And we're back! I don't know why I got so stuck on this chapter, but I really truly did. Hopefully moving forward I'll be able to move through this story a bit quicker. As always, your reviews and thoughts and time are all greatly appreciated.
I wish all of you good health, safety, and the courage/power/willingness keep fighting the good fights!
Aug 30, 1:17pm - Meeting Invitation: Board Presentation
Meeting invitation to: Mel Isley (m-isley)
Board Presentation
(view on WE calendar)
Date: Fri, Sept 1st
Time: 11:00am
Location: Wayne Tower Boardroom - Floor 75, Suite 0012
Notes: You'll need a speciality clearance badge to access the elevator. I'll leave your name at the front desk and they will be able to get you set up. Hope you're well!
-M
Event creator: Miranda Tate (m-tate)
The receptionist gave her ID a dubious and narrow eyed examination. Mel felt the impulse to adopt a non-threatening, halfway apologetic smile- the expected expression when you're being sized up- but beacons never smiled apologetically so she willed her face blank. It must be nice, she brooded cooly, to be the gatekeeper to Wayne Tower. The troll beneath a bridge they had not built. But it was nicer to have had her toll paid by Miranda Tate and to continue past reception to the boardroom. Today was the day. She studied her own fingers as they rested on the smooth desk. Today was her day. Beacons owned their space.
She was smart as hell, had her name on a list, and didn't owe anyone anything.
Mel shifted her purse and glanced around the lobby. Everything was made of marble; the floors, the walls, hell, the reception desk was an elegant combination of black and white stone. A sheet of towering windows arched over the space creating the feel of a sort of atrium. There was a long row of arrow bamboo, pseudosasa japonica, potted by the elevators. To Mel's eyes it looked perplexed, like a fish that had been plucked from the open ocean and plopped into a tank. She lingered on it for a moment but found she had to look away. A young man was leaning against the unforgiving marble. They had reached the front desk at the same moment a few minutes earlier but he had stepped back at once.
"Please," he'd said, gesturing her forward, "ladies first."
He was fiddling with something in his hands- a wallet? A phone?- absentmindedly but not impatiently. When she met his glance he nodded; he had an open, friendly face and an inexpensive jacket.
"You a board member?"
When he spoke his accent was quintessential working class Gotham, the vowels wide and straightforward. His demeanour was a direct contrast to the disinterested wealth of the lobby but, unlike the arrow bamboo, he seemed entirely unbothered. The receptionist was still clacking away on their keyboard so Mel took the bait.
"No, I'm making a presentation."
The well worn folder that had housed her notes had been replaced by a neat binder; she held it up and the young man nodded again as he continued to twist the object between his fingers.
"Got it. But hey," he shrugged, "presentations are big stuff!"
He was no pseudosasa japonica and certainly no victoria amazonica; no massive floating water plant somewhere deep in the Amazon. He'd sprouted up from a bulb and would be content in a field, in a garden, or by a park bench. A smile twitched the corner of Mel's lips. People could call him an Easter lily until they were blue in the face and he would just turn his unbothered daffodil petals towards the sun.
"Miss Isley, here's your badge." The receptionist's voice pushed aside her floral musings; they handed over both her ID and a neat plastic tag with the word VISITOR screaming across the front. "It's temporary and the clearance will automatically shut off today at 5pm."
Feeling that statement didn't warrant an exuberant show of thanks, Mel exchanged a curt nod and clipped the badge to her waistband. As she turned away towards the elevators the young man called after her in his brassy Gotham City voice.
"Hey!" she looked back and he threw a thumbs up her way, "Knock 'em dead!"
She grinned and returned the gesture. There was something enviable about being a daffodil in a world full of bamboo and lilies; to be unruffled and warm and authentic in this shiny black and white room. The thought settled in the back of her brain as she entered the elevator and used her temporary badge to select the boardroom floor. As the doors slid shut they framed the scene that began at the reception desk. The daffodil man stepped forward and flipped open the much twiddled object in his hand: a badge.
"Hey there. Detective Blake, Gotham PD. I'm hoping to speak to someone about John Daggett-"
The doors slithered snugly together and the elevator began its ascent. The interior was mirrored from floor to ceiling, allowing Mel to watch the bewilderment register on her face and then melt into a delighted little smile. Holy crap, the police were looking for John Daggett. Filthy rich slimy turtleneck wearing asshat John Daggett. Meanwhile she was about to walk into the Wayne Enterprises boardroom with a cutting-edge presentation wearing a perfect silk blouse and new black pumps. It was like she was living in a dream. Today was her day.
