Of Heroes and Hellions
Chapter 3: Misdirection
Bruce and Ellery Wayne, British butler Alfred Pennyworth included, take a semi-permanent residence within the penthouse suit of the Bailiwick Hotel. It's decorated with dark wood and warm fabrics. It reminds Ellery of home, or at least what home used to be. Now the blonde is seated on one of the five bar stools tucked under the island in the kitchen, her school papers scattered wide across the slate gray colored granite as Alfred works on dinner at the stove and skillfully avoids her documents when he moves around the counter. The youngest Wayne reaches over and dips her finger into the bowl of mashed potatoes and licks it free of any foodstuffs. "They could use more butter," she says to the clean cut looking man standing in front of her.
"Miss Wayne," Alfred responds, sounding slightly exasperated as he slices into a squash "perhaps you would be better suited to complete your work at the desk in your bedroom."
Ellery makes a noncommittal noise and tucks a stray piece of blonde hair behind her ear before ducking her head forward and writing down another few sentences on her English essay—Are nuclear weapons global peacemakers or killing devices? Anne had been less than thrilled to hear the topic. Her father had once been the one to build these weapons. Stark Industries is primarily an energies based company now but that doesn't mean the topic doesn't still sting.
She's roused from her thoughts by the sound of the elevator doors opening on the other side of the suite. The doors are specially designed to work as silently as possible but her years as a bat have trained her to hear what others do not. She knows by the sound and speed of the steps that it's her father home from work; she's not sure who else would be entering the Wayne family apartment anyways but Father always did tell her to "expect the unexpected." The turn of phrase negates itself but it gets the point across just the same: be prepared for anything because anything can happen.
"Ellery," he father offers her a half hug, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and giving her a squeeze, "how was school?"
"Fine, I'm almost finished with my homework for the weekend."
"Good," Bruce smiles, "because we have the gala for the merger tomorrow." The gala. Ellery had gone to many in Gotham for Wayne Enterprises but this will be the first event she participates in within the city limits of New York with people she doesn't know—not even the awkward "I remember when you were just this tall" acquaintances. At proceedings such as these she generally finds herself sitting at the bar sipping something virgin and counting the minutes off on the over sized watch of whatever tipsy socialite is seated next to her that night.
Bruce reaches over and dips his finger in the bowl of mashed potatoes and licks it clean of the heavily whipped spuds. "Pretty good, Alfred, but they could use some butter."
A night later finds the two bats in a situation far from the casual family dinner of the previous evening.
The worker just inside the door of the upscale hotel tucked away on the Upper East Side takes the youngest Wayne's coat. It is warmer inside than it is out in the biting wind that works its way through the streets. Ellery's legs are still chilled; the skirt of her dress, a champagne color a few shades darker than the pale of her skin and a few shades lighter than the blonde of her hair, twirls and moves easily, tickling the cold skin on the backs of her knees.
Next to her, her Father leads her through the dense crowd in the greeting hall with a steady hand against her back. He plays the part of the successful businessman well dressed in a crisp black suit and tie, a clean white shirt, the only color he wears is the silver gleam of cufflinks. It makes Ellery wonder what part she acts in the ruse of life and whether or not she plays it fine enough.
The ballroom has high vaulted ceilings and over sized diamond chandeliers. The walls are painted in a tasteful color that might be labeled Euro Linen on a paint chip tucked away on a home improvement store's self. In the far corner, a sixteen-piece band plays light music and on the opposite side of the room she can spot the open bar between the thick green fronds of one of the potted plants that are set in successive spaces around the room.
They're swept away in a crowd of women, their faces heavy with makeup and their eyes bright with admiration, and men, their minds weighty with the next get rich quick scheme. Bruce works his way across the hall with the skill of a man long practiced in social provisions. Even after all this time the large crowd makes Ellery's skin feel too warm and her throat too tight. It's only right that Bruce would lead her to the center of it all to a small group consistent of three men.
