Disclaimer: This is based off of characters in DC Comics. Therefore, ones you recognize probably aren't mine, and the ones you don't are.
A/N: I know this is short, but there's lots more coming, so bear with me. I figure I'll get it posted as I go.
"You better lose yourself in the music, the moment, you want it, you better never let it go, you only get one shot do not miss your chance to glow, this opportunity comes once in a lifetime you better… he's known as the globetrotter…he's grown farther from home, he's no father, he goes home and barely knows his own daughter…"
She crouched alone outside Hamilton Hill High School beside the wall of the main stair. She mouthed the words to the music that blasted from the headphones on her head and slowly burned at the brick with a small lighter. Her hair was a fiery red, pixie short and spiked at the ends, with peroxide chunks of highlight intermixed. Her eyes were a brilliant blue, smoky-lidded and lined in black. Those eyes, so beautiful, so tortured. On her wrists were leather gauntlets and around her neck a pseudo-dog collar, black, with one metal ring at the front. She wore basic street garb over her petite and muscled form: a torn black tank midriff and low-slung cargo pants that were two sizes too big. On her feet: heavy combat boots laced all the way up, hiding a perfect ballet arch that she longed to forget. Dancing was her past, a part of someone her mother wanted her to be, but a part of her that she herself could never be.
"Fast Five forever," she murmured, closing the lighter and taking out a switchblade. "Especially you, Diego." She began to carve at the smoky burns in the brick, focusing on each curve, line and shape. The music blared in her ears and she began to block out all but the words…
"But the beat goes on de de dum de doop da da, you better lose yourself in the music, the moment, you want it, you better never let it go, you only get one shot do not miss your chance to glow, this opportunity comes once in a lifetime…no more games I'm gonna change this game you call rage, tear the mother-fuckin' roof off like two dogs caged …"
"Hey, look at the dreg. What does she think she's doing?"
"I think they're calling it 'modern art'."
Snickers.
"Hey, dreg!"
She continued carving with indifference. None of these pampered preppies knew what it was like to really live. Everything was handed to them on a silver platter. She'd been born into a well-to-do family herself. Her bloodline was one of detectives on both sides. But somehow she'd never felt that she'd fit in.
"Grayson, I'm talkin' to you!"
She looked up and removed her headphones. "Go stuff it up your fucking liposuctioned ass. Like I give a damn about your commercialized hypocrisy." Placing the headphones back over her ears, she ignored the laughter that followed. None of it mattered to her. None of them could understand what she went through every day. They welcomed the money their fathers handed them for shopping sprees, new cars, cosmetic surgery. She, Natalie Grayson, had come to despise the support money her father sent to her. Dick Grayson had loved her mother, dearly and deeply, and as soon as she was born refused to believe that Barbara Gordon had been faithful to him. Even though Natalie had his black hair at birth and his icy blue eyes, he ran away, a coward. For the first three years of her life, her godfathers had taken his place as her heroes, particularly Roy Harper and Garth. They helped her mother care for her, and Roy's daughter Liane quickly became a welcome playmate. She didn't understand then why her father didn't want to have anything to do with her, and by the time he came to his senses and accepted her, the ties that should have formed with Dick were instead tightly connected to Roy.
Much of that was normal, in any case. But when her father was head of Interpol and her mother the Commissioner of Gotham City, it made her hide her true self. She did what she wanted to do, without mentioning her parents. In school she did the work required, nothing more, nothing less. Her unfortunate high scores on state tests, however, had her teachers hounding her to apply herself.
"So this is what you do after school, Lili."
"Look, this is legitimate, so whatever problem you have, fu--" Turning, she saw a familiar face and she stopped dead. "Uncle Roy, how long have you been there?"
"Long enough to know that your focus is why you're so damn good. And watch your language."
"Yeah, well, I can't do martial arts like you, or any of the other NJLAers." She shrugged, hitting stop on her CD player and tossing it into her bag.
"So what? I happen to know that none of us can draw like that. You have a talent, Natalie. Don't lose sight of that. And that voice of yours…doesn't God want his angel back yet?" Roy grinned, punching her gently on the shoulder.
