War of the Dragon
Chapter 7 – "Popcorn and Peanuts"
Azrael created by Dennis O'Neil and Joe Quesada
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Somewhere in Gotham, a young lady snickered, and a golden-goateed archer moaned in exasperation. It had been four hours since Jean Paul had activated his helmet-cam, set it to record and broadcast, and began his "date" with the Crimson Fox. The first five minutes they had watched him change clothes (which Ollie turned away from, and Babs secretly recorded...married or not, it was only fair since the boys did it all the time), then nothing. The couple had left the apartment for a night on the town, leaving Barbara "babysitting" the Green Arrow, since they had agreed to watch together on the video link in the tower apartment she shared with her husband.
However, after they had devoured the last of the take-out they had ordered ("How about some world-famous Queen Family Recipe Chili?" "No way are you burning any of my pots Ollie." "It's good for you." "That is NOT what Dinah says." "It'll put hair on your chest!" "And that's an attraction how?" "Oh, good point. Chinese take-out it is, then." "Good boy, now get dialing."), after they had gone through several games of "name that numbskull," (Barbara won, of course), and they'd nearly run out of Speedy/Nightwing stories to share, the main monitor finally flared back to life.
They were mildly surprised that Jean Paul still had his act together, and in fact looked to be "hitting his stride" such as it were. Until the Crimson Fox added champagne to the mix. Then things got silly.
"No, no, NO boy! That's not what I told you to do." Ollie screamed at the screen as Jean Paul drank his third glass of the bubbly alcohol. "You and I both know you have no tolerance for that!"
Barbara merely continued to giggle, as she made a mental note to send several hangover remedies to Jean Paul via his email for in the morning.
On screen, the Fox continued to scoot a little closer to Jean Paul on the sofa as they talked and drank. Watching on the monitor, both Ollie and Babs were fairly certain Jean Paul was clueless of the Fox's movements. They also had the feeling that Jean Paul had long forgotten about his bet with the archer, and the fact that the helmet sitting there in the floor looking at him was recording his every word and move.
Finally it happened – what the twin voyeurs were hoping for – the Fox leaned over and kissed Jean Paul. Slowly. With Feeling. And Jean Paul reacted as only Jean Paul could – the mixture of nerves and champagne being too much for him, he suddenly pulled away, turned his head, and threw up all over the arm of the sofa.
"Did he just?" Ollie asked incredulously.
"Yeah, yeah he did." Barbara replied just before dissolving in peals of laughter.
Ollie cocked one eyebrow, then gave in to the impulse and joined his viewing companion in mirth. Once the giggle-fit finally calmed down, they turned to look at the screen, only to find it dark once again.
"What? What happened? Hey, back that up!"
"I'm trying," Barbara replied, "But I don't think it's broadcasting any more!"
"Oh, I'm sure there's nothing wrong with the video source," growled a voice from behind them, "but I unplugged your satellite receiver on the roof."
Both turned quickly, rather embarrassed, only to find Nightwing standing over them with his arms crossed over his chest.
"You're not who I expected," Ollie chirped from his seat. "Damn boy, you've got 'the voice' down pat!"
"I expect this sort of thing from you Queen," Dick growled, turning to look squarely at his wife, "But you? I know I don't much care for Az, but I thought he was your friend?"
Barbara merely shrugged, and pointed at Ollie. "It's his fault."
"Is not"
"Is too!"
"Is not!"
"Children!" Nightwing roared. "I don't really care whose fault it is, for all I know it was Jean Paul's fault, but we are NOT watching any more of this. Are we clear?"
A sly look was all he received from Babs, but Ollie managed to bark a "Yes sir" before coughing "asshole" under his breath.
All Dick could do was grimace.
Pierre Genet was not a happy man. His boss, his lord and master, had required that he find out who the armored American accompanying the Crimson Fox was. Happily, this took very little time; a quick Internet search led him to a few pages dedicated to a costumed crime-fighter called "Azrael," who matched the description exactly.
What disturbed Pierre was this – on one of the pages, supposedly this Azrael himself had replied in their message boards, claiming to be a former member of the Order of St. Dumas. Pierre knew his master's history well, and knew that the Order was one of the few 'rival' organizations that the Master thoroughly despised. And now he knew that he must take this information back to the master. He had to pray for the best.
But he knew this was going to be painful. 'Don't shoot the messenger' wasn't a valid proverb in this organization. The boss had been known to not just shoot the messenger, but tear them limb from limb...
It was all Vivien could do to keep Jean Paul from prostrating himself in apology every five minutes. She hadn't considered that his alcohol tolerance might be lower than hers, he was a man, after all, and his reaction to the champagne had taken her by surprise.
Still, she was a woman of means, and having the servants clean up Jean Paul's little gaffe was no problem. Convincing him otherwise? Well, that was a major problem.
"I can't believe I did that, I'm so sorry," he began apologizing for the thirtieth time in as many minutes. "Please, allow me to make it up to you."
She sighed, shook her head, and patted his cheek. "I have told you, many many times now, that it is no problem. This is why the rich have servants, no? To clean up our messes?"
Jean Paul continued to babble something barely coherent. She could tell that even after being sick, he was still very inebriated.
"Perhaps you would like to go lie down?" she asked tentatively.
"I think that would be a very good idea," he replied. "Just give me one moment."
He reached over to collect his uniform, and noticed a small red light blinking on the side of his helmet.
Oh my god, I forgot this thing was turned on! He thought as his stomach threatened to empty again, I'm never going to live this down...
Quickly he grabbed the helmet and toggled the 'off' button for the video feeds. I can't believe I forgot. I bet Ollie's going to yell at me for weeks for screwing up this badly.
Trying to hold himself together, as well as hold onto his costume, he turned back to Vivien. "Lead on, lovely lady," he said with more confidence than he felt.
She merely grinned, took hold of his arm, and steered him towards a bedroom. "In the morning we shall talk, no? I have a proposition for you, if you are interested in joining an adventure?"
"We shall see," he breathed shakily, "we shall see."
To Be Continued...
Next Time – Disposable Heroes