Title: The Suit (pt 10)
Genre: fanfic (Batman Beyond)
Setting: sometime early on in the series
Rating: pretty darn G
Notes: You may have thought this story lay dead and doomed to be a WIP forever, but…IT LIVES! I honestly tried to get to the point with this segment…and then the point ran away and refused to be written just yet. But I'm trying to wrap it up. Really.
Bruce supposes he ought to be fearing for his life, but in fact, he's having a pretty decent evening, all things considered. Which is more than can be said for his captors.
"This dress is a Versace original," whines the Vreeland girl for the fiftieth time. "Do you have any idea how impossible it is to get rust stains out of a Versace?"
"Easier than getting a bullet out of your head?" mutters Ryerstad, who has been pacing impatiently around the huddled prisoners for the last twenty minutes. "Stan, hurry up."
"I do explosives, man, not TV cameras," growls Stan from the other side of the warehouse, where he has his hands full setting up the video equipment. Bruce assumes a live broadcast of demands is imminent. He hopes they've scripted it beforehand, or else it will be an exceptionally long night.
"A-are you going to kill us?" whimpers the Hill man.
"Oh God oh God," says the rotund Fallbrook woman.
"My dress!" moans the Vreeland girl.
"Should have gagged them," Bruce says helpfully.
"Shut up," Ryerstad says, waving his gun in their faces. "All of you, just shut up! This is your own fault, you know! Waving your money around, buying off the cops, masterminding the crime in this city, while the people who depend on you waste away in all the filth and corruption! It's time someone taught you the meaning of justice!"
"By breaking the law?" says Bruce. "Interesting sense of justice."
Ryerstad turns on his heel and points the gun at Bruce's forehead. "The cops forgot what real justice is a long time ago, old man. I'm just reminding them. Reminding all of you."
"And what's he doing?" Bruce nods toward Stan, who is cursing loudly and tripping over wires.
Ryerstad's face falls momentarily. "He's – uh – being my henchman."
Bruce smirks. "Only villains have henchmen."
Ryerstad draws himself up to his full height and puffs out his chest so that the letters on his shirt spelling out "Nite-Wing" are particularly visible. "I'm not a villain. I'm a vigilante."
Bruce's smirk widens. "Sure you are."
"Anyway," Ryerstad continues, "All the vigilantes have hench – er, sidekicks. Green Arrow had Speedy, Aquaman had Aqualad, Batman had –"
A dark figure bursts through the warehouse skylight just then, spraying them all with shattered glass. The Vreeland girl squeals loudly, Stan lets out a shout, and the silhouette of a bat appears against the nearly full moon for a split second before it drops to the floor.
"Batman!" says Ryerstad.
"They always act like they're surprised, don't they?" comments someone at Bruce's elbow.
"You're late," says Bruce.
"You're welcome," says the voice, and he feels the ropes around his wrists loosen.
Bruce grunts and watches Ryerstad and Stan close in on an extremely unperturbed McGinnis -- Batman. "Did I always look that…theatrical?" he asks suddenly.
"Just be thankful you weren't wearing the green shorts."
"Those were your idea, if I recall correctly."
"You don't."
"Um…excuse me?" says the willowy Van Dorn man. "Are you here to rescue us?"
"No," says Dick. "But he is."