She stared at herself in the mirrors, turning her head to take in every angle. What did people do when they made it big? Write a book? There would be more work, of course, maybe better work. Maybe an interview in Gotham Magazine, something puffy and complimentary with her photo beneath a bird of paradise palm. Mel closed her eyes for a moment and revelled in the idea while slowly running her fingers through her hair. She tingled; she fluttered. Then she waved the glorious thoughts aside and allowed her mind to flood with physics and statistics of leaf water content. Today was her day.
An expensive projector- the newest model released by Wayne Tech earlier in the year- sat at the far end of the long table and Mel went to it and got herself organized. She glanced at the clock as she opened her binder: 10:51am. Most of the board members were milling about, chatting with one another or scrolling on their phones or looking over curiously as she settled. Miranda wasn't there yet but she felt another set of familiar eyes land on her, as she knew they would. Mel ignored them and casually typed the pin into her tablet. Ed materialized at her side.
"What're you doing here?"
She smiled and focused her attention on the screen. Her WE inbox had been steadily filling with invitations since their last date, invitations she had been far too busy and important to accept. It was driving him crazy. She sighed and deigned to give him a glance.
"I suppose you'll just have to wait and see."
His grin pulled into a clever one sided smirk that she both hated and enjoyed. He was wearing a decent suit and navy tie; why did men always default to blue?
"Vaucluse, tonight at 8pm. What do you say, Doctor?"
Mel looked back at her tablet and thought for a moment before suddenly remembering about the cop in the lobby. Ed waited at her side while she ignored him and quickly scanned the room; Daggett was not there. She felt a small tug of glee and wondered if he was already on the run, or being dragged out of the front doors in handcuffs, or had been eaten by escaped crocodiles or spontaneous combusted. She flicked her hair over her shoulder.
"Depends. What's on their top shelf?"
"Whatever you want."
It was 10:54am. Mel closed her binder thoughtfully and looked up at Ed. She could feel him registering every little movement she made with rapt attention and the knowledge made her feel another little twinge. He still wasn't her type- he was no Ander Mendoza -but how long had it been since she'd let someone clever and ambitious unbutton her blouse? Too long, much too long if Ed Nygma was managing to push her buttons this morning. On her day. She raised and lowered her shoulder.
"Fine."
There was a shift in the room as folks began taking their seats. 10:55am. Ed gave a begrudging look over his shoulder at the clock and straightened his jacket. Before he moved away he raised an eyebrow.
"What can you keep after giving it to someone?"
Mel rolled her eyes but smiled still. She was smart as hell, exuded the very essence of a modern scientist, and deserved an expensive cocktail and maybe some enthusiastic sex.
"A promise?"
Ed's face blossomed into a full grin. He opened his mouth to respond as the doors suddenly flew open and men streamed into the room. Mel had never really been a worrier but, from time to time, had experienced a stressful dream on the night before a big event. She'd awoken this morning feeling rested and wonderfully self-assured; now, reflecting on the events of the day, she wondered if she might still be asleep. The conversation with the daffodil man who was actually a police officer, John Daggett missing and wanted, exchanging riddles with Ed moments before her presentation, and now all of these men with armor on their bodies and guns in their hands. She blinked. She waited to wake up. She blinked again. Today was her day. The air in the room hung like fog as board members froze or cried out or darted under the table or for their phones.
"Would the good people of the board please take their seats?"
The voice was cordial and decisive as it crackled over the sound of massive footsteps. He sauntered across the threshold and in a dream Mel might've taken a moment to puzzle at the grace of the behemoth, this giant with whom she'd chatted about music, the terrorist called Bane. This was not a dream. She had seen the news coverage from the stock exchange. She had seen the CCTV footage, ten seconds of grainy video that the news anchor had warned may "disturb sensitive viewers". As she sat on her couch, surrounded by the comfort of philodendron leaves, she'd decided the most frightening part had not been watching him brutalize the security staff; the most frightening part had been realizing she'd stood ten feet away from that power. That she'd spoken with it, made eye contact, maybe made it smile. The memory faded and now, as she sat perfectly still across the room from him once again, nothing frightened her more than the possibility that those predator eyes would recognize her.
There was a general commotion as people scrambled for chairs and armed soldiers swarmed to flank doors, the table, and their commander- there was absolutely no doubt that this was what Bane was-and in it Mel clutched her binder in her lap and lowered her chin, allowing her hair to fall across her face. The scuffling of feet and chair legs faded into silence.
"Thank you."
His voice came from the top of the table at the opposite end from her seat. Someone whimpered but otherwise the room was utterly still. Mel's hands shook ever so slightly as adrenaline and a wild tangle of emotions surged through her veins. This was not a dream. It was real and was happening today of all days. On her day. She almost looked up, almost did something; a twitch, a shiver, a sniffle. Her knuckles turned white and she clenched her brain and lungs and her teeth and then she let it all drop away and became as small and uninteresting as possible. She was a beacon; beacons did not die at moments like this.
