Ah, it has been sooooooooooooo long since I updated, I'm so sorry…
Well over two weeks ago, I should think. In fact, nearer to three. I thought I'd update just in time for Christmas, although I don't expect many reviews too quickly since I know people are busy this time of year.
Anyway, thankyou to all who wished me a happy birthday last time! I had a great time and have actually been meaning to update so I could tell you about one of my presents, which is creepily uncanny – one of my friends bought me The Complete Illustrated Works of Edgar Allan Poe.
She doesn't know I am writing this – she's not into Teen Titans or writing or anything.
O.o Creepy-much?
Anyway… to me, Christmas is instilled with a Victorian atmosphere, most probably because it was the Victorians here in Britain who came up with most of the traditions, and is added to by the likes of A Christmas Carol. So what better story to update than Nevarmore? It is set in November, but it doesn't matter.
Anyway, thankyou to; Rochelleteentitan (you can catch The Scarecrow most definitely in Batman: The Animated Series if you have ever seen that; there are at least three different versions of him, I think, because they kept changing his design to make him scarier. He's an extremely interesting villain and his real name is actually Jonathan Crane); Luneko (we won't be seeing so much of Bruce, but Crane does have a big part in this); JenniGirl1 (you don't like slash pairings? Then stay well away from another seasonal update, Small Print. But don't worry – there is absolutely NO slash in this story whatsoever. You're safe! And yes, Raven is back this chapter!); Beik (thankyou so much! I'm glad you like this! There are definite writing style influences of Conan Doyle and Poe in this – they are two of my favourite authors. I don't know about Tolkien so much – nothing against him, he was a great writer, but I'm not a huge fan, and have only read The Hobbit); Guardian of Azarath (ahh, Trouble in Tokyo hater! Dude, seriously? I thought it was awesome. Some of it was predictable, yeah – I didn't figure out that the villain was Daizo, but it did dawn on me pretty quickly that the "assassins" such as Saico-Tek were coming from the manga factory, because of the "Cyan, Blue, Magenta" colour coding on them – the same printing colours at the bottom of newspaper pages. When it showed at the factory was shut, it was kinda obvious… Yes, it was definitely a fan-service, particularly the RobinxStarfire bits, but it made this fan happy… Thanks for the creepy Slade impression, BTW…); Me (how about, for Christmas, you tell me who you really are? What started out as you leaving a review for Black Magic and being too lazy to sign in has become a motif for you – you can't ever sign in now or you'll have to admit who you really are. Speaking of annoying people who won't ever tell people who they really are, Slade isn't in this story at all. Which makes a nice change, I have to say… O.o); YamiTai (wherever you are… two chapters have been updated on Remember the Titans and there's no sign of you. You okay, dude? Hope you had a great birthday yourself, anyway…); Li-kun05 (nyes, Scarecrow – he is indeed an awesome villain. I love BBxTerra, and although I can't expand them in this fic, I will be doing a lot more with them in future, particularly in Remember the Titans and the new co-authored fic Narroch and I are writing, Red Rum); Quinn and His Quill (a Merry Christmas to you, Quinn. Looking forward to Malachi Claus/Claws. Darren Shan should die – those books are so bad, I can't stand them… As for that fic you're talking about… Never heard of it. I must check it out sometime… Heh heh…); Narroch (um, yeah, I think the Scooby Gang would run away screaming from this particular case. As for The Scarecrow – I like him too, although some of the early episodes with him in Batman: TAS are really bad, particularly the first design… Ooh, scary… NOT. As for the gaseous hallucinogens – I think they did have them, actually. There is one used in a Sherlock Holmes story, The Devil's Foot. Two brothers and a sister die of fear after inhaling the gas given off when the root is burned. But I'm not going with that anyway…); Crazy Insomniac (I haven't seen Blade but I thought it was set in modern day, like Constantine. Obviously not. Once in Media Studies we got really excited because we thought we were going to watch and analyse Blade, but it turned out to be Blade Runner, which didn't impress us at all…); and Poison's Ivy (I can't drive yet – I'm still learning. But dude, you're short/near-sighted too? Me too. I'm supposed to wear my glasses all the time, but I don't because I don't like them. Slade or Trigon aren't in this, BTW; and Jonathan Crane is not an OC, he's a real character – the real name of The Scarecrow. Besides, it's a different spelling – Black Magic's is "JonathOn" and The Scarecrow is "JonathAn". I analysed The Telltale Heart in my English class too, in Year 11. Mr Clarke, my scary English teacher, was strangely obsessed with it… And yes, Raven is back! Jeez, how did I manage to pick up all these psycho Raven fans?).
Addressed to everyone; The Scarecrow was in the original Batman Elseworlds series Nevermore. Just a bit of trivia for you. His role in that and his role in this are completely different, however.
Secondly; Slade isn't in this. Trigon isn't in this. Red X isn't in this. There is, after this chapter, only one more character to come into the fic, and they will be a HUGE surprise to you. There's a recognizable face in this chapter, but they're not in it for very long, so they don't really count.
