t know.  Things she had to go through.  He’s beating himself up over it.  Too ashamed to talk to her.”

Roy sighed and shook his head.  Bruce was going to lose her before he even had her at this point.  “That have anything to do with why she’s so unaffected by having been taken captive by one of the most dangerous rogues in Gotham?” Dick’s resigned sigh was enough confirmation for him.  “Fuck,” he grumbled.  “She thinks it’s her fault he doesn’t want to bother with her anymore.”

“Damn it,” Dick grumbled, drawing out the words in frustration.  He ran his hand over his face and collapsed on the stool she had been on earlier.  “Good to know.  Thanks.”

Roy nodded and threw the part back on the workbench.  “How’s Jay doing?”

“He’ll be okay.  Tim got there in time to stop him from going too far, but he’s going to need a few hours, maybe the night to let the Pit Madness recede.  And I think he’s really nervous about showing any part of that to Marinette.”

They both snapped their attention to Marinette when she came back.  “My cheek look better?” she turned her cheek for them to see.  “I mean obviously not the cut.”

“Yeah, you look beautiful.”  Roy assured her and handed her purse to her.  

Dick glared at Roy.  “Could you stop hitting on my sister for five seconds?” he hissed low enough for Marinette not to hear.  He turned to Marinette before Roy could respond.  “Ready to go?  I don’t know about you but I’m hungry.”

Marinette rolled her eyes.  “Yeah, yeah, okay.”

Dick walked ahead of her, pretending like he didn’t notice her lag behind. When he was almost out the door, she turned to Roy and gave him a lingering kiss on his cheek.  “Thank you for babysitting me today and for the tour the other day.  I’ve had a lot of fun.”

Roy nodded and handed her his phone with a spot for Fire Flower already started in his contacts.  “If your plans ever get canceled again or you need to hide out or you need to borrow a jacket so you fit in, give me a call, Fire Flower.”

Marinette put her number in and passed it back to him with a grin.  “You have extra you can just loan out?”

Roy grinned back and nodded.  “A few jackets, suit coats, shirts, ties, clean pants, even a few pairs of coveralls, none of which would fit you, but if you ever need them… Or even if you don’t need anything, just want to talk or hang out, let me know.”

“Marinette!  I thought you were ready to go?” Dick yelled.

Marinette shook her head and sighed.  She waved to Roy as she rushed out.  “Thanks again!”

Roy watched her leave until he couldn’t see her anymore.  He let out a deep sigh and collapsed against the workbench. He looked at his phone and quickly sent a text with a smile.

Tags:

@maribat-bdbwm @jayjayspixiepop @redscarlet95 @alice-hazelwood @deathssilentapproach-blog @unoriginalmess @alyssadeliv @emotionalsupportginger @frieddonutsweets @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks @toodaloo-kangaroo @colorfulmongerpsychicranch @iloontjeboontje @wolf-for-life @maribatserver @aespades @prettylittlebutterflie @imarivers8  @ certainmuffinbagelcalzone @ritacrow-blog @unoriginalmess @demonicbusiness @kking13 @lady-bee-fechin @blur-of-colours @kittenmywaythrulife @kashlyn @loysydark

[woodswalker96]

Season 3 Talk: Part 1 (spoilers, obvi)

(Yes, I just used Brooklynn’s phrase for obvious) 

So, let’s just get this major point in the story out there first. This is probably THE biggest and most defining character dynamic change to come out the series. It was such a gut punch that I literally felt sick and could not sleep properly without thinking about the ramifications, how it could be resolved, or how it’ll affect the group’s dynamic. Despite this, I feel that it was or at least wonderfully adds to the cliffhanger at the end of the finale, leaving you really wanting more and to see just how this friendship will be resolved. By now you’ll likely picking up on the fact that I talking about the canyon-sized rift that has formed between Kenji and Darius. 

My GAWD, that was just completely brutal on the first watching and completely left me with this massive hole. So, let’s try to break this down.

First off, the summary. Basically, Darius AND Brooklynn decided that not letting Wu have access to his research to create more hybrids was the most important task they must complete, to the point that they voluntarily risked their lives, primarily Brooklynn’s but I can see the scenario playing out the same if their roles were switched. After the rest of the Fam regroups, Darius recruits a plan to both save Brooklynn and erase Wu’s work, despite objections from Kenji and, to a lesser extent, Ben. As the plan is set in motion, Kenji goes rogue and rescues his friend by giving the laptop back. Chaos ensues, laptop is collaterally damaged, Brooklynn is saved, everyone’s united, yay??? Not so, as before they say goodbye to Bumpy and the camera from Darius’ perspective pans around, you see everyone is smiling except for Kenji. Then after Bumpy leaves, Darius goes to assure Kenji is all well, only for Kenji to throw it back in Darius’ face, basically accusing him of willing to risk the lives of his friends and potentially dooming them to a not so good fate. Even with the kids leaving and Brooklynn having a heartwarming convo with him, Darius is still somewhat taken aback from Kenji’s rejection, leaving room for the next season to set up a lot of tension between the two, the significance of which I’ll discuss below.

So, Kenji is crossed with Darius and the fact that Brooklynn’s life was in danger because Darius came to the conclusion that the Fam had to put a stop to some nefarious overarching plan or scheme instead of just keeping each other alive. I think this comes from Kenji’s growing maturity and his attachment to his friends. Romantic shipping stuff aside, we can infer this from the first season with his reaction to Ben’s “death”, then we get more in depth with these feelings of losing his friends to the main villain of the Final Destination franchise when he talks with Brooklynn while they care for Sammy in season three. He cares deeply for his crew, as they are possibly not just his friends but likely the closest thing to a family he’s ever experienced. After Sammy heals, I kind of felt that all he wanted to do was just leave with his friends safely, such as when he gripes about Darius going off on his to fetch Ben when Kenji suggested they all go get him, and when the crew decide to get rid of the Scorpius rex. Brooklynn’s life being in danger and the crew deciding to play this elaborate plan to get two birds with one stone instead just doing the obvious and getting everyone to safety may just been the last straw for Kenji, causing him to possibly lose faith in Darius along with being furious at him. 

After the end of the finale, I don’t see how old aloof Kenji will return. This experience has definitely matured him to what I ultimately think is for the better, although I could also see how he can still have storylines where he still messes up and causes some detriment for the group (they all make these kinds of mishaps, and the effects of such range considerably). 

This is all speculative but I can see that rift will carry on throughout the season, and will be a major storyline for the plot. Darius and Kenji were basically not only each other’s friends amongst the campers, but the first of the campers to become friends, so this rift should be handled with great care to show how both sides make solid points, how it affects not just Darius but Kenji as well, and how it might ripple across the group. I think in the beginning of this hypothetically arc, Kenji will be cold and distant towards Darius, not to the point where it’s obnoxious but definitely noticeable by the others, especially Brooklynn. Darius may try to apologize at first but will still stand by his decision, further drifting them apart and potentially leading to Kenji to straight up challenge Darius’ leadership or any plans he makes directly. The may others may or may not take sides, and circumstances may occur that could call Darius’ leadership into question and see Kenji indirectly take over, with the others flocking to him. Throughout this, Brooklynn, who now has a strong friendship with both boys and sort of forms a trio with the two within the group, will be going to both sides, urging the other to take steps come back together. This could lead to Darius admitting to Kenji that he was correct to put the friends first above all else and not risk their lives, and Kenji letting go of his anger for Darius. This will likely occur either at the midpoint or the end of the fourth season. The process will (or should be in my opinion) definitely be an uphill climb, and Kenji may not immediately forgive Darius for his actions, where Darius could say his piece, admit his actions were unnecessary and could’ve led to a tragic outcome, and tells Kenji he has every right be angry and stay angry with him. 

I really do hope that these two amend their bond, seeing them rely on each other and be the best bros, especially in the earlier to middle portion of season 3 is great to watch. But things may not go back to being the same. They may amend their friendship, but lines were crossed, and I feel that Kenji may no longer be as much as the carefree and aloof person he has been so far, and his relationship with Darius will definitely change. But hopefully, even if it takes most of a season, it’ll be for the better. 

Thank you making it this far. These write ups may be a bit on the long side, so it may be only one or two every couple of days. Hope y’all enjoy my piece and enjoy season 3!!!

[regrettablewritings]

Being Bruce’s S/O and Getting Kidnapped HCs

Because we’re all disgusting sadists and I obviously have issues. Trigger warning for kidnapping, torture, and some cruel language from the kidnapper’s side … I have a lot of problems …

Bruce has a crapton of enemies, even without the members of his Rogues Gallery being taken into consideration

From the nameless thugs to the morally bankrupt dirty cops to the monstrous traffickers, everyone wants to take down the Bat of Gotham

But for Bruce, it’s a nearly entirely different crowd…

Overzealous competitors and enemies of Wayne Industries, people who just want to slander his name to detrimental effect, people who’ve never met even met Bruce yet have an intense obsession with his existence that could easily tread into murderous territories, even a few villains from his moonlighting job who simply want to take a crack at the Prince of Gotham

Of course, being that Bruce is a taller-than-average guy with pretty decent coverage, there aren’t many opportunities that can be taken to kidnap him

You, on the other hand…

You, the significant other of one of the richest men in not only Gotham, but the entire world, the one people liken to Cinderella, who still keeps an apartment in the city as well as the humble job they’d had even before dating the billionaire… You’re easy pickings

You’d kept your downtown apartment because you liked the environment it was in: surrounded by enough noise to never feel too alone, but peaceful enough for you to relax. It wasn’t in a bad part of Gotham, either, so you’d gotten used to the feeling of not worrying too much. Besides, it was closer to your job than Bruce’s home could ever hope to be.

