All rights to Nolan, D.C Comics, and Warner Brothers.
Chapter 14 – Hubris
Email could really stack up if a body didn't keep an eye on their inbox.
Selina learned this fact of life the second week into her new job. On top of balancing contract work and consulting with Cadmus, she'd picked up the Wayne Foundation slack. The director of the foundation had taken a fatal hit during the stockholders meeting, and sadly no one could really fill the vacancy.
That's where she and Bruce came in.
He'd gone back in as CEO of Wayne Enterprises for the interim. It still wasn't decided who would actually run the company in the long-term since while Lucius Fox was in recovery – doctors put his physical therapy as his only priority, despite the old inventor's protests. It'd be half a year before he'd be fit to work again, and then with the aid of a brace.
Her fingers were tapping across the screen of her smartphone. The Ladies Society of Gotham wanted to know if she was available for their monthly luncheon. The Beautification Society wanted donations already. A foundation committee member was due for a disciplinary hearing concerning misallocated funds. The pile was stacking up by the hour.
Finally, she culled the numbers down to a single digit and focused on the task at hand.
"Almost there, ma'am," Alfred said from the front of the Rolls Royce. They pulled up the familiar circle drive towards the Elizabethan style manor, and for a moment it felt like coming home. The plaque at the front of the massive doors read the Martha Wayne Home.
She let herself out, her heels crunching on the shell drive to intercept the miffed butler. "Not on my watch, Alfred. No need," she chirped, looping an arm through his as they made their way up the steps. The proprietor of the home, Father Richardson, was there to meet them.
"Welcome, Mrs. Wayne, Mr. Pennyworth," he greeted them warmly. She responded in kind, shaking the offered hand. This was an honest man, at least. One that they could trust to keep the kids first and the money last. She was wary of stewardship concerning most of the trustees – corruption was like a rotting vine that had a stranglehold on most aspects of life. The Wayne Foundation was no exception. Already she'd been finding numbers coming up short in the accounting division.
She hated thieves scoring on her deal.
Wayne Enterprises and their investigations division was already on it after she'd told Bruce the issue.
"We're housing nearly two hundred of the city's at-risk-youth and orphans, with more on the way," the priest said as he led them on the tour of the renovated mansion. It was now a state-of-the-art home, the old bedrooms converted into dormitories while most of the downstairs served as the recreational rooms and classrooms. The dining room was modified with long tables in neat rows, and staff milled about as they served lunch.
It looked more like a classy boarding school than a city orphanage. Selina was floored.
"What happens when they age out?" Selina asked. The priest shook his head, leading them along the familiar corridors.
"Sadly, there are no alternatives. They simply age out and are made to function on their own wits."
"There's a solution for that. I'll be getting in contact with you about arranging for a program and scholarship fund for the kids that actually want to work for it – those that show the effort. Myself and my husband have agreed to set up a fund to allow any child in this home the chance at post-secondary education, whether they want to go to a trade school or Gotham University to get their bachelors degree."
"Mrs. Wayne, that's terribly generous," the priest said after a moment of shocked silence. Selina smiled, glancing out at the rows of tables and the kids milling about on the lawn. All were clean, healthy, clothed properly, and happy.
She remembered being a child on the street. During winter in the Narrows, you'd be lucky to pick up a scrap from a restaurant dumpster. Even luckier to score ratty, second hand clothes from the donation center. Rarely she'd get a decent coat to keep her warm and shoes with just a few holes. Sometimes you'd get a hot shower at one of the youth halls, but those were few and far between.
Selina realized that she didn't want any other girls on the streets of Gotham, selling their bodies to feed a constantly gnawing hunger in their bellies. Shooting up in seedy motel rooms and getting sucked into the gaping maw of poverty and crime that she'd narrowly avoided due to luck and street smarts.
Pushing away the ugly memories, she looked around at the fresh furnishings and tasteful decor. The contents of the house had been sold at auction, but she was working on getting a few of the pieces back through her many contacts.
