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Artemis takes in a deep breath the moment her hands land on the front door's handles. They're made of faux-gold, because even though crime rates aren't as phenomenally high as Gotham's, Central City still has its demons.
She's achingly aware of the cameras flashing behind her, of the expectations waiting on the other side of the door, of the future depending on her first exhibition, and even though she looks ready with her hair slicked back the way she likes it, and even though her suit is ironed out to perfection, she desperately wants to curl up into a ball from the pressure. But Artemis doesn't; she straightens out her shoulders and her posture and draws her confidence from the stronger part of her that's telling her to buck up and lose the lily-liver.
The doors open, causing the decorative banners hanging off the outer walls to flutter lightly. There's an area of the museum purely dedicated to exclusive exhibitions, and Artemis is half-pleased, half-critical of her work. Four columns vertically line the exhibition's entrance as a (admittedly) tacky tribute to Classical Greek culture, but it looks grand and majestic to her, so she has no other complaints. She knows what's inside: treasures from the Greek empire, imported in from several museums and architectural sites around the globe. It's standard, almost mundane, the way everyday items are displayed in glass cabinets with plaques labelling them. Every respectable museum has at least one area dedicated to the ancient world, so this is no special feat.
Not for Artemis.
The prize winner is a long-lost – and found – artefact inside the separate room, hidden inside a huge display case cleverly disguised as a decorative column. She's proud to say that Central City Museum's staff discovered it first, so they had first dibs to display it - and she's showing it to the press after the allotted tours are over.
Her heels click loudly against the granite floors as she strides in confidently. Artemis makes sure that she's standing in front of the taught, red ribbon tied between the two columns lining the entrance before the reporters and sleepy-eyed public swarms in after her for pictures.
Iris is the one standing closest to Artemis, though, despite the fact that the other journalists are given a standing area in front of the other citizens. She's the one who helped her settle down in Central City and took her under her wing when she was jobless and hungry and overly-stressed from university. Artemis likes to think that Iris is her surrogate mother, an admirable woman she regards as highly as her own mom back in Gotham City. She readjusts her mouth piece, accidentally making eye contact with Wally. He avoids her gaze pointedly.
Honestly, she feels slightly terrible for not remembering anything about Iris's nephew. One would think that, after six years of living with the reporter, that Artemis would at least have some basic knowledge about her family members outside of her and Barry (who's also almost always at home, for some reason). And then there's the fact that Wally seems to know her from her old high-school days at Gotham Academy. Admittedly, she saw more of the library and study areas during high school than she did anything else, discounting the Dick Grayson who made it his life's purpose to antagonise the "living shits" out of her. Artemis doesn't fit in with the wealthy elite – she prefers working hard for success rather than being overly reliant on loaded parents and class warfare. Then again, her parents weren't even loaded to start off with.
Clearing her throat, Artemis focuses her steely gaze onto the crowd in front of her.
"It takes the collaborative work of an entire group of people to create a culture so powerful and rich with traditions that their stories are interpreted and retold to this very day, even after its Roman annexation in 146 BC. I introduce you to yet another immortalisation of the Classical Greek culture," she adds sarcastically, letting the chuckles die down before continuing, "trust me; this one's special."
"Why?"
It's a simple question, one that she gives an approving smile to. Talking at crowds instead of to them is never a pretty sight.
"A good question," Artemis starts off pleasantly, "For the first time in decades, the Acropolis Museum is permitting the display of their ancient, and highly exclusive collections overseas – something we must thank the Flash himself for. His work in Greece has been a great service to the community, both here and across waters, and allowed the Central City Museum to have 'first dibs', as we call it, on displaying a long-lost artefact that our team of archaeologists discovered a few months beforehand. As a gesture of extreme gratitude to Central City's local hero, we welcome the very same Flash here to open our exhibition."
This time, she allows her face to break out of its neutral expression and into a grin. The fastest man alive speeds through huge double doors and zips up to stand next to her. He shoots a wink at Iris, which Artemis registers as weirdly curious. Thinking about it, it'd be weird if they weren't at least acquaintances, given the amount of coverage Iris does on the speedster.
"Thank you for coming here today, Flash, we honestly couldn't have done this without you."
He flashes her and the crowd a charming smile, well aware of the fact that he's being broadcasted on national television. "All in a day's work, Artemis. Maintaining cultural integrity is something both I and the Justice League strive towards, as Earth's guardians, and its citizens. Tracking down and abolishing the art heist was the least that I could do to help."
She's a little taken aback at his atypical seriousness, especially with the sheer amount of humorous footage she's seen from him in the media. Judging by the awe-inspired looks on the press' faces, they're thinking along the same lines as she is. Then, "You could say that I was… quick as a Flash."
Groan. There he is. Iris chuckles from behind her notepad while Wally rolls his eyes at the skies.
She fixes a charming smile on her lips to match the Flash's. Regina steps out of her office – finally, making all of the cameras go crazy again. In her forty years as the curator and Chief Historian, she's developed a large reputation among the media for her accomplishments and cultural services for Central City. Her boss waves a hand at the press, sending them into an immediate silence.
