Oi to the World

"C'mon, punk," the young man gave a feral grin through the darkness. "Show me whatcha got."

Flanking him on both sides, three other boys pulled out their weapons, swiping and swinging them menacingly as they drew closer.

The night sky was patched with thick clouds, and the rooftop was only dimly lit by the moon cresting over the skyscrapers. The snow from the previous day had melted, leaving only a few patches around the outer edges of the space. The snow mounds gleamed with the knives and nun chucks in the night, along with the metal studs and spikes worn in the jackets of the group. The steel toes of Trevor's boots flashed as he came to the fore.

"What? Little Haji scared?"

"Don't call me Haji," Hablani growled, drawing closer to his boys. The group of them tensed as Trevor's group closed in.

"I'll call you what I want. 'Sides, why'd you wear that stupid turban if you didn't wanna be called that?"

Hablani did not grace that question with an answer. His own group in their patchwork denim and tattered shirts tightened their fists angrily, but remained where they were, following their leader's example.

"Anyway, you shouldn't a' brought your little boy band on our turf, Haj," Trevor jabbed the name back at him. "You know you gotta stay on your side, and Mel's is our joint. Thought you'd be smarter than cross the line and play your crappy music there. But then, guess you can't expect much from a wannabe Punk."

"Don't let him get to you, guys," Hablani said to his band. "He's just too afraid to fight when the stakes are even. He'd rather beat on kids four 'gainst one."

The nun chucks shot out and bashed into the boy on Hablani's left. There was a cracking sound followed by a screech as he collapsed to the ground, holding his hand over his eye as a stream of blood trickled down his face and dribbled onto his jean jacket.

"Dan!" Hablani cried as the boy lost consciousness. He turned to Trevor with a snarl.

"I don't need the guys to take you out. I can take all four a' you myself." Those beside Trevor looked at him, confused. "Well, all right," Trevor shrugged. "I won't spoil your fun."

The moonlit grins spread.

Hablani and his boys backed away slowly, except for Dan, who moaned softly, still down and holding his hand over the bloody side of his face. The rooftop was not spacious; there were smokestacks, antennae, a rooftop exit, and any number of entrapments casting shadows on the group of punks. Wedged between the obstacles, they had no choice but to pull out their knives and chains.

"Aw, look, guys," Trevor sneered, swinging his nun chucks idly. "The boys wanna play after all."

Their bare scalps gleamed as they passed a small patch of light in their approach. One of Trevor's boys put on a pair of brass knuckles. "I get Lady Liberty over there," he pointed to a boy on Hablani's left sporting crown of blue spikes for hair.

"Knock yourself out," Trevor answered his fellow Skin. "But Haji there's mine."

Hablani responded to the threat by pulling out his knife. Spanning about a foot long, Hablani hoped it was threatening enough to hold off most of Trevor's goons from his friends.

"Heh, lookie here," Trevor smiled. "Punk's got a sword like that Doom Temple movie," the nun chucks shot out a second time, this time slamming into Hablani's gut, causing the boy to hunch over slightly and take a few steps back. "Think it'll do him any good, guys?" Trevor laughed.

"I'm tired of this!" the boy with liberty spikes shouted to Hablani. "Let's get 'em now and get this over with!" he charged the Skin with the brass knuckles, whirling his chains in the air and making contact with the other boy's face.

"Kurt!" Trevor shouted to his friend, but was promptly cut short by a sharp pain in his arm. Hablani wrenched his knife out roughly as Trevor grunted, wounded, and the rest of the groups flew together in melee.

The sounds of knuckles pounding flesh and metal cracking bone continued as, through shadows of the rooftop, flashes of weapons and flecks of blood escaping into the light were all that could be seen.

In the confusion, Dan managed to pull himself to a crawl as he heard a different sound rise up to meet them. One short stop to distinguish the noise was all he needed.

"Dude, it's the cops!"

All fighting ceased for a moment until it registered. Then the young men scattered, some scrambling down the fire escape, others leaping to the taller buildings in the area, looking for another way out. The only ones remaining were the two instigators.

Hablani limped up from the ground, his left leg having been snapped by another of Trevor's attacks. He watched as his friends abandoned the fight for the safety of the darkness, then turned to Trevor, who still lay on the ground.

