Once Bruce had fixed his features from serious to his more 'business casual' look, he left the study and crept silently back into the grand hall, from the archway Bruce spotted Marie sitting at the bar, she then turned and spied him. Nexts to her is a woman in a pink sequin dress, softly she nudges her and points Bruce out of the crowd. The lady looks across and rolls her eyes exasperated, slipping through the party attendants she grabs Bruce by the crook of the arm and unceremoniously hauls him up onto the stage.
A sharp ringing from the microphone alerts the crowd and silence descends.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the woman chirps, "Hello and welcome to the charity auction, before we get started lets give a big hand to our host, the fabulous Bruce Wayne in thanks for opening his home to us for tonight." the crowd cordially applauds. Smiling, the lady hands Bruce the podium, he makes a brief speech telling everyone what they already know, a prize will be announced, the bidding will start and the highest bidder pays before leaving.
After leaving the stage Bruce heads to the bar to order a whiskey, Marie claps her hands daintily holding her head high like a colonial aristocrat, "A stirring performance Mr Wayne," she chimed in an over exaggerated upper class accent. Bruce smirks quickly then shoots his drink; Marie's eyebrow creeps up suspiciously.
Placing a tender hand oh her shoulder Bruce says, "Marie, I'm sorry but I need to go; something came up at the office and they say it can't wait."
she sighed rubbing his hand affectionately, "Well can't they get someone else to sort it out, for once. Isn't there a law about taking calls from work after hours?"
"If you want," Bruce soften apologetically, "Alfred can give you a ride to you're hotel after the show."
She shakes her head. "No I'm fine here, I'll get a lift back with Sharon." With that Bruce takes his leave and Marie's smile fades away completely, replaced by worn out exasperation. exhaling in defeat, "For fuck sake Bruce." Then he was gone again and she was alone.
Most of the crowd was invested in the auctioneer on stage, Marie ordered another drink, sat cross-legged she looked out at the crowd, men and women bidding against one another, a game with no real losers where everyone's happy and having a good time, now it just made her feel resentful; a bitter self pitying spectator, "So much for the idle rich."
"Excuse me, señora." Marie jumps out her thoughts. twisting her head up to see the broad bodied stranger from earlier.
Initially surprised by his imposing stature and dark expression, she managed to straighten up and hide her sour face, "Oh hello," she piped before moving away for him to get to the bar.
Bane squeezed past and clicked his fingers impatiently at the barman, "Tequila," he then helped himself to a barstool and just looked sternly at his hands as he cracked his knuckles, he seemed to be seeing something deeper that the ligaments popping between his finger bones.
Mildly disgusted, wincing while involuntarily cracking her own knuckles; she then looked down and felt she could understand, for Marie it was a habit. From the corner of her eye she beheld the behemoth sat next to her who she instantly recognised, awestruck by the shear magnitude of his presents, he seemed focused on something very unpleasant, turning back she found that no one else had noticed him, too preoccupied with the numbers being called out to give him much thought or perhaps too guarded to stare in case he looked back at them.
Marie couldn't help but admire him, strong jaw and features, broken nose, heavy brow like a brute. Thick muscular neck, long shoulders and powerful arms, Marie fancied he might be an athlete, either a wrestler or a football player.
His choice of suit was also unusual and set him apart from the other men, black coat and trousers with burgundy turtle-neck. Hair was short brown with a widows peak; mostly shaved save for the top. Then something Marie hadn't noticed before appeared and she could not ignore it, a shining metal plate embedded at the base of his crown like a plaque on a trophy. Common stories tell of quarterbacks and linebackers getting concussions on the filed, whether or not he played football was that metal piece the result of brain surgery?
Suddenly and instantly Bane snapped his head around to glare at her, instinctively she averted her eyes, looking down at her lap. Then boldly she decided to meet his eye, an inviting smirk to hopefully defuse the tension, clearing her throat she asked in her low cultured drawl, "Penny for your thoughts?"