Especially Bruce's old bedroom set. She wanted those back for him badly. Familiarity was good, and she wished she had her old bed from her childhood to pass along to any of their children. At that unbidden thought, she paused.
When would they ever get the chance to have children like this?
A crowd of kids charged past them towards the dining hall, swiveling around to wave them a hello before bolting in the opposite direction. Father Richardson chuckled, "As you can see, all are thriving."
Alfred and she strode along the garden paths towards the steps leading to the back lawn after the tour had concluded. Father Richardson had a few emergencies to address that always arose when you put two hundred children under one roof. Kids were everywhere, soaking up the sun and playing every kind of sport. Teenage boys were grass-stained and muddy from a game of football near the fountain, raucous and loud in their play.
"I couldn't help but see a bit of the late Martha Wayne back there," Alfred commented as they made their way along the shell path towards a bench.
"Oh?" she said, a smile playing on her lips.
"Indeed. If I didn't know better, I'd say you're revitalizing her dreams for Gotham. But the truth of the matter is that you're doing it more for yourself than to portray to the public the generous, philanthropic lady. Maybe you're mending a place in your soul in the process. If I may be so bold, Missus Selina, you have a large heart behind that sly, cool demeanor," the butler said, his tone crisp but his eyes warm. He dismissed himself to go observe what had become of his kitchens, a small flock of children following in his wake and staring in awe at his pressed suit. The accent delighted them, and Alfred made a big to-do about introducing himself.
The kids went wild, and Alfred had his own fan club as he made his way back up towards the manor with a gaggle of children following.
Selina slumped onto the stone bench, the heat of the midday sun warming her very bones as she sat back. Maybe he was right. She could never key in to the real reason why she didn't steal from everyone, instead selecting only the rich. Maybe she did have a moral compass back then. A real opportunist would've taken from anyone, regardless of how much or how little they had.
Then why did she get so selective in picking out targets? Usually it was the overblown, too-rich sorts who wouldn't miss a few million here and there. Selina pursed her lips and muddled on a few more things this place had brought to the forefront of her mind.
She had a soft spot for kids. Spanning back to the time in her youth when she'd shepherd around a flock of street urchins to a decent home or orphanage that wasn't too crummy. Always did look out for the younger groups, up to the time where she'd kept an eye out for the kids in her neighborhood during the occupation – one kid in particular catching her attention. The one that had stolen a measly apple to make it by and live through the hunger.
Never steal from someone you can't outrun.
Selina had learned that the hard way during a hard winter in the Narrows when she was fifteen, and still bore the scars of the encounter. She'd been feeding on scraps for weeks, and every time she curled her emaciated body against a dumpster to get out of the snow a fear of death crept up on her. She was so weak from hunger that she was frightened she wouldn't have the strength to wake up to the cold and gnawing pain in her stomach.
Maybe she'd slip away in her sleep and the sanitation department would find her frozen, small corpse after the snow had sluiced off of it in the spring. So she broke into a small eatery and gorged herself on the supplies, but the proprietor had caught her and beat her bloody for her efforts. Selina had managed to make it out alive, but with a shattered collarbone and cracked jaw.
She'd nearly starved the next month and succumbed to sepsis before a small parish priest had taken her into the hospital and paid for her medical expenses. Scars ran deeper than the physical sense. When she made it big later in life on heists, she'd stock her fridge full every week and just stand in front of the open door to stare at the food and assure herself it was all there. That this wasn't some lucid dream where she'd wake up to the cold and hunger once more.
Selina looked across the field and realized that these kids had a better shot. That self-centered ideology that had saved her life early on wasn't necessary to her survival anymore. She could give back, now. Save others from the life she was forced into. Save them from the hunger – the pain.
Bruce maybe had an inkling of what she felt, but it was hard to tell when your husband came from such privilege. He'd learned later on in life the meaning of hunger and ongoing physical pain. Selina was barely ten when she was a thin little skeleton in the Narrows, barely skirting prostitution, drugs, and hunger.