But you’d been careless: Even if you were in one of the nicer areas, Gotham was still Gotham

You were supposed to be having a date night with Bruce: dinner at the Blue Heron, one of the finest establishments on either side of the Gotham-Metropolis Bay. And you were completely psyched, planning out exactly what foods you wanted to try while you were there

What you hadn’t planned, surprisingly enough, was what you would wear. You eventually pieced together a cute outfit at last minute but realized that the crowning piece wasn’t with you: a pair of Martha Wayne’s earrings.

Bruce had given them to you for your one-year anniversary. Considering how much Bruce loved his mother, you understood how big of a gesture this was, both in terms of how much he loved you and trusted you, and in terms of how much faith he had in this relationship altogether

After frantically searching your and Bruce’s room at the Glasshouse, you remembered that you’d left them at your apartment after you two spent the night there a week ago

It didn’t occur to you that someone might be hiding in there

It just seemed so quiet…

It wasn’t until you’d walked into your bedroom to look through your jewelry box that a hand slammed over your mouth, a damp cloth being pressed to your nose. You knew what it was, you were so angry with yourself for inhaling out of reflex

You weren’t sure what hit you first: The darkness or the fear

Bruce would be at the reserved table. He’s on time for once. How ironic it was, he noted, that you weren’t

The first couple of minutes, he was being patient. By the end of an hour, he was anxious.

He tries to appear calm and collected: He checks his phone, orders some drinks but rations his sips so no-one can suspect he’s a lush

He must’ve sent at least seventeen messages asking of your whereabouts, if you were okay, etc. Because of the Blue Heron’s environment and how calmly he’s trying to appear, he can only actually call your phone four times

By the end of the second and final hour, of waiting, he felt humiliated and, for lack of better word, pissed

For two hours, he endured the stares and whispers of people looking his way – everyone wanted to take a gander at Bruce Wayne getting stood up

And stood up by his significant other no less!

It’s only during the drive home that he recognizes that beneath the fury, he’s also extremely hurt by your apparent abandoning

Because of who he is, both day and night respectively, Bruce doesn’t get as many opportunities as he’d like to spend time with you. Therefore, every date and moment together needs to count. The fact that you missed this one after expressing so much excitement prior wounds not only his pride, but his heart as well

In hindsight, it is the fact that you had been looking forward to it that he should’ve known something was wrong

As intelligent as Bruce is, we all know how blinded by his emotions he can potentially be and how it clouds his judgment

It is only when he returns to his home that Alfred begins to demand where you are

Before Bruce can even explain himself, his phone goes off: Unknown number? He almost doesn’t answer. When he does, however, a chill caresses and then grips his spine with an icy fist:

“We get why an Average Joe might like her, but… You ain’t exactly average, Brucie. So here’s what’s gonna happen: we’re gonna give you a chance to prove how much this bitch means to you. 24 hours. That’s all we’re gonna give you. In those 24, you’re gonna give us $6 million. Gonna leave it at the address we give you. In fact, leave a little tip of $300K first so we’ll know you’re in for the long run. You’re gonna leave a bag at the corner of 1939 May Street and 27th. But I swear to God, if you stiff us or stick around to watch what goes down, we’ll fuck up her pretty face and make sure you’ll pay just to keep her away. Got it? You give us what we want, we’ll give you what you tell the press you like. Everybody wins. Oh, and, uh, don’t even think about getting the cops or the Batman involved. Wouldn’t wanna surprise us so hard that a bullet goes flying through your damsel, would we?”

The blaring sound that accompanies being hung up on worked in sync with the numbness beginning to overcome Bruce. He wasn’t sure what he said next to Alfred, only that the next thing he knew, he was settled in front of the multiple computer screens set up in the Batcave, fervently trying to find as much information as he could. The problem was, he wasn’t even sure what he was supposed to be looking for

The phone was a burner, so there was no luck in trying to track it. And while the speaker didn’t sound like any of the rogues he usually encountered, there was little luck in that either, considering that they were often accompanied by a whole host of toadies that he’d never even heard speak; one of them probably could’ve been set up to throw him off

He considers the possibility that they’re linked with Lex but ultimately tosses that idea to the side: Lex, in all his cunning, probably wouldn’t be able to communicate with anyone on the outside of penitentiary enough to plan out a ransom. And even if he had, somebody would’ve found out about it

It eventually is just accepted that your kidnappers are likely just regular people with multiple tricks up their sleeves and a bone to pick out of sheer greed

The fact that somebody so simple could hurt Bruce in such a way infuriates and humiliates him. He knew that something like this would probably happen at some point, but now that it has, he realizes he never would’ve been prepared for it. And he can’t express how angry at himself he is and that now you’re paying the price for it

Honestly? It’s a little too much like the night his parents died…

Meanwhile, you’ve spent your time in captivity in various states of consciousness, due to either stress-induced fainting, your captors slipping something questionable into your system whenever they felt you were getting too rowdy, or even getting clocked so hard that your body goes out cold

When you’re bleary-eyed, tied up in a chair, all you can do and slur some sass. Maybe spit at their feet

When you get more lively, your words become more biting and daring, trying to play off the facade that you’re not secretly terrified

Batman’s significant other or not, being held ransom is a terrifying situation. There’s no telling what your captors will do before the money gets there or if they’ll even give you up if Bruce gives them money

When they get too close, you bite, earning a backhand to the face. Really, if you say one word too many for their liking, you get struck. You’re not sure how long you’ve been in their captivity, but you’ve already received a painful amount of bruising, including a busted lip and a scar on your forehead

As much pain as you’re in, you quietly think to yourself about how at least they haven’t put their hands on you in other ways…

It therefore makes your heart freeze over with complete and utter fear when you hear one of the kidnappers call Bruce again about the ransom later on, mentioning something about “keeping you.”

You no longer offer any sass, instead training your eyes on the ground of this dimly-lit, old, abandoned warehouse they’ve held you up in, willing yourself desperately not to cry

Against his better judgement, Bruce does go to the assigned meeting place

He doesn’t however, let the GCPD know, deciding that too many people would reek havoc: Because once the police department knows that Bruce Wayne’s s/o has been kidnapped, then the media will find out and make things even more complicated than they already were

Money isn’t an object to the billionaire, so he has no trouble leaving the demanded $300K in a bag

He even lets the two mooks who came to retrieve the bag get a head start on leaving as he watches them from the shadows, content with the fact that he’d placed a tracking device in the bag

Bruce does, however, go as his alter ego, which scares the living shit out the man when he realizes who’s tailing him and his partner

He’s not excited about getting thrown off the trail, however, when one of the mooks attempts to take him on, letting the one with the bag and  tracker get out of the area.

After trading fists in a pretty one-sided fight, Bruce would start demanding answers in that voice he reserves for when he’s extremely pissed off, made more unearthly and dark by the voice altering gadget his cowl is equipped with

Time is of the essence, and Bruce has no desire to pussyfoot around for an answer – he’s getting what he can, when he can

When the poor sap can only offer small potatoes worth of details, probably not desiring the punishment handed to snitches it takes everything Bruce has not to destroy the sobbing mess of a man

He’s already become an excessively aggressive figure as of late – the fact that your life is in danger only makes him closer to unhinged in his actions. He is thankfully aware of this, however, and stops himself from going through with much else by dropping the toady off in police custody

To add insult to injury, when he does follow the tracking device, Bruce finds that the guy who got away must have realized it was there, because Bruce finds himself down a dead end alley

The device, barely functioning at this point and on its last leg, is found in a garbage can, symbolic of where Bruce’s hopes of finding you any time soon had landed

Returning back to the Batcave to reconvene, he receives a phone call: Unknown Number. Shit.

After making certain that the voice altering device would not work during the call, he answers and hears:

“Brucie, Brucie, Brucie,” the caller sighs mockingly. He makes a tsk-ing noise with his tongue. “What did we say about getting the Bat involved?”

“I swear, I didn’t tell anyone,” Bruce insists, technically not a lie. He tries to sound vulnerable, like a regular man would be, but realizes he may not actually be trying at all. He adds in, “I don’t know how he found out – maybe he has phones tapped.”

The caller, one of your captors, isn’t buying it. “Bullshit,” he says in a tone between bemusement and irritation. “We sent two of our own just in case one of ‘em gets too cocky and tries to run with it, or in case you blabbed and one needs to run ahead of the other with the money. And what do you know, one of ‘em comes back pissin’ his pants about how Batman took down the other guy. Seems you’re not as invested in this whole idea as we thought you’d be, huh, Brucie?”

“I swear, I am, just –”

“Yeah, well, we’re not ones for playing games. That’s how the rest of the world works, Bruce: We ain’t all rich enough to screw around. Though, speaking of screw and common people …”

Bruce could feel his gut tying into knots in and around his lungs and heart

“Feisty as she is, we’ve kinda grown fond of your lil broad. Dunno … Thinkin’ of maybe keeping her!”

(Bruce is seething at this point, struggling not to break his phone by his mere grip)

The captor, if he knows, doesn’t care and continues to egg on and on about how they might as well “keep” you because “apparently Bruce doesn’t care much about you”

“Hell, I’ve taught my dogs not to bite me; how is this any different from the others? Use the right tactics and you can break any bitch.”

Bruce has only seen pure red a couple of times in his life. This is quite possibly the reddest he’s ever seen, fury nearly blinding his vision as his body begins to tremor with nigh uncontrollable wrath

“Tell you what: She really means that much – so much to you – then you wouldn’t mind it if we speed up your time limit. Now you have one hour. Use all those rich boy gadgets or whatever to track her down; that’s what the luxury of being rich can do, right? You find her before then, she’s yours. If not …”

He never finishes the sentence, hanging up the phone and leaving Bruce hanging on the last word. What the hell intentions lay behind that implication?!

