17. Ma's House
When Dora imagined the madam of the brothel that Holly worked for, she conjured a voluptuous woman in her late-forties/early-fifties, adorned with tasteful makeup, salon-styled hair, and trendy clothes. After all, Holly claimed Ma Gunn was bringing a sense of class, ethics, and safety to prostitution in Park Row. To be blunt, Dora had pictured a bourgeois milf or cougar.
Ma Gunn wasn't anything like that.
The thin white woman that walked through the entrance of the café was a crone, but not in the witch-like sense of the term. She wasn't ugly, but her crinkled, papery, and almost-translucent skin suggested she was in her seventies, if not eighties. Her hair was not gray, not salt-and-pepper, but pure snowy white. It was long, straight, smooth, and pulled back into a loose bun. Despite her age, Ma Gunn stood tall, fit, and straight-backed. She moved with such sure-footed poise that it seemed like she was gliding across the floor and the cane she carried was mere ornamentation. The outfit she wore was another surprise. Dora could only describe it as a nun's habit without the wimple—a maroon blouse with long sleeves and a white collar, paired with an ankle-length skirt of the same color that billowed around her plain flat shoes.
Ma Gunn walked up to their table, fixing her bespectacled blue eyes on Dora and not wavering. "So. This is her?"
"Yes, Ma," she answered. Dora noticed a change in Holly's body language. She sat straighter and with her knees together. She didn't look directly at Ma's eyes.
"Pleased to meet you, Miss Silva. Holly has told me much about you." Ma Gunn offered her hand. She had trimmed nails and no rings.
Dora stood up and took it, noticing her unsettlingly firm grip. "Good to meet you too, Ma... uh, Miss Gunn."
"Please, I prefer that my business associates call me Faye," she said, taking a seat. She crossed her legs, but did not rest her back against the chair. "Do you mind if I call you Dora?"
"Yeah, that's okay." Dora was off ease. Ma Gunn was classy, but not in the way she was expecting. Dora was expecting a woman of extravagance and privilege bought by illicit means—not what looked like a Catholic school teacher... not Professor McGonagall. And Dora wasn't expecting an Australian accent either. The woman was so severe looking, Dora couldn't reconcile the delicate name "Faye" with her. In her mind, she would continue to be "Ma."
"Holly, be a dear and get my usual," Ma waved her off, nonchalant.
"Yes, Ma." She bowed her head and snapped into action.
Dora watched Holly, amazed at the strict obedience she was displaying for this old woman. Left alone at the table with Ma, Dora suddenly felt very, very small.
A silence loomed over them. Dora racked her brain for a way to break the ice, while Ma watched her intently. Her throat was suddenly drier than Qurac. She took a sip of her latte but burned her tongue.
Ma broke the silence. "I understand you've been considering my offer."
"Yeah, I'm sorry for turning you down the first time. I just needed more time to think about it."
"You mean you needed to see how well your establishment could run without my help," Ma said coolly. Her bold confidence was unnerving, even if she was only half-right. Ma didn't know that Batman had scared Dora straight—at least for a week.
"If you didn't need my help, you wouldn't have offered a partnership, or waited this long for me to come around. You would have moved on."
Ma arched an eyebrow. "Astute, my dear." She adjusted her spectacles. "I could do without your business, but yes, I have incentive to partner with you."
At that moment, Holly returned with Ma's coffee order. She took a sip, swishing it around before swallowing. "Excellent, thank you. You are dismissed."
Holly hesitated. "Ma, I was hoping I could stay..."
Ma finally looked at her. "Holly, I do value you as my assistant. You've been helpful in previous negotiations, but Dora here is your friend. I can't trust you to remain impartial, so you must leave. Go now. I'll call you if I need anything."
Holly's eyes flickered between Ma Gunn and Dora. After a moment, she finally left, taking a seat outside on the patio—within sight, but out of earshot. For Dora, it was so odd seeing Holly so mousy and subservient.
"Let us get down to business, shall we, Dora?" Ma reached into her handbag and pulled out a small notepad and pen.
Dora cringed. How could she have thought conducting a delicate business negotiation would not require note-taking? Her dad would be ashamed. She fumbled for her phone and opened the note-taking app. She wasn't much of a texter and was better at taking handwritten notes, but this would have to do.
"Tell me about your customers," Ma began immediately. "What kind of money do they make?"
