...

I've had... A rather interesting month since my first customer. I idly glanced down towards the picture of the aforementioned family on my desk, all enjoying a day out in one of Metropolis's amusement parks.

Evidently, the parents had taken their child's recovery as a new lease on life and decided to distance themselves as far away from Gotham City as they could.

Essentially, switching a Batman, for a Superman as their silent vigil.

The moment I'd received said picture, I'd sent a copy of it towards the Man Of Steel's home. I was somewhat hopeful he'd take the message and keep an eye out on them.

It wouldn't do to have my first customers end up on a list of casualties, now would it?

Regardless, it seemed the daughter felt inclined to send me the photo, even if the parents felt terrified of me enough to move across state lines.

Grateful they might've been, that didn't stop the fear from playing a part in their view of me.

Which said a lot, considering they'd elected to stay following the Joker's attack. Though that might've had more to do with the fact Gotham City had the lowest medical costs by far, compared to everywhere else.

Still, since then, my business has started picking up.

A few days after I'd gotten rid of that girl's illness, I'd had another caller come in to ask me to help them write a song of all things, to kick-start a career.

By writing I mean they'd effectively wanted something magically made to become popular. Whatever that meant.

Still, I'd obliged them and wrote up a song I vaguely remembered from my first life, handed it to them, and told them I'd magically came up with it. And after signing a contract that entitled me to more than half the royalties- They hadn't particularly cared about money, as much as the fame that came with it, there was now a rising star in Gotham's music industry.

Evidently, popular songs from my world, were just as good here, if not better.

Since then, I've had that same customer come in for a repeat attempt twice, both of which I refused on the grounds I didn't want to make a pattern out of it- And the higher they grow in popularity the more at risk I had of becoming a glorified ghostwriter.

Still, that didn't stop the floodgates from opening as more and more up-and-comers decided to give me a shot at getting them to stardom, and in one particular case, help make them rich. However, most of those callers had wound up backing out when my clones brought up the 'new' potential contracts over the phone.

Apparently, ninety-five percent of their royalties was the limit no one wanted to go for.

OF course, that didn't mean I wouldn't help out anyone with that dilemma in the future- The money that came from my first one was exceedingly good, I'd just elected to focus on more pressing issues, or anyone that genuinely had a good reason for the easy cash-grab that stardom seemingly was.

Like the person before me, for example.

And frankly, I wasn't sure whether to be amused or worried at what this particular case was going to mean for the canon timeline.

Though given the fact I was a clone, in a practically meaningless timeline- As far as the main me was concerned, I wasn't worried enough not to go for it.

Not to mention the fact even the original me wouldn't have batted an eyelash.

I idly clasped my hands together, leaning in forward.

"I have to say, I wasn't aware the GCPD started all their recruits this early," I remarked, watching as the girl on the other seat shifted the slightest in her seat.

"I am not a recruit." Barbara Gordon remarked, affronted as she opened up the bag in her lap, her hands sifting through it for something.

"You know you have to tell me you're a cop if I ask right?" I deadpanned out of amusement.

She blinked at that, pausing her hands as she raised an eyebrow at me. "I don't think I do- Not that I am, but I don't think that's a law or anything." Seemingly found what she'd been looking for, Barbara promptly held out a card towards me. "Here, look, I am just a student."

I gave her a deadpan stare.

"Right." I leaned back into my seat, the chair squeaking as it pushed against the magical radiator I'd had installed into the office. "There's just one problem, really," I remarked, raising a finger before I pointed it towards her. "You're underage. And I don't see a guardian around to sign any papers."

She shrugged in response.

"My parents are both busy with work right now, I came here alone-"

"In a cop car."

She narrowed her eyes the slightest. "They're busy, not careless. They don't trust the Gotham Taxi-service for anything." Her gaze lowered itself towards the desk. "Besides, I am planning to give them whatever contract you make to sign."

I hummed along, briefly moving my gaze towards the window that looked out into the streets below. "And if your parents refuse to sign?"

"They wouldn't."

"You're sure of that?"

