NOTE: I went back and changed a few things and also edited the chapter, but the overall plot of the chapter stayed the same. It's just...better now lol. Hope you enjoy. Chapter two (three including the prologue) is on its way and will be up soon!
IV: Madhouse
December, 2018
Wayne Manor- 07:00 pm EST
Tonight, Wayne Manor was a madhouse. The people that bivouacked the mansion for the night were a different kind of insane, though. Because unlike the deranged patients of Arkham Asylum whose heads were filled with a diagnosed lunacy, Gotham's rich and powerful had fallen ill to two pathogens that had developed at the dawn of human civilization, feeding endlessly on industry and greed. Tonight, money and power smothered the atmosphere of Gotham City. And her people were infected with them.
The driveway before the mansion was clogged with luxury cars. The mansion itself was bursting with celebrities, politicians, and blue bloods – all corrupted by the ubiquitous plague. In the air, there hung a stifling ambiance; one characterized by opulence and luxury. There was also a subtle shimmering patina that hung over the affair; likely a collective glitter of all of the diamonds and gold that adorned the necks of the obscenely rich.
Muffled maudlin laughter and the clink of champagne glasses clashed with the music being played by the ensemble band in the corner of the room. Amongst this noise was a discord of fascinating details that could be gleaned from eavesdropped conversation. Businessmen joked over excessive taxes and casually made million dollar deals over glasses of champagne, while lawmakers lolled among their entourages, lending ears to meaningful suggestions from any influential. Most entertaining were the celebrities, whose ambition for gossip and lust for fame was palpable in the air as well as heard by the ears of many.
"I hear Wayne's deal with LexCorp could run into the billions. He's a high roller."
"You know he's got a net worth of six-point-nine bil? It's a shame no one's managed to tie the guy down. I wouldn't be surprised if he walked in here with twelve girls on each arm! Lucky bastard..."
There was a sense of irony in the event being a charity ball, as its attendees were all there for reasons that were far from charitable.
Katerina stood on the mezzanine, exquisitely dressed in a red dress with a plunging neckline. She leaned on the banister, casually and rather apathetically watching the crowd below. Tonight, she was going to blend in.
Tonight, she was not Katerina. No, tonight, she was Katherine.
"Katherine? What are you doing up here all alone?" Katherine Carlisle could not say that she was pleased when she first took notice of the lavishly-dressed feminine figure approaching her. Eileen Oliva was the archetypal rich Gotham missus. Her husband was the balding CEO of a company and at least twenty years older than his wife.
She cleared her throat before replying, blinking away any traces of her careful observation of the power in the room. "Just enjoying the view."
The older woman gave her a vexed look, as if no one in Gotham ever came to an event like this one to just have a look around anymore. She was right, of course.
Eileen murmured something condescending-sounding under her breath and covered it up with a smile. "How is Emile?"
Kat resisted rolling her eyes. The husband had met her surrogate father maybe once or twice on a strictly business-only affair—far from anything interpersonal. Calling him by his first name should have been off the table. But she had to remind herself that she was in Gotham of all places, and the people here were all salivating at the chance to acquire social and financial connections.
She forced a smile. "He's great. Still in Metropolis for business. He'll be back in a few days."
"That's good," Eileen replied, wearing a smile too large on her face. "Have you heard anything from him about the LexCorp deal?"
This time, Kat couldn't resists jab. "I'm not at liberty to discuss my father's businesses affairs with anyone but him. Sorry."
"Well," she said, an irritated tone seeping into her voice, "You best come down stairs. Mr. Wayne is about to make his speech."
Bruce Wayne. Kat had heard of the man. This was his mansion and his party, after all. Still, she couldn't say that her information was the most reliable. It was mostly made up of what she had heard on the news or read in Gotham's infamous gossip rags. All of them reached the same conclusion: Bruce Wayne was nothing but Gotham trash—rich, spoiled, and a notorious playboy. Occasionally, Gotham Tonight would run a story showcasing Wayne's more philanthropic side, the latest of which featured his project with the rainforest.
Katherine was silent as she followed Mrs. Oliva down the long spiral staircase that lead to the main floor. Activity in the foyer had slowed to just a few flunkies dashing to and fro, and it appeared as though most attendees actually wanted to hear what Mr. Wayne had to say—although Kat had no doubt that the majority were in attendance solely for the free booze.
She took this time to observe her surroundings while they walked. The mansion itself was obscenely large; the echo of her stilettos clacking against the marble floor was a gesticulation of that.