Anyway, please enjoy. I have something to say down bottom about the new fic Narroch and I have put up for Christmas, but for now…
Nevarmore – V
The Black Cat
"Must you pace so?" Cyborg asked irritably, watching the slayer restless walk up and down the space of floor just beyond the fireplace, his cravat loose around his collar and his coat and waistcoat thrown over a kitchen chair. "It is most distracting."
"This waiting is distracting." Robin heaved a sigh and leaned against the mantelpiece. "Just where has Beast Boy gotten to?"
"Ah, patience, Richard." Cyborg pointed up at the clock. "Why, it is not even a quarter past noon. And…" The mocha-skinned priest grinned. "I notice that you too have taken to calling young Garfield "Beast Boy"…"
A little growl escaped the slayer from deep in his throat.
"Forgive me my familiarity, Father Victor Stone," he intoned spitefully. "He himself insisted that I address him as Beast Boy rather than Garfield…"
Cyborg rolled his eyes.
"Oh, away with you, sir. I am in no mood for your temperamental spite this day…"
Robin snorted and took a seat at the table.
"You look as though you would welcome some food," Cyborg acknowledged. "You did not eat breakfast, nor, as I recall, did you finish supper last night."
"Hunger is superficial at this moment," Robin snapped.
Cyborg snorted and fetched from the cupboard some dry biscuits anyway, putting them on a saucer and near-slamming said saucer down in front of the teenager.
"Robin, no matter what you may think, you are only human," he said firmly, signaling with his eyes (as he had last night) to the boy that he had better start eating. "Sometimes I feel you are more human than any of us seem to be."
"And just what do you mean by that?" Robin demanded, breaking a piece off one of the biscuits and putting it into his mouth. "To whom exactly do you refer when you say "us"?"
Cyborg gave a helpless little shrug, pouring some tea for himself and his companion.
"Every acquaintance you have met. Myself, Beast Boy, Wayne's step-daughter Raven, and Usher's beauteous daughter, whom you have taken to calling Starfire… You strive to be the strongest – you strive to be something more. Tell me, just what do you think you are? Some kind of… superhero?"
"Superhero is not a real word," Robin bit out, fitting two bits of biscuit back together like jigsaw pieces.
"Neither is Cyborg."
Robin snorted again and drank some tea so that he wouldn't have to reply; and he was spared having to do when he put his cup down as there came a knock at the chamber door. Cyborg went to it and opened it, revealing Beast Boy on the doorstep.
"Garfield, my boy. Do not simply stand there in the cold – come in, sir." Cyborg practically ushered him into the kitchen, where the teen sat at the table across from Robin; who was distractedly making shapes with his broken pieces of biscuit.
"Oh, for Heaven's sake, Richard!" Cyborg snapped, snatching the saucer away. "If you are just going to play with it, you needn't bother!"
Robin looked sulkily at him for a moment or two, then turned his attention towards Beast Boy.
"You are late," he said coolly.
Beast Boy looked up at the clock on the wall.
"By only twenty minutes, sir," he defended. "Besides, it was not time idly spent. I was searching the news archive, just as you ordered me to."
"You found something of use, I trust?" Robin's words were more of a statement than a question as he raised his teacup to his mouth again.
But to his dismay, Beast Boy gave a sad little shake of his head.
"I searched the entire room very thoroughly," he explained in a small voice. "I assure you most heartedly that I looked at every book strewn on the floor in there, and those left on the shelves… there were no books by Jonathan Crane, sir. None at all."
Robin stared at him for a moment or two, silent; then he rose and started to distractedly pace again.
"Will you please stop that?" Cyborg snapped at him, bringing to the table a cup of tea for Beast Boy.
"I cannot…" Robin gripped at his ebony hair in frustration. "I simply cannot. This only grows more confusing, and I simply do not know which way to turn anymore…"
"How do you mean?" Cyborg asked; Beast Boy blinked in puzzlement.
"Well, I have a theory," the young teen put in when Robin did not answer Cyborg's question. "Mr Wayne said that some of Jonathon Crane's psychology journals were stored in the news archive. Wayne also led us to his own theory that it is perhaps Crane who is behind this, and he is using "supernatural" methods to frighten people, as was his primary psychological interest."
Cyborg nodded; Robin had already explained what Wayne had told them about Crane (while pacing earlier).
"So my theory is," Beast Boy continued, "that Crane is behind it all, and he broke into the news archive last night to steal his books back in case someone read them and recognized the methods. They were evidence against him, so he stole them back and destroyed them."
Cyborg nodded again, impressed.
"Perhaps Crane is dressing as this frightful creature and lurking near the murder scenes to create a legend," he said.
"What I fought last night was no man," Robin hissed.
