My first fanfic! Would welcome any feedback that might help this newbie navigate the world of fan fiction/writing in general.
Just an opening chapter of course, more to come soon.
N.B.: the main characters are not my own (OC excepted). Just borrowing them for a while.
It wasn't what she was used to. After years of making the streets of Gotham her own playground, having someone tagging along like this was putting her out of her comfort zone. But when the company was a cute as this, she didn't really mind that much. The young billionaire was also getting a little smarter when it came to navigating Gotham's less salubrious neighbourhoods.
When she had first taken him into the sprawling mass of alleys and tunnels that criss-crossed the city, fleeing the hit squad that was out to snag her, Bruce Wayne had been plainly out of his depth. She'd had to make him over into something more resembling a street kid like her, though there wasn't much she could do about that precious haircut!
But now the circumstances had changed. Now he was there at his own request, learning from her the skills she had acquired over the years. Skills that helped her survive, skills that helped her be almost invisible when she needed to be.
"Hey kid, you gotta learn not to drag your feet. I'd have thought your butler would've taught you to walk like a gentleman?"
"What's wrong with how I walk?"
"Nothing, as long as you don't mind every low life and nosey cop for three blocks knowing you're coming."
Cat jumped down from the dumpster she'd been perching on, and proceeded to show Bruce her technique. A soft footed yet effortlessly quick stride from the balls of her feet, covering the length of the short alley they currently occupied in seconds. He was entranced. Not just by her demonstration, but by Cat herself. How her whole body looked so graceful in motion. Her nickname was well earned. But more than that he was feeling something else, something from deep in his gut that made him uncomfortable , yet somehow on top of the world. He had a crush.
His moment of wonder was suddenly shattered by the sound of tyres spinning: a GPD patrol car slowly turned into the alley from the street. Cat grabbed Bruce and pulled him behind a parked panel van. She peeked over the passenger side door window , eyes fixed on the car as it rumbled past, making sure the occupants were as disinterested as she'd come to expect from Gotham's finest.
It pulled to a stop outside a door someway past them, which opened to a blast of steam and a smell of rice and noodles. A guy that looked to be the owner stepped out, smoking like chimney; short, overweight and nothing that even closely resembled a smile. He approached the passenger window of the patrol car, and after a few seconds of hushed conversation took a roll of bills from his apron pocket and handed them over to the cop. Some careful checking appeared to be done before the window rolled back up and the car slowly exited the far end of the alley, by the time Cat's gaze returned to the doorway, the owner had already disappeared.
Cautiously, Cat and Bruce emerged from behind the van. Whilst Cat scanned the alley to make sure they were not noticed, Bruce looked like he'd just watched the most realitstic cop movie he'd ever seen.
"That was a real shakedown, he was paying them protection money!" Bruce said, a little too loudly.
"Shhh, keep it down kid, do you want someone to hear?"
"But, that was awesome! Just like TV or a movie…"
"Can it will ya?. I think we should find somewhere else to practice, you're gonna get us in trouble mouthing off like that"
With that she motioned to Bruce to follow as she glided up a nearby fire escape, Bruce trailing behind somewhat less gracefully.
As they reached the roof three stories up, neither were aware of the figure following their every move from a concealed position on the opposite rooftop. The observer continued watching until they disappeared down the fire escape on the opposite side. Slowly, the figure moved out from the cover of the water tank and lit a cigarette which illuminated a face sporting a gory mixture of deep scars. After disposing of the spent match, the figure turned and headed for the roof access to the building's stairwell, all the while slowly turning the handle of a dagger in a gloved hand.