Stupefied he muttered, "Que?"
Marie shrugged, "Couldn't help but noticed you looked pissed off, thought you might want to get it off your chest?"
His brown eyes squinted, then widen a fraction in recollection. "Oh, now I know you," he muttered, "Wayne's chavala, from the tabloids; Shelly."
Marie flinched, usually she wasn't bothered when people confused her name but she recognised a hostility in his tone; rather than answer in kind she played it off, feigning offence, "Kelly," she corrected, "Marie Kelly. Oh and sorry about earlier, I didn't mean to interrupt you and Bruce back there, Mr..."
Thinking quickly and with a blunt finality he replied, "Dorrance." then he shifted his attention back to the barman, gesturing to him to hurry up with his drink.
Bane had never claimed that name as his own before, it was his fathers name; Edmund Dorrance, a man he didn't relate to at all. Now wondering why he chose that name but unable to answer Bane groaned. The barman had other patrons to serve, Bane having lost his train of thought decided to peek over his shoulder at the woman who interrupted him twice now, all small-talk abandoned she went back to watching the show and left him to himself. The barman returned with a shot glass, cautiously he pours the tequila then moves away. He shoots it down in a second and calls for another. Seeing her expression, how she drank, it gave the impression that Maire was a rather sad woman. Of course, Wayne has abandoned her so she turned to me, why? The lingering aroma on her breath was sharp and sweet, not wine the glass was sturdy and tall, made for cheap hardy drinks.
"You're drinking cider." It came as a statement not a question, regaining her attention she nodded, seemingly impressed by his canny. The beauty mark above her lip twitched as she swirled the golden liquid, "you're very perceptive, never cared much for champagne," referring to the staff circulating the room with trays of delicate flute glasses.
Bane pondered, yes Wayne is nowhere to be seen, he's left his date alone to work on his project, but is there no one here she can converse with beside me, Bane, does she even know who I am? No not without the mask, although.
"Tell me, you're not from here, are you?"
Marie shook her head, brown waves swishing faintly from side to side, "No, British born and bred. Yourself?"
"Cuba." he lied, "you're not enjoying the party either, yes?"
"I was."
" well then why do you stay?"
"Its an auction," she points her thumb towards the auctioneer in pink sequins, "she's about to call me up any second now to show off my donation. I'm flogging tickets to my show."
"A show, like singing and dancing?" perhaps if he knew her occupation he'd better know her.
"Stand up, I'm a comedian."
Bane's jaw nearly drops. "You are joking."
"No, not unless you pay me."
Bane was starting to like this woman, she's mad at Bruce for brushing her off and he could have fun with that. Her face bright and fair and also very expressive her moods changing with the fluidity of mercury, flowing from coy, to somber, to flirtatious.
To maintain his persona Wayne has often been seen with beautiful famous women on his arm, but a comedian, a clown? Is it a joke on himself?
"What do you do, then?" she asked.
Now this Bane needed to think quickly about. "I work with Wayne in the security sector of Wayne Enterprise."
"like guarding and securing his assets and such?"
"In a way. it's a shame Wayne couldn't stay for the show." Bane tried to steer the conversation away from himself, he had no issue with lying when it served his needs but building and maintaining them takes time and energy.
"Yeah, I had hoped he'd be here for this, but no, work stuff," she drawled, " any chance something to do with you?" Fortunately before Bane could attempt another alibi Marie is called to the stage. Quickly downing the rest of her drink, she slides of the stool, "nice talking to you, love" and skips off toward the stage.
"Love?" he scoffs. Then something flashed in his head. "Love."
The lady in sequins opens up to hug Marie then leads her to a table situated beside the podium, on it is a collection of gifts and vouchers, jewellery, a car key, but mostly envelopes. Marie picked a white one marked under her name. "This next lot has been donated by Marie Kelly."