"Ah, but you did not see it properly while fighting it, and you told us that it bled," Cyborg pointed out. "It could easily have been this Crane fellow in costume, and—"
"THE KILLER IS NOT CRANE!" Robin screamed furiously, stunning both of them into silence.
The slayer wearily dropped into his chair again as they both stared at him, alarmed by his sudden outburst.
"It is not Crane," he said again, his voice soft and tired. "Crane did not kill anyone, and he did not steal those books."
"And how can you say this with such certainty?" Beast Boy barbed.
Robin looked up at him, and suddenly he looked very worn out.
"Because," he said quietly, "Professor Jonathon Crane is dead."
TT
It was a last-minute change-of-mind that compelled the slayer to instead stake out the office of Professor Crane first – he would call in to the Rue Morgue on his way back to Cyborg's parish house to meet Beast Boy at noon.
He caught a cab, requesting to be taken to the offices of Professor Jonathon Crane – praying that the driver would know where to go. As it happened, he did, but he gave the slayer an odd look upon the request.
"Why on this earth should you wish to go there, sir?" He had asked.
"It is business," Robin had replied coldly.
The driver had shrugged and opened the door for him, at which Robin had wordlessly gotten into the cab and found the darkest corner in which to sit so that he could think in peace.
The driver's request of why he should wish to go to Crane's offices had only served to further pique his interest in the fellow.
Following the brief journey through the smoky gray morning that was typical of Gotham City, he found himself standing outside a tall office building; a small tarnished brass plaque to the right of the door read the names of various occupants of each rented office.
It seemed that "H. Dent, Lawyer" could be found on the first floor, alongside the office of one "Professor M. Chang". "Isley and Quinzel, Botany Specialists" were up a floor, and next to them was "Harvey Bullock, Detective". And there, on the third floor, alongside the office named simply "Mumbo's Magician Supplies", was the office of "Professor J. Crane, Psychologist".
The slayer entered the building, making his way through to a dark, murky reception area. The desk was empty, signaling that no-one was going to stop him from going up. As he started up the narrow staircase he slicked his hair back again with a little more spit and pulled out his notebook.
If it had worked on Wayne…
He passed the first floor offices, noting that they were all occupied at this time in the morning, and the sounds of work were audible beyond the doors. The second floor offices were alike, but they too were ignored by him as he started up the third and final staircase.
Mumbo's Magician Supplies appeared to be in business this early in the morning too, but…
Robin reached Crane's door and blinked.
It was dark. There were no lights on at all, and the shady interior made it appear as though the curtains were drawn.
Robin tried the door handle. It was locked. So he tried again, harder, frustrated. Still it remained locked.
Frowning, he popped an elbow at the lock, hoping to jar it. It gave a little shudder but moreover did more damage to his arm than vice versa; hissing in pain, he stepped back, scowling deeply.
Where was Crane?
At that moment, seemingly summoned by the shuddering of wood his elbow had created, the door of Mumbo's Magician Supplies opened and a bizarre, slightly blue-faced fellow with white hair peeped out. He looked quizzically up and down the corridor before his accusing gaze settled on the slayer.
"What are you doing, young sir?" He barbed. "What business do you have up here, banging on doors?"
Robin smoothed out his scowl; perhaps this man could help him locate Crane.
"I am looking for Professor Jonathon Crane," he explained, holding up his notebook. "I am a journalist and seek an interview with him."
The man just blinked at him for a moment or two.
"Then you want to try the churchyard, lad," he said finally. "That is where he was last I saw him."
Robin frowned.
"What… what do you mean, sir?"
The fellow snorted.
"I mean that he is dead, boy." He nodded at the darkened office. "He died close to six months ago. Terrible tragedy; poisoned, the authorities said. He was never a particularly pleasant fellow, but still… His office there has been shut up for all those six months – they are finding it difficult to get another tenant since Crane was found dead in there."
Robin blinked at him, speechless.
"Crane is… dead?"
"I am afraid so."
Robin put a hand to his forehead in confusion. If Crane was dead, why hadn't Wayne said so? Surely, having once had him in his employ, he would have known?
"I… I thank you, sir," he stammered finally, walking away from the door. He offered a brief nod to the man as he reached the staircase. "I am sorry to have disturbed you."
"It is quite alright." The man nodded in reply and disappeared back into his office with a muttered "Good day".
Frowning deeply, the slayer slowly descended the staircases back down to the reception area.
Crane might be dead, but Robin wanted into that office.
Robin left the building and calmly made his way around the back, stepping over wild undergrowth and wilder overgrowth. Once there, he looked up at the building, assessing which window on the third floor was that of Crane's office. The dark one was logical, so he went and stood underneath it, going through his belt for an item that was technically still a prototype.
Dangerous. He had used it once or twice before, but not without (superficial) injury. Still, next time he might not be so lucky…
He admitted he might have something of a passion for making up names for things; he called this thing – a long, robust cord with a hook attached – a "grappling hook".