Ten seconds later, Bruce receives his answer. He’s not sure if it’s better to have received it or not

It’s a picture of you, bruised, tired, and obviously stressed, tied up in a rickety chair. Your eyes are red and puffy from crying, tear streaks staining your face

Upon further inspection, Bruce notices that there’s a collar around your neck. A shock collar. The fact that they had one on standby makes his gut churn, wondering if they intended something like this all along

The caption soon follows: “This spoiled rich bitch needs to relearn some things. Obedience training starts soon. The first lesson: Making sure your bitch stops yapping. Hint: You know what you do when your dog shits or pisses in the house, right?”

Bruce hasn’t worked so rapidly in ages, using whatever he can to pinpoint your location

The picture, disturbing as it is, was decidedly a blessing: he can tell from what little amount of the background shown that you must be in the warehouse district of town

He nearly smothers Alfred with kisses when the older man finds records of not only which warehouses had recently been recorded with break-ins, but also which ones are noted as vacant

Added with the x-ray abilities utilized by the technology at their hands, and Bruce is nearly joyful. But just nearly. For the most part, he’s beyond the realm of pissed …

You’ve barely made a sound beyond shuddered breathing. Ever since your captors placed the collar around your neck, you’ve felt too humiliated and scared to do much of anything. Well, on your own accord.

If they wanted to provoke a response, they would have one of their men step on your foot or yank your hair. If you yelped too loudly, the collar would shock you, sending a blasting pain up and down your body

You’re pretty positive they have it set on the second worst level and it frightens you

How many shocks could you take before you died? Could you die? You weren’t sure, your mind too blurred from stress, agony, and undernourishment

The small samples of water they allowed you could only do so much, especially when your throat was beginning to hurt from attempting to swallow your screams

You can see from the wrist watch of one of the captors that the hour is almost up and guiltily do something you never thought you would: You consider the possibility that Bruce won’t get to you in time

You’ve always had faith in Bruce, known his capabilities to be seemingly boundless when compared to the average person. He was an amazing man, to say the least

But that’s just what he is: a man. Men have limitations, no matter how big or small. You never thought that the limitation could appear in the form of a ransom kidnapping by a couple of supposed no-life low-lives, but then again, how fair of you was it to blindly assume that Bruce could do everything

As the minute hand hits the 56th mark, you slowly close your eyes, exhaustion overwhelming you as you decided you didn’t want to see it truly hit the 59th minute. Maybe if you kept your eyes closed, the hour wouldn’t pass and everything would stop

Just long enough for Bruce to find you …

The sound of glass breaking hurts your ears. Maybe it was because your head was already on the verge of throbbing, or maybe it was because the piercing sound was abrupt that your ears had no way of coping with the sudden noise. Either way, your eyes stay closed, albeit tighter, as a knee-jerk reaction

When you open them back up, it takes them a moment to regain focus, what with all the bleariness they had been caked with as a result of your ordeal. But the minute they maintain proper functioning, you feel your heart swell large enough to pop out of your body

You don’t care that the air is now filled with the meaty sound of fist meeting bodies, you barely pay any mind to the cringe-worthy crunch of bones breaking upon contact with a much harder force

It doesn’t matter – Bruce is here!

He makes sure to keep the fight away from you just enough so that you don’t get caught in any crossfires

He becomes even more desperate the moment a few of your captors whip out guns, trying to work the shadows of the dimly-lit warehouse to cause confusion. Just until –

Everyone goes silent, save for heavy breathing, once a couple of Batarangs shatter the remaining lights

Many of the men don’t stand a chance in the dark. Not when they’re up against a 6′3″ demonically-dressed man with night vision installed into his cowl.

Bruce makes sure to save the strongest punch for the man whose voice he recognizes as the ringleader’s

To his extreme disgust, he can hear him talking in the general direction you happen to be in. When he glances over, lo and behold: The ringleader is there, knife to your throat, threatening to cut you like a pig if Batman takes so much as one step closer

To which Bruce calmly tells you to close your eyes. If you weren’t already prepared to do so, the underlying animosity in your lover’s words would have convinced you enough

You therefore don’t get to bear witness to the blinding flashbomb that gets sent your way, nor to you see your captor fling himself back and paw at his eyes in an attempt to relieve them

You do, however, feel the knife leave your throat, though not without causing a slight cut due to the sudden movement. It’s not enough to cause death, necessarily, but you can feel a thin line of blood begin to drool out

You do, also, feel a gust of wind and the smallest brush of a cape on your cheek as Bruce sprints past you to pounce on the sorry bastard who dared lay a finger on you

As do you hear the rapid, loud sound of fist meeting face, a struggle to the ground where the fists, without relent, continue to fall upon their intended target

You even hear the nearly incoherent, almost beast-like growls and curses your boyfriend spews to emphasize every blow

Insults, threats, ridicules, just plain heavy breathing that couldn’t capture the amount of rage he held –

You never hear the end of it, however, as you finally succumb to the stresses of your ordeal and fade away into a state of unconsciousness   

When you wake up, Bruce is by your side, face in his hands, settled in a chair by your bed in a hospital room

He’s back in his civilian clothes, having dropped you off earlier then gone home to relieve himself of his Batman attire

The purple tinge of his knuckles confirms that he had done some serious bruising, causing you worry. Enough to attempt reaching out and taking his hand for consoling

Your intended touch, however, doesn’t make it, as the rustling of your sheets alerted Bruce to look up at you

You’d never seen Bruce look so tired, so silently happy

You’d also never seen him leap up from his seat, or practically suffocate you in as gentle yet passionate of a hug as he could possibly muster

The exchange is quiet, with neither side being certain of what to say. You consider breaking the silence with a thank you, but Bruce once again beats you to it:

“I’m so sorry,” he says, just barely above a whisper. It’s so fragile and light that it quivers and cracks ever so slightly. The amount of guilt dripping off of every syllable just about broke your heart

“It’s okay,” is all you can weakly offer. You know it isn’t, but you also know that what happened wasn’t Bruce’s fault. You pray he doesn’t want to break up with you

A quiet discussion is held between you two. You try to avoid creating an actual argument from it, with you trying to calm him down (being so unused to this side of him), and with Bruce afraid of agitating your wounds or stressing your poor body out even more. He’s already hurt you so much by just being the person he is.

A sense of calm is somehow achieved, though not entirely. It’s just enough for him to take your face into his big, calloused hands and press his forehead to yours

Just enough for him to whisper about how he never wants to let any harm happen to you ever again

And to tell you how important you are to him, how devastated he would be if those men had disappeared with you

You two stay like this for a while, with you staying quiet and taking in Bruce’s every word.

Bruce keeps his eyes closed throughout the entire moment, knowing that if he opens them, combined with the feeling of vulnerability, there’s a chance that he might allow a tear or two to slip through

Every once in a while, he removes himself from this position to place a kiss on your forehead or to the scars and bruises that freckle your face and neck. Every kiss, no matter how brief, has this underlying yet overwhelming feeling of relief. Relief that you’re here at all, in his arms, still able to be kissed and to love and to be loved

He spends every night that you’re in the hospital by your side, curled up around you as if someone else might take you

He doesn’t say it out loud, but he vows more diligently than before, that no-one will hurt you again and that he will protect you and always save you

Because despite being a billionaire with everything money can buy, Bruce’s most precious, most beloved thing is something that cannot and will not ever be replaced: You.

[ramblyravingnnjashark]

Nier Automata - Genius and Madness

the works of Yoko Taro are something that have eluded me for most of my life, and that I have given very little attention to. Probably for good reasons because from the outside, the gameplay of his games range from Mediocre to Average at best and I consider myself a very "gameplay First" person. Some of my Freinds would rave about Drakengard and how weird it is but that didnt quite convince me to look into them much further. However, one Fateful Day a little game called "Nier Automata" was announced, a sequel to Yoko Taros Xbox 360/PS3 game Nier with a little line of Text that would change things in an instant

                                   "Developed by PlatinumGames"

now friends of mine will know that, PlatinumGames is one of my alltime favourite Game Devs for their Crazy High skill Character Action Beat em up titles, containing Larger than Life characters and great and tight Gameplay that owes their roots in the Arcade games of old, which is something I have a appreciation for.

So, with a combination like this I finally decided to take on this series, by means of watching Youtube essays about it because goddamn, the gameplay in these games can get rather mind numbing sadly but honestly? Yoko Taro mighta earned himself now a nice cushy place as one of my favourite Directors, right next to  Hideki Kamiya and Hideo Kojima themselves.

But there is one thing I realised from watching these Essays and actually playing one of them it is one thing to watch a guy sum this series up for you, its a whole different thing to watch the Insanity for yourself

because the works of Yoko Taro arent stories about Heroic Knights slaying Demons and Evil Dragons, or Loving Fathers/older Brothers trying to survive the Fall of Humanity with their Daughters/Little Sisters

they are stories about Love, Hate, War, the meaninglessness of the Universe and the Hope growing from it, what it means to be Human, and what it means to lose all reason and go complete and genuinely Mad

(there will be spoilers, so be warned if you wish to expirience these games yourself!)

so originally, this was gonna be a brief recap of Drakengard and Nier, but then I realised I couldnt do these games justice so I just link this and this recap of these games that should give you a good idea what these games are about but to keep it brief

Drakengard is essentially to RPGs what Evangelion was to Mecha Anime, and thats a fairly approviate comparsion when you just look at, this

its also notable for how it handles its different endings, usually referred to as Ending A, Ending B etc, Ending E of the first Drakengard game was a Joke ending that nontheless became the basis for the setting of Nier, a ruined Planet Earth set hundreds of years after the Fall of Humanity about a Father (in the Western Releases) or a Older Brother (Japanese release) having to fend for himself and his Daughter/Younger Sister in a world under constant threat of creatures known as Heartless Shades

both these games are interesting, because their gameplay is nothing special, in the case of Drakengard its outright terrible,they got mediocre reviews and poor sales and yet these games have a dedicated Cult following and  tons of Novels, Audio Dramas, Manga and even Stage Plays that expand the Universes of these games and its lore

and thats for a simple reason: these games may have mediocre gameplay but, their Stories, their Characters, their Art Direction is actually of fairly high quality featuring intriguing Characters and worldbuilding that makes you invested in them regardless I mean, theres a entire exchange in Nier thats entireley between two Magical Talking Books for cryin out loud, and its one of the best parts of the game!