Trevor clutched his arm, the blood mostly unseen on his dark jacket, but starkly obvious on his hand where he held the injury. His face was drained pale, but fiercely defiant of his pain. He slowly made his way up, releasing the wound to grab his weapon.

"So, we gonna finish it?" Hablani frowned, kicking Trevor back down. "Or will you let a few cops keep you from making good on all that big talk?"

Trevor let out a yelp of pain as he fell on his bad arm.

Hablani stepped beside his form and looked down to him with contempt. Leaning down and forcing his skull back with a large, brown hand, he held the long knife up to his chin, the point just barely scraping the flesh. "Wanna make fun a' me now, baldie?"

A sharp clank, and the knife was thrown from Hablani's hand, skidding past a snow pile half way across the rooftop and into the darkness.

Hablani searched the area with alarm, but found no one. The police sirens had passed: a chase, and nothing more. But this—Hablani could still feel someone up there with him.

"Call off your bros," he demanded of Trevor. "We do this one on one."

"Kiss . . . off," Trevor gasped out.

Hablani slammed his head down into the concrete, then leapt to a ready stance. "You wanna play too, huh?" he shouted to the darkness. "Then come 'n get some!"

He began eying the ground around him, searching for his knife. The moonlight and shadows cast alternating patterns with the dark rooftop and the leftover snow, a gleam and then dark. Still tensed, Hablani backed up bit by bit, keeping an eye out for sight of his blade or any other movement that might betray the unknown party. Waiting and listening, the patches of moonlight crossed over his form as he carefully stepped backward, in and out of the shadows.

"If you're trying to scare me, it won't wor—" his sentence stopped cold as the shadow he backed into became solid. He whirled quickly to see two dark arms pick him up by the collar and two angry eyes boring into him.

"I've had a late night," the shadow spoke in a gruff voice. "I'd rather not spend the rest of it babysitting."

Hablani was promptly dropped on his backside while the shadow still loomed over him. His eyes wide, Hablani did the only thing he could think of: run.

Hoping to seek refuge behind the roof exit wall, Hablani raced across the rooftop, leapt over Trevor's writhing form, and crouched behind the small building. Being unarmed, Hablani grabbed Trevor by the leg and pulled his body toward him, pulling the nun chucks from his hands when he was close enough. Panting in fear and exertion, Hablani held the weapon at the ready.

"I'm not in the mood for games."

Hablani gasped and looked above him to the top of the entrance door. Now partially exposed in the moonlight, he could see the Batman peering down at him. With a swift movement of his cape, he leapt down and stood before him, his narrowed eyes scanning from Hablani to Trevor. If anything, now he looked even more threatening upon seeing Trevor.

"Clean him up and then go home," the Batman said.

Hablani could do nothing but stare in awe and terror.

"Now," he barked.

Snapping to, Hablani could only fumble out a "Y-yes, sir," as he pulled off his turban and wrapped it around Trevor's wounded arm as quickly as he could. Not even bothering to look up, Hablani grabbed the Skin by the waist and threw him over his shoulder searching desperately for the fastest way off that rooftop. Not seeing the fire escape anywhere near, he grabbed the rest of his headpiece and repelled off the side of the building, not bothering to even finish the last ten feet before jumping down and racing as fast as he could down the alley.

Batman shook his head and looked toward where the sirens had headed. Seeing the perpetrator already caught and cuffed by Montoya, he shot his grapple into the air and allowed himself that small private smile he gave whenever he saw that the Gotham police force could do the major jobs without him-some of the time.

"A late night again, sir?" Alfred asked, concerned as Bruce hopped out of the Batmobile. "What was it this time? Thieves? Arson?"

"Worse," Bruce grunted. "Kids. Fighting over music styles and territory," he said with distaste.

"Oh dear," Alfred responded, taking the cowl and cape from him and folding them nicely as Bruce walked toward the entrance in his bathrobe and boxers. "Shall I assume then you're not in the mood for me to draw your bath?"

"I'm going to bed."

"As I suspected, sir. Good night, then."

Bruce gave a back-handed wave as he finished scaling the stairs and entered the manor. He closed the clock entrance to the cave as it chimed six, the eastern dawn light just barely peeking into the room through the tall windows. Crossing the room, he squinted as he passed through the light until he reached the dark staircase to the bedrooms and ascended. His tired face now set in a frown, he wondered irritably why the corridor to his room had to be so long.