Perhaps, in time, he would perfect the item – as for now, it was alright for getting upwards (which was what he wanted to do right now), but getting down was dangerous. The implications of reaching terminal velocity at such a speed, with his weight pulling on a cord that had not been designed for the purpose for which he was using it, was potentially harmful – a little too much strain potential, and his arms could be pulled from their sockets.
Not a pleasant thought.
Still, he hadn't jumped a very long distance with it, and hoped he wouldn't have to until he had bettered it. It would do for now, however.
Grasping the loops of cord in one hand, he swung the hook over his head; reaching a satisfactory speed, he let go of it, holding the end as the metal hook went soaring through the air towards the outside windowsill of Crane's deserted office. It caught, scraping at flaking paintwork and splintering wood.
Grounding all of his weight, Robin hauled on the rope experimentally. It held fast, even when he gave a few sharp tugs. Pleased, he went to the wall and used it as a foothold to start pulling himself up; it was a terrible strain on his arms, and it took him a while, but eventually he reached the windowsill and perched on it, unfastening his hook and using it to pry open the window catch. Shoving the window up, he hopped into the dark office, pushing back the drawn curtains a little; wrapping up his grappling hook and putting it back in his belt, pleased with himself.
He shut the window, leaving the curtains open just a crack to give himself a little light with which to conduct his search.
The dead man's office was almost bare, as the slayer had expected. The shapes of a desk and chair, with dusty white sheets thrown over them, were visible pushed the side of the room. A tall near-empty cabinet had been spared a sheet; it was home to a few books, which he inspected. He found nothing of major interest or significance and put them back, disappointed.
Truthfully, upon learning that Crane was dead, he didn't know what he had expected to find in here.
Looking around, he located a few boxes near the locked door; perhaps he would find something of help in there instead. He started for them—
And tripped on something halfway across the floor, falling flat on his face.
Cursing under his breath, he knelt up and turned partway around to see what it was that he had tripped over.
A floorboard, loose and sticking up slightly at one end, seemed to be the culprit.
Standing, he irritably kicked it—
And was startled as the whole thing came loose, jarring upwards and sticking halfway to reveal a dark space underneath the floor.
He paused for a second or two, still immensely surprised, and then dropped to his hands and knees to inspect his find. Grasping the floorboard, a quick tug pulled it completely loose, and he put it aside. That left him with a large hole in the floor, filled mostly with dust and a few crawling things – spiders, woodlice, earwigs.
But there was something else too.
A square object wrapped in filthy brown paper and secured with cord.
He lifted it out and placed it on the floor, loosening the cord. Once that was away he could see that there was writing on the dirty paper, the pencil markings barely visible through the grime.
"The Black Cat".
Frowning, Robin unwrapped the paper, finding four books – leather-bound journals. The front covers were plain, but he opened the first one and found a first page which all but explained what they were.
The question was, what were Professor Jonathon Crane's psychology journals (a collection he had named "The Black Cat", presumably) doing hidden under floorboards of his old office? Had the man hidden them himself? With Crane dead, he knew that he could not possibly get an answer to that question.
He flipped through the first book, looking at the pages and pages of tiny neat writing, pausing now and then to take better note of what was written. It was clear that the man had been a genius, but, as Bruce Wayne himself had cited, utterly insane.
He put the first book aside – he did not think it relevant. It was not about fear, but about attachments in modern human society (an elaboration on "No man is an island"). Taking up the second book, he flipped through that too, again discarding it when he discovered it to be about social conformity and majority influence.
Sighing, he picked up the third journal – or what he supposed was the third journal. But looking at the "explanation page", he discovered that this was not book three, but book five. He picked up the fourth book too, to discover that it was the sixth.
So where were three and four? Were they the ones that had been in Wayne's library?
The ones that had been taken?
Flicking through the fifth and sixth journals confirmed this suspicion – neither of them were about Crane's "Fear Theory". Those ones had been stolen.
But by whom, and why? Clearly the Raven Murderer could not possibly be Crane himself, since the man was dead. Someone inspired By Crane's psychological findings, then? Perhaps an old accomplice of his? Or simply an admirer?
Robin could not say, but what he knew was this – whoever had those books was the killer.
So, if the books were his trail, he had to find them.
Before it was too late.
TT
"Did you take any of Crane's journals?" Beast Boy asked as the slayer paused in his narrative to draw a breath.
Robin shook his head.
"There seemed to be no need for it. Those particular journals were of no use to us. It is presumably the ones focusing on the psychology of fear which the Raven Murderer has taken. However, I cannot understand such a notion." Robin shook his head as he said it. "I do not think that these murders are being committed by a man. They have every characteristic of a vampire's way of killing, and the beast I fought last night was a terrible being that no man, costume or not, could ever replicate. I know the difference between a human and a monster, gentlemen – it is my job to distinguish between them."
"There is no way for you to marry both theories?" Cyborg asked. "You have dismissed this, or has it simply bypassed you?"