"I'm not good enough to make a career out of it." Natalie muttered, smirking. "I'm not good enough for much of anything."
"Don't say that. Look at Kyle."
"He got lucky. And he's in advertising, so it doesn't count."
"Do you know how strong you are, Natalie Gordon-Grayson?" He asked her.
"I'm not that strong." She murmured, looking down at the numerous pink scars lining her arms and wrists. "I'm not even brave enough to be called a Gordon or Grayson."
"Stop being so pessimistic." He told her. "Cutting aside, you are strong. Besides, if you'd wanted to do more, you'd have done it a long time ago, and then who would I tease about her drop-dead-gorgeous figure and skills? You got help and are better now."
"I'm not being pessimistic." Natalie flashed a smile; one Roy said was distinctly Dick Grayson. "I'm not complaining, either. I'm just stating fact."
"Well, so am I when I say you're damned good."
She threw her lighter and knife into her pack and zipped it up. "Thanks."
"Where are you off to now? It's kind of late to be running around on your own."
She shook her head. Roy was constantly worried about her. "I'm going to work for a couple hours, then I've got to help Uncle Kyle ink his comics. One-on-one time, he said."
"And by work you mean meeting those friends of yours?"
She gave her godfather a pained look. "We're not delinquents, Roy."
"Not to me, but last I checked, the police don't take kindly to teenagers jacking cars and returning them a few days later with…changes."
"Look, we're not going to get caught. We're careful. Rab's even talking about going legit. After losing Diego and Mara…"
"All I'm saying is to be careful."
"We only improve the cars, Roy. Take poor families who can't afford to fix what cars they've got and do it for them. Besides, we're not doing that today. Only four a month, Roy, and we're up on quota. Anyway, I'm dancing."
"So you are going to try and get into Julliard?"
Nat rolled her eyes. "Yeah, but only because Twitch won't leave me alone about it." She muttered. "But I'm dancing my way. If they don't want me the way I am, they can take their priggish history of excellence and shove it up their--"
"Natalie."
"What? You always said a good hell or damn was necessary every once in awhile."
"That's me, not you."
"Oh."
A/N: I know this is short, but there's lots more coming, so bear with me. I figure I'll get it posted as I go.
"You better lose yourself in the music, the moment, you want it, you better never let it go, you only get one shot do not miss your chance to glow, this opportunity comes once in a lifetime you better… he's known as the globetrotter…he's grown farther from home, he's no father, he goes home and barely knows his own daughter…"
She crouched alone outside Hamilton Hill High School beside the wall of the main stair. She mouthed the words to the music that blasted from the headphones on her head and slowly burned at the brick with a small lighter. Her hair was a fiery red, pixie short and spiked at the ends, with peroxide chunks of highlight intermixed. Her eyes were a brilliant blue, smoky-lidded and lined in black. Those eyes, so beautiful, so tortured. On her wrists were leather gauntlets and around her neck a pseudo-dog collar, black, with one metal ring at the front. She wore basic street garb over her petite and muscled form: a torn black tank midriff and low-slung cargo pants that were two sizes too big. On her feet: heavy combat boots laced all the way up, hiding a perfect ballet arch that she longed to forget. Dancing was her past, a part of someone her mother wanted her to be, but a part of her that she herself could never be.
"Fast Five forever," she murmured, closing the lighter and taking out a switchblade. "Especially you, Diego." She began to carve at the smoky burns in the brick, focusing on each curve, line and shape. The music blared in her ears and she began to block out all but the words…
"But the beat goes on de de dum de doop da da, you better lose yourself in the music, the moment, you want it, you better never let it go, you only get one shot do not miss your chance to glow, this opportunity comes once in a lifetime…no more games I'm gonna change this game you call rage, tear the mother-fuckin' roof off like two dogs caged …"
"Hey, look at the dreg. What does she think she's doing?"
"I think they're calling it 'modern art'."
Snickers.
"Hey, dreg!"
She continued carving with indifference. None of these pampered preppies knew what it was like to really live. Everything was handed to them on a silver platter. She'd been born into a well-to-do family herself. Her bloodline was one of detectives on both sides. But somehow she'd never felt that she'd fit in.