Dora took a few seconds to think. "Well, the happy-hour crowd is mostly blue-collar. Dock, construction, utility, metro workers... cabbies, truckers... bodega staff, street vendors. People that live and work in Park Row, you know this neighborhood. They're not an affluent bunch, but they're hard workers and mostly union, so they have some cash to blow for a good time every once in a while. Else-wise, they wouldn't burn it all at my place."
Ma looked at her, unaffected.
"Of course, after dark... we get people from the underworld. Dealers, fences, enforcers, sharks, bookies, triggers, smugglers, runners..."
That caught Ma's interest. Her pen glided across the notepad. "Ever had any trouble keeping them in line?"
Dora looked away, flashes of the night Black Mask killed her father passing through her mind. Then came images of Red Hood killing Sergei and his men.
"They can get rowdy, but not unmanageable," Dora said. "When Kosov ran Park Row, there was a truce past the threshold, and one of his enforcers was the bouncer. Under Black Mask, it didn't matter since everyone worked for him anyway."
"Your father died at that bar," Ma said bluntly. "Everyone knows it."
That hit a sore spot. Dora took a long sip of her latte, trying to compose herself. "Because he defied Black Mask. He was the only one that did."
"I've been told you have as well," Ma said. "That defiance is what drew Red Hood to your doorstep."
"I was protecting my family and my property."
"Yes, I know. And I respect that," Ma said, adjusting her glasses and pinning her gaze on Dora's eyes. "I admire strength in women who refuse to be taken advantage of by men."
Heat bloomed on Dora face and she looked away.
"I take it things have settled now," Ma continued. "No more fights or shootings?"
"A bit too settled, let's be honest," Dora admitted, scoffing. She didn't have to hide it. Ma knew the Alibi was a ghost town.
"Any cops?"
Dora chewed her lip, recalling the cops her father had dealt with. "A few freelancers liked to stop by, yeah." The term "freelancer" was a polite way of referring to a police officer that was not only dirty, corrupt, and easy to bribe, but would act as an enforcer or trigger man for the mob if paid enough.
Ma's lips became a thin line and she jotted another thing down. It bothered Dora that Ma Gunn was leading this conversation, so she said, "Let me ask you this then. It only seems fair." She took an emboldening sip of her latte. "What can you tell me about your girls?"
Ma set down her pen. "My girls? I have a girl for just about anybody, willing to do all sorts of things. I have boys too, and any gender outside and in between."
That wasn't really what Dora wanted to hear. She had expected as much. "No, I mean... Where do they come from?"
The old woman's face hardened. "Young lady, are you asking me if my people are trafficked?"
"Yes, that's exactly what I'm asking. Are they free to quit whenever they want?" She glanced at Holly. " Are they old enough? Are they paid fairly? I won't make a deal with you if I find out any of your people are being exploited."
Ma blinked several times without a readable expression.
Dora did not relent her gaze.
"You know what?" Ma finally smiled, showing her teeth. Perfect teeth—dentures. "I like you, deary."
Relaxing, Dora sat back in her chair. Ma took off her glasses and wiped the lenses.
"My people are sex workers, not sex slaves," Ma said. "Some time ago, I was a sex worker myself—and not always in the best working conditions. I know what it's like. Exploitative pimps, cruel madams, depraved johns, corrupt cops that will solicit you for sex then arrest you after the act—I've seen the bad. I've seen the ugly. But I've also seen the good, however seldom it was." She stole a glance at Holly sitting outside, sipping her coffee and scrolling through her phone. Dora could almost see the nostalgia gleaming in Ma's eyes. "I try to run my house as ethically as possible, still considering it's illegal in most ways. I personally don't believe it should be. Sex work is work—but c'est la vie."
She put her glasses back on and looked Dora directly in the eye. "That's why Red Hood pulled me out of retirement. He knows my past. I'm not doing this for my own sake, sweetheart. I'm doing this to protect my people, because frankly, some of them aren't good at anything else. Some of them don't want to do anything else. They like sex work. It is empowering. They would go on meeting johns whether or not it's safe, working for a sleeze like that piece of shit Stan because it's all they know, it's all they're good at. At least in my house... they're protected, and looked after, and paid fairly, enough that they can quit whenever they want."
There was a certain softness to Ma's eyes now, something... maternal. Dora couldn't help being reminded of Leslie. "Do you understand why I strive to protect my people and their rights? Even when society thinks they are scum?"
Dora's heart slowed to a steady rhythm, one that she felt was resonant with Ma's. "I do." She understood better than most. In Gotham, the wealthy and privileged preyed on the poor and disadvantaged. Dora had to endure prejudice everyday because she was poor, Latina, and the child of an immigrant. A huge reason why she tried to become a nurse was to help people who couldn't help themselves.
