Okay, hello everyone! Had this amazing idea! And you should probably know I'm all for the whole Batman x Catwoman thing. So...had to write it out. :)
Author's Note: Just so you know, the characters aren't 30/40. I made them teens. As in seniors. 17/18/maybe 19 year olds. Just so you know that way you don't get lost. ;)
Rating: R for violence, blood, rape, sex, kissing, language, drinking, suggestive humor, sexual themes.
Disclaimer: Don't own DC Comics for my LIFE and being the loser that I am, probably never will. But maybe I'll work on trying to own Marvel. That way I can fix all the CRAP they call COMICS.
DC. Better plots and storylines.
Marvel. Better characters.
Which is better?
'Nuff said. -_-
OH AND I'M LETTING THE READERS CHOOSE WHO'S GOING TO BE THE FINAL FACE-OFF IN THE LAST CHAPTER OF THE STORY. IT'S A POLL ON MY PROFILE, CHECK IT OUT WHILE YOU CAN. AND BE FAST 'CAUSE WHEN THE LAST CHAPTER COMES UP, THE CHANCE TO PUT YOUR OPINION ON A STORY WILL GO AWAY. SO BE QUICK ABOUT IT. :)
Well, I'm done ranting here. I suppose you can read on.
Enjoy! :)
Catwoman: Selina Kyle
"Selina Kyle?"
I smirked and didn't answer. Let her guess. Keep her thinking.
The teacher sighed. "Absent again? She may skip my class but it's only-"
"How judgemental, Miss. I find that comment ruining my self-esteem. I can report you for that. Harrassing a student."
"Now, Ms. Kyle, you watch your mouth. It can land you in some trouble."
Lady, you don't know what trouble is.
Got myself in some deep shit last night, couldn't sleep. Basically outran the cops in fear for my freedom. Right now I might be under authority(which I'm just getting the hang of), but at night no one can stop me. I'm the queen. My instincts kick in and I start ruling like a mad man.
But I don't think I'm up for another trip to the office today, so I buy in. "Yes, Miss."
"I believe it's Mrs. Anderson."
"Don't give a fuck," I muttered, loud enough so it's audible, but low enough to keep her guessing. A couple of snickers formed behind me from my little dry humor. Hmph. I'm in here because I feel it's right to finish school. Don't wanna be framed as an idiot drop-out. But still, that doesn't mean I don't get the occasional thoughts.
Then there he comes. In walks in Mr. Handsome. No clue who he is.
He talks to the teacher for a bit, gives me a chance to observe. His black smooth, shiny hair that wrapped around his face, accentuation his square jaw. Deep blue eyes that reveal more than the wanted. But something deeper hidden in its depth. Lean body. Tanned. Looked disciplined. Like he's been through it all. Tall too. He looks like my current object of interest.
"Okay class, it seems we have a new student."
Says his name is Bruce Wayne. Comes from the inner Gotham but moved uptown to reach the better schools. Though inner Gotham is hell, can't say much better here either. Schools are crap as always in Gotham, and it's notorious for that.
That's exactly how I caught his lie.
I smirked at the thought. He bit his jaw, the tension showing at the sides of his face, as if he saw me. He noticed my suspicion. He knows I caught it. But he doesn't dare turn and give me eye contact. Like I said. His eyes reveal more than the wanted.
"Why don't you go ahead and take seat over there?" Mrs. Anderson says, pointing to a seat near a window two seats behind me and off to the left. I groan. She perfectly well knew there was a seat right next to me. But of course, she moves the cute kid away. Probably doesn't want to affiliate a person with good intentions with people like me. Most teachers like to call me, a delinquent.
I don't mind. It catches on.
The teacher moves on with attendance and I can't help but look to my left behind me. Bruce looks down at the desk, playing with his pencil. He looks up quickly at me, gaining eye contact for a few seconds, but he quickly down, making no change in emotion except pure...boredom.
I smirked again and turned around. I was partially hoping to make him nervous. Turn his face pink like I do with most of the guys here. But like I said. He seems disciplined. Probably learned how to bottle up his emotions and keep a poker face.
Hmph. What a waste to a beautiful face.
Pun intended.
I don't dare talk to him after class. Too cliché. Too boring. I want him to come to me, which I was partially hoping for, but didn't seem to earn it. While he was grabbing his backpack, he watched me leave the classroom. I purposely ignored his stare and kept walking. Like to keep them guessing.
I knew he was interested to learn more about me. It was in his eyes. As much as his face stays the same, the eyes tell all.