Muffled chattering and giggles gradually grew louder as she and Mrs. Oliva neared the ballroom. Filled to the brim with Gotham's most wealthy residents, the room itself seemed to speak in hushed tones—a collective whisper of the secrets being spilled from the lips of the rich.
Kat sighed and wandered through the crowd.
She watched disinterestedly as a handsome man unraveled himself from his acquaintances' arms and sashayed towards the middle of the floor. In an instant she knew exactly who he was; it was obvious from the way that he drew attention from everyone in the room. She raised an eyebrow as she observed him quietly. The tabloids hadn't lied when they'd said that he was handsome; the piercing blue eyes and firm jaw had accounted for that.
Even from her position, she could tell that he was built exceptionally well: strong, broad shoulders and a firm chest hidden by a cleanly-pressed dress shirt. But there was something past the charming smile and handsome features that irked her about the man. The blue eyes were cold and painful; they reminded her of a ocean muddled with rain. Bruce Wayne knew pain.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to thank you all for your attendance tonight as we celebrate the 25th anniversary of the Thomas and Martha Wayne Foundation. My parents made it their life goal to give back to Gotham, the city that has given us so much. In order to do so, they established the Wayne Foundation, which aims to help the citizens of our wonderful city lead better lives. Over the years, the Wayne Foundation has changed the lives of many people by providing funding for more stable homes, linking families to resources they need in order to thrive, and helping the young people of Gotham get the education they need. But our work isn't done. Our city continues to undergo tragic events every day. We have lived through dark days, and no doubt there are more to come. But it is the goodwill of the people that holds our city together in the face of such terrible things, and that is what the Thomas and Martha Wayne Foundation represents. Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in a round of applause for 25 years of making Gotham a better place!"
Wayne knew how to charm an audience, that was for sure. Applause boomed throughout the crowd as he stepped away from the spotlight and rejoined his female companions.
It's funny, she thought, how unrepresentative these people are of what Bruce Wayne talked about. Rich, yes, and very much capable of helping financially, but from what she could tell: motivated by all the wrong things.
Kat pushed through the crowd, heading away from the center of the room.
It had been six minutes since he'd arrived late to his own party. Three minutes since he'd brushed off Svetlana and Natasha or whatever their names were and sent them in search of another man in need of arm candy. It had been exactly one minute and thirty-two seconds since he'd given his speech. Fifty-two seconds since he'd laid eyes on the retreating young woman in the red dress.
But it hadn't been the dress that had caught his attention—although it was striking and expressed a clearly nice figure. No, it had been something else. There was a familiarity about her. The way she moved. Those forest green eyes. He'd seen them before, that was for sure. They reminded him of—
A ping in his left ear stopped his thoughts cold in their tracks.
"Pardon my interruption, Sir, but I believe there may be activity on the east side that requires your attention."
Bruce wasted no time in heeding his butler's advice and began heading towards the cave.
"The night's still young," he murmured to himself as he slipped away from the gala and back into the shadows, the woman in the red dress still on his mind.
The back of the room consisted mostly of flunkies who were too intoxicated to know what was going on.
At least she wasn't the only sober one. A boy stood 10 feet opposite of her, leaning inconspicuously against the wall. Based on his height and soft facial features, he looked to be about ten to eleven years of age, with dark, neatly-combed hair. Somehow, he reminded her of herself: a quiet observer.
But there was something else about him—something Katerina was sure she had seen before. Curiosity got the best of her, and unable to control herself, she stepped closer to the boy to examine him more thoroughly. She gasped.
His eyes. Green like a forest. She had seen them before; she was sure. While looking in the mirror...
Her hand flew to her mouth in shock as realization flooded her body. It couldn't be...
She had to know. The League...If they were in the city...
"Excuse me, what is your—"
Just then, a booming crash interrupted her inquiry. Her head instinctively snapped in the direction of the noise, synchronous with the way her hand flew to her left leg, where a fully-loaded Walther PPK was strapped to her thigh.
A gaping hole had been created in the west wall of the room, complete with billowing smoke and debris strewn all over. People were scattered, with the faintest-of-heart shrieking and waving their arms in panic. Bruce Wayne was nowhere to be seen.
Katerina forced herself to stay put. This was not her problem; not her fight. Altruism had gotten the best of her once, and it hadn't ended well. She turned her head to look back, jaw clenched in restraint. Not her problem.
The boy was gone.
Author's Notes:
Thank you for reading the latest installment of The Other al Ghul. I hope you enjoyed it. As always, reviews are welcome and I highly appreciate anyone who takes their time to leave one. Stay tuned for the next update!
Any guesses as to who Bruce is reminded of? And there are two little references to the Batman/Superman World's Finest movie - kudos to you if you can spot them.