After that statement, Dora knew she could rely on—if not trust—Ma Gunn. It seemed like the feeling was mutual. Negotiations were serious and transactional, but amiable.
In the interest of keeping her workers safe, Ma wanted a bouncer in the Alibi at all times. Dora thought it was an excellent idea but admitted she couldn't afford one. Ma offered to assign one of her own to the Alibi. The question came up whether the bouncer would be armed. Dora didn't mind if they were, as long as the gun was properly registered. Ma was reluctant, but eventually conceded.
On the topic of discounts, Ma had heard from Holly about the Montgomery building's vacant apartments. She had several people interested in renting them. At first, Dora sternly refused; she didn't want the building turning into a brothel. Ma insisted that it wasn't for dates, but that some of her people were homeless and needed a place to live. They couldn't afford the exorbitant rates the gentrifying landlords of Gotham demanded, or pass the background and credit checks. A good deal of Ma's working girls had children depending on them. A safe place to live was not just necessary for survival but kept the unpleasant truth about the way their mothers earned money out of sight and mind.
That tugged on Dora's heartstrings. Too many squatters could draw the attention of the Gotham Housing Authority, but... whatever. That government office was in the pocket of Gotham's slumlords anyway. She was ashamed to admit it, but the money also influenced her opinion. Ma agreed to pay rent above board for a portion of the apartments, to launder the kickback.
"I believe everything is in order now." Ma set down her pen and clasped her hands. "Would you agree?"
Dora scrolled through her notes, double checking everything. "Yeah, everything's square."
"Then I think the next order of business is for you to visit my establishment. To seal the deal with a drink. It's mafia tradition."
Dora was marveled for a second. Was she part of a mafia now? "We could toast at my place," Dora offered.
Ma folded up her notes and placed them in her wallet. "I've actually been to the Alibi. Numerous times. Don't forget, I've lived in Park Row longer than you've been alive, my dear. I'm proud to say I knew your father, as well. As I'm sure he would be proud of you now. For the way you're handling his affairs."
Dora paused. Would her father be proud that she was making a deal with a madam to host prostitutes in his bar? He might be, considering all his dealings with organized criminals like Kosov never actually benefited the business or their family. Whereas this deal would.
"Thank you," was all Dora could say.
"To my place then?"
It would be impolite to turn down the invitation while it was convenient for Ma. Thinking more about it, it was convenient for her as well, considering all the trouble she went through today to break a possible tail by Batman and the cops.
Dora donned her hoodie and beanie as she followed Ma out of the café. Outside on the patio, Holly stood to meet them—along with a burly bald man in a suit. He glared at Dora behind opaque sunglasses.
"Stand down, Ian. Dora is with us."
The man nodded and backed off.
"Don't worry about him, Dee. How'd it go?" Holly asked.
Ma stepped in and informed Holly as she led the way down the sidewalk, then gave her a long list of things to do. She tapped notes into her phone. Listening, Dora learned that Holly would have her hands all over the deal's logistics and execution. It was evident now that Holly was in fact Ma's personal assistant. Dora was impressed by how seriously she took her job. Maybe sex work could be a legitimate profession after all...
Crescent Street was a few blocks parallel to Park Row, but still considered part of the Park Row neighborhood by most Gothamites. At first glance, it was not as derelict as Park Row proper, but it was certainly not high- or even middle-class. The buildings were old, but taken care of. Trash wasn't piled on the curb, meaning the Sanitation Department was not afraid to go down this street. Graffiti was present, but only on public property. There was some artistic cultural merit to the murals as opposed to the hastily done territorial tags Dora was used to on her home street.
As they walked, Dora began to notice some reverence for Ma among people of the neighborhood. Pedestrians nodded at her politely if they met eyes and moved out of her way without issue. Even cars with the right of way let them cross the street without so much as a honk or dirty look. It seemed to have nothing to do with Ma's massive bodyguard, who gave them plenty of space by walking more than a dozen steps behind. Apparently, it was no secret Ma Gunn worked for Red Hood. Dora put on her sunglasses and pulled up her hoodie.
A few blocks later they stopped in front of an old ten story building.
"Here she is," Holly said, beaming proudly. "Ma's House."
Dora looked up. It had an odd facade, with lots of exposed red bricks and molded concrete in a sort of neo-Gothic aesthetic. Deep grooves and arches framed the windows, thick concrete pillars held up the terraces and balconies. The roof actually had gargoyles.