She nodded resolutely, briefly causing my gaze to lock back to her eyes. "If it really works, then I can use the money to pay for college when I finish high school. I don't see why they wouldn't."

"It gives you publicity." I shrugged, waving a hand. "That put's a target on your back as the daughter of the commissioner."

"...Do all the options involve publicity?" She questioned after a moment of thought.

"The ones that pay well, usually do."

She took in the answer for a moment, her gaze going around the office for a moment before it landed back on me, a glimmer of something flashing across her eyes. "Usually? So there are some that don't?"

"Yes," I answered without hesitating. "But the only ones that I can guarantee won't involve any publicity would have to involve me, working for you on a daily basis. And trust me, you can't afford that."

She mulled over the words for a moment, her form leaning back on her chair. "What if I work for you?"

"I am not hiring- Besides, you're fourteen, there isn't much you can help me with."

"...I am turning fifteen..." She whispered, frowning in the process, before letting out a sigh, her gaze refusing to meet mine. "I am the daughter of the Commissioner... My father has links that can-"

"I've got Bruce Wayne's number as far as links go." I technically told the truth as I waved my hand again, idly tilting my head to the other side. "Try again."

She made no reaction to the boast, except for visibly slumping on her seat.

"...I don't know then..." She remarked, a pout on her face.

"Why not ask your parents to pay for your college?" I questioned calmly.

She shrugged in response. "Because I know they would? And I also know they don't make enough to cover it without a loan."

I raised an eyebrow at the words.

"The Commissioner doesn't make enough to cover college tuition?"

"A good commissioner doesn't." She immediately replied, before pausing as another frown filled her expression. "Well, he can, but he'd need to work way more than he already does." She finished with a sigh.

"Hm. Your mother?"

"She works with him."

"I find it very hard to believe that both of your parents can't make enough to send one child into college," I stated, sending the girl into silence, bemusement coloring her face.

"...You've never been to college, have you?" She questioned after a moment.

I blinked a few times at the words.

"We're not talking about me."

"Who am I kidding, you're only a few years older than me, of course, you haven't."

"I'll have you know, I am technically hundreds of years old." Well, my memories are at any rate.

"Uh-huh." she deadpanned in response. "I believe you." She nodded her head, her tone reeking of sarcasm.

I idly started tapping on the desk before me. Watching as the girl's gaze briefly held before it started teetering around the office, brief hints of surprise filtering through her eyes as she stared at some of the magical trinkets. "Why not go for a scholarship?" I questioned, earning her attention once again. "Aren't they usually a free ride?"

"...They are... But, they're very competitive."

"Not smart enough?"

"Not connected enough. They don't really care about grades as much as they do the family..." She remarked, wrapping her arms around her waist as she leaned into the chair, her face lowered. "It's Gotham, you know?" She added on with a shrug. "They don't care about anything but family history."

"Hmm. I hear the Wayne foundation doesn't. And I am fairly certain it offers scholar-"

"To the poor." She interrupted me, a bitter tone to her voice. "Not to the somewhat well-off." Yet, despite her words, guilt quickly filled her eyes. "I don't mean that in a bad way- It's good that they focus on them but... we kind of just slip under their radar, you know?"

"Somewhat well-off? I am not sure I'd describe it that-"

"What else do you call a job with an 80% chance of not making it home to dinner, to a house you can barely afford, because of some jackass with a gun?"

"Risky. Stupid. And two steps into making an orphan out of someone, given both your parents signed up for it." I immediately deadpanned, watching as the girl held in the urge to flinch. "But hey, I hear it does wonders for making a hero out of said orphan," I added on amused.

Barbara Gordon's eyes narrowed as an affronted look took over her face. The girl immediately standing up with a huff. "You're an ass." And promptly turned around before-

"Sit your ass down." She promptly froze, turning her head back to glare at me.

"I didn't come here so you can make fun-"

"Sit down," I repeated, calmly. "We're not done."

After a moment of hesitation, the girl practically biting her lip, she eventually relented and took a seat, albeit still glaring at me all the way.