"I have considered it, but I myself find it difficult to believe." Robin rubbed at his temples frustratedly. "Wayne's theory is that the killer is human, and is conjuring up the idea of the "Raven Murderer", making the appearance of the crimes supernatural so as to terrify people. A vampire certainly strikes more fear into the hearts of men than a regular murderer does. I myself, however, can almost certainly certify that the killer is inhuman – indefinitely of the vampiric variety."
"Has it not occurred to you, Richard, that perhaps the murderer is a vampire, but is more intelligent than what you are used to and has designed the string of killings in such a way as to scare people?" Cyborg asked calmly.
"I have, and they do not marry," Robin replied coldly. "If the killer is a vampire, as I believe it is, then what need has it to deliberately design the killings in such a way? A vampire killing has a distinctiveness about it – hence, I have been able to deduce so quickly what it is that we are dealing with. Bites in the throat, at the position of the jugular, will always betray a vampire, and these alone will ignite fear in people. Why design a campaign of fear when it is not needed?"
Cyborg was silent for a while, then finally gave a small shrug.
"I admit that I have no answer for you, Richard."
"I do not have one myself, Cyborg, and therein lies the problem." Robin toyed with the cross at his throat miserably. "I do not know what is going on here at all."
"May I ask something?" Beast Boy put in timidly. "It is not exactly relevant, but…"
Robin nodded slowly.
"Certainly, Beast Boy. Although, in light of today's findings, I am uncertain that I may be able to answer you."
"Might you have any idea why he called his omnibus of journals "The Black Cat"?" Beast Boy queried. "It just seems a most unusual name to me…"
"I admit to thinking it over during the cab journey back," Robin answered morosely. "My only theory is that it is associated with superstition. A black cat is said to be unlucky. Perhaps Crane himself had a run-in with a black cat?" The slayer shrugged hopelessly. "I could not possibly know. I am hardly one of telepathic abilities, and even if I were, Crane is dead. I fear that we never find out the reason for his unusual naming of his journal collection."
There was silence for a long while.
"What must we do now?" Beast Boy asked quietly, breaking it.
"I am unsure. Perhaps it is best that we separate for now. Beast Boy, I am sure that you have matters of your own to attend to, as does Cyborg."
Beast Boy gave a little nod and rose.
"And you?" He asked.
Robin stood too.
"I will attempt to make some sense of this. I feel that research is in order, and of course I must return to Dr Usher at some point today to discover what he has learned of the heart we found today. And nightly patrol is, of course, imminent. It is my hope that tonight I may be able to prevent the beast from taking any lives at all."
"Very well. I shall return on the morrow, then?"
"I think that would be best." Going to his belt, Robin pulled out a sharp, robust stake and offered it out. "It also might be wise for you to take this with you," he added, noting the younger teen's look of alarm. "If the vile creature knows that I have been tracking it, it has perhaps learned of your role in assisting me. If you are attacked, this is the only thing which will kill it, if you are to get it in the correct position. Crosses and holy water do not cause lasting harm."
"And what might the "correct position" be?" Beast Boy asked warily, half-reaching for the thing.
"Cyborg, if I might use you as a demonstrative figure?"
"Certainly." The priest allowed the slayer to flip the stake over in his grip and position it at his heart to show Beast Boy where to aim if he was attacked.
"Traditionally, a hammer or mallet is used to drive the stake into the heart," Robin explained, "but truthfully one sharp thrust is all you need." He placed the heel of his hand over the butt of the stake to show Beast Boy what he meant. "In this position, a sudden jerk of my hand would most indefinitely slay Cyborg here."
Beast Boy nodded uneasily, and Robin handed the stake over.
"It is unlikely that you will need it," the slayer went on, "but one cannot ever be too careful."
"It is my understating that your theory was that the creature is taking victims only of the female gender," Beast Boy pointed out.
"That is true, but I am unable to predict the behavior of this phantasm. Certainly it attacked me last night when presented with the threat of my stake. I am certain that the creature will not take gender into account if it feels threatened."
Beast Boy nodded.
"Very well. I thank you, sir."
He left, hailing a cab; Cyborg watched through the window until he saw the cab drive away.
"What of you then, sir?" He asked the slayer, not turning to him.
Robin looked up from where he had been gingerly unwrapping his handkerchief to see exactly how much black gunk he had coughed up during the cab journey back from the Rue Morgue that morning; he had been taken by another fit of it.
"What do you mean?"
"It is still your belief that you can conquer this beast?"
"I must, Cyborg."
"But what…" The priest lowered his voice. "What if you cannot? What if the beast is the one to—?"
"I will not give up, Cyborg. You know that." Robin rose, regarding his friend rather coldly.
"I do know that, and I…" Cyborg trailed off as the slayer stalked past him, making for the staircase. "You never give up. Robin, I worry. It is going to kill you…"
Robin paused at the foot of the stairs and looked down at his handkerchief.