however, these games have thus far had a life as just that, Cult Classics, that didnt manage to garner a mainstream audience due to its aforementioned quirks, the Gameplay just could never stand up to the well written stories of these games

this is where PlatinumGames comes into play

now, the gameplay of Automata I honestly felt like was more on par with what Revengeance offered: there is stuff you can do with it but all in all its below the likes of Bayonetta and Devil May Cry 3 but thats not to say its poor, of course not, it doesnt encourage you to try anything other than just Mash about, but thats Fine, theres also Chips that your characters can even equip Chips that enhance their abilities and giv e them new ones such as a Bayonetta style Parry and Witch time or give them Heals upon Killing the enemy and while the actual enviroments can be a bit of a chore to go through (until you get Fast Travel), it still felt good to Parkour your way through them, nice snappy and smooth which gives me hopes they take a cue or two from this game for Bayonetta 3 in that regard at least

another thing I loved is the Soundtrack itself. Now I dont consider myself a musical person, however I can tell when a Song is used perfectly, and in Automata? Every Song is used to actual perfection. Music to me can be the deciding factor wether a Area or Scene in a Game or Movie is Garbage, Forgettable or Legendary, and for Automata, every song makes each area fall niceley into the latter fortunatly. One Standout track for me is Birth of a Wish (Become as Gods) a retake of an earlier song that adds in additional Chorus, and the Theme for Pascals village which is a cute Melody involving Children singing.

now onto the game itself, Route A puts you in the sexy and Lucious Thigh High boots of YoRHa Unit 2B, whereas Route B puts you in the cute Boy shorts of her Partner and mostly Good Boy YoRHa Unit 9S both tasked with ridding the world of Machine Lifeforms and making Earth inhabitable for the Humans stuck on the Moon again Both Routes play out roughly the same, 2B plays like a Standard Character Action Heroine with Lights and Heavies and such, whereas 9S is mainly focused around his ability to hack enemies and engage into brief SHMUP segments.

of the two I felt like 2B was a little more fun to play all in all, the Hacking was fine but also felt a teeny bit like a pace breaker but not too much, at least until late in Route B the game throws curvebals and unique hacking segments into the mix

a thing Yoko Taro games have been very good at showing, is showing the process of a Person losing their mental stability and throwing it all away to become a one track minded Mad Man and I find that interesting.

Drakengard had a good example when the Character Inuart completley loses it and becomes obsessed with bringing back his Dead Love interest, causing here to turn into the monster posted above. Automata meanwhile, shows this also but with Machines, being that shouldnt even go mad in the first place but become Insane with concepts like Revenge, Fear or other. Now I am not a Psychology Major or anything but I cant help but feel "this is Intriguing", not sure if thats a bad thing or anything but thats how it is.

now, Route C is where officialy the PlatinumGame ends and the Yoko Taro game begins, in that things become utterly, utterly Bleak. Not to say it was happy funtime before, many of the sidequests end on a very sour or outright terrible note, but here? Shits gon Bad!

YoRHa falls, everyone on the Protagonists homebase dies or becomes infected with a Virus that makes them go insane, 2B dies and 9S is severeley wounded and has his mental state utterly ruined by seeing 2B, his Love interest, die. from this Point onward, you play as Either A2, a former YoRHa gone Rogue and 9S as he tries to kill every last Machine Lifeform, and as hes utterly loses his mind. Focusing entireley on his one Goal so that maybe, he can find Death and be with 2B in the Afterlife.

this is where the game really became interesting to me. Gradually 9S goes from this sweet pure boy to a Violent Mess that only wants to Kill and Kill and Kill, Over and Over, its a Interesting Development for such a Character I feel. A2 meanwhile, while still a Great Character and a Blast to play, I felt like was severeley underutilized, getting very little playtime compared to 2B and 9S, with most of her greatest character Development limited to a Japan only Stage play that got a short text recap on a terminal. and it just goes from there and it keeps going, plot twists happen, reveals happen, callbacks to the first Nier and Drakengard 1 happen, its just this huge Mountain of themes and stuff to uncover and analyse. references to old Philosophers and the Concept of Nihilism itself ebing explored, little details that popped up in the early game and now have much greater meaning, its....actually incredible?

I dont think I ever played a game that had so much going on, the last time I think I did was, Metal Gear Solid 3, maybe?! I think....this might actually be one of the best written games I ever played?

and there is still so much content I could go through, the Stage Plays, the Novels, theres probably a buncha Audio Dramas for it too already its like, Jesus christ. and then theres Ending E, which while rather difficult (and probably causes at least 4 people to fucking hate my Guts) was probably one of the best ending sequences I seen in recent years, I'm not gonna go into detail what it is because, it needs to be seen to be belived, but I find it genuiley incredible.

I dont think theres a single game in the Drakengard and Nier series I would actually consider my "Favourite Game", maybe Nier Automata but thats up for consideration still, but I think I can safeley say that both games story as a whole is easily up there with Metal Gear as  one of my favourite Game stories out there, and friends and followers of mine would know by now how much I love that Franchise and its wacky insane story, Drakengard and Nier are special little series that you dont see enough of these days, but maybe thats for the better

I'm not gonna say "Nier Automata rekindled my love for video games" or anything, but I am glad I got to expirience these two series.

[felidae-charr]

A Flashpoint Opinion Post

I promised I’d do one of these, and here it is! I have a lot of thoughts on the latest Flashpoint episode and I’m not going to lie to any of you: it’s not really all that positive. Of course, as always with these sort of posts, this is just my personal opinion and experience; plenty of other people might feel totally different and that is a-okay. My inbox is always open to asks if people have questions or want to talk about it, and I try my best to keep an eye on replies, so if anybody reads this and wants to open a discussion, you’re welcome to. <3

And as always, posted under a read more so it doesn’t clog up anybody’s dash if they aren’t interested. 

But we’ll preface with a summary: what the fuck is going on with the writing in this living story? Also: spoiler warning.

Flashpoint has left a bad taste in my mouth. I’ve never been so quick to put down Guild Wars 2 after an update (I played it on release day and the Wednesday that followed and I haven’t touched it since,) and I’ve also never found myself so oddly jaded. I actually said to myself that if episode six doesn’t actually start making some goddamn sense in any respect and answering an increasing number of questions, I might not even buy the expansion.

Honestly, truthfully?

I don’t like the direction that Guild Wars 2 seems to be going in these days. Of course some of this ties into the big ol’ leaks going around, and I won’t discuss these on my blog at all until ArenaNet confirms them because I believe in confirmation from developers rather than taking leaks at face value, but I have some real concerns. Ever since Colin left, the direction of the Guild Wars 2 flagship has been slowly changing... and I kind of wish Mike would find somebody to permanently replace the position he’s temporarily put himself in in Colin’s absence, because truthfully I think he’s better at running a company than he is at implementing good game direction.

The biggest stickler for me that I’ll open with, as a really big Charr player : why are the Charr following Balthazar?

I haven’t, in my admittedly short time playing the game, seen any given reasoning for Charr to be following a human god. And I emphasise both of those things, because of all the known Charr factions that we have, not one of them fit the profile for following Balthazar.

The Flame Legion were the legion that spearheaded the Searing. They are Charr as we knew them to be in the first game: they’re sexist, they’re a cult that will believe in deities where there is some good profit to be seen in it for them, and they are incredibly racist. Now while some people claim that Balthazar, as a god of War and of Fire, would appeal to the tastes of Flame Legion, I want to contest this with the fact he is a human god. If any deity in the world were to be the one deity that the Flame Legion deem to be inconsequential and not worth following, any human deity falls into that category. I find it extremely unlikely that they would ever, even in desperate circumstances, come to align themselves with the god of the one race in Tyria they spent so many years fighting.

Our regular Citadel Charr are equally unfit to follow a human god: because they’ve cast aside deities entirely. Embittered to the notion of religion as a whole after the antics of Flame Legion, Citadel Charr out and out do not recognise gods in any form. Things can be big, and powerful, and in some cases beyond complete comprehension, but they aren’t gods. They’re just big, powerful and sometimes beyond comprehension - and also potentially killable. They wouldn’t put their faith blindly into anything claiming to be a deity, never mind a human deity. And sure, sure, there’s a truce right now that they’ve actively fought to keep alive, but just because there’s a tense peace treaty that doesn’t mean that Charr are about to abandon their history to go and follow a human god. Flame Legion have proven time and time again why gods don’t work: Citadel Charr outright say they killed their gods. Nothing is infallible.

The only other known faction of Charr are the somewhat disorganised Renegades. And I shouldn’t need to explain why these Charr - you know, the human hating Charr that strive to rekindle the fires of war between humans and Charr - wouldn’t suddenly start following a human god.

So again: why are there Charr in these mercenaries? I haven’t seen any Norn, for example, and this makes sense: Norn don’t recognise the human gods as gods. So why would they follow Lazarus or Balthazar? Naturally they wouldn’t. No sylvari either, from what I’ve seen, and this also makes sense: if Batlhazar is so gung-ho against dragons, he probably doesn’t want dragon minions in his mercenary army. (You know, despite Mordremoth being dead at this point.) It just makes no sense to see Charr there at all, and while I was playing I could see no reasons given or stated. (If somebody has found any dialogue clips, by all means please share them with me!)

I feel much the same way about the appearance of the Inquest, too, but at least the Inquest can be half-assed into the mercenary army through the use of Zinn and his research. No, they don’t recognise Balthazar as a god either, but they stand to gain from Balthazar’s actions via getting access to all manner of research that at one point was probably considered lost to the ages. It’s a flimsy excuse, I feel, but at least the excuse even exists.