Speak of the devil, she thought as her Wayne Enterprises email went chiming on her phone. Bruce was no doubt at his desk at the Wayne Enterprises building, or in another board meeting. They were pooling candidates from other companies to fill the vacancies, and he was busy from dawn 'til dusk. She was still enjoying the air out on the back lawn, watching a group of young girls gamboling around the green in a game of field hockey. They all looked happy – healthy. More than she did at their age.
To: SWayne
From: BWayne
I'm thinking of a number between one and ten – guess right and we skip the Mayoral Inauguration ball.
Selina smirked, typing back a response.
To: BWayne
From: SWayne
I'm adaptable. I can deal with a few a few blue hairs and snotty celebrities. Unless you want to spend the night in again…maybe break in my Saleen. The kitchen counter got broken in pretty thoroughly last night.
Her phone pinged off a moment later. He was really glued to that computer.
To: SWayne
From: BWayne
Tempting, but I'm rain checking that. Want to see if you can get all worked up around the social hags – maybe not steal my Lambo this time.
PS. I like what you're wearing.
Selina furrowed her brow, but she caught sight of a security camera mounted above a buttress on the exterior of the mansion. It was swiveling on its pivot, following her every move.
Bruce really was either the most on-the-ball observer or borderline paranoid. He'd kept either Alfred or a security detail near her during the last week back in Gotham. It was getting old. She flicked up her middle finger at the camera, smiling blithely before tucking it away. The kids didn't need to be picking up bad habits from her. On cue, her phone pinged with another email.
To: SWayne
From: BWayne
I saw that, young lady.
Just then, the field hockey ball came whizzing towards her. She managed to duck, but the group of preteens that stopped short of her was apologizing profusely for their misplaced shot.
"Sorry, so sorry, Mrs. Wayne!" said a skinny, wide eyed girl on the tall side. Her hair was frizzled and black, falling around her shoulders while her knees sported more than a few scrapes. Selina felt a twinge – she looked a lot like Maggie did at that age.
"That's quite the arm," she said, her tone smooth and even. A smile tugged up her mouth, and she discarded her wide brimmed designer hat and kicked off the heels. Her hose would be torn to shreds, but she shucked off her blazer and gave a mental fuck it towards the state of her clothes.
"Got room for one more?" she asked the gaggle of orphans.
The group of girls stared bug-eyed before one found her voice, "Sure!" All the noise and jostling followed, Selina now firmly inducted into the game as she was handed a rickety hockey stick.
A game of epic proportions followed, and her team managed the winning goal after the leggy, tall girl named Marcie slammed the ball into the netting. Selina was muddy and grassy, hooting and hollering with both teams as they slammed into one big press to cheer and trash talk. The girls asked for a photograph, and Alfred took the shoot with her smartphone after returning from the kitchen inspection.
She'd get that framed for her new desk.
Promises were made for more visits, and each girl came up to embrace her and thank her timidly. Selina had to swallow emotions down before laughing and clasping each girl in a tight hug.
All the kids came to see her off once she'd stuck her raggedy stocking-clad feet back into her heels and went back up to the Rolls Royce. Father Richardson shook her hand once more, and Alfred drove them off. Selina waved through the back window at the rapidly shrinking group of kids, a warm feeling she'd never quite experienced tingling over her mind.
They were back in the penthouse at a quarter to seven, and she was scrambling to get ready. A light, natural application of makeup was slapped on with just a touch of kohl to her eyelids, and a dusky silver eyeshadow added to make her eyes pop. She put on her stark scarlet lipstick for courage.
An assistant from the boutique had to sew her into the dress last minute. It was custom fitted, and in the deepest shade of royal purple that made her eyes sore from staring at the silky fabric. A single strap held the bodice up on her thin shoulder, the body of the dress hugging her form while many panels of darker silk flared out from the side into a draping train. Her hair was glossed and pulled back into a neat chignon at the nape of her neck, a few tendrils loose to frame her face.
She waved off Alfred's offer to drive her to the gala, instead revving her engine as she peeled out of the parking garage in her Saleen. Bruce helped her out at the front, already impeccable in the dark three-piece suit by Armani. They looked very striking, and she couldn't help but puff up a bit as the paparazzi and socialites gawked rudely as Bruce brought her in on his arm.