"Oh, Cyborg," he murmured bitterly, "I do not think that that will be the thing to kill me at all…"
TT
"…Other than the fact that it was torn from the poor girl's body," Dr Roderick Usher said serenely, leaning back and lighting up his pipe, "there is nothing unusual about the heart you found this morn."
Robin frowned.
"That is what I expected, I admit." He looked up at the man. "You can derive nothing else from it?"
Usher declined his head with a sigh.
"I am afraid not. I have checked it for everything imaginable; teethmarks, drainage… The only damage to it was the ripping of the aorta and vena cava, which is logical. From that I can conjecture that it was torn out rather than cut, but that does not lend itself to very much."
Robin nodded, disappointed.
"It does not matter." Looking out at the dark sky through the window of Usher's study, the slayer rose. "I apologize for the abruptness, but I must be on my way. The foul creature may already be ahead of me."
Usher nodded.
"Very well." e pasued for a few moents. hhhhHe paused for a few moments, chewing at the end of his pipe. "You… you do not think that it will… come back for my daughter…?"
"I could not possibly say. I would gladly remain here to protect your daughter once again, but I cannot leave the streets unprotected. Where your daughter's life was spared last night, Jinx's was taken in her stead. I cannot allow that to happen again."
Usher nodded.
"I understand. I just worry that I will not be able to ward the beast off as you did."
"That is why I implore you to allow me to speak with her for a few moments before I leave." Robin pointed up at the ceiling. "I have brought something for her which will act as a charm to repel the creature, should it return."
Usher gave a curt nod.
"Very well. While it may be improper to allow you to visit my daughter in her own chambers, I fully trust that you have her best interests at heart. You may proceed upstairs."
"Thankyou, sir." Robin gave him a small, thankful nod and left the office.
He remembered the way from the night before and soon stood nervously outside her door, toying with his cravat while he waited for her to answer his knock.
"Just one moment, father!" He heard her call from beyond the door; and immediately hoped that she would not find his contrary presence unwelcome.
Incidentally, when she opened the door (in her long purple nightgown) to find him in the hallway instead of her father, she blinked; and then smiled that radiant smile.
"Robin?"
The mingled surprise and delight was evident in her voice and he felt a blush creep up his face. He managed an awkward little wave of his fingers before managing to squeak out;
"Lenore…"
"Starfire." She stepped back, inviting him in. "Do not simply stand there in the corridor, sir."
He stiffly entered her room and turned to face her, wondering where his vocabulary was hiding.
"How is your wrist?"
"Fine, thankyou."
Silence.
"Well, this is a pleasure," Starfire said finally, "but just what brings you here? I assume that my father gave you permission to ascend up here, and so…?"
"I, ah…" Robin cleared his throat and delved into his belt. "I-I brought you… something…"
He fished out the tiny leather box and opened it, revealing, nestled in the black velvet interior, a simple silver cross on a glittering chain.
"Oh." She blinked at it, looking from it to him and then back again. "You… really brought that for… me?"
He nodded, taking it out of the box.
"It will protect you," he explained, unfastening the clasp. "My acquaintance, Father Victor Stone, has blessed it in Holy Water. Any unholy beast may not touch you as long as this is about your throat."
She turned around and lifted her hair so that he could fasten it around her neck.
"I thank you," Starfire said, looking down at it. "It is beautiful. It was most kind of you to think of me."
"You are welcome."
She turned to face him again, the cross glittering against her purple silk gown.
"You must not take it off," Robin pressed.
"I shall not." She clasped the tiny cross in her hand. "I promise."
He paused a while longer, then nodded.
"Very well. I must be going." He walked past her, making for the door…
…and didn't get very far. She caught his arm.
"Starfire," he started, turning to her, "the beast may have already—"
She kissed him. Held him. Tight. As though she would never let him go.
So he kissed back. Held her. Tighter.
As though, when faced with the climax of a battle – when the monster reared, roared, lumbered towards him for what it thought would be the final blow – she was his stake.
His lifeline.
He had saved her life; and was she saving him now? As she loosened his collar and his cravat and first breathed against, then kissed, his exposed throat; was she saving him?
Pallas (just above the chamber door; perched, and sat, and nothing more) watched it all.
TT
"You must leave so soon?"
"I think you know the answer to that." Robin looked at her briefly over his shoulder, before turning away again and shrugging his shirt on. "I cannot waste a moment more."
"You believe your time to have been… wasted?"
"I…" He faltered (despising the female sex for being able to twist a man's words). "N-no, it is just that…"
His hands were shaking and he couldn't do his buttons properly.
"Confound it!" He hissed in frustration, pulling them undone again as he realized they were in the wrong holes, leaving it bunched up.
He paused for a moment to turn to her again; she lay on her side beneath the covers.
Naked but for the cross, her skin glowing gold; her red hair an exquisitely tousled wave falling all across her body. Her green eyes glittered at him and by God, he loved her.
And it was not as though he needed to prove that anymore.
Which was what terrified him.