"The Central City Museum thanks you, Flash, from the bottom of our hearts, and we thank the press and attendees for finding the time to visit us." Artemis remains silent and smiling for the entire duration of Regina's speech, patiently waiting for the older woman to blink glistening tears out of her eyes as she moves onto her retirement speech. The Flash stands by their sides faithfully, albeit impatiently and buzzing with poorly-concealed boredom.
"After forty years of faithful service, I will still stay true to my passions as a historian and also as a preserver of ancient cultures. That is my duty, and what I still consider to be my life's calling, both as a curator and a member of our society. My legacy, and the legacies of my predecessors will passed onto my own successor; Artemis Crock. May she serve the Museum well."
There isn't a thunderous or deafening applause like there is in the movies, just a loud series of obligatory clapping sounds followed by the clicking of camera flashes. She doesn't mind, though. Her dream is finally beginning to take flight.
"Wally! Photograph while I film?"
Iris, microphone in one hand, waves Wally over to her excitedly. He briskly walks over to the other side of the room before taking the camera from Iris's film man.
Wally's supposed to be taking the actual pictures of the relic for the mission, because of his connection to Iris and the convenient proximity from his house. It's a fairly boring one, in his opinion, and he hates that Batman's still treating him like a kid even though he's been in the League for years now.
"Thanks, sweetheart, make sure you get what we need." She winks at him and walks into the room with the rediscovered relic behind Artemis. He watches the blonde woman smile courteously at his aunt, feeling his stomach lurch again when her piercing grey eyes make contact with his.
Someone bumps into his side, sending him a few steps to the right. Wally reorients himself and glares at the giggling culprit. He recognizes that giggling, and groans loudly. "Seriously? In front of her?"
Zatanna flips her faux-blonde hair over her shoulder and shimmers her bright green eyes at him. "Focus on the job, West." Chancing a quick look at the unassuming curator, who's already chatting and walking away with Iris, the magician leans closer to Wally. "Ever heard the word 'lovesick'? You haven't been this easy to tease since Linda!"
"Why are you even here?"
"Wally," Zatanna looks him dead in the eye, and proceeds slowly. "I was assigned to this mission too."
"You know what I mean."
"No," she bounds away into the separate room. "I don't. Come on, loser, you need to get those pictures for the Boss."
"Right." He ambles after her slowly, and makes it into the room seconds after Artemis begins her mini-tour with the GBS crew. They're led around the exhibition slowly, pausing only when Iris asks a question for her article or Zatanna queries a subtly-veiled Batman Question. Wally silently, diligently, takes pictures of the required artefacts before patiently waiting for them to move onto the prized one.
"Oooh," he hears Zatanna cooing when Artemis presses down on a remote, which causes a discoloration of the huge, decorative column Wally had assumed was just a plain old column. There's a clear, almost indistinguishable platform in the middle that makes it look like the relic is floating in mid-air. Wally snaps a picture before shifting his focus to the object sitting on top.
He wants to run a hand down his face and leave, maybe get reassigned to a different mission and let some other magical bozo do it. Of all the things to be on surveillance duty for, it was this.
A necklace. Granted, it's a pretty one for something rumoured to be over two thousand years old. There aren't any glittering jewels of sparkling diamonds studding the edges, but there's a convexly-shaped silver pendant with intricate winged outlines etched onto it, as well as incomprehensible words carved into the edges. Wally isn't Greek. He doesn't know what they mean, but he does appreciate the beauty of art and knows that anything that solidifies history shouldn't be taken lightly.
But, still – in his opinion, Batman's being a bit too insufferable about a small necklace, even if Wonder Woman is adamant in her claim that it's more sacred than the Great Pyramids of Giza. Wally shoots a sceptical look at Zatanna through the corners of his eyes, to which she claps him over the head in annoyance.
"The long-lost artefact," says Artemis, brimming with pride, "Thought to have belonged to the Goddess of Wisdom herself; Athena." Wally scoffs silently. "Note: the intricate markings on the side are highly indicative of the aesthetic ideals of…"
As much as he loves hearing Artemis' dulcet tones echo throughout the room, Wally can't seem to muster up enough enthusiasm to continue listening to her speech and settles on interchangeably staring at her face and then the artefact. It takes approximately five minutes for Zatanna to zap his side with an invisible bolt of electricity.
"Focus," she hisses, "she's getting to the good part."
"Both our sources and the local historians in the area claim that the ancient Gods imbued this specific trinket with a powerful force, believed to be able to transform any man or woman into a transcendent being."
"And what do you think?" His mouth yammers out a question before he can even think of stopping it; several pairs of eyes fall upon him, including Artemis' thoughtful grey ones.
"I think that all stories, no matter how ridiculous they seem, do bear some semblance of truth," she responds diplomatically, "Perhaps, once upon a time, before this necklace was lost, the person who wore it only thought of themselves as more physically potent, and conditioned the people around them to believe him. It could be a result of psychological manipulation, or maybe hallucinogenic drugs," She shrugs delicately. "On the other hand, the rumours could be absolutely true."
"Only one way to find out," he jokes back, eliciting a brief smile from the curator.
Wally feels his heart skip a beat.
When she turns her back on the group and continues the tour, he hears his comm crackle. Dick's voice filters through the ear piece, loud and clear.
"You're in so deep, the Mariana Trench doesn't even hold a candle to you."