Quick Hack's note (from me? Really?) – the characters in this story belong to DC Comics. I am making no money from these stories, nor would I wish to. Unless, of course, DC wanted to hire me to write a new Azrael series...and while I'm dreaming I'd like a pony!
It had been two weeks since Jean Paul first checked into the Amarante Elysees Star hotel, and he had spent the entire time with an American tour group, going around the "offical" tourist traps of the city. In spite of the alarming amount of retired persons in his tour group, or perhaps because of their amusing stories and genial attitudes, he had been enjoying himself immensely.
Still, Azrael always lingered in the back of his mind, pointing out things about the city that the tour guide could not know, and quite frankly, would probably deny if he did. Ahh, the wonders of having a "I've spent four-centuries on Earth" Angel for a tour guide.
Azrael hungered for action. He made this abundantly clear at every opportune moment. Jean Paul had yet to don the raiment of his alter ego since they arrived, and the inaction was wearing Azrael's patience to a thread. As Jean Paul returned to his hotel room for the evening, his alter ego again stepped up the pressure to patrol.
Really, mortal, there is so much more to this city than what you have seen, Azrael opened his usual evening argument.
I've seen everything that any American tourist could ever want to see, Azrael.
Including your precious "rock star's" grave, I know. Azrael's mental voice was tinged with more irritation than normal. I tire of this game, mortal. Let us not argue tonight, simply put on my armor, grab up my sword, and let us explore this city from the rooftops.
Okay, Jean Paul replied simply.
You know that there is more to Paris than...wait, did you just agree with me? Confusion replaced the irritation previously there. Well mortal, did you?
Jean Paul chuckled aloud as well as mentally as he withdrew his special duffel bag from the hotel closet. Yes Az, I did in fact agree with you. The official tour ended today, anyway, and honestly I'd like to "stretch my legs" as well. Although I have noticed something strange about this continent – is it just me, or is there very, very little news about super-heroes?
It is not just you, mortal, Azrael replied happily, as Jean Paul began pulling off his street clothes, and pulled on the black form-fitting jumpsuit he wore under the armor. I wonder if there are no heroes on this continent, or if the people simply choose to ignore them, unlike the American media.
They both flinched as they thought of the headline declaring their death to the world.
I suppose there are ways to find out, Jean Paul replied as he began pulling on the golden and red armor of Azrael. But I'd prefer to keep a low profile, if we can.
Agreed, was Azrael's only response as they slipped out of the room towards the stairwell. Let us see this city as it was meant to be seen; in the many shadows cast by all the lights.
Thirty minutes later, they were perched on one of the many domes of the Notre Dame cathedral. Azrael had been regaling Jean Paul with his first memories of seeing this grand church, and Jean Paul had been slowly fading off to sleep in their mind. Just as it seemed certain that Azrael would have to get them home on his own, a commotion erupted from a nearby alley.
Every city has alleys, Jean Paul mused, and they all seem to have crime, as well. Shall we go to work?
Azrael broke into a true grin under his helmet. What is this "we," mortal? Is there a mouse in your pocket?
No, but there is a pain in my...
Before Jean Paul could finish his thought, Azrael lept into the darkness. They quickly covered the distance to the alley, and perched on the edge of a roof overlooking the melee below. Before them were five figures, four clad in what could only be described as gang colors, and one in a dark red outfit vaguely reminiscent of a feline.
Better get the 411 on this before we go leaping in, Jean Paul thought, we don't want to make any mistakes that might lead to an international incident..
Make the call, Azrael thought in reply.
Taking control of their body, Jean Paul reached down and flipped open a compartment at the wrist of his left gauntlet. He toggled one switch, activating the miniature video camera imbedded in his helmet. Then he brought his communication gear active, and patched into the network used by all of Gotham's vigilantes. Thankfully it was functional almost anywhere in the world.
"Oracle, are you online?" He asked, somewhat sheepishly.
How soon you forget the lessons of your "sensai," mortal, Azrael laughed in his mind.
Before Jean Paul could think of a suitable retort, a familiar green head appeared on the inside of his visor. Even though he had designed the helmet himself, it still took some getting used to when Oracle popped up two inches in front of your eyes.
"I'd recognize those dulcet tones anywhere, bright-eyes. How's Paris, Jean Paul?"
"And hello to you, as well, Oracle." Jean Paul said somewhat amusedly. "Paris is fine, if a bit active tonight."
"Done playing tourist already?" The disembodied head asked, "Or did you just decide to take a midnight stroll?"
Trust Oracle to figure it out immediately, he thought to himself. "The official tour is over, yes, and I needed a night out on the town, so to speak. I've come across a situation, but I don't know who the players are. Are you receiving my video signal?"
"All business and no play makes Azrael a very dull boy," Oracle wittily replied, "But yes, I am receiving your signal. It's slightly time-delayed thanks to the satellite link-up, but I can see what you saw a moment ago."
Do you have enough to positively ID anyone down there? It looks to be four on one, but I don't know if the red cat down there is the good guy, or the bad guy!"
"Oh my god," Barbara exclaimed with a laugh, "do NOT let her hear you call her that! That's not a cat-suit, Jean Paul, that would be a Fox. Crimson Fox, to be exact, a reserve member of the JLA, and former member of the JLE when it was in existance."
Cat, Fox, what is the difference? Azrael mused in Jean Paul's mind. They are ALL sexual euphamisms...
Don't say things like that when I'm talking to Oracle! She'll demand an explanation if I giggle!
"Hello? Angel boy? Are you listening?"
"Sorry Oracle, I was a bit side-tracked for a moment there." Jean Paul turned a slight shade of red under his helmet, as he waited for the obvious reply. Oracle was kind, however, and chose not to zing him with it. Instead, she merely continued giving him information, after a mostly hidden chuckle.
"She's definitely one of the good guys, JP. Go help the lady out, will you? I've got to go check on my...erm, one of my operatives."
Jean Paul smiled, realizing what she was about to say. "Tell Nightwing hello for me, and I've already mailed him a postcard from Paris. Well, technically I sent it to both of you, but you know what I mean.."
Barbara only laughed on the other end of the line, causing her virtual avatar to do the same. "Not still mad at him, are you?"
"Who, God's Gift to Vigilante Justice?" Jean Paul smirked underneath his mask, knowing full well Barbara had latched onto the phrase he had used to describe Nightwing a few weeks ago. He was sure if Nightwing was mad at him for anything, it was for giving Barbara a new nickname to irritate him with. "No, he was right, I was acting like an ass. I just hope he'll forgive me."
"I'm sure he will, Jean Paul." Oracle's tone then turned somewhat motherly, "Now go save the damsel in distress!"
"Will do," Jean Paul shot back, then turned off his communication equipment. He didn't immediately turn off the video camera, though, as he waited long enough to get a few more shots of the Crimson Fox in action.
Thinking of all those hidden files you found on the Batcomputer, Mortal?
Shush, Jean Paul thought back at Azrael's gentle poke at both he and the Batman. And go save the girl.
Hack's note – Still listening to The Doors. Try it, and see if it works for you, too!