Miranda's voice echoed through the silence as she entered the boardroom.
"...Keeping the board in the dark was not one of them-"
"How good of you to join us, Chair. President."
Mel looked up through her eyelashes despite her better judgement and watched the exchange. Her hands had stopped shaking but now they were clammy and sticking to the vinyl cover of her binder. Miranda looked so shocked, so unlike herself, yet still so gorgeous. Mel would've bet that she was one of those people who looked beautiful when they cried.
"All I need now is one ordinary board member. Mr. Fox, would you like to nominate?"
Somehow through her pingponging thoughts she understood that Bane was going, going and taking people with him. Chair, President, and-what had he just said?- one ordinary board member. She felt almost lightheaded with a sense of dirty, sweaty, slightly guilty relief. She would get out of this in just a moment, the soldiers were leaving with their prisoners; she had truly been in the wrong place at the wrong time. She would get out of this. She would get out of here and live to be a beacon. She would get out. It could still be her day.
"And an escort for Dr. Isley, of course."
As a child Mel had been a decent student: intelligent, well-liked, essentially behaved. Prone to laziness and small acts of stubborn defiance and zoning out when the lesson was not presented in a way that she preferred. Once-though this had hardly been the first or last time- she had been scrawling an elaborate doodle in the margin of her notebook when she suddenly felt the hovering silence, the focus in her direction, and the realization that her name had been spoken aloud some moments earlier. When she looked up it was to see the entire classroom watching her with a wide range of expressions: her teacher had been annoyed, her classmates impatient or giggling.
And an escort for Dr. Isley, of course.
Mel raised her head now and took in the boardroom, her terror mixed with a peculiar sense of dejavu. They all stared in her direction with horror and relief and confusion and sadness, but they faded beneath the huge presence by the door; the presence that hissed and pierced her with mechanical intensity, the presence that she had thought would remain a creeping memory in the past. From behind the twisting black and silver mask Bane looked straight into her face; the smile that she'd once seen in his eyes replaced by a bored, tactical iciness. He turned and walked out of the room.
Why.
Someone grabbed her arm roughly and she was pulled from her chair, all but dragged along as she struggled to find her stilettoed footing. Miranda threw her a horrified look as she was pushed ahead. The soldier let go of her arm and then Mel felt something hard and cold bump into her hip and she knew it was the gun. It occurred to her that she had never been this close to a gun before. Her stomach ached. She tried to imagine what it would feel like to be shot. She tried to imagine she was somewhere else, somewhere that wasn't a dark hole in the Wayne Enterprises basement or the darker tunnel beneath. It was her day. There came a moment where Mel paused. She was smart as hell. She was a scientist. Her evidence must be collected empirically.
Observation, Induction, Deduction, Testing, Evaluation.
Observations:
1. beneath Wayne Enterprises there is subterranean tunnel network
1a. unknown armed militia set up in tunnel network
2. gaunt man with a rumpled sweater
2a. man is Dr. Pavel, recognizable from the published paper that had ended the original reactor project
2b. Dr. Pavel is dead, plane crash many months earlier
3. explosion = discovery of reactor intact, operational, hidden
3a. reactor was destroyed, paperwork exists detailing its dismantling
4. soldier standing watch over Mel Isley is Ander Mendoza
4a. n/a
Inductions:
n/a
n/a
n/a
n/a
n/a
Deductions:
This is a dream
This is a dream
This is a dream
This is a dream
This is a dream
This is a dream
This is a dream
This is a dream
This was her day
This is a dream
Mel sat against a wall. She wanted to chide herself for not correctly concluding her hypothesis but couldn't muster the effort. The floor was made of cold tile and she felt goosebumps rise on her arms; she traced their shape with her mind because the task made more sense than underground armies, explosions that rattled the windows, and being locked in a spare bedroom in John Daggett's empty penthouse-except it hadn't been empty. As she'd been pulled through the apartment she'd seen sleeping bags and cots and trash and guns, so many guns, littered throughout the elegant rooms and she felt certain that the space no longer belonged to Daggett. In the streets far below she could hear rumbling and screaming, screeching tires and gunshots. The sun was shining. An areca palm, dypsis lutescens, sat in a west facing window. The spot was ideal for light but the small yellow spots on its lower fronds indicated a potassium deficiency. She wondered if she should cry; considered the option for a time, tried hard to feel pain and fear and sadness. Nothing happened.
What now?
She didn't hear footsteps in the hallway so when the door snapped open she hadn't had time to react. Instead Mel sat on the floor like a child and stared as Miranda Tate perched on the bed in front of her; a slight tousling of her hair was the only indicator that she was not sitting comfortably in her perfect sunroom. Mel felt her throat tighten.
