Merry Christmas, everyone! Thanks for your patience, here's part 4~
See me here in the air
Not holding on to anywhere
But holding on so beware
I have secrets I won't share
-t.A.T.u., "Clowns (Can You See Me Now?)"
Then.
"Psst. Hey look over there, it's that Brown girl."
"The one hanging out with the freak in computer class? You think they're dating?"
"Ew, gross."
"You know I heard she got knocked up by some loser in high school. I bet she has like, no standards."
"Wow, what a skank. So she'll sleep with anyone, huh?"
Look who's talking, Queen Jezebel.
Stephanie tried her best to ignore the snobby gathering of rich sorority girls as they gossiped and giggled loudly behind her back in the gymnasium locker room, mingling and clinging onto the clear alpha's authority. Hiding and huddling under a protective umbra, umbrella safety in numbers. …So much for college being better than high school when it came to cliques and bullying.
As they passed by her change station – all the adulating acolytes swarming around their leader like an amoeba – one appendage broke away from the buzzing cluster just far enough to bump blatantly into her bare shoulder.
"Whoops. Sorry."
The drone drawled in an excessively sarcastic tone that didn't sound sincere at all, to the observant master's smug approval.
Really, just like high school.
As tempted as she was to make a snide remark on the obvious imbalanced power dynamics, Stephanie managed to swallow her pride and suppress retort. Biting her tongue until they were out of sight, upon which she stuck it out in an equally mature gesture in their wake.
"So like anyway, I hear this new gym opened up on the outskirts downtown. It's kinda out of the way – like, by the boonies almost – but apparently the instructor there is really hot."
Stephanie couldn't catch the statement that ensued, as the distance between them had already advanced to the point their fading words were muffled by rows of metal. There was a shrill burst of shrieking laughter before they exited though, harpy peals mixed with a round of half-appalled gasps, rebounding and resounding raucously off steel. Odd, she could've sworn she heard something about pirates…?
She sighed and shrugged as she got dressed, wiping the workout sweat from her face with a towel and pulling her sweatshirt over her sports bra. She didn't much mind being lumped in with the outcast crowd; frankly she was used to being looked down upon by others by now, but the derisive comments still stung her self-esteem – especially when she was already having a bad day, due in part to being so bluntly turned down by the public pariah she was supposedly "associated" with.
Face it, girl, not even the "freak" is interested in you. What were you even thinking, blurting out something stupid like that. It must've come off as totally desperate; someone as smart as him probably doesn't want to bother spending time with some dumb blonde chick who can't even find her way around campus anyway.
She had come here to blow off some steam after being grilled on her grades in addition to the above gaffe, but now thanks to those sickening sycophants she was sorely reminded of her own poor social – and subsequently intellectual – standing. Missing culture and class (in all senses) often made her an easy scapegoat, much as she endeavored to rise above those who stooped to such low level of insult in order to make themselves appear somehow more "sophisticated". She couldn't help being a bit ruffled though, bile riling spitefully in her stomach as self-doubt simultaneously rolled about her conscience.
I mean come on, who are you even kidding? All you're really good at is PE and pretending to be from a decent background instead of another broken dysfunctional family. Doesn't matter what his type is, he's way out of your league.
While she normally tried to cover up lack of conviction with clever wit, this was just the newest in a long series of successive failures (though it certainly didn't top the ultimate blunder she'd made once). Chalk another one up to the slew of screw-ups and setbacks that plagued throughout her past, piling up to the point she may as well be called the Leaning Tower of "Please Kick Me". Despite exertions to deny at least one side of her upbringing, the dominoes were stacked against her since birth. Any psychoanalyst worth his salt (assuming she could even afford one) would point to a mess of complications stemming from childhood, starting with "daddy dearest". Freud would likely have a field day with her "father figure" fixation – in the more negative than positive association. While both parental "role models" had problems with neglect in the past, it was the paternal ones that particularly persisted. Thanks to her poor excuse for a pop, she'd suffered her share of blows (both emotional and physical) that defeated and deflated a daughter's dignity, culminating in a personal vendetta against crime and clueless adults who can't even properly take care of their kids. (Which in itself was one of the reasons she sadly but firmly determined in the end to give her own offspring up for adoption.)
Objectively, it was no wonder she had terrible luck – if not taste – with men, chasing endlessly after a string of doomed relationships (and consequently consecutive rejections), sought as a self-diagnosed surrogate to replace the male attention and affection she never received growing up. …So she idly acknowledged the full irony of the situation when, in order to distract from her dejection, she considered the inadvertent advertisement mentioned earlier as a potential solace.
Maybe I'll go ogle some eyecandy for peace of mind.
She had promised her mom she'd come home for the weekend after all. She could stop by on her way, scope the – ahem – place out a bit. From the sound of the discussion, it was located fairly close to the suburbs, and establishing affiliation with an exercise facility near her neighborhood would be pretty convenient during vacations, compared to commuting back and forth like she did in high school. (Having a certified hunk for a fitness instructor as well would just be a nice bonus, icing on the cake. Given her strict regimen, surely she deserved to treat herself to some confectionary "consolation" on the side.)
…When she stepped off the bus in the middle of Gotham's busiest shopping district though, she realized she probably should've done more research into its exact whereabouts first.
Dear Diary, remind me to print out directions next time. Or at least a map.
As she wandered hopelessly through the streets, now without the benefit of a guide or even a destination address to go by, eventually probing enough passersby bore fruit. By the time she arrived there though (out of breath as if she had already run a marathon), the sun was starting to set. Craning her neck to gaze up at the building sign towering above her, she snorted slightly at the lofty title.
"Out of the Nest Aerial" – what a weird name.
A bell chimed as she entered, alerting a man who was bent over some boxes in the back of the lobby (which smelled of fresh paint and renovation), apparently busy packing away some materials. He must've been surprised by a customer at this late hour, as she caught a cursory lift of his (lean yet muscular) arm to glance at a wristwatch. Still, he called pleasantly over his shoulder:
"Be right with you in a moment."
Eyeing the robust frame of his behind, she assured:
"Ah, take your time."
donotstareathisbuttdonotstareathisbuttdonotstareathisbutt
Damn, those gals seriously weren't kidding about the view. …As the ass-umed target of their talk turned around though, she realized what they must have been chatting about that set off such a funny fit, following screeches with shushes. Steph felt her own face flush as she admonished herself for inappropriately zoning in from one conspicuous feature to another.
donotstareathiseyedonotstareathiseyedonotstareathiseye
Despite the discernible… "deficiency" in the other's visual department, the defect didn't detract from his overall attractiveness, magnetic movie star looks unmarred by partial eclipse. One shining moon's force of gravity was sufficient enough to draw her into its depths. …If anything the shadow blocking the opposite sun's reflection only enhanced his handsome appeal by augmenting an alluring air of mystique and intrigue – a Mr. Tall, Dark, and Mysterious if she ever saw one. Hell, the rest of his heavenly body's figure was practically flawless, revealing the results of what must've amounted to years of intense physical training. Aside from deducing self-discipline as part of his personality, he carried himself with the convivial charisma of a cheerful showman presenting some grand performance (which she vaguely recollected from her father's former game show hosting