"All this for a brothel?" Dora asked.
"The front is a hotel," Ma said. "It's called the Vermilion."
Dora scoffed. "Kind of on the nose, don't you think?"
"What do you mean?" Holly asked.
"The name." Dora waved her hand dismissively. "Vermilion is a fancy word for red." She looked at Ma Gunn. "Are you trying to advertise that Red Hood owns this place?"
Ma arched an eyebrow. "On the record, it's called the Vermilion because of the red bricks, my dear. It has been called so since before we took over management."
The hotel was fancy... or at least it could be. Out front, the valets and doormen didn't look as such... they were thugs, with intimidating postures and nasty expressions. The uniform red jackets didn't do much to make them more welcoming; neck tattoos peaked out from their collars.
The red canopy over the entrance was weathered, faded, and covered in bird waste. Inside, the lobby was sparse with scuffed floors, threadbare carpeting and furniture, and decor that went out of fashion decades ago. There were no bellhops ready to help with bags, and the few guests coming and going avoided their eyes.
The front desk was attended by a sleek man with long brown hair that blended into a purple ombre. The clunky Gothic boots he propped up on the desk starkly contrasted the uniform he was wearing, a red jacket and necktie, similar to the doormen's. Overall, he gave off a distinctly vampiric impression. He was painting his fingernails black while humming along to industrial music hissing from his phone.
Ma Gunn glared at him disapprovingly.
"Sorry, no vacancies," he said, not looking up.
"Beau!" Holly said through clenched teeth.
The man finally looked up, saw Ma Gunn, and blanched. "Oh shit!" He fumbled with the nail polish and his phone, managing to drop them both. He cursed again, then stood and tried to smooth down his jacket and adjust his tie, only to stain them with the wet nail polish. He cursed yet again.
Holly palmed her face while Dora chuckled.
"G-good evening, Ma," Beau stammered, tucking his strikingly well-groomed hair behind his ears. He cringed when he got nail polish there too.
"Beau, this is my business associate Dora Silva. She is to be provided with full guest privileges and comped services whenever she is here. Do you understand?"
Beau appraised Dora, unabashed. He sent Holly a quick look, arching an eyebrow. He was clearly asking "Is this her?" Holly smirked back.
Dora frowned, thinking, Chismosa. Gossip girl.
"Yes, Ma. I'll let the staff know. Pleased to meet you, Miss Silva," Beau said, initially offering his hand, but withdrew it after realizing his nails weren't dry. "If you ever need anything, please don't hesitate to ask."
"Thank you, Beau," Dora said. "But wait... does that mean..."
Ma nodded. "You're welcome to stay here whenever you want, so long as we have rooms available."
Holly leaned into Dora. "And we shouldn't be full up anymore now that you're letting some girls stay in your building," she whispered.
"If you would follow me, the lounge is this way," Ma said. "Holly, if you could help Beau clean up, I'd appreciate it." She didn't wait for an answer and was already leading Dora away.
Holly waved bye to Dora, but then growled at Beau and punched his shoulder.
Ma and Dora left the main lobby through an open hallway opposite the elevators. The walls were decorated with very provocative paintings, some classical, most modern, all obviously prints. The subjects were often naked and in very erotic poses, and some were not-so-subtly in the middle of intercourse.
Dora was particularly captivated by a painting that appeared to be a modern take on Persephone and Hades. She stopped walking to have a closer look. Below a pale moon, a beautiful woman was swooning in the arms of an attractive male vampire or demon. A plate below the painting read: "Dance with the Devil by Martha Kane."
Ma Gunn caught Dora looking and said, "Sets the mood. Come, the lounge is just around the corner."
They finally arrived at the lounge, its entrance guarded by a bouncer that looked more threatening than the bodyguard that had been following Ma and Dora around. He stood aside obediently as Ma Gunn passed, but not without a disdainful frown at Dora.
Dora knew it was their job to look like assholes, so she ignored him and took in the Vermilion lounge with a critical eye. She couldn't help but compare it to the Alibi.
The Vermilion lounge could be summed up in one word: "sophisticated."
Whereas the rest of the Vermilion hotel only approached the word in the least sense, the lounge itself was the epitome of it. Clearly, the money they didn't spend on the hotel's facade or the lobby's decor had been spent here. It had the air of an aristocratic parlor or cigar lounge. The liquor and glasses were stored on what looked like bookshelves behind a stout mahogany counter with gold rails. The furniture was thick and heavy, made of dark carved wood and impeccably upholstered. The lighting was dim, lit only by soft lamps on the walls and candles on the tables. A lit and crackling fireplace with a huge mantle was flanked by antique-looking chairs and sofas.