"Grayson, I'm talkin' to you!"
She looked up and removed her headphones. "Go stuff it up your fucking liposuctioned ass. Like I give a damn about your commercialized hypocrisy." Placing the headphones back over her ears, she ignored the laughter that followed. None of it mattered to her. None of them could understand what she went through every day. They welcomed the money their fathers handed them for shopping sprees, new cars, cosmetic surgery. She, Natalie Grayson, had come to despise the support money her father sent to her. Dick Grayson had loved her mother, dearly and deeply, and as soon as she was born refused to believe that Barbara Gordon had been faithful to him. Even though Natalie had his black hair at birth and his icy blue eyes, he ran away, a coward. For the first three years of her life, her godfathers had taken his place as her heroes, particularly Roy Harper and Garth. They helped her mother care for her, and Roy's daughter Liane quickly became a welcome playmate. She didn't understand then why her father didn't want to have anything to do with her, and by the time he came to his senses and accepted her, the ties that should have formed with Dick were instead tightly connected to Roy.
Much of that was normal, in any case. But when her father was head of Interpol and her mother the Commissioner of Gotham City, it made her hide her true self. She did what she wanted to do, without mentioning her parents. In school she did the work required, nothing more, nothing less. Her unfortunate high scores on state tests, however, had her teachers hounding her to apply herself.
"So this is what you do after school, Lili."
"Look, this is legitimate, so whatever problem you have, fu--" Turning, she saw a familiar face and she stopped dead. "Uncle Roy, how long have you been there?"
"Long enough to know that your focus is why you're so damn good. And watch your language."
"Yeah, well, I can't do martial arts like you, or any of the other NJLAers." She shrugged, hitting stop on her CD player and tossing it into her bag.
"So what? I happen to know that none of us can draw like that. You have a talent, Natalie. Don't lose sight of that. And that voice of yours…doesn't God want his angel back yet?" Roy grinned, punching her gently on the shoulder.
"I'm not good enough to make a career out of it." Natalie muttered, smirking. "I'm not good enough for much of anything."
"Don't say that. Look at Kyle."
"He got lucky. And he's in advertising, so it doesn't count."
"Do you know how strong you are, Natalie Gordon-Grayson?" He asked her.
"I'm not that strong." She murmured, looking down at the numerous pink scars lining her arms and wrists. "I'm not even brave enough to be called a Gordon or Grayson."
"Stop being so pessimistic." He told her. "Cutting aside, you are strong. Besides, if you'd wanted to do more, you'd have done it a long time ago, and then who would I tease about her drop-dead-gorgeous figure and skills? You got help and are better now."
"I'm not being pessimistic." Natalie flashed a smile; one Roy said was distinctly Dick Grayson. "I'm not complaining, either. I'm just stating fact."
"Well, so am I when I say you're damned good."
She threw her lighter and knife into her pack and zipped it up. "Thanks."
"Where are you off to now? It's kind of late to be running around on your own."
She shook her head. Roy was constantly worried about her. "I'm going to work for a couple hours, then I've got to help Uncle Kyle ink his comics. One-on-one time, he said."
"And by work you mean meeting those friends of yours?"
She gave her godfather a pained look. "We're not delinquents, Roy."
"Not to me, but last I checked, the police don't take kindly to teenagers jacking cars and returning them a few days later with…changes."
"Look, we're not going to get caught. We're careful. Rab's even talking about going legit. After losing Diego and Mara…"
"All I'm saying is to be careful."
"We only improve the cars, Roy. Take poor families who can't afford to fix what cars they've got and do it for them. Besides, we're not doing that today. Only four a month, Roy, and we're up on quota. Anyway, I'm dancing."
"So you are going to try and get into Julliard?"
Nat rolled her eyes. "Yeah, but only because Twitch won't leave me alone about it." She muttered. "But I'm dancing my way. If they don't want me the way I am, they can take their priggish history of excellence and shove it up their--"
"Natalie."
"What? You always said a good hell or damn was necessary every once in awhile."
"That's me, not you."
"Oh."