Gotham City Hall had a lot of memories stored away for the both of them. The ionic columns at the front were festooned with campaign banners and the wide stone steps decked out in rolls of red carpet. Lights lit up the front and throngs of people mingled. Not a bit resembling the shelled out building where a full-scale war had occurred last winter.
The particular wall she'd put Bane through was fully repaired, she noted. Still, Selina squinted and noticed with satisfaction that a few cracks were still evident.
Gordon was standing near the mayor in a tux with a young lady on his arm, but Selina didn't get a proper look. The crowd closed in on them, and Bruce guided them effortlessly through the gauntlet of socialites and reporters, politicians and celebrities. The ballroom in city hall was truly massive, even moreso than the two in the penthouse. There were close to a thousand people present in the room, all in black tie. The heat was far from oppressive, and the far wall held a gallery of doors opened onto a terrace that overlooked the public gardens.
Finally, they were on the fringe of the eddying tide of human bodies. Bruce turned to catch her face in his hands.
"You look – what's a word?" Bruce wondered, his stare seeming to peel off the layers of cloth 'til she was warm and flushed in the cheeks. Bruce had a bad habit of disarming her.
"Don't look at me. You're the romantic out of the two of us," she purred, tugging him towards the cleared space of marble flooring where couples were dancing to the grand, swelling music from the live band. She spotted the new mayor with his wife, and both of them waved a greeting especially at her and Bruce. Selina plastered a congenial smile on her face and waved back with her husband before guiding him into the steps. He, of course, took the lead effortlessly.
"I've got it. It's a poem, though. Want to hear me wax and wane?" Bruce gave her a boyish grin, spinning her in a dip over his knee before bringing her back up to waltz their way through the slow steps. The big band blaring out the jazzy tunes was exceptional, and Selina felt like she was gliding on air. She'd argue about his overprotective streak and unnecessary surveillance at home. For now, she wanted to soak up the moment and the glamor surrounding her, and the warmth of Bruce's arms tight around her body.
"Let me guess. Tennyson?"
"Of course not! Princeton's curriculum is more Byron-centric."
"My bad. We plebeians at Gotham University didn't get such a thorough coaching in the British classics like you rich types," she drawled, and his eyes lit up in mirth.
"'She walks in beauty, like the night. Of cloudless climes and starry skies, and all that's best of dark and bright meets in her aspect and her eyes; thus mellow'd to that tender light which Heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, had half impair'd the nameless grace. Which waves in every raven tress or softly lightens o'er her face, where thoughts serenely sweet express how pure, how dear their dwelling-place.'"
"Definitely Byron," she smirked, her fingers sneaking in a pinch on the tight muscles of his rear. That suit really did fit him in all the right places. "Though I think we've covered that my thoughts don't run the gamut of 'pure', wouldn't you agree?"
"Byron would definitely have to rephrase that poem if you were the woman in mind," he admitted, but his eyes still held that glimmer of amusement. A short distance was closed, and her husband's mouth was firm and warm against her colored lips. Right in front of every social hag in Gotham. Cameras were wildly clicking, and Selina responded enthusiastically before drawing them both back at arm's length.
"Easy, tiger. We'll give the older ones heart attacks," she chided, her mouth furling into a red smile. His eyes darkened, and her pulse hiked up ever so slightly.
"Let's call it the prelude to christening your sports car," he husked in her ear, his hands dropping a tad bit too low on her hips. Selina was utterly delighted at the shocked faces staring back at her over Bruce's shoulder, and she soaked up the glory in the jealous looks some of the younger girls were shooting her way.
"I think we'll have some trouble getting the dents out of the hood if we go the particular route I'm thinking of," she muttered aloud. A passing couple whirling by them in the dance did a double take at her comment, thoroughly scandalized.
"We'll get to that. Start small. With you over the steering wheel. That leather doesn't stain, does it?"