Secondly: Balthazar’s entire scheme makes very little sense.

Of all the disguises that Balthazar could have used to come down to Tyria with and amass an army using, he chose a Mursaat so that he could employ the use of the White Mantle. You know... the one human group that doesn’t recognise the human gods as gods. Of all the humans in the world that he could have chosen to utilise, he used the only one that would have gone immediately rogue if they found out who he actually was. Instead of appearing to Separatists for example, who are begging for a war with Charr and would have probably thrown themselves at Balthazar’s feet as long as he promised them their war, or even just regular Krytans who are dealing with the war with centaurs and would have also likely been keen to at least listen to their god, Balthazar chose the White Mantle. And... we have no explanation why. Beyond that, he then had to hire mercenaries because he was concerned the White Mantle would discover his deception and no longer follow him - something he could have avoided if he had appealed to any other group of humans in the entirety of Tyria. It makes just no sense. 

Beyond that, we really have no evidence that any of the human gods were involved in setting up the White Mantle to be able to even think they could find the aspects of Lazarus. So from where I’m sitting, not only did Balthazar choose arguably the worst human group to try and manipulate, but he did so simply because “Oh hey, I guess I could do this.” Now maybe there’s more to it than that, as the developers have said that his story arc isn’t over, but right now I’m just... not impressed. For saying he’s a god with some considerable power at his disposal - you’d think - he’s made a lot of stupid choices.

Thirdly: Balthazar didn’t make an intimidating foe... at all.

The last time we were dealing with a rogue god, it was in Guild Wars 1 and it was Abaddon. And I didn’t even play much of GW1, but you know what I remember? There was an entire campaign based around that. Abaddon was an intimidating villain simply on the principle that the original plan was to, you know, prevent the release of Abaddon. When that failed, the last ditch option of desperation was to defeat him outright - and that took some serious firepower that included the blessing of all the other gods. The threat was very, very real.

Balthazar... yeah. Not so much, huh?

We dispel his illusion through the use of Kasmeer, who admittedly may or may not be far more powerful than we know in fairness, but that means we pretty easily smash through a relic enchanted by Lyssa herself. Well, okay. How about Balthazar, then? Well, his puppies aren’t shit, frankly. You beat them down into submission and then utilise Taimi’s machine to completely destroy them, but the fact you physically beat them down so easily is... underwhelming. Haha, humans, not only was your racial elite skill trash in the first place but it’s now just been officially murdered in the game? Honestly. And as for Balthazar, while we know he hasn’t been destroyed and will likely resurge at a later date to continue what appear to be nefarious schemes, he just never felt threatening. You just blew up the machine he had sort of put himself into an oh, hey, I guess he’s just gone for a bit now.

What? 

The human gods were never fully elaborated on at any given point in time, but Guild Wars 1 made it extremely clear that they were powerful. Extremely so. So unless Balthazar was half-assing his own plan and not using his full power, or unless he’s been somehow weakened by something happening on Tyria, his appearance has been critically underwhelming. Hell, it took more effort to defeat Zhaitan - and I remember that boss fight, I just pressed 1 a bunch. Yet somehow Zhaitan still made a more imposing threat, because it took serious work and preparation to even face him. You didn’t just talk so some slightly irritable druid spirits, get a nice fancy shield so you could jump into a volcano and then throw a bit of dragon magic at an Asuran machine to watch it go pop.

I have more gripes with Flashpoint beyond these three things, including the fact I think the new map is a good-concept-gone-horrifically-bad and is possibly one of the worst maps in GW2 since Tangled Depths and the utterly boring set up of one tiny but mildly intriguing instance, one bad map and then one tiny, eye-searing instance with a clusterfuck fight giving no real payoff considering how close to the end of the living story season we are.

Frankly, ArenaNet...

If you want me to buy your expansion hot off the press, this final episode of Living Story better see some real improvement when it comes to writing and see some genuinely good answers to these questions. I’m getting real tired of investing in your stories only to have you leave them half fucking finished and glaring lore discrepancies and plot holes that you then just never come back to.

[creativerogues]

A Mapmaker's Meanderings

   "How long has it been?"

   At the edge of the Norwood, a cloaked figure steps quietly into the embrace of the trees. His gait seems leisurely, but purposeful, as he wonders aloud to himself. "How long" indeed. It had been some time ago that he'd left the Castle proper, travelling with the strange Keth'el and company in search of lost ruins. Ira chuckles to himself, shaking his head as he recalls his first days upon a mount.

   Though he'd been of some use to the group, the time had come to return, bearing a few new trinkets for his trouble and, of course, the maps he'd made. Ira had intended to return directly to Norwood. Unfortunately, the band of Drow that came upon him in the night had different intentions. Ira managed to wound two, but in the end, their numbers were stronger. Bound, gagged, and blindfolded, he was drug off to... somewhere.

   No words were spoken to or around him. After some time, they stopped, and stripped him of his belongings. Then he was shoved forward, and he fell face first onto a rough, dusty stone floor. Behind, he heard a heavy door close, and then a loud click as it was locked.

   Still bound, Ira waited, listening as he lay there on the cold stone floor. Echoes of light skittering told him he was not the only live thing in here. After a few moments more, he heard what sounded like a drop of water hitting a pool beneath it. Well, perhaps he wouldn't die of thirst, anyway.

   Finally, Ira shoved himself up into a kneeling position, which really isn't as easy to do with your hands tied behind your back. He'd have to remedy that. Luckily, his captors had not been nearly as thorough in searching him as they should have. A careful twist, and a flick, and a stiletto appeared in his hand. Not the best of tools for cutting rope, but it was better than anything else presently available.

   After a long while, and several breaks (Hey, you try it some time), Ira managed to cut the rope enough to slip free. He took a few moments to rub some life back into his wrists, then replaced the weapon. He might need it again. Then, he unbound the gag from his mouth, and pulled the blindfold off of his head. Or, he thought he did. He put his hands to his face and felt around... Yes, the blindfold was gone. "Well... crap."

   Darkness. No light whatsoever. Ira couldn't even see his hand in front of his face, though he tried. If only he still had one of his pouches. Those little globes of light from Keth'el's ruins would've been useful.

   Sighing heavily, Ira carefully rose to his feet. First order of business was to find the door. In theory, he was facing away from it, so he turned around, took a tentative step forward, then another, then ano-whoops! His foot finding nothing but air, Ira pulled it back, trying to regain his balance. Overcompensating, he fell over backwards. "Oof... Not my day, is it?" After a moment's consideration he added, "Then again, I suppose I could've fallen forward." It was hard to find a bright side in such a dark room, but he was trying.

   Staying on his hands and knees, then, he felt around the edge where it dropped off and started trying to trace along it, hoping to find a wall. As some of you Poe fans may have concluded, however, he didn't. As far as Ira could gather, he was on a square-ish stone platform surrounded on all sides by a pit of some kind.

   In truth, Ira had no idea what was in this pit. It could have only been a few short feet deep, and empty. Then again, it could have been full of spikes, or snakes, or worse. What if that liquid he heard wasn't water? Could he be surrounded by a moat of acid?

   "Get hold of yourself." Ira chided. "Think, boy. Unless those rats are undead, they're not goin' to climb out of a pool of acid to get on this platform, and snakes would eat 'em." That still didn't rule out spikes, however, or a long drop. Or both, for that matter.

   Before he could think further on it, he heard a loud click echo in the room, and heard a scraping. Someone was opening the door!

   Ira carefully turned to face the direction of the sound. Even though the door was opening, however, no light was shed. He heard footsteps coming towards him, and felt two sets of hands grab him. They began leading him, forcefully, in some direction. He struggled, enough to be believable, but in truth, he didn't care if they took him out of this dungeon.

   "Managed to get free, did you?" came a soft, but cruel voice. The way it halted over the words gave the impression that Common was not its first language. "Perhaps you'll provide some entertainment after all." Ira groaned inwardly. That sounded reassuring.

   Ira tried to pay attention to his feet. He'd spent a good deal of time as a mapmaker, and so he should have had no problem memorizing the path they were taking, for future use - a left here, a right there, take twenty steps... and so on - but it seemed as though there were far too many turns to be practical, and unless the floor was slanted somehow, they had gone in circles a few times. Were they intentionally trying to throw him off? They had his maps. It's possible they were smart enough to figure out he made them, and could learn their paths.

   After a long while, he was thrown forward again, and the voice from before spoke, louder this time, "Here is the human we found."

   "Why is he not bound?" came another voice in the darkness, this one deeper, and with more authority.

   "He was, but he managed to free himself while in his cell."

   "You've searched him?"

   "Yes, my lord." He missed a spot, lordship.

   "'Scuse me." Ira started, but a blow to the side of his head cut him short. Then again, he'd been expecting that.

   "Silence, human." came the voice of his guard. "You will only speak when you are told to speak."

   "Well, so much for pleasant co-" Another blow. "Want to try the other side? Even it out a..." Ira fell silent as he felt a cold, metal edge press against his neck.

   "Don't kill him, yet." came the boss-voice. "His belligerence amuses me." Score one for belligerence. "Prepare him for the arena."

   "Yes, my lord." Ira was pulled roughly to his feet, and led away again. This trip wasn't quite so long. A door was opened, and he was nearly blinded by the first light he'd seen in hours. Once again, he was shoved inside, and the door closed and locked behind. He stood up, looking around as he brushed himself off. On the wall opposite the door was another portal, this one currently blocked by a gate or portcullis of some sort. Looking past the bars, he saw a roughly circular area, lit torches casting flickering shadows from their sconces. Across the arena, he saw another gate. "Well... I think I know what he meant by 'entertainment' now."

