Disclaimer: All characters are owned by DC, and until time travel becomes a reality, were not invented by me.
This is what they're calling art these days? I've seen more of a masterpiece in the dumpster outside my apartment.
Selina Kyle's finger glided over her pursed lips and her eyes squinted at the colours splashed on the canvas on the wall. Two members of Gotham's social elite were rooted behind her, hypnotised by it's enigmatic beauty, pondering the nonexistent hidden message between the crude, painted lines. Selina merely wondered how many dollar bills the museum had thrown at the artist to buy it.
Five thousand. Ten thousand. Twenty? Pocket change for these idiots.
The Flugelheim Museum was the premier attraction for the most pretentious and wealthiest citizens of Gotham, a safe-haven where their thick fur coats and expensive suits were considered casual attire. Fancy jewellery sparkled on display—both behind protective glass and around the wrists and necks of the clientele. Selina felt as out of place as a kitten in a doghouse—the early on-set of paranoia tickled the smallest hairs on her skin, their glances whispered in her ears that she did not belong here.
The room was huge and open, with artwork of assorted sizes hung on the walls. The light marble sparkled beneath Selina's feet, echoing the image above it. Iron columns stretched towards the arched roof, where the glitter of stars shimmered through the skylight. A grand staircase swooped round to the second floor balcony, where the rich conversed on trivial hardships that seemed a world away from the desperate struggles of the working class.
Speaking of rich idiots...
A shuffle of hurried feet skidded to a stop behind Selina, drowning her in the familiar aroma of rich fragrance mixed with the stench of battle. She spun around on her heels—an extravagant present to herself that even some of the women in the room would be envious of—and folded her arms.
"Sorry I'm late." Her date puffed, his fingers returning the strands of dark hair that had came loose in his hurried travels. Even in a rush, every inch of his outfit was impeccable, his tailor-made suit fit to muscles that had been punished over the years. When it came to timekeeping, Bruce Wayne was no Batman.
"Nice of you to finally show up, Bruce. I was starting to think you were going to stand me up again."
"Again? I don't remember—"
"Oh please. Don't you remember last week when we were supposed to go to that new fancy restaurant that opened up, and you never showed?" She placed a finger on Bruce's chest. "I ended up spending my Friday night eating leftovers from the dinner that Alfred had made you for the night before."
A bemused look appeared on the billionaire's face. "Selina, I think you'll find the reason I never showed up was because you had pissed off Penguin that day, and I was out there making sure his goons didn't torch your apartment."
"Well it's not my fault that Oswald doesn't have a sense of humour. I thought the old 'dead fish instead of the diamond' trick was pretty funny. Joker would have loved it." Selina's smiled dropped just as quickly as it formed when Bruce gave her a disapproving look. There was only so many times you could poke and prod a penguin before it's beak began to bite. "Anyway, Brucie—I'm surprised you invited me here. Don't you know? I'm pretty sure I'm banned from every museum, antique store and sweet shop in the city..." Her finger trailed along the velvet rope hanging limp in front of the painting. "...Why do you think I have to sneak in after dark?"
"Well maybe you should try keeping your hands in your pockets," Bruce quipped as it was now her turn to glare at him.
The pair toured the art room—Bruce admiring the paintings while Selina teased him with her colourful commentary. He had revealed how much the first picture was worth and she merely cursed at the fact it was too big to hide in her handbag. Perhaps she should branch out in to art theft...
It took her a while to chip away at his rough, brooding jawline—his mouth straining as the corners flickered. She eventually cracked his defence with the smallest of pecks to the cheek, before skipping away. Bruce gave chase, following her to a more secluded part of the building, away from the eavesdropping of ears decorated with diamonds.
The smaller room was a recent expansion to the gallery, having shed a skin of cobwebs for the more glamorous appearance of a foreign exhibit. The dim glow from the ceiling left much of the room in darkness, a mystery that matched the museum's knowledge of the artifacts. Rotted suits of armour, crude tools and fossilised weapons were the fractured remains of ancient civilisations, the last proof of their existence that clung to the pages of history.
The smallest relic on show, about the size of a Rubik's cube, was also the one of most interest to Bruce. With fingertips placed gently on Selina's lower back, he lead her to the object on a narrow, wooden stand. It had been painted with the loving thoughts of a steady hand, romantic images with as much detail as portraits ten times it's size.
"They call it the Heart of Kasnia.." Bruce propped forward, admiring the artwork from a closer viewpoint. "They say it's 100 years old, an—"
"Wait a minute... I think I've heard about this." Selina interrupted.
His eyebrows shot up. "You have?"
"Oh yeah." Selina wrapped an arm around her stomach and rested her chin upon the soft knuckles of her other hand. "They say two lovers were split up during a civil war. For ten years, they wrote to each other—by post... pigeons... any way they could. This is the very last present the man ever sent her—an engagement ring they say is priceless... and the most romantic love letter ever written..."
Bruce was impressed. "And do you believe that?"
"You'd think someone would have opened it up to find out," Selina's shoulders twitched. "But just the thought of what's inside does pull at a girl's heartstrings..."
"Well they say art collectors have spent decades trying to work out how to open it." Bruce took a step back, his hands slipping in to his pockets.
The dark-haired beauty shrugged. "Guess they never tried to use a hammer."
"You know what these art collectors are like. They like their possessions in mint, sealed condition." He joked. "They wouldn't dare damage the packaging."
"Where's the fun in having a toy... if you're not allowed to open it?" Selina pouted, circling the pedestal slowly. "I suppose you'd have to be the world's greatest detective to stand a chance of unlocking it," she winked, her fingers trailing over his bicep as she slithered past.
Bruce forced a sarcastic grin, shaking the cuff of his jacket to reveal the time. "So I've made plans for a second attempt at dinner at the new restaurant," he said, and began to walk towards the door to the main room.
"Oh?" Selina asked, her hand slipping between Bruce's arm and his body. "Such a shame..."
"Why's that?"
"I actually quite liked Alfred's cooking..."