Dora was impressed but it wasn't fair to compare the Alibi to the Vermilion. Even if she had a million dollars, she would never build a bar like this. She didn't feel at home here, and neither would her type of customers—her kind of people.
The male customers all dressed like they belonged on Wall Street, or in the country clubs in Kane County. The women—which no-one could blame Dora for assuming were prostitutes—weren't the class Dora was used to seeing. Ma's girls here wore expensive, sleek dresses and designer shoes; the kind that drew the eye not because of a bold pattern, bright color, or provocative cut, but because of the way they both accentuated and teased the women's bodies. They were elegant and sexy as opposed to hot and slutty. Dora felt under-dressed just standing there in her hoodie, jeans, and boots.
"What do you think?" Ma asked.
"It's nice," Dora said, shrugging, "but not my scene."
Ma made a nonchalant "that's fine" expression.
"Are these the type of women that are going to start coming to my bar?" Dora asked, walking over to the counter.
"Yes and no," Ma explained. "Same actors... different characters, if you understand."
"She means they won't be so... Kardashian... when they go to your place," said the woman behind the counter.
"Dora, this is Jessie, the manager of the hotel's lounge," Ma said.
Jessie was a statuesque pale-skinned brunette with a long braid that fell past her waist. She wore a pin-striped double-breasted vest that almost made her blend in with the bar's up-scale patrons, except that she wasn't wearing anything underneath. The vest exposed several intricate tattoos on her arms and chest. Dora noticed flowers, a bird, a wolf, and a sailboat, among other things.
Jessie held out her hand to shake. "Pleased to meet you, Dora. Holly's told me a lot about you."
Dora rolled her eyes. "Told you things like what?"
"That you're a badass bar owner that serves Molotov cocktails to any asshole that stirs up shit. I respect that."
Ma Gunn gave Dora an amazed look.
Dora blushed, rubbing the still tender skin on her right hand where the stunt had burned her. "Oh, yeah. I forgot she was there for that."
"If you ever want to exchange tips or talk shop, there's always a cup here waiting for you."
Dora had a thought. "Actually." She looked around and took in the Vermilion lounge one more time. "I've got a shit load of high-shelf liquor burning a hole in my storeroom. Like six stacked palettes, never opened. It's too expensive for my customers' tastes, but..."
Jessie smiled, a twinkle in her eye. "... but not for mine. Selling alcohol under the table like that is illegal you know."
Dora hesitated, mustered her confidence, then said, "If stuff like that bothered me, do you think I'd be here?" She was a little surprised with herself.
Jessie looked at Ma, who nodded. "Okay, yeah. I'll come around some time to take a look. What are you having?"
"Old fashioned," Dora answered.
"Cabernet," said Ma.
After a smirk, Jessie whirled into action, deftly preparing the drinks in less than a minute, garnish included. To Dora, it was clear Jessie was a skilled mixologist, probably even licensed. "Let me know if you need anything else," Jessie said, giving Dora a wink. She left them to take care of her other patrons.
Ma and Dora picked up their cups. "It was good doing business with you, Dora. I look forward to a long and successful partnership."
"Thanks..." Dora said, looking at her drink. She didn't know what to say. "Here's, um... to the GCPD being none the wiser."
Ma chuckled softly, shaking her head. "If I may... I recall a funny little toast Monty used to say. How'd it go... 'To Hell...'"
Dora brightened up. "To Hell. May the stay there be as fun as the way there."
"That's it. Salud."
"Salud." They tapped cups and drank. Dora paused to fully taste her old fashioned, then smiled. This Jessie woman was a damn good bartender. You don't legally need a license to bartend in Gotham, but Dora now thought it might be a good investment. She made a mental note to run it by Rochelle the next time they talked.
"It's funny," Ma said, quietly smacking her lips. "He orders that exact same drink whenever he's here."
She looked down at her drink, an old fashioned. Whiskey, sugar, bitters, and an orange peel. "I'm sorry, who?"
Ma put down her cup and met Dora's eyes. "Red Hood."
A pang hit her in the chest, a bitter reminder.
"Oh. Um, how often is he here?" Dora looked around, noticing more than ever just how beautiful the women were in this lounge. Red Hood owned this place, this brothel. He had his pick of any woman in this room.