   Turning away from the bars, Ira looked around the room he'd been put into, since he could actually see it this time. If the Drow wanted any kind of entertainment from an arena match, they wouldn't send him in without a weapon, and true to form they weren't going to. Hung on the walls were a various assortment of blades and sticks to hit people with. Just before he picked one up, though, Ira had another thought. What if the weapons were a ruse? For all he knew, they could be cursed. That would make sense in any case, because the Drow wouldn't want to be arming a prisoner with anything that could threaten them.

   Looking around at the assortment again, Ira was pleased to find a stiletto that looked much like his own. From the distance of the stands, no one would be able to tell the difference. His weapon chosen, he sat down on the stool to wait. As soon as he did, the gate began to rise. "No rest for the wary, eh?" he muttered to himself, and then slipped out of the archway into the arena, keeping his back to the wall.

   Ira watched the other gate, waiting for some motion to signal the arrival of his opponent. His bare feet made little sound against the packed dirt floor of the arena, and his breathing was quiet. Ira wondered what was taking so long. Was it some other captive in that waiting room, too scared to come out? Perhaps whoever, or whatever, it was, had it in mind to spring an ambush.

   Or, maybe his opponent had already left their room. Ira ducked, rolling to the side as a sword passed through where his neck had been. Getting back on his feet, Ira looked at his foe for the first time. By its grotesque features and coloration, he recognized it as a hobgoblin. It wielded a short sword in one hand, and a wickedly curved dagger in the other.

   The goblinoid's element of surprise having failed, it circled Ira warily, the dagger reversed to act as a guard if necessary. Ira circled with it, not wanting this thing behind him again, and let his stiletto fall into his hand, holding it reversed as well. A grunt from the hobgoblin showed that it had seen, and though it didn't back off, it didn't try to press Ira quite so much, either.

   Ira had to finish this quickly. Though he couldn't see them, he was sure that the Drow were watching from the darkened stands. If this little game became too boring, they might decide to liven it up themselves. Ira also recognized, though, that his opponent was looking for pretty much the same thing: an opening for a quick, deadly strike. This was no hulking warrior he was dealing with. Ira doubted it had much reverence for nature, either. That meant he was likely dealing with a very stealthy rogue, possibly an assassin.

   Ira's eyes narrowed, and he stopped circling. Perhaps surprised by this sudden cessation, the hobgoblin stopped, too. "How many have you murdered." Ira spoke, softly. His foe blinked, then revealed a wide, malevolent, and very toothy grin.

   "More than have fingers for." it snarled, sure that this would instill fear in the human before it. Ira considered the hobgoblin for a moment, then made a move to the right. The goblinoid, expecting an attack, turned to follow Ira's movement... and realized only then that it had lost.

   "Your number's up." Ira pulled his weapon out from the back of the hobgoblin's neck, where he'd neatly severed the spinal column. After a second its body slumped to the ground, never to rise again.

---

   "This one is skilled." came the deeper voice, the one called 'lord'.

   "Only luck, my lord. The beast was weak."

   "Perhaps... Perhaps you would care to face him, next, to prove your words?"

   "With pleasure."

   "Fool! Are you in such a hurry to die? Or are you so blind that you cannot see your own limitations?"

   "My lord?"

   "This human is skilled in stealth, and precision. You saw the way he lured his opponent, feinting then spinning past. We are obviously dealing with an assassin."

   "We have several assassins, my lord."

   "One less, now, in case you'd forgotten."

   "I do not see how-"

   "Of course you don't. Tell me, my devoted servant... Did you not find several maps upon this man's personage?"

   "Yes, my lord. I showed them-"

   "And did not these maps have upon them the place called Norwood? The very place we've been preparing to attack?" The anger in the Drow's voice was unmistakeable.

   "Yes, my lord."

   "Think, then, fool! We have at hand a likely ally, and you have thrown him in our dungeons! This assassin has been inside Norwood, and can get in again. We have to make him see that working with us is in his best interests."

---

   Ira returned to his waiting room, and carefully cleaned his stiletto before reconcealing it. It was far too useful to lose now. He glanced around at the weapons on the walls again. Most of them were familiar in design, but there were a few he wasn't so sure about. His brow furrowed. "How the hell would you wield that?" he pondered, then shrugged. "Maybe I should take that stiletto... If they are cursed, it'd be suspicious not to have it on me..." Then he chuckled. "You're getting daft, Ira. Why would they give cursed weapons, when it would only mean they'd have to remove the curse in order to remove the weapon? They don't need their bloody clerics hopping about removing curses all day." He sighed, exasperated with his own foolishness, and plopped down on the stool. Again, as soon as he did so, the gate lowered. "That's a nifty trick."

   As soon as the bars were in place, a click was heard from the opposite door. Ira sighed. He was not looking forward to going back into that cell. The door opened, and barely visible outside it stood a pair of guards, waiting. Ira sighed again. They weren't going to wait forever, and if he gave them trouble, Ira was sure they'd be none too kind with him. Besides, he didn't intend to leave here without his belongings. He stood, and stepped outside.

   Maybe he was just imagining things, but their grip on him as they guided him through the inky darkness didn't seem quite as unnecessarily rough. The corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk. "Maybe I impressed them in the arena." he thought. Then, remembering that he was the only one who couldn't see, Ira carefully schooled his features into passiveness again.

   Ira had expected to be taken straight back to his personal chamber, but the guards took him back along the path they had come, from the boss's room... or hall... or, well, whatever the heck the boss was in. Stupid darkness. If only he had one of his pouches...

   "Ah, welcome yet again." came the voice of M'lord. "You must pardon our rough treatment of you earlier. We were unaware of who, or rather, what, you are."

   "And just who, or rather, what, am I?" Ira shot back.

   "Oh, come now, human... You can hardly expect me to overlook your obvious talents in stealth. Only a master of the shadowy arts could have made such a precise blow. Tell me, what is your name, boy?"

   "I suppose I should have known that someone would finally figure it out." Ira spoke, sighing heavily. "I go by many names. Some, like your late friend out there in the arena, know me as Death." Ira heard the Drow chuckle softly.

   "Indeed. Well, sir 'Death', in light of our findings, it seems we may have a proposition for you. Would you be interested in hearing it?"

   "Anything that involves light, sure. I can't even see my nose in here, and I think I've gone bloody cross-eyed trying." This earned a somewhat heartier chuckle, and after a few seconds it seemed like the room did get brighter, slowly, though Ira couldn't find any source. Once it was sufficiently dim, he saw that he stood at one end of some seemingly natural cavern. Before him was a long table, but he couldn't see the other end. Apparently, this lighting was not only ambient, but selective.

   What he saw on the table, though, caused him to forget about that. His cloak, and his boots, both cleaned. He glanced further into the darkness, presumably where M'lord was sitting. "Yes, yes, they are yours. No point in having you catch a chill when you're working for us... provided that you do intend to work for us, of course."

   "Well, I'm certainly listening." Ira conceded, and sat down at the chair within his circle of light to pull on his boots.

   "Good. It has come to my attention that you're somewhat familiar with the keep of Norwood and its surroundings."

   "What would the Drow be wanting with an Elven castle?" Ira queried.

   The Drow's tone turned sour. "That is none of your concern."

   Turning his head towards one of the guards, Ira winked. "That means he doesn't know." Ira thought he saw the guard almost grin before M'lord started yelling.

   "Silence! Your belligerence no longer amuses me." Make that two for belligerence. "You are to go to Norwood, and eliminate the Captain of their guard. Yes... I see you know who that is. Good."

   "That's a hefty mark, there. Exactly what is my incentive for this little operation?"

   "You get to leave here, alive, and under your own power."

   Ira sighed and shook his head. "Typical. Look, I don't know who you are, but you really ought to know better. Do you really think I'd be travelling if I wasn't already on a job? Sooner or later, the Guild is going to come looking for me. Now, maybe you're some all-powerful wizard or something, but I can tell you that having an entire Assassin's Guild out for your head is very hazardous to your health."

   The voice seemed to hesitate for a moment before questioning vehemently, "Are you threatening me? Perhaps you forget that your continued existence is at my whim!"

   "Fine, have it your way." Ira shrugged, his tone bored. "Don't say I didn't warn you." He got up and grabbed his cloak, turning to the guards. "Come on, boys, I guess its time to go back to my cell.

   "Wait! Erm, stop! Halt!"

   Ira paused, his back to the table. He gave the guard he'd winked at a grin, and was sure he saw a glimmer of approval in the Drow's eyes. Turning back, he asked, "You've changed your mind?"

   "Perhaps..." the voice conceded, irritated. "What is it that you want?"

---

   After a good deal of haggling, as well as baiting, Ira walked away from the bargaining table feeling he'd won. Then again, that could only mean he'd been played for a fool, but if he was happy with it, who cared? He'd managed to negotiate the return of his belongings, and a respectable sum on top of that, with the money payable upon proof of service. Further, he was given a respectable place to rest, instead of that cell. Not that he'd feel able to rest here, but he'd at least be able to lay awake comfortably. There was only one catch. M'lord reserved the right to test Ira's loyalty in some fashion of his choosing. Ira didn't care for that, but he'd burn that bridge when he came to it.

   He was guided along the halls (tunnels?) to his room, and he memorized this path as well, out of necessity. Once he'd left the bubble of light created for him, darkness once more had reign. That was a nifty trick, too. His escorts stopped, and Ira heard one of them unlock a door to his left and push it open. Of course, it was as dark as everywhere else.

   He heard one of the guards go in, and a flare of torchlight caused Ira to shade his eyes reflexively. The guard had lit one of the sconces. How considerate. "Thank you." Ira said, the appreciation genuine even if the Drow was his captor. "My things?"

   The guard at his right nodded slightly. "They will be brought to you soon, along with nourishment." He pressed a tarnished copper key into Ira's hand. "I would not suggest taking any strolls."