"I have… I have things to…" He looked away from her again, buckling his belt. "The Raven Murderer prowls still, and I can ill afford to… to…"
"I understand that, but…" She reached out and touched the bare skin of his stomach, making him subtly shiver. "Do you feel as though your time has been… wasted?"
"Never." He gently moved her hand away. "Starfire, I would give all of the night's plutonian shore to relive those precious moments, but you must understand… please…"
"I have already cited that I do." Her tone was cool. "And know, sir, that under any other circumstance, it would be highly improper for you to simply leap up and rush out, leaving a lady when it is common courtesy that you should instead lie with her."
"Ha, do not speak to me about "properness", Miss Usher!" Robin hissed. "This is also why I must leave. For heaven's sake, what would your father say if he were to—?"
"My father does not enter my chamber once I have retired."
"Perhaps so, but he might when he realizes that his "trustworthy" slayer has ascended to your chamber and not returned," Robin snapped. "A tad suspicious, do you not agree?"
She didn't seem to have an answer for him, instead blinking at him; clearly the thought hadn't dawned on her.
It was apparent to both of them, however, that Usher would skin the pair them alive were he to catch them.
Because what they had just done was very, very wrong.
Which was another reason he panicked. He simply hadn't thought – she had kissed him, and it had overtaken them, lasting barely ten minutes; the shedding of their clothes included. It had been animalistic, yet quiet.
She tired of being restricted by her role as a respectable young lady, laced tightly into corsets and bodices and laced tightly into society too.
He madly, blindly, wonderfully in love. She made him feel like… Well, she made him feel. No-one else had ever been able to spark such emotion in him before her. And he loved those feelings – something wonderful that overrode his coldness, his sullenness, his contempt for the ignorance of those around him.
And yes, it had barely lasted. She was more than any man (or boy) could stand for very long. They had lain for a few moments under her sheets, he on top of her as she wiped away the beads of sweat from his face.
As he marveled at the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore, and marveled at what she had shown him, given him, and what he had given her, taken from her—
And then, as though something had been switched back on in him, he had leapt off and hurriedly started to dress, while she watched him (as Pallas had done) with wide emerald eyes.
What had he done? Destroyed her. Spoiled her innocence, tarnished her purity, tainted her virtue.
Ruined her chastity, and taken her virginity.
What man would marry her now, if he should come to know? Such a thing (sex before marriage) was so highly improper and impromptu…
How he had devalued the poor girl.
"We both know that my speedy departure is the only thing that will spare you now," Robin continued coldly. "It is not myself I fear for, and believe me, I feel cowardly for not confessing to your father. But should he come to know, you will not be married off, and then what for you?"
"Perhaps I do not wish to be married," Starfire replied icily.
Robin forced a little laugh.
"Modern society does not leave you very many options, Starfire."
"I do not want to be married to a man who does not treat me as his equal, as I fear I shall be. I want to be more than some gentleman's trophy, and I… I do not wish to be betrothed. I wish to choose my own husband."
"Starfire…" He gazed at her sadly. "Such choices are not yours to make."
"They should be!" Starfire cried, sitting up and holding the sheets to her chest. "Is it not my life? And you may fear for me, and feel guilt for what you have done, but I do not. I am… happy. You make me happy."
"And you…" He looked at her longingly, agonized. "I have never felt such happiness before as when I was in your arms but five minutes ago, but we both know that happiness does not come into this equation. In this modern day and age, Starfire, emotion rules little. Happiness comes second to the rules of society."
"Then I am different. I am a misfit in society." Starfire reached for his hand. "I have always been so – emotions are important to me. Joy and wonder rule me – it has always been my belief that one should follow their heart."
"Then you are a breed apart, Starfire."
"Alien?"
"Perhaps. Perhaps alien." He squeezed her hand tightly. "But the most wonderful breed."
She smiled at him, then pulled him closer and took up either side of his shirt.
"Here, since you seem incapable of doing it yourself, sir…" She quickly and efficiently buttoned his shirt, leaving him to tuck it in as she grasped his cravat and expertly tied it about his throat.
"Thankyou." He squeezed her fingers again before slipping off the bed and retrieving his waistcoat and her nightdress. "Please, put this on," he said, handing it to her.
She obediently slipped it on over her head as he buttoned his waistcoat, adjusting his collar.
"You are satisfied?" She asked.
"Quite. I…" He stood at the foot of the bed, fully dressed. "I am sorry."
"Do not be, for I am not." She looked up at him, giving a little giggle. "You cannot leave like this, however, sir. Your hair betrays you."
She beckoned to him, whereupon he obediently went to her, sitting on the edge of the bed. She took up a comb from her bedside and started to tame it.
"My father has a great respect for you," she said softly.
"He would not if he knew—"
"Which he will not. But I…" She put the comb down and put her hands on his shoulders. "If you were to… that is, if you asked him, when all of this is over, for my hand… it is probable that he would… give it to you."
"If I…" Robin blinked at her. "Starfire, you speak of marriage?"