The rich carpeting and dark wood panels of the wall passed slowly as he trudged onward, stopping only when he heard a strange noise. He identified the place of origin to be Tim's room and opened the door a crack to peek inside.

". . . but I just don't know what to get him," Tim was vehemently stressing. "I mean, I got Barb the smelly stuff from that girly Bathe Your Body Works place, and I got Dick stuff for his bike, but him . . ." the boy sighed, frustrated. "That's why I figured I'd ask you. Could you mind zap him and tell me what he wants for Christmas?"

Within the boy's room, Bruce could just make out through the crack Tim sitting on the floor, still in his pyjamas. Across from him on the floor also was J'onn, back in his green humanoid form and leaning against the side of a cushy armchair rather than sitting in it. The two were nearly eye-level with each other as Tim knelt on his knees, moving the brightly wrapped boxes under his bed.

"That hardly seems necessary," J'onn answered, his red eyes flashing, "as it does not particularly matter to him what he receives. He is merely grateful to have you here."

"Well that's sweet and all," Tim frowned, crossing his arms, "but that still doesn't give me any gift ideas."

"Why don't you just ask him yourself?" J'onn's eyes glowed in the direction of the door.

"What? Are you kidding?" Tim missed the hint. "I can't just ask him what he wants. That'd ruin the—"

"Surprise," Bruce entered, startling the boy. J'onn watched him passively. "What are you doing up here so early?" He looked from one to the other. "Both of you?"

"Alfred let them spend the night," Tim smiled a smile that Bruce guessed was most likely caused by his success in begging Alfred to let him have his superhero slumber party.

"Wait . . . them?"

"Oh yeah," Tim said. "We let Wonder Woman have your room." Taking in his ruffled expression, Tim continued with a sly look. "That's okay, right?"

Bruce did not answer, but turned on his heel and made his way out the door. Before closing it behind him, he glanced over his shoulder. "Just be sure you make it to school on time since you're up early for once."

Tim huffed, but gave a small salute of understanding. "Yes, sir."

Satisfied, Bruce shut the door and walked down the hall, anticipating what or whom he might find in his sheets.

This house is so big, she thought, not for the first time. Heavy drapes guarded the perimeter of the windows behind her, the glass panels left revealed, separated by black strips, almost bars. Despite the edges of sunlight entering the space, it still appeared dark and gaping with its high ceilings and shadowed reaches.

Her bare feet sank into the deep carpet as she walked toward the brightening day. Adjusting the towel around her hair before she crossed her arms to keep herself warm from the draughty chill in the place, she took in the rising sun over the water. Rose and marigold kissed the water's top, lighting a path across the sea to the shore, a step on every shining olive wave.

Diana took a small, smiling breath. "Mother always said she planned her garden after Eos' gown," she commented on the lively colours of the dawn. For some reason, the brightness of it stood out more to her when she was here than it ever did on Themyscira.

The door behind her clicked open, and her musings were cut short with the entrance of Bruce.

"Good, you're up too," he said gruffly.

"I wanted to see the sunrise. You have a wonderful view here," she looked to him with an inviting eye.

"You get used to it," he narrowed his eyes in the light. He cut across the room, just out of reach from the bright, square patterns the sunshine threw inside. He punched the buttons on the alarm clock for 10:00 before shouldering himself from his robe. Halfway through undressing, as though he had just remembered, he turned to Diana.

"If you don't mind," he indicated the door.

Her lips formed a petulant bud. "Not at all," she remained stationary.

Bruce raised an eyebrow at her but decided against starting a new argument; it was far too early and he was far too exhausted. He pulled the covers over himself and rolled over, facing away from her.

Diana followed suit, turning her back on him to watch the rest of the sunrise, but irritably found it already finished. A peeved look at his form under the blankets, she slammed the door on her way out.

Wandering down the hallways, Diana felt a chill as she passed by, despite the warmly coloured rugs and tapestries in shades of red and gold insulating the place. Attributing the cold to her damp hair, she could not help but be unsettled, as she could not remember being cold anywhere else in her time in Man's World, regardless of how little she wore on her missions. And now, in long sleeves and pants, she crossed her arms for heat. Her footsteps echoed down the large staircase to the main room, which, in spite of the morning sunshine, still held a dim shade of dreariness. Upon reaching the base of the steps, she stopped at the appearance of a new sound.

