The moonlight lights our dance floor, the night creatures our band. You appear silently, as always. Your face, what little I can see of it anyway, has not dropped its grim disposition but I grin, the thrill of the chase still flooding my veins like a sweet drug only known to our kind. Cat and mouse, our game, yet we've forgotten our roles and the rules. A breeze rustles your wings. You are more myth than man as am I. We prowl the edges of sanity, teetering on the boundaries of the psyche. Others of my kind are completely lost to the darkness that blots out their judgments like spilled ink on paper obscures the font. Harley and her mad love affair with that crazy circus reject; Ivy and her plants; Harvey and his coin. All gone to their madnesses. But I walk the line between the clear cut, I am the grays of life. You acknowledge this, occasionally; but tonight I have taken what's not mine. It was to lure you to me; I can't really fire up the Bat-signal now can I?
"One chance," you growl, you seem almost playful tonight, "put it back." I shrug and drop my prize back into the museum; they'll find it there this morning. Your eyes lighten, and you seem to stand straighter. Gotham must be a heavy city to hold on one's shoulders.
I step into arms reach of you and smirk, "You came all the way out here just for little ol' me?" I ask with a heavy southern belle accent. Your lip quirks, you're amused. How sweet. I step closer, closing the space between us, you stare down at me; you seem almost…torn, between your sense of duty and your human desires. I see it in your eyes, the restrained hungry for a normal man's life.
Yes I know your secrets, although you don't realize this and you don't know mine. Dawn starts to grin, you stiffen. You feel as if you're cheating on the woman you believed to be, home alone, in your bed. You do not know that she is I, and that I am her. Only Alfred knows the truth, other than me of course. You disappear. So do I. My secret hinges on if I can get home before you. The ring is heavy on my hand, you do not love the Selina Kyle you know; you need her for appearances. I don't love the foppish Bruce Wayne you portray to the world; I need him to stop the rumors (however true they may be). Perhaps one day I shall let you in on my night life, perhaps you'll share yours, but today is not that day as I slip into the bathroom. The butler is waiting to usher me from my work clothes and hides them inside the secret wall panel you do not know about. That and my whip disappear as I slip into a bathrobe and wet my hair and face. A dab of perfume gives the scent of my preferred shampoo. Alfred hurries down to your cave to greet you as he's wont to do. No doubt hiding your work clothes from me and helping you to give me the appearance of having woken hours earlier, although he knows it's for naught. He is a dear old man, reminds me of my grandfather and we both owe him so much more credit than he gets.
You come in and greet me. Your eyes have bags, I know why but I say brightly, "Rough day, Lucius giving you a hard time again?" You grin but it doesn't reach your eyes, even in your day form it doesn't.
"Oh, he's just worried," you say. I smile, not my Cheshire cat grin. I step close, winding my arms lazily about your neck, playing with some of your hair. I let a bit of Catwoman out to play, saying huskily, "Just remember that even Batman has off days."
Your eyes widen as my grin becomes Cheshire. I turn away, stalking easily to the dining room, Isis right behind me.
Perhaps you'll figure it out today; you are supposed to be the world's greatest detective after all.
Perhaps our charade continues.
Meow.