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New Gotham City: a Birds of Prey
RPG
As of yet the only main characters taken are Helena, Alfred and Barbara
the rest are open and created orginal characters are welcome. The URL:
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/New_Gotham_City
Helena gently pushed open the window, just enough to allow herself to enter and let herself inside; landing on all fours. Usually she would have got into her apartment using the door but she had left her keys at Barbara's apartment, forgetting them completely after seeing Bruce Wayne (she *refused* to refer to him as her father).
Anyway her window was easy to access from the roof of the building (she lived at the top floor) and she always made sure to leave the window unlocked in case of such happenings.
Sure there was always the chance something *might* get stolen but it wasn't that likely. Helena didn't exactly keep gold bars in her apartment and neither did she own anything that couldn't be easily replaced or that contained much sentimental value (discounting the pictures of her and her mother before her death of course).
She straightened quickly and turned to close the partially open window. As she did so she heard a soft meow coming from the direction behind her. She closed the window and turned her head to look.
A jet black sleek haired cat with sparkling emerald eyes regarded her seriously, a few feet away. The cat sat on its haunches the tip of its tail twitching slightly. It cocked its head to the side and emitted another meow.
"Hey Neko." Helena bent down and scooped the cat up into her arms.
Playfully Neko stretched out a paw and bat at her necklace. Helena smiled and pressed her face against the top of the cats head and relaxed slightly. For several moments she just stood still, cuddling him.
Helena shared her mother's affection for cats. She just simply and utterly could *not* stand dogs. Why someone would want to have a slobbery, barking, yappy animal in their life was beyond her. For almost her entire life they had always been at least one cat living with her and most of them had been black.
She had found her latest cat; Neko a couple weeks back while on patrol for Barbara and taken him home at once. It had taken her several days to decide on what to name him. Helena had completely rejected Blackie and Shadow; the first names that had sprang into her mind on account that they were too overused and cliche. She had finally settled on calling the cat Neko: the Japanese word for cat.
Still holding Neko she brought him into the kitchen and took out a can of cat food from the cabinet.
Neko leapt out of her arms, landing gently on the floor and waited patiently while she opened the can and spooned its contents into his food dish. Helena set in down in front of him and Neko began to eat daintily, his tail swishing contentedly back and forth.
With a final scratch behind his ears Helena went into her bedroom where she took off her Huntress clothes and stowed them neatly away at the back of her closet.
She then changed into a tight red tank top and spandex black shorts.
Neko padded into her room and leapt up onto her dresser. The cat tilted its head and meowed softly it's green eyes on her.
Helena smiled at the cat and gently rubbed his head. "What am I going to do eh? What now Neko?"
Neko gently butted his head against her palm and meowed softly once more. He jumped agilily down from the dresser and walked, tail raised high in the air out of the room.
Helena watched him go and absently tucked an unruly strand of short black hair behind her ear; it promptly fell forward and free of her ear. She stood still and chewed her bottom lip for a moment just thinking. Finally with a sigh and shake of head she walked out of her room following the cat.
Neko was laying on the ground in the middle of the hallwy but got up as soon as he saw her. He rose gracefully to his feet and strutted ahead of her as if he was leading her. Helena grinned at the cat's antics and followed him into the kitchen where she paused for a moment to take a water bottle out of the fridge.
After doing that Helena followed Neko into what she called her "gym room." The title was accurate; the room could have easily been mistaken for a miniature gym. It contained a treadmill, weight lifting equipment and a boxing bag. A stereo CD player was pushed against the wall looking out of place. Helena went to it first, dropping her water bottle on the floor beside t, slipped a CD inside of it and pressed the play button.
Loud rap music speckled liberally with profanity came on and Helena turned it up until she was certain it could be heard throughout the apartment.
That done Helena straightened from her crouched position in front of the CD player and went over to her boxing bag and let loose with her hands and feet. She didn't give a care about technique, or form or even accuracy; she just focused on channeling all the anger and frustration she felt into the boxing bag and out of her system.
As she worked her emotions on the bag a tear rolled out of the corner of her eye. With it came memories:
"Mommy?" Six year old Helena asked her mother. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure, sweetie," Selena set a bowl of cooked carrots onto the table to join with the other bowls and plates of rice (the rice was for herself. Rice was one of the few foods Helena wouldn't eat). Pasta (for Helena) and Chicken noodle soup (they both ate that).
Selena stifled a smile as she saw her daughter grimace at the sight of the carrots. Helena may like most other foods even the dreaded broccoli and lima beans that most six year olds would run screaming from the kitchen at the sight of; but she *hated* carrots with a passion.
"What do you want ask me?"
"Why don't I have a Daddy? Aimee and Kara and Jilly do; why don't I?"
Selena thought for a moment wondering how to explain this to her daughter in words a six year could understand. Not that Helena was any ordinary six year old -- she had been taking gymnastics and ballet since she was could walk and just the week before had begged her mother into letting her take Tae Kwon Do lessons because, "It looks fun."
Together Helena and her mother sat down and began to eat. As they ate Selena thought about Helena's question and how to answer it. Finally she deemed she had chosen a response that would correctly answer it.
"You *do* have Daddy..." Selena started choosing her words carefully. "The problem is that we can't be with him. It would be too dangerous for all of us; you, me, you Daddy. Bad guys would try to do bad things to us."
Helena's eyes widened," you mean bad guys like robbers?"
Selena choked back a chuckle, if her daughter only knew that her mother had once been one of the "bad robber guys." "Yes," she said with a nod. "Even worse than bad guys like robbers."
"Oh," Helena fell silent for a moment and idly pushed her carrots around on her plate with her fork. "Mommy? When will I get to meet my Daddy?"
"I don't know sweetheart Selena said truthfully. "I really don't know."
Helena cut her memory off with a jerk of her head. She was ashamed to see she was crying. Tears rolled down her face and chin and dripped down onto her neck. Angrily she dashed them away with the back of her hand. Had she not told herself that after her mother's murder she wouldn't cry anymore?
Yet here she was doing just that.
Her doorbell suddenly rang sounding even over the rap music that blared from the stereo speakers. Helena wished she could turn the music up more, drown out the sound of the doorbell, but the volume was up to its last and so she simply couldn't do that.
The doorbell rang again. Persistently. Helena punched halfheartedly at the boxing bag wishing that they would go away, for undoubtedly it was Barbara or Bruce (she would *not* call him her father).
Father.
The word sounded so alien to her. Helena wasn't sure she even liked the sound of it. The doorbell rang once more -- a third time. Helena gave the boxing bag another halfhearted hit.
Barbara could be persistent and unyielding when she wanted to be (and from what she had told Helena about her father, she was pretty sure Bruce was too). Helena knew she could (and would) ring the doorbell all day if she wanted to, or until it broke.
With a sigh that admitted defeat Helena shoved the boxing bag away, turned down the rap music a notch and went to go answer the door.