Chapter 18: Conversations
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Desert is excellent, if unusual. Chili spiced chocolate brownies with a vanilla sauce. More savory then sweet, but quite tasty. I don't generally indulge in deserts unless I'm with Dick, but as this is my vacation? I should have some enjoyment from it. So far chocolate seems to be all I'm getting.
Memo: Get recipe. See if J'onn likes it.
More light conversation, fortunately having nothing to do with cats, knives, or blood. Or at least only social bloodshed. The ladies go through their friends reputations with an ease any Gotham blue-hair would admire. Of course, I don't know the victims here. Not that I care any more when I do. I get by with smiles and an occasional nod.
As we step from the dining room, I feel a touch on my arm.
"Mr. Wayne?" Patricia Renwick, clearly wishing to talk.
"Please, it's Bruce." I give her my best 'playboy' smile. "Only my employees call me Wayne. And not all of them."
"I'm bit more .. modern... then my brother." She hesitates, then asks " Should I..? Well..Is Miss Lance staying with you?"
That brings a more honest smile. "Thank you, but no. We really *are* just good friends." I consider a moment, then add. "But you might want to place her next door to Dr. Jones."
She blinks a bit at that. Jones is clearly not her brothers favorite person. I have no idea how they are going to shut his mouth. Fortunately, unless they try violence, it's not my problem.
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There is one problem I do have .
"Dr. Jones," I call to him in the hall. "A word?"
He looks surprised but not offended. "Yes?"
"About a certain cup?" Even alone, some names are best unsaid.
He pauses, reluctant. "That's not - a good topic."
"You've seen it." It's not a question, although he's free to take it as one.
"Yes."
Well, that would explain a lot. Not only the side effects, such as his apparent immunity to bullets and claws, or his unorthodox career choices, but also his fervent opinions about the knife. He knows the destruction the sacred can inspire. Likely close enough to have passed beyond temptation.
"And you actually.....?" I think so, but how does one ask about..
"I was young and stupid."
It takes a moment for that to sink in. Then I understand. Too well. "I've seen it also." At the memory I involuntarily cross myself, so strong is childhood training in the face of the infinite. And, to my shock, he echoes my gesture.
I see him search my face, hunting clues to - what? My intentions, or....that other? Change the topic.
"Then you took this job..?" For once, I am uncertain just what to ask.
"For quick cash." His shrug is both acknowledgement and dismissal. "Do you have any idea how much a full expedition can cost these days? I have to find..." He stops. Another unspoken name.
I hesitate, then.... "I can help with..."
"No." The word has a finality solid enough to stop the Bat. I would correct him, but he cuts me off. "The answer is no! I don't know where it is, if I did I wouldn't tell you, and I *won't* help you find it. Not you, not Ra's, not...."
"Clear enough," I override him. "You can stop looking." Those words he did not expect to hear. But alone they are not enough. No choice for it. I continue. "It's over. I was the last."
I can see the questions in his eyes, forming and vanishing faster then they can reach his lips.
"The cup-bearers are - no longer needed." I search for words that will explain - but not explain. "The cup is...." I hesitate. "It is no longer in 'human' hands." As I turn away I hear him mutter 'Zaurial'. Wrong, but not a bad rumor to float about.
I don't know what career path Indy will want now. No matter, we can consider that in the morning. It is time for bed. And, at least for tonight, for sleep.
END CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
(COMIC SPOILER)
Note: To truly get this you have to have read the 'Grail' TPB - in which Bruce Wayne is the last holder of the Holy Grail. In the end - he asks Superman to 'put it somewhere' secure. Beyond that? Go read it.
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
Desert is excellent, if unusual. Chili spiced chocolate brownies with a vanilla sauce. More savory then sweet, but quite tasty. I don't generally indulge in deserts unless I'm with Dick, but as this is my vacation? I should have some enjoyment from it. So far chocolate seems to be all I'm getting.
Memo: Get recipe. See if J'onn likes it.
More light conversation, fortunately having nothing to do with cats, knives, or blood. Or at least only social bloodshed. The ladies go through their friends reputations with an ease any Gotham blue-hair would admire. Of course, I don't know the victims here. Not that I care any more when I do. I get by with smiles and an occasional nod.
As we step from the dining room, I feel a touch on my arm.
"Mr. Wayne?" Patricia Renwick, clearly wishing to talk.
"Please, it's Bruce." I give her my best 'playboy' smile. "Only my employees call me Wayne. And not all of them."
"I'm bit more .. modern... then my brother." She hesitates, then asks " Should I..? Well..Is Miss Lance staying with you?"
That brings a more honest smile. "Thank you, but no. We really *are* just good friends." I consider a moment, then add. "But you might want to place her next door to Dr. Jones."
She blinks a bit at that. Jones is clearly not her brothers favorite person. I have no idea how they are going to shut his mouth. Fortunately, unless they try violence, it's not my problem.
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
There is one problem I do have .
"Dr. Jones," I call to him in the hall. "A word?"
He looks surprised but not offended. "Yes?"
"About a certain cup?" Even alone, some names are best unsaid.
He pauses, reluctant. "That's not - a good topic."
"You've seen it." It's not a question, although he's free to take it as one.
"Yes."
Well, that would explain a lot. Not only the side effects, such as his apparent immunity to bullets and claws, or his unorthodox career choices, but also his fervent opinions about the knife. He knows the destruction the sacred can inspire. Likely close enough to have passed beyond temptation.
"And you actually.....?" I think so, but how does one ask about..
"I was young and stupid."
It takes a moment for that to sink in. Then I understand. Too well. "I've seen it also." At the memory I involuntarily cross myself, so strong is childhood training in the face of the infinite. And, to my shock, he echoes my gesture.
I see him search my face, hunting clues to - what? My intentions, or....that other? Change the topic.
"Then you took this job..?" For once, I am uncertain just what to ask.
"For quick cash." His shrug is both acknowledgement and dismissal. "Do you have any idea how much a full expedition can cost these days? I have to find..." He stops. Another unspoken name.
I hesitate, then.... "I can help with..."
"No." The word has a finality solid enough to stop the Bat. I would correct him, but he cuts me off. "The answer is no! I don't know where it is, if I did I wouldn't tell you, and I *won't* help you find it. Not you, not Ra's, not...."
"Clear enough," I override him. "You can stop looking." Those words he did not expect to hear. But alone they are not enough. No choice for it. I continue. "It's over. I was the last."
I can see the questions in his eyes, forming and vanishing faster then they can reach his lips.
"The cup-bearers are - no longer needed." I search for words that will explain - but not explain. "The cup is...." I hesitate. "It is no longer in 'human' hands." As I turn away I hear him mutter 'Zaurial'. Wrong, but not a bad rumor to float about.
I don't know what career path Indy will want now. No matter, we can consider that in the morning. It is time for bed. And, at least for tonight, for sleep.
END CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
(COMIC SPOILER)
Note: To truly get this you have to have read the 'Grail' TPB - in which Bruce Wayne is the last holder of the Holy Grail. In the end - he asks Superman to 'put it somewhere' secure. Beyond that? Go read it.