   At the thought of food, Ira suddenly realized how hungry he'd become. "Again, thank you." he said, his fingers wrapping around the key. He wasn't sure the food wouldn't be poisoned, but at least he wouldn't starve to death. He stepped inside his quarters, which were small, and rather bare, but certainly more liveable than the stone platform from before. The guards left, and Ira closed the door after them, locking it. He listened at the door, and was fairly certain he heard two sets of footsteps moving away.

   Ira sighed in relief, finally taking the time to relax, even if it only lasted a moment. His neck ached from the tension, and his forehead didn't feel too wonderful, either. All in all, this was not his best day. Then again, he wasn't dead, either... yet.

   Some time passed, and Ira woke from a fitful doze to the sound of armored feet approaching the door. At the sound of a muffled, metallic rapping from without, he unlocked the portal and opened it slightly. "I'm here with your belongings." came the voice of his former guard. Ira opened the door further and allowed him in.

   The Drow set a bronze-ish tray down on the small table, and then removed the pouches - Ira's pouches - and other items which had been slung over his shoulder, setting them on the bed. "You travel light." he stated, almost questioningly.

   "It's usually best to do so, in my line of work."

   "I suppose it is. Food is salted beef and water, little more than trail food, but what do you expect from a military encampment."

   "I take it you're not too happy to be here?" Ira coaxed. The guard looked at him, then glanced over at the open door. Taking the cue, Ira closed it, locking them inside. "I'll take that as a yes, then." he said, giving a sympathetic smile.

   "I have to hand it to you, human. None of us really have any respect for our supposed leader, but we also aren't stupid enough to try and goad him into executing us."

   "Thank you, I think." Ira's brow furrowed.

   "I'll admit, by the staff in your possessions, I'd think you were some sort of woodsman."

   "Appearances can be deceiving." Ira returned, a wry grin on his face. The guard nodded, rather than chuckling, and handed Ira a small, black velvet sack.

   "Take this. It's a book from the Lord's personal collection. Don't open it in the light, or it will dissolve, but you should find it useful."

   "Don't open it in the light? How am I supposed to read it, then?" Ira gave his apparent friend an incredulous look, who chuckled.

   "You'll find out, assassin. I expect you'll put the knowledge to very good use, as well."

   Ira let the guard out of the room, locking the door again once he was alone. Then he looked down at the velvet sack in his hand, considering it. Was this guard really that hard-up for friends? Maybe their leader really was some disrespected joke. Maybe this was a trap. He had been told his loyalty would be tested, maybe this was the method. Ira sighed. Over-analyzing would get him nothing but dizzy, and his hunger was already working on that. He tossed the book over onto his bed, and grabbed the tray of trail rations. There'd be little point in testing his loyalty only to poison him.

   It's amazing how good salted meat and water can taste when you're really hungry. After finishing his meal, Ira looked over his things. Everything of importance was there, and, surprisingly, most of what was trivial. He began re-arming himself, feeling exponentially better with each item he restored to its rightful resting place. Once he was finished, he looked again at the cloth sack.

   "Well... no matter who I give it back to, I may as well try to read it first." Ira set a tindertwig on the table in easy reach of the bed, then doused the torch. Darkness ensued. Feeling around, he found the velvet bag, and opened it, drawing out what did indeed feel like a smooth, leatherbound journal of sorts. He opened it carefully.

   Whether he was surprised at what he saw, or surprised that he saw at all, Ira wasn't sure, but both could potentially be considered equally surprising. He saw words, glowing words, in the darkness of the room. "They're just full of neat tricks like this, aren't they." Ira sighed. Then he began to read.

   As it turned out, this was not a trick that could be attributed to the Drow. As he read, Ira discovered that this book was a sacred manual belonging to some obscure cult of monks who called themselves the Shadow Clan. It was a text of their beliefs, and how they had managed to access the powers of the Shadow Realm with the strength of their inner power. Typical religious hogwash. Ira kept reading, though, hoping that it might reveal something of their training.

   Ira began to feel light-headed, and started to find it difficult to focus on the book. Shaking his head to clear it, he blinked. Was he that tired? He shrugged slightly, then started to read again. Suddenly, he got the feeling that he wasn't alone anymore. He grabbed for his staff, glad to have it back again, and stood, putting his back to the... Where was the wall?

   Ira whirled. "What the hell's going on?" he questioned the darkness. As soon as he spoke, a light seemed to pierce the darkness, shining down on him. He blinked, his eyes adjusting, and looked around himself, his staff still at the ready. A blur of movement in the corner of his eye caught Ira's attention, and he turned to find a black-clothed figure leaping out of the shadows!

   Knocking its foot aside with his weapon, Ira turned to follow its altered flight, only to see another figure lunging towards him. To his left, another blur of movement. This was getting serious. He swung his staff left, first, the arc threatening the opponent facing him while managing to strike the one at his side. He followed that by swinging it back and up, catching the shadowy figure seemingly in the jaw. As it faded back into the shadows, Ira whirled again, checking for more opponents.

   He gripped his staff in his left hand, and his right drew forth one of the weapons he'd gained in the ruins with Keth'el. The flaming shortsword, though, failed to penetrate the darkness beyond where Ira stood. Meanwhile he saw another pair of dark-clad humanoids emerging, though more cautiously. He turned, striking at them with the sword, but they both dodged with unnatural ease and then Ira saw another step from the shadows. This was definitely not good. He swung again, holding his staff in his left hand as a guard more than a weapon. This time he hit! Didn't he? The sword had passed straight through!

   Surprised, Ira's grip slackened on the sword, and a blow to his hand sent it flying out of his range of vision. Meanwhile, more figures were still appearing. Steeling his nerve once again, Ira's brow furrowed, his resolve visible in his gaze. He brought his staff into both hands, twisting it in his grip, and...

   "Cease!" Ira reflexively turned to the voice from the shadows. It was not one he recognized.

   His staff still held protectively in front of him, Ira watched as the black-clad figures disappeared one by one, seeming to blend in with the shadows they stepped into. After a few moments, a different figure stepped into the light.

   This new person appeared to be male, and somewhat elderly due to the distinct lack of hair, though his stride was that of a young man. As he entered the circle of illumination, Ira was sure he saw tendrils of dark, shadowy film uncoil from the man, almost as if releasing him from an embrace.

   "That's a-"

   "Neat trick, yes." finished the man. He stood there for a few moments, regarding Ira, then his face crinkled into a warm smile. "You have done well, Ira Douglas. You are worthy of the knowledge you seek, though I find irony in the uses you will put it to." Ira narrowed his eyes at the man. "You would rather I call you by your other name?" the elder asked, his tone teasing. Ira shook his head. "Do not worry yourself. I promise you that none will ever know what has transpired here, save the two of us."

   "Who are you?" Ira asked, getting rather irritated.

   "I am but a shadow." That didn't help. "I am your teacher, the being that will guide you on your first few steps, until you can find your own shadow." That really didn't help either. "Yes, I see your frustration. As I said, however, do not worry yourself. All will become clear in time. Farewell, Ira Douglas."

   "Where are you go-" Ira stopped speaking as the world went dark around him once more. If he'd had the capacity for conscious thought, at that point, he would've been rather irritated at how often that seemed to be happening lately.

   Groaning, Ira sat up from his bed, causing the book to fall from his chest into his lap. His head was pounding, and at first that was all he could think of. Gradually it subsided, and Ira sighed. Maybe the food was drugged. That was certainly a strange enough dream. Why would they do that, though, except to kill him? Did they mess up the dosage?

   Ira checked his belongings. He still had everything, and his staff was still leaning against the wall where he'd left it. Then he blinked and shook his head. "Why is everything grey?" he asked aloud, still groggy. Gods, it felt like someone had beaned him a good one. He picked up the book and flipped it open, but he couldn't see any text. "Was that part of the dream, too?" Shrugging, he slipped it into the sack, reached for the tindertwig... and stopped.

   "Bloody hell."

   Ira pinched himself. It hurt. He pinched himself again. It still hurt. He waved his gloved hand in front of his face. Yes... he could see it. "Alright, Ira, don't lose your grip. You've suddenly developed the ability to see in pitch black darkness. Stranger things have happened, right?" He paused. "Right?" he repeated, slightly less certain. "How?" he asked aloud, bewildered. Immediately, a rush of images came to mind. They seemed like true memories, of him training with the bald man, learning some of the secrets of the Shadow Clan... except, the bald man wasn't part of the Clan. He was something else... The memories stopped.

   Ira shook his head. "I don't remember that. Well... no, I suppose I just did. But I don't remember remembering it before!" He blinked, realizing what he'd just said. "Oi, Ira, you're gonna give yourself a nasty headache with that kind of talk." He rested his face in his hands, his fingertips rubbing at his forehead. This newfound ability would undoubtedly be useful. If he wanted, he could escape from the Drow right now. That wasn't an option, though. He had a job to do.

   Ira struck the tindertwig, and was pleased to note his natural vision hadn't been taken in exchange. He relit the sconce. No point in letting on that anything was different. Seeing a bit of water left in the clay mug he'd been brought, Ira swallowed it down. Opening one of his beltpouches, he took a small, blue sphere from it and looked at it with some amusement. "Where were you when I needed you, hmm?" Hearing footsteps in the hall, Ira sighed and replaced the orb. Rising, he covered the velvet sack with the thin blanket on the bed, and moved to unlock the door.

   Within moments, he was being guided along the tunnels again. This time, however, he could see them, though he made sure not to take too much notice. It appeared this entire complex was situated in some underground, natural cavern system. He supposed he could have guessed that, but here was proof.

   Following his mental map, Ira was fairly certain they hadn't taken him this way before. Eventually, they arrived a a stout, metal-banded oak door, which the guard to his right unlocked and opened. Looking inside, Ira saw the arena waiting room. This time, neither guard attempted to shove him inside. "I take it his lordship has found a way to suitably test my loyalty?" Ira asked. "I must admit, I didn't think it'd be trial by combat."