"Are you alright?"
Miranda didn't reply, scanning Mel's face with her dark blue eyes. Information came crashing into Mel's mind like a wave. Miranda appeared uninjured. They were both still alive. There were no soldiers in sight. The door was standing open. She nearly toppled over.
"Mir-the door! How did you get in here, we need to go now! We need to go before they-"
The initial wave of information had since passed but a steady trickle continued. Mel rose shakily to her feet and stared at the open door. The trickle was not cool and clear like water. It was thick and creeping and without temperature. Miranda watched her calmly from her seat on the bed. Mel knew then. Although she did not know, not exactly, not in any entirety or with any depth. But she knew. There was sweat on her upper lip and on her back. She leaned against the window sill, unable to peel her gaze from the open door.
"There wasn't any plan to restart the clean energy project."
Mel couldn't look at the other woman, couldn't handle what she might inevitably see when she did. From the corner of her eye she saw her shake her head. She looked away, stared out the window into the world that rumbled and screeched. She felt betrayed. She felt stupid.
"What was the point?"
Miranda sighed and Mel flinched. The coolness of this demeanor in the body of someone she'd thought she'd known was physically painful.
"Dr. Pavel based his findings on theory," began not-Miranda, "You provided us with facts. And, of course, if he couldn't actually perform in the moment…"
She shrugged and Mel flashed on the first moment she'd been called a beacon. That her brilliance glowed.
"So I was a back up plan."
"You could call it that if you want."
Once, what seemed like many thousands of years ago, she had nearly left her clutch in this penthouse and it had made her cry. What a different place her world was today, on a day that should have been hers. She would not cry here. She would never cry again. Mel felt hazy and angry and completely empty and she looked over and hoped some of it would leak out of her eyes and choke not-Miranda. But all she saw was a completely different person, still lovely, still clever, but ice cold and dangerous and inhuman.
"So what now?"
"That depends, Mel."
The reply was spoken softly, almost mischievously, wrapping around her name like a serpent. She knew not-Miranda wanted her to ask 'on what?' but she couldn't- she wouldn't - so she looked back out the window. It had become an overcast autumn afternoon; somewhere nearby a car alarm began blaring. Suddenly not-Miranda was at her side and, in a single graceful flourish of wool coat and sweet perfume, she threw open the window. The frigid wind hit Mel's face, gnawing cruelly at her cheeks.
"Jump."
Mel looked down twenty-odd stories to the street and felt nauseous and horrified. She stumbled back and tried to recover her breath while not-Miranda's face flashed a challenge.
"If you want to, this is your choice."
Mel frantically shook her head.
"No, I don't want to jump, are you crazy?"
Not-Miranda gripped her elbow and leaned in close, her expression curious and deadly. The frozen wind whistled and wove through her hair.
"Why not?"
Mel yanked herself away, her knees bumping against the side of the bed as she fumbled through fear and confusion for a response.
"W-what the fuck are you talking about?"
Through the sound of chaos on the wind there came a soft hiss, a warbling machine sound from the hallway behind Mel. Familiar cold- cold that was somehow more frightening than the open window -slithered up her spine. She turned and saw Bane, his massive form filling the door frame. The motorcycle jacket was gone and had been replaced by a long, worn leather coat; with it the guise of the modern terrorist vanishing and replaced by something ancient and strange and absolutely terrifying. He took in the scene, eyes moving from not-Miranda to Mel with an analytical interest, all the while his breath snaking between them like a mechanical needle. Not-Miranda suddenly laughed and shook her head. She smiled at Mel and it chilled her insides.
"You're rather brilliant, you know." She placed a hand on Mel's cheek and leaned in close. For half a second Mel was sure she was going to kiss her; instead not-Miranda peered into Mel's eyes, her fingers clenching painfully around her chin, and murmured, "Nearly as brilliant as you are scorned by those who you consider your masters."
Mel tried to yank her face away but not-Miranda's fingers were frighteningly strong. She wrenched backwards and managed to free herself. Bane stood like stone, watching.
"Like you?"
Mel tried to spit out the words with as much venom as she could muster. They came out in a gasp instead. Not-Miranda merely shrugged.
"Not anymore. You made your choice."
She left the room without so much as a glance back. 'She had made her choice?' Mel flickered between the open window and the giant. Her heart pounded in her throat. What had been her choice? Bane did not move several, horrifying moments; he stood like a mountain and watched her with an air of patience. Maybe expectation? Mel didn't know and couldn't know with so many clues hidden beneath the twist of metal and mesh. Finally she looked away, squeezing her eyes shut but unable to block the sound of his breath from her ears.
A moment passed.
The door clicked as it locked. His footsteps were heavy as they moved away down the hall.
xo, trppnwtz