Steve Rogers stands taller than most of the crowd; though, he only has a few inches on the eldest Wayne. The super soldier's hair is combed in a way that speaks of the era he comes from. One person over is Peter, smiling a smile that shows off his dimples and looking slightly out of place in his dark suit. Beside him Tony Stark stands, his red tie reminiscent of the suit that he fights crime in, reaching out to shake his associates hand before turning to take in the petite blonde in the champagne colored dress. "You must be the daughter," they shake hands. He has a firm grip but not tight enough to pinch her fingers together, just enough to make an impression.
"Yes," she introduces herself, "Ellery Wayne."
"The kids mentioned you," he nods in remembrance, "Peter said you two have Chemistry together," he says it in a way that makes Ellery shift in her satin flats, as if the line has a double meaning. "Why don't you two grab a dance?" he smiles and motions to the swaying couples around the floor.
"I've never been one for dancing," she declines smoothly.
Steve looks reminiscent when he says, "Maybe you just haven't found the right partner yet." He clears his throat and straightens his tie; it's a cool shade of blue that brings out the bright color of his eyes.
And that's how they find themselves on the dance floor. Parents always do have the uncanny ability to put together impossibly uncomfortable situations. Peter smoothes his hands over the tight fabric of the top half of her dress, his fingers splayed wide and tracing the pattern of small gems that also adorn the sheer long sleeves that run the length of her arms. Peter can dance. He moves with a simple grace that his boyish looks contradict. And Ellery, with her intensive training, can at least manage not to step on his feet. In the middle of the second song she leans forward on her tiptoes, the heels of her feet lifting out of her shoes, so that she may lean forward to speak close to his ear. "What do you say we shimmy over to the bar?"
Peter laughs that happy laugh of his and nods in agreement. When they reach the bar the stools are mostly left unoccupied save for a single one at the end of the row that a woman has draped herself over. Her dress has a gaping neckline and her red lipstick is smudged in the corners, her mascara wet looking and clumped as if she had recently been crying. She orders a quick secession of Appletinis and blows her nose noisily on one of the small drink napkins that comes with them.
"Pomegranate Martini—virgin." Ellery orders her own drink after she perches herself atop one of the stiff wooden stools, the one furthest from the crier, on the opposite end of the bar and at the corner of the room. Peter orders his own drink and takes the seat next to her. She twists a rogue strand of hair that has wondered free from the messy twist of her chignon and takes a sip of her drink to keep herself from grinning when she sees what Peter has in his glass. The limejuice stings as it slides down her throat, a stark contrast to the sweet after taste that the sugar provides. Peter himself has a coke. The carbonate fizzles around the rim of the scotch glass that the bar tender poured it in. He has been to the same amount of these events as Ellery has—a number too high to count off on all his fingers—but he still orders his drinks like it is his first time.
"So, that chemistry homework…" Peter stretches his arms across the dark wooden counter and clasps his hands together, giving her a sideways look through his eyelashes. His ruffled hair, silly grin, and happy yellow colored tie give him the impression of something more innocent.
"Peter, I really don't want to talk about our school work," Ellery answers, picking up the martini glass by the thin breakable stem and swirling the crimson colored liquid inside. She watches its globular movements with sharp green eyes, studying the way the dim bar lights refract in branches off the drink and turn sections of it a warm pink.
"In that case," Peter says, observing the glass as well before turning his wide puppy-dog eyes on her, "Anne and I play this game—"
They end up watching the movements of mouths across the room, assigning impractical words to the high-class socialites of New York and, in some cases, cities farther. Anne finds them like this, leaning close and peering across the room, Peter laughing and Ellery wearing a small smirk. The crier has left by the time she gets here.
Anne wears a dark blue dress with off the shoulder straps that outline the curve of her slim neck down to her shoulders; the gauzy material hugs her waist before folding over loosely around her legs, the tips of her open-toed shoes just poking out from beneath the hem. From a closer distance Ellery can see the small snowflakes painted on her big toes. "Hey, guys!" Anne lifts a single hand to wave at them before walking over and leaning against the dark lacquered counter next to Peter. She sweeps her long curls away from her face and pulls them to a single side of her shoulder. Anne opens her mouth to say something more but the words that are heard are not her own. These words echo against the high vaulted ceilings of the ballroom; the music stops and the startled couples cease their dancing.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" A woman calls the attention of the entire hall. Ellery stands up from her seat, any semblance of humor in her features gone, and eyes the older woman. It is the crier. She has lengthy red hair the color of blood, the same color as the lipstick staining her lips—it is no longer smudged at the corners as it had earlier been. Her long-green backless dress has a slit on one side the length of her leg to reveal copious amounts of pale skin. She looks like a rose, beautiful but not without its thorns.