   "You will see, human." came the guard to his left. Neither, this time, were his 'friend' from before. He shrugged, and stepped inside. The door was closed and locked behind him, and Ira didn't pause to admire the weaponry, going straight for the stool. As expected, as soon as he sat the gate began to rise. When it was high enough he ducked under into the arena.

   "Now that you are suitably equipped, sir Death," came M'lord's voice, booming around the entire area, "I would like to see how well you perform against this foe." Ira scanned as far as he could, but even with his enhanced sight, he could not see the Drow. After a moment, the opposite gate began to rise. No amount of weaponry, though, could prepare him for what came through it.

   A slender wisp of a woman emerged from the opposite gate, her hair a river of fire in the torchlight. She wore an intricately etched breastplate, obviously a custom piece, while supple leather covered the rest of her seemingly flawless figure. She had a metal buckler strapped to her left arm, and her right hand gripped a faintly glowing longsword.

   Ira was stunned for a moment. In this den of shadows, her beauty had blinded him nearly as much as the torches had, before. He was supposed to kill her?

   The woman started towards him, her stride sure, and her face set in a look of grim determination. Ira thought it would've looked much better with a smile, then scolded himself, and readied his staff. This was hardly the time or the place. As the woman neared, however, her expression changed to one of surprise, and then sad resignation. She halted her advancement, and went to one knee in the dirt. Needless to say this was rather an odd action, by Ira's reckoning.

   "Umm... 'scuse me, miss? Aren't you supposed to be trying to kill me?" This was not how Ira had imagined beginning a conversation with such a pretty lady, but he wasn't exactly working under normal circumstances.

   "You do not bear the taint of Evil." she responded, as though that explained everything. Her voice was soft, and pure. Ira mentally kicked himself again. This was still a potential enemy, a possible trap.

   "That's a problem, I take it?"

   "I refuse to kill one whose soul is still salvageable."

   "A paladin, huh?" She nodded. "Well, are you at least going to defend yourself?"

   "There is no point. This will not end until one of us dies, and I have already stated I will not kill you. Do not worry over your actions. I will ask my Goddess to forgive you when I am rejoined with Her."

   Well... that was certainly nice of her. He stepped closer, slowly, and began to circle the kneeling woman. "What to do?" Ira pondered quietly. He hadn't exactly had much experience with women begging to be killed. "You've given up all hope, then?" he asked aloud. Again, she nodded, her gaze lowered. Ira rather hoped she wasn't going to cry. Standing behind her, he placed a gloved hand on her shoulder. She flinched, but didn't move away. "You know... this weakness of yours is going to get you killed, some day."

   The woman turned her head at Ira's words, surprised, but he was not paying attention. His eyes scanned above the walls of the arena as he called out, "Lordship, give me this woman to do with as I will, and I'll let the rest of my payment go."

   After a few moments, M'lords voice boomed through the arena again. "You dare to defy me? Have you gone soft, assassin? If you wish to leave this place alive, you will kill her!"

   "You daft zombie-brained sewer-rat!" Ira shot back. "She's a paladin! Think about it! Paladins are notorious for their dedication against Evil. Having her with me as a 'friend' will make it a thousand times easier to get into Norwood!" Ira continued scanning the stands slowly, unable to determine where the voice was coming from. His posture was defiant as he awaited a response. It was taking a while to come.

   Turning back to the scarlet-haired beauty, he saw her watching him, and noticed the conflicting emotions in her eyes. "In her place, I suppose I wouldn't know what to think, either." he mused, then his attention shot back to the stands as the voice returned.

   "Very well, but it falls to you to convince her that it is in her best interests to aid you in this." Ira chuckled. That would be only too easy. He turned to her again, and approached.

   "Your sword, miss?" he asked. She hesitated, but handed it over. "If you'll come with me, then, it seems we have a few things to talk about." Her eyes widened as he grasped the sword, and she rose slowly to her feet.

   "It seems this is my only hope." she commented, and then she began to walk towards Ira's gate. He grinned inwardly. So much for giving up hope. He followed behind, carrying her weapon casually.

   As they were guided along the tunnels, Ira reflected on how easily the Drow was convinced to agree to the renegotiation. By all accounts, they were supposed to be rather intelligent beings. Something wasn't quite right here, but Ira couldn't quite put his foot on it. Suddenly, he realized he was putting his foot in it. This wasn't the path to the room he'd been given. So where were the guards going? "Are we taking a different route? I don't remember the trip being this long before."

   "His lordship thought you and the young lady might need... bigger quarters." The guard's sneer was quite audible in his voice. Ira wasn't buying it, but he kept quiet. So the Drow wasn't dealing straight with him. That wasn't any real surprise.

   At last the guards halted, and the one in front unlocked a rather hefty-looking door to the right. As the door swung open, Ira realized just what their plans were. The guard pushed the woman forward, and she fell into the room. Immediately, Ira pulled away from his own guard and swung the longsword at him. The Drow had not been expecting an attack, much less an accurate one, and so his body slumped to the floor as his head rolled away.

   Ira turned to face the other guard, who had managed to draw his own blade. "You can see? I told him you couldn't be trusted!"

   "Look who's talking." Ira retorted, then swung again. His strike was blocked, but the whack with his staff to the Drow's side wasn't. It wasn't a heavy blow, but it knocked the wind from him, and as he bent over Ira brought his knee up. The resulting crack echoed rather unsettlingly through the tunnel.

   Ira stepped into the doorframe. "Are you alright?" he asked.

   "I'm fine, but I've been here before. There's a pit all around me."

   "Yes, I know." Ira looked down inside the portal. That was a nasty trick. "I'm coming to get you." He stepped over the gap between the door and the platform. It was maybe a foot and a half of open space, crossing a pit that was just longer than arm's length. It didn't even have spikes in it. Ira helped the woman to her feet, and handed her weapon back. "Let's get out of here."

---

   Ira paused at a split in the tunnel. He hadn't been paying as close attention the night he was captured, and the Drow hadn't had the decency to clearly mark the way to the exit.

   "How is it you can see in these unlit halls?" asked the woman behind him, quietly.

   "Good question." he replied. "Ask me later." He grabbed her hand again, and started off, leading her as quickly as possible while still maintaining a decent level of quiet. They could probably have gone faster if she could see, too, but the light would draw too much attention.

   Again, they came to a division in the tunnels, and again Ira struggled to remember. "Come on, which way?" he muttered under his breath.

   "Left."

   "How do you know?"

   "I can hear wind blowing in that direction." Now that she'd pointed it out, Ira could hear it, too. So much for sight. Leading her again, he headed off to the left.

   The sound of the whistling wind was getting stronger, to the point that Ira was sure the cave opening must be just around the next curve. He slowed, and cautiously peeked around the bend. Sure enough, there it was. The exit (or entrance, depending on your point of view) was blocked by a large, round slab of stone. Before that, however, there were guards. Four of them. Ira slipped back out of sight. "Wait here." he whispered to the woman, and then thought that he really ought to find out her name some time.

---

   She couldn't hear exactly what he was doing, but without being able to see, she wouldn't be able to help much. So when he told her to wait, she did. She felt him move away around the bend, and could hear him taking quick strides. She heard the voices of the guards as they noticed him, and the sound of blades being drawn. Then, there was a bright flash of light, and the guards cried out, blinded. There was a brief scuffle, and the sound of metal piercing through flesh, and then nothing. After a few moments, the light returned.

---

   "Come help me move this stone out of the way." Ira called to her. She stepped cautiously into the light as he set the brightly shining sphere on the ledge of a jutting rock. As she came nearer Ira could tell that, despite her professed paladinhood, she hadn't been witness to much death yet. Her gaze was caught by the fresh corpses. Ira would have to get her attention off of them before she became ill. "What's your name?" he asked, thinking it was as good a time as any.

   "Aislynn..." she responded distractedly.

   "Pretty name. You come here often?"

   That got her. "What?"

   "I said, I could use some help getting this stone out of the way."

   "Oh, yes. Sorry." She moved to aid him. Fortunately, the rock was intended to be moved, and it rolled out of the way fairly easily.

   "You need to put as much distance between you and this place as possible." Ira told her. "If you can get to a town, tell them about the cave. Hopefully, they'll send a force to deal with the Drow."

   "What are you going to do?"

   Ira sighed. "I've got some unfinished business to take care of here. I'll be fine. I'm not about to let them capture me again." He could see her hesitation. "Look, don't worry. I'll catch up with you later." She nodded slowly, then headed out of the cave. After a few steps, she turned back.

   "Wait, what's your... name?" He was already gone.

---

   He'd spent the next month terrorizing and sabotaging the Drow. A lot of that time was used in learning the paths of the tunnels, and mapping the lot of it. It was a military encampment, not a permanent dwelling for the Drow, so there weren't nearly as many of them. During his explorations he found the room they'd given him, still as he'd left it, and retrieved the book. Ira never saw the guard who had given it to him again, so he could only assume he'd fled when he could.

   When scouts brought news to the Drow that a detachment of troops was heading in their direction, lead by the female paladin, Ira knew they wouldn't stay much longer. Already many of their number had deserted or been found dead. M'lord was not the last to go, but almost. Once he'd deserted, that spelled the end for the rest of his troops, and they were only too happy to follow on their leader's tail, leaving the "cursed caves" to report their mission a failure.

   Ira also left before the troops arrived. If found, there would have been questions. Even if he told the answers, though, he wouldn't have been believed. Or worse, he would have been. Ira wondered whether Aislynn was disappointed not to see him again... but that was something that couldn't be helped. She wouldn't have understood, anyway.

   "How long has it been?" Ira asks again as the north gate comes into view. Looking upon the destination of his journey, he smiles softly, and realizes that even if he hadn't been captured, the answer would still be the same. "Too long."