"He doesn't come by often," Ma said, "but we always conduct business here, at this bar, and he always orders that drink."
Dora took another sip of it, recalling their whiskey-flavored first kiss. A shiver spread across her shoulders. The taste of whiskey never made her feel this way before that night.
Ma Gunn was looking at her, cold blue eyes unwavering. Reading her like a book. "I know about you two."
Dora stiffened. "What do you mean?"
"That night you spent together. Or rather... didn't spend together."
"Dammit, Holly," Dora cursed under her breath.
"No, Holly didn't tell me. He did."
Dora frowned. "Wait... why would he tell you about us?"
Ma finished the rest of her wine and took a long breath. "Advice. You… confuse him."
"I do?"
"Poor boy loses sleep over you."
Dora blushed. "He trusts you enough to ask you about me?"
"Yes, my dear, he does." Ma adjusted her glasses, and locked eyes with her. "I know who he is behind the stupid red bucket and that funny little mask. I raised him… for a time. In a lot of ways, he's like a son to me. He is my family. I would not have come out of retirement for anyone else but him."
Dora's breath caught and her mind churned. This entire afternoon she had been talking to the woman that was all but Red Hood's mother? Meaning Ma Gunn might have fostered him, or might even be his grandmother. His aunt or step-mother maybe?
"I know this, Dora." Ma reached out and grabbed her hand. "He cares about you, my dear." She caressed her knuckles. "I know he wouldn't reach out and personally help a person, multiple times, like he has for you if he didn't care—a lot. He doesn't tell me, but I can see he regrets he hasn't been able to spend more time with you. Regrets he hasn't told you more about himself."
A warmth spread in Dora's chest. What was that feeling? She liked it. "He... cares about me?"
"Yes, he does," Ma said softly, smiling. "In a way… I'm happy he's found someone to care about in this bleak city. But it makes me concerned. He cares about you in that… special way that makes men blind. And stupid."
Ma's grip on Dora's hand suddenly tightened. Painfully. Their knuckles both popped. Dora tried to pull her hand away, but Ma wouldn't let her.
Ma leaned in, grip tightening, menace in her eyes and threat in her voice. "You have to think carefully about your relationship with him, Dora. Do not lead him on or give him mixed signals. You must decide whether to commit. Soon. No half-measures."
Dora's throat was leathery and dry. It was all too much, and she didn't have time to think. She just agreed, "No half-measures."
"Know this. If you hurt him..." Ma whispered. "I will kill you."
Notes
There you have it. This was a longer chapter mostly because I couldn't find a good way to break it up.
So, Ma Gunn. To me, she's monumental, so she needed the space and time to really shine, especially since I've been mentioning her since Chapter 5, like Batman. This is my take on her, which might differ a bit from the comics, but there are some cues from the Rebirth Outlaws series. Casual Red Hood fans might know that Ma Gunn was Jason Todd's foster mother for a time. Some hardcore Red Hood fans know that she's secretly Jason's biological grandmother and loves him more than she can show. I wanted to take that character connection from the comics and really make it my own. That's why her interaction with Dora has so much subtext and tension. Every parent can't help but grill their child's potential partner.
Easter eggs! DCEU and MCU directors can do it their movies, why can't I?
1. The myth of Persephone and Hades kinda mirrors a theme in this whole story, of an innocent girl seduced by the literal king of the underworld.
2. The painting is titled "Dance with the Devil," which refers to a quote by the Joker in the first Batman movie. "Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moon light?" To me, it's a euphemism for tempting fate or playing with fire, which Dora is doing every second she chooses to involve herself with Red Hood and the criminal underworld.
3. The artist of the painting is Martha Kane, a.k.a. Martha Wayne, a.k.a. Bruce Wayne's mother. Kane was her maiden name. The various Batman media never really mention what Martha's profession was. All we know was that Bruce's father was a doctor, and that Martha was a wealthy philanthropist and socialite before and after marrying him. She never stood out in her own right. For my sake, I like to imagine that she was an artist, if not professionally, then at least as a hobby. She seems like the type, considering all the artsy charities and foundations Bruce makes in her name across all the Batman media.
4. Lastly, I'd like to give a shout out to my writing friends MidnightDaybreak and Akrasiel, who cameoed as characters in this chapter! Beau and Jessie, respectively. Thanks for being good sports and letting me caricaturize you.
Next chapter won't be until June, sad to say. I'll be really busy with work and grad school until then.
Song Reference: "Dance with the Devil" by Breaking Benjamin
Version 41.1