She nodded earnestly.
"Slaying the Raven Murderer will only serve to prove your worth to him. I am certain that he will agree to it, if only you ask him before any other suitors put forward a similar request."
"I…" He was horrified; not because he didn't want such a thing (oh, how he wanted it), but because…
…it was out of the question. He led a dangerous life, and he was dying. It was not fair on the girl to make her a widow so soon after her becoming a bride.
"And this will solve your worries," she added eagerly, taking his hands. "You worry than no gentleman will marry me because you have taken my purity, but such a thing would not matter if you were my groom. And I know… you would not treat me as a trophy. So far, you have treated me only with kindness and respect. You too, sir, are of a rare breed."
"Starfire…" He took a deep breath, shaking again. "I regret that I… I cannot marry you."
She blinked.
"Why is this so? You are… already engaged?"
"No, it is nothing like that." He sighed deeply. "And it is not that I do not… I cannot marry you, Starfire. I simply cannot. Please understand."
"I do not." She shook her head, near tears. "I do not understand. Why can you not request my hand? You believe that we would be unhappy?"
"No! No, please…" He squeezed her hands tightly. "It is nothing to do with happiness, or class, or… Just trust me when I say I cannot. My world is not for you. It is too brutal, too harsh for one of your beauty."
"My beauty will leave me one day," Starfire said desperately. "No-one may stay young forever. And I know your world; I walk in your realm, slayer. My father has not allowed me ignorance of such things."
"I know that. I never once cited that you were ignorant. But it is not for you, Starfire. I could not forgive myself for pulling you down with me. You would have no life – I move from place to place, and generally my accommodation is not… I could not force you to live such a life, and your father would not want that for you either."
"You would not be forcing me. I would go with you, gladly." She put her arms around his shoulders, nuzzling against his neck. "It is no business of my father's. I love you."
"And how can you know such a thing? You met me only yesterday."
"I told you; I am governed by my emotions. I know that I… you are the one. I feel something unlike anything I have ever felt before. I love you. I will go with you, wherever your quest may take you."
"No." He unwrapped her arms. "Starfire, I… I love you too, more than anything. I know this too. I love you."
He got up, backing away very slowly.
"But I cannot marry you. Please understand how it pains me to refuse you."
"But why must you?" Starfire asked, whispering; a tear slipped down her face and by now it was too late for him to wipe it away.
"Because…" He reached the door, opening it slightly, and toying distractedly with his cross with his other hand. "…To allow you to become my bride would also allow you to become my widow."
He turned away before she could question him further.
"Goodnight, Lenore." He left without a backwards glance, swallowing the painful lump in his throat.
It took her a moment—
"You are sick!" She cried after him. "You are dying…!"
She sprang from her bed and went to her door, wrenching it open (here she opened wide the door) to find the corridor empty.
The slayer was gone.
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Now please… it's Christmas. No flames.
I will only pop chestnuts on them.
This wasn't just thrown in here randomly as a bit of "action". In the Victorian times, something like this was… well, very bad.
And this will affect the story.
As for Starfire – I tried to make her "alien" without her actually being an alien. She stills retains the traits of the Tamaraneans, although she is a human in this. There are also allusions to Betrothed – you probably picked them out.
Do Robin and Starfire have a happy ending in this?
Maybe. Maybe not. I haven't decided yet.
Okay, okay, Christmas… On Thursday 22nd December, Narroch and I showcased a brand new fic we have started writing together, called Red Rum. There was one hell of an ad campaign surrounding it, mainly because it's the first fic we have co-written that we have put up on Narroch's account rather than mine. The first chapter is massively Christmas-themed, set on Christmas Eve, and is our "Christmas Special".
So far, it's done okay – four reviews, which isn't terrible, but we'd like more people to read it before Christmas. It will lose its impact afterwards, for obvious reasons. It's based on Agatha Christie's Ten Little Indians and is Teen Titans heavily crossed with Batman: TAS. Much of the narrative focuses on Detective Harvey Bullock of the GCPD (yup, that overweight guy always eating donuts…) as he attempts to track down and bring to justice a murderer picking off young superheroes across Gotham and Jump City. If you're enjoying this, you will probably like it – it's kinda in the same vein, only it's not Elseworlds. Primarily it's Teen Titans, focusing on them as the killer begins to pick them off and they struggle to figure out who it is and save themselves, but Bullock is officially on the case, as Batgirl was the first to be murdered, and so he's never far behind.
Pleeeeeeeaaaaaasssssssssssse check it out if you get time and want something a little festive. The story does get much darker, but the first chapter has a little Xmas fluff in it. You can find it easily on Narroch's profile – she's on my Favourites List. We worked really hard on it and are hoping some more people pick it up.
Anyway, there's that; this; Small Print (updated last Wednesday) and hopefully more Remember the Titans tomorrow as my last update before Christmas. Don't say I don't treat you…
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
RobinRocks xXx