Marie is handed the podium, holding up the prize and smiling to the audience, "Hello, and here we have VIP tickets to my Début stand up comedy show at Gotham's Monarch Theatre this weekend, including backstage passes and an invitation to the after party for drinks."
After she finished the other woman took the microphone back to start the bidding. "we'll open the bid at $40, do I hear $40?" she did then 45, 50, 60 and so on. With the headlights aimed at the stage it was difficult to see exactly who was bidding, the ladies resorting to shielding their eyes and following the voices as they came one after the other. As the price went higher and higher Marie began to suspect she was hearing a familiar voice, deep and gravelly with an accent and as the ending drew close and people began dropping out of the race she felt now that she knew and wasn't too sure how to take it.
And then.
"Sold! to the big guy at the bar."
Marie froze, dazed she had to be pushed gently to snap her back and get her off the stage. The crowd casually applauded while Marie feeling like a simpleton for standing there, carefully she strut back to the bar and there to see the only one not clapping was the man who won the tickets, the one with the heavy brow, and a peculiar smirk.
"Hello again, Mr Dorrance." she hands Bane the tickets and shakes his hand briskly. His big, warm callous hand.
The next lot comes up and everyone turns away from the odd pair, free from the public eye they pulled their hands away. Standing tall face to face perfectly put their size difference into perspective; since he was a younger man Bane was use to looking down on others, every few men can meet him at eye level and most of them don't garner his respect. For Marie, a solid 5'7, looking up at this Goliath was both intimidating and thrilling.
Marie spoke first, frankly, "Well that was unexpected. Still I'm sure Bruce and the charity will be grateful."
Bane inspected the envolope's contents before slipping it all into his coat pocket.
"Any questions about the show feel free to ask me or my manager Sharon, her email's on the back."
"I don't have time, how about we talk more tomorrow?"
Marie was shocked, "Really?" it slipped out, making her giggle at herself. Quickly returning to the topic, "I'll need to talk with my manager but I'm free after 9."
"I'll come at 10," he concludes with certainty.
Marie gestures for him to lean down so she can whisper in his ear, "I'm at the Royal Hotel," she pulls away smiling, she gets up to excuse herself but suddenly twirls around. "Almost forgot, don't leave without paying the lady, she takes all major credit cards."
Around 11 the party disperses and the guests start to leave, Alfred oversees their departure wishing them a goodnight, then locks the door. He hastily strolls to the study, once inside he heads straight towards a impressive antique grandfather clock, moving the big hand up to the twelve a latch clicks open revealing a secret flight of stairs hidden behind the clock. Down the steps into the Batcave, the legendary subterranean lair of Bruce Wayne's alter ego: the Batman.
Alfred found Bruce sat in his cape and armour in front of a giant computer system used for all manner of detection including forensic analysis as well communication and intelligence gathering. His bat shaped cowl rest by the keyboard.
"The last of the guests have left, sir, the manor is secure."
"Thank you Alfred." Bane stood at Bruce's side, impatiently itching to get moving.
"Bueno, now," turning to bruce, "tell me everything you've uncovered."
Bruce sat up and looked him straight in the eye, "First I wanna set some ground rules. You come on patrol, you follow my instructions to the letter, any trouble from you and you're on your own."
Bane nodded, "Understood. Now what about the doctor?"
Bruce tapped a key on the board, this brought some files up on the screen, employment records, addresses and an employee photograph of an emaciated man in his 50s. Hair brown, receding and turning grey. Small grey eyes, thin lips and a long crooked nose; altogether a miserable looking devil. "Dr Randolph Cooper, he's a chemist, specialising in developing new chemicals formulas, he's worked for labs all over the east coast. His last gig at Star Labs lasted about 12 months, until he left for unknown reasons."
Bruce gets up grabbing his cowl. "First stop is Dr Coopers last recorded address." donning the cowl, fully becoming the Batman he's ready to started. Bane hangs back a while to study the files, committing them to memory, his dark eyes lingered on the photograph.