"Have you ever considered asking Batman for help?" I deadpanned towards her, watching as the brief thought of throwing something into my face etched itself onto her face. Rolling my eyes, I snorted. "I am kidding, relax." And promptly started tapping on the desk again. "Tell you what? How about I cover your entire tuition fee."

Unsurprisingly, suspicion filled her eyes at the words.

"That's not what I came here for."

"I know, but let's say I do it anyway."

"...Why?"

I grinned at her. "'Cos someday, I am going to do something noble, stupid, and all-around reckless. Kinda like your parents deciding to work in law enforcement actually, and I'd really like the Commissioner to owe me one."

Her eyes narrowed again.

"Example?"

I snorted. "Why would I tell you that?"

"'Cos I'll definitely say no if you don't."

"Fair enough." I immediately responded. "I figured, one of these days, a certain homicidal clown is really going to get on my nerves, and I'd like to have a get-out-of-jail-free card so I can kill him in cold, hot, and every blood in between." I paused, letting the words sink in. "What do ya say?"

She didn't hesitate.

"No."

I let a smile grow on my face.

"You're as stupid as your father." I deadpanned towards her, and before she could react. I let out a long sigh. "It's a good thing for your education that I don't actually need a card like that." Despite my words, she refused to stop glaring at me. "Here's what you're gonna do-"

"I am not going to ask my father to help you cover up a crime- And he wouldn't even if I did!" She snapped, standing up. "And I won't ask him to ignore it either!"

I rolled my eyes at her.

"Kid, you can go tell him I am planning to kill the clown if it'll make you sleep better at night, I don't care," I remarked, watching as her expression briefly froze, confusion coloring it completely. "Now, where was I- Right, you are going to work your ass off and get the grades expected out of a Scholarship, and I'll cover your tuition fees." I shrugged. "No strings attached- Besides' the grades, I am not budging on that."

"...What?"

"Did I stutter?"

"...Really?" She questioned, disbelieving me.

"I can write up a contract for you if you want?"

"Yes. I would like that very much actually."

I stared at her. She stared right back, unflinching.

After a brief staring contest, I rolled my eyes again and magically created the contract. Her gaze briefly turning towards it for a moment before she looked back up towards me.

"I want a regular copy... One that won't randomly disappear."

"You do realize I am doing you a favor here right?"

She nodded.

"And?"

"Thank you." She remarked, her anger disappearing- even if disapproval still colored her face. "But this is Gotham City... I kinda want something more legally binding."

"You're a real piece of work aren't you?"

"My father says that a lot about me."

"You do understand if I changed my mind, the law isn't going to change it back, right?"

"...Maybe... But I'd feel like an idiot if I didn't try, you know?"

"...Whatever helps you sleep at night kid." I shrugged, "I am sure you have some, so why don't you take a page out of one of your books and start copying." I deadpanned towards her. "'Cos I sure as hell ain't writing it for you."

Barbara Gordon didn't hesitate as she reached into her bag, hints of delight filling her face.

"Oh, one more thing, if you start running around in a bat costume, consider the contract over, and I will be telling your father to put you into counseling."

She stared at me like I was crazy.

"Okay?"

"Any costumes for that matter. I am not sponsoring a vigilante, or a hero, or any of the above."

"...Gotcha." She deadpanned, giving me a thumbs up and a fake smile before a real one took over as she promptly started copying down the contract. "For what it's worth," She idly continued talking, "I hope you don't end up in jail."

"Reall-"

"I am not sure any college will accept me if a prisoner's paying off my tuition."

My expression twitched a few times at the words. "In Gotham City?"

She blinked at that, briefly raising her gaze from the contract she was copying down towards me as she tilted her head. "Good point. If you do end up in jail for killing Supervillains, I'll visit you."

"Bitch, you better."

She snorted in response, giggling as she shook her head. "You're not allowed to call people that."

"Telling me what I can and can't say is exactly how you end up framed for the Joker's hypothetical murder."

"...Right, because they're going to believe I did it."

...

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