"We'll see," she sing-songed. Selina willed time to fly, but it was at a slow crawl. They were led like the usual dog and pony show through the massed groups to make introductions and reintroductions in Bruce's case, everyone fawning over their looks or their wealth. It was tedious.
The blonde, older Stepford wife clone that headed up the Gotham Ladies Society sniffed them out early on.
"Mrs. Wayne! I had the honor of working with Bruce's mother, and the society was wondering if you would be gracious enough to pay us a visit! You've received my email about our luncheon coming up? My, it will be just like the old days to have another Wayne lady in the fold!"
"Of course," Selina managed, taken aback a little by the woman's proximity. She was right up in her face, and the scent of gardenias was as cloying as the smell of a funeral parlor.
Bruce was her dark knight in shining armor, as usual, and smoothly inserted himself in the conversation.
"I believe Selina was hoping to focus more time on the Wayne Foundation for the time being – but I believe there needs to be a donation made to the lovely ladies of your society. Here's my card, just call my personal assistant and we'll set up an appointment to discuss it. Sound good?"
The woman nearly swooned, and she was hustled off by her frail looking husband who had one foot in the grave. He kept shooting apologetic looks at the both of them, and Selina plastered another smile onto her face.
"I am not joining their fucking sewing circle," she gritted out under her breath. Bruce chuckled, tugging her into a relatively less populated part of the ballroom near a potted plant and column. They held court there for the next ten minutes, and finally Gordon ambled over with a gin and tonic in hand. The young lady was gone from his arm.
"You two look like you're enjoying the crowd-" he was cut off as the band went suddenly silent in the middle of a very jiving number. It had all three of them curious, and they turned to look at the front of the marbled, long room.
Selina got the clue quickly, and she felt the blood rush out of her face.
"Goooood even-ing, ladies and gentlemen!" called a raspy, pitched voice from the entrance.
"I thought he wouldn't be this insane. There's at least two squads of police parked outside and security was airtight," she wondered aloud, moving subtly closer to Bruce as he tensed. Gordon had turned white, and his eyes were searching the crowd. Probably for the younger woman that had been present with him.
Selina turned her eyes to the sprawling staircase and the figure standing there, flanked with his masked cohorts and sporting a Smith & Wesson M76. The serious, spray fire type – a submachine gun that she didn't want to get on the business end of.
It was him – the purple suit back in place with the oily greasepaint smeared across the scared cheeks and twisted mouth. His eyes seemed to burn through the entire room, the black grease around them giving him a hollow look. The entire ballroom dissolved into a state of screaming panic, many running for the exits only to be shot and shoved back by an oncoming tide of men in masks holding assault rifles.
"Here we go again," Bruce gritted out. Selina thanked whatever higher power had compelled her to strap her Walther P99 on the inside of her thigh.
This was going to get messy.
Footnotes
Selina's Versace gown this chapter – type in Tinyurl then the dot and com, then hit the slash and type SelinaVersace. Tell me what you think.
Tinyurl dot com forward slash SelinaVersace
Byron's poem "She walks in beauty, like the night" belongs to the respective owners.
Yours Hopefully here! I'm garnering opinion again to write descriptions for both Harley Quinn/Harleen Quinzel and Barbara Gordon/Batgirl. The reviewer FangLoverLX really struck a chord with their question of who would be my ideal cast for Harley, citing Brittany Murphy as their ideal choice, and it got me thinking. Which two actresses would best portray these two women in terms of aesthetics and acting range? Can be anyone! Just give me the name and I'll do the Googling.
Barbara Gordon is ideally in her late teens or early twenties at the time of The Dark Knight Rises. Therefore her actress should be 18-24. In terms of looks, Barbara is typically portrayed as red headed and blue eyed with a petite figure. Harley Quinn/Harleen Quinzel is in her mid-twenties in this fiction, so her actress should be in the range of 21-30ish. Harley is almost always portrayed with blonde hair and blue eyes in the canon underneath her costume. Come to think of it Murphy would've been stellar as Harley – she was a wonderful talent in her profession before her death.
These are mere suggestions and should not be the do-or-die criteria for the actresses in question. But I want to hear more suggestions!