In the corner of the room where the fresh tree from yesterday's excursion stood, a thin figure crouched below the bottom branches, fanning a red and green fabric around the base. A few nettles dropped as the figure swayed side to side, a soft noise drifting from him: an untuned tenor strain of something marvellous and pure, but withheld and secretive—a private joy, nurturing and caring, and so gentle and subtle one could barely hear it, yet its presence was everywhere effervescent.

"Alfred?"

The little man jumped at the sound, smacking his head on the lower branches of the tree before rising from his position. Straightening out the last of the tree skirt, he looked slightly abashed.

"Princess, I-I wasn't expecting—what are—my, you're up early," he settled on a greeting.

"What were you doing?" she tilted her head in curiosity.

"Doing? Well, I . . ." Alfred loosened his collar, slightly flushed at being caught, "Just an old tune I—well, I-I was just putting the tree skirt down."

Diana narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but let it slide. "I see. This is one of the decorations you talked about?"

"Well, I suppose," he said, calming down as she crossed the room toward the tree. "But this isn't exactly what I was talking about. I planned on putting up the real decorations together—all of us—later."

"Good luck with that," she responded dryly, pinching one of the boughs of the tree and examining it with a distracted eye. She sighed. "I honestly don't know why I thought he could be of any help anyway . . ."

"True, he seems a hopeless humbug now," Alfred put a hand on her shoulder in comfort, "but just wait. He comes around."

"Yes," she looked to the ground, "but I'm not sure it'll be soon enough to help me." She swept her arm from the tree, indicating the bough and the skirt. "I want to know what this is, what it's all about. Even if I can't understand the religion, and the traditions, the feeling, the spirit just seems so . . . wonderful. But I just . . . I can't . . ."

"It's all right. It'll be all right," Alfred gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, before his eyes suddenly sparked with inspiration.

Seeing this, she questioned, "What is it, Alfred?"

"Why, my dear," he smiled. "I believe I've got just the thing. It will take some convincing but I believe I can . . . yes . . ." he plotted to himself.

"You can what?"

"You don't mind formal dress, do you?" he asked as he headed excitedly up the stairs from which she came.

"No, why?" she called after him. "What in Hera's—what is it about this house that makes everyone go insane?"

Ring.

His eyes drowsily fluttered opened to his clock not yet struck ten and his telephone ringing so violently it appeared it would fall off the nightstand.

Ring.

He frowned and willed it stop with a grumble and the closing of his eyes.

Ring.

He turned over, drawing the blankets tighter around him, willing harder.

Ring.

"Hello," he ground out.

"My, aren't we cranky this morning. Have too much fun last night, Brucie?"

"Ronnie?"

"The one and only. You sound awfully tired; paint the town red last night?"

"You know me," Bruce put on his best carefree attitude. "Always looking for fun."

"That's the Brucie I know and love, always the party boy. Speaking of which, I've got great news!"

"Let me guess, you're throwing another one of your legendary get-togethers?"

"Oh, not just legendary this time. This time it'll be the global event of the century! I wanted to call you early to make sure you could check your schedule, but I trust you'll make time for Christmas Eve?"

"I'll see what I can do. I wouldn't want to miss one of your parties for the world."

"I understand you may be busy, but please try to come. There'll be some big names coming—huge, really—but it just wouldn't be a Vreeland party without good old Brucie."

"All right, I'll try and make it."

"Okay, see you there then. You won't regret it."

"Goodbye, Veronica."

"'Bye, Brucie!"

He hung up the phone with a satisfying click. His arm slithered back into the covers as the quiet of the room began to lull him back. His eyes drifted as he turned and relaxed his muscles for that elusive prize of dreamless, restful sle—

Beep. Beep. Beep.

His fist slammed down on the blaring alarm clock, and the flashing 10:00 dimmed.

"Mmrn," he mumbled into his pillow.

If God came down on Christmas Day

I know exactly what He'd say

He'd say "Oi to the punks, and Oi to the skins,

And Oi to the world and everybody wins!"