Gwendolyn Altamont runs up to me. I call her Gwen for short. We're on a friend basis, but never close enough to tell her the personal stuff. She's aware of that too. But it never hurts to have someone to talk to. Pretend like you will always have someone there for you.
Lies.
I love them.
They make you feel good inside, even when you know you're being lied to.
"Locked in my idea for Kurklyn's project. Gonna get at least a B on it. I better. Or I'm gonna blow dynamite at the walls," Gwen says. I laugh.
"Who's gonna clean up the mess?"
"Mr. Kurklyn, of course. Right after he gives my ass a good kiss."
Dry humor. Makes the world go round.
I see Mr. Handsome come strolling down the hallway, catching eyes. I turn to the nearest boy next to me and bat my eyes. "Excuse me, my locker won't open. If only you'd be so courteous to help me?" I ask, putting my hand on his chest.
The boy grins and gladly helps. Bastard. I know I'm capable of opening stuck lockers myself, but it doesn't hurt to play with a guy's heart every once in a while. Mr. Handsome walks by, not giving me any notion of existence. As if we didn't speak to each other with eyes a couple periods ago.
Figures. Stuck up prick.
~~~~CW~~~~
I zip up my infamous suit, leaving the chest portion open a crack to give the dirty frat boys out there a peak of what they'll never get. Fluff my hair a little, getting ready to stuff my cap on. Lola laughs at me. Lola. My only true friend I can trust in this world. She's what keeps me sane. What makes this reality real and not the dream. My life. The reason why I don't wrap some rope around my neck and pull.
I know she's 27. She's getting up there. But she still has the sarcasm and vibe of a 16 year old.
"Going out again, I s-see," she slurs, already showing that she had a couple of glasses already.
I smirk. "I won't be out too long. Got my eyes on a prize in a certain lock chamber," I replied. I slipped my goggles onto my forehead.
"Don't die on me."
I don't reply and instead swoop down from the window of the 18th floor. But I don't have to reply. I never do. She knows I mean yes with my silence, as well as my actions. I keep my words. At least...only to Lola.
I grab on to a nearby ledge and back-flip toward the ground, landing on my feet. Now is my time. These are my hours. When I prowl the streets, hungry and full of lust. I feel alive. My adrenaline kicking in. This is my time to shine. To be wild and free. Take risks.
I climb my way on roofs, parkouring at places needed to get to my destination. I pass by gangs, clubs, drug junkies, the usual. Hear the screams of Gotham at night. The torture. those screams are my Red Bull. They keep me moving fast. Quick.
Agile.
Yes.
Quietly, I swoop inside a chimney of a rich man's house. I didn't know people had that anymore. Sure enough as I've observed for the past week, he was sleeping at this hour. And sure enough, he left his bills and codes on the table like the dumbass he is.
But that's okay. We need dumbasses. Where do you think the hackers would be if there were no dumbasses? The techies? Scientists?
I reach for the little green slip I'm looking for and look at the last four digits. 8764. Got it down. Then took his credit card bills. Replaced it with a note.
Took some of this nice looking crap. Suppose you'll want it back someday. For a high price. We'll talk soon. You'll know when I'm ready.
I crawl my way up to the 67" TV screen and slide behind it, seeing a locker bolted into the wall behind it. I pressed in the digits, and sure enough as observed for this week, it opened.
Zipped open my bag. In came the green.
I leave a couple hundreds in the locker for pity, and close it. I was in a good mood today.
When I notice my job is finished, I strap the bag around me, zip it shut, and head out, closing the window back as silently as possible. George Mcgintey. His name. Who I just stole from. Not that I'll bother to remember it.
Just when I reach a top of a roof to start heading home, here comes this long, dark shadow. I freeze, butterflies scratching up my stomach inside. Out walks a tall, built guy with a mask and cape on in the theme of bats.
I smirk. "I heard of you. You don't usually come around here."
His mask over his eyes narrowed. I laughed. "Look, I don't have time for this. I'll be on my way." I step off the roof and lunge toward a ole, but instead get grabbed up by the ankle and was thrown upward to the roof. My back slams against the roof pavement harshly, leaving no mercy.
He snatches the bag without question, doesn't look inside, and starts to walk away. I gasp. I would go after him, but I'm in so much pain. I think I sprained so parts, and my ankle was twisted. But I can't cry. Never show weakness.
"You...you DICK!" I shout.
He doesn't reply or show any feedback. Instead, he continues to walk into the night, until his image disappears.
And yet, something about him made me interested in this Caped Crusader.
They call him Batman.
Bats and cats notoriously clash.
This can be a new start.