"You business types really don't know how to party. Here, let me show you." She raises her arms high above her head and the chandeliers rattle, their bulbs shattering and pitching the room into a semi-dark gloom. Ellery catches her father's eyes across the room in a silent question; he moves his head in a short movement to the right—No. If they take action now GreyHawk and Batman could be connected back to Bruce and Ellery Wayne. So she stays still and plays the best version of the damsel in distress she can as both Peter and Anne lose themselves in the crowd.
The chandeliers begin falling one by one, dropping and shattering in a rain of diamonds. The crowd scatters, screaming and running for the doors, but figures spring up from the tiled flooring. They are black as shadows but move swifter than that and prove themselves to be more solid as they effectively block the exits.
Captain America is the first to jump into action. Ellery finds herself wondering if he was wearing his uniform under his suit Clark Kent style. She almost grins at the thought of the righteous hero her father often fights beside. He's a man she knows well.
And then there's Iron Man, the arc reactor of his suit moving high above the crowd like a glowing beacon. Next to him is the hero in training Soul; her suit is shining almost as bright as the lights in Iron Man's metallic gear. Spiderman swings from vault to vault of the shadowy ceiling. GreyHawk and Batman are nowhere to be found.
"Now it's a party!" The red haired woman shrieks. Her laugh is high pitched and haunting. She moves around the room even swifter than the shadows she produced, disappearing and reappearing on instant.
Spiderman's webs catch at her wrist and jerk her upward. She opens her arms wide and laughs harder than before. It's all a game. She's just going for a ride. The webs snap and meters before she hits the floor she vanishes only to reappear behind Captain America.
The Captain turns and swigs out at her with his shield, putting his weight down full force but she's gone before he makes impact and the harsh sound of metal on stone rings through the room.
She rematerializes on the back of Iron Man, clinging to him like he's giving her a piggyback ride midair. He flies jarringly in attempt to shake her off but her sharp nails cling into the metal crevasses of his suit.
Soul produces ropes to tangle themselves around the villain's body like boa constrictors but the crier only uses her party trick once again. Tied up one moment and free the next.
The fighting continues and Ellery's muscles tighten. She itches for her suit. She's sitting on the sidelines of a high-stakes game, just hoping that Coach will give her a spot in the lineup. Her ears buzz with adrenaline, a drug she cannot put to use, and block out the sounds of the screaming crowd. She bites at the corner of her lower lip as she views the ongoing event. She tastes blood.
The remaining crowd watches the heroes wide-eyed and helpless. Soul, and the way she wields her infallible whips against the growing weed. Spiderman, and his wit that slices through the silky skin of the criminal. Captain America, and the way he moves in a haze of red and blue. Iron Man, and the scorching light of his reactors.
And they watch the villain too. Her quick movements and the way she dances around the heroes; the swirl of her revealing dress; the upturned corners of her scarlet painted lips; the way the air shimmers before she fades away and rematerializes, and hangs in the air after that too—a radiant mist that clings to her hair and skin like morning dew. It does not seem as though she will make a mistake.
But she does. The femme fetal rematerializes right in front of the Captain, her back turned to him. He throws the shield, spinning violently towards the thorny flower. She hears the way the vibranium slices the wind and turns to look at it wide eyed before she ducks. The shield imbeds itself into the drywall of the back partition. She dusts herself of before standing straight again. "The name's Miss Direction! And don't you forget it. Stay posted for the date of my next act." She takes a deep bow before the murk folds in on her and she's gone, her shadow creatures evaporating with her.
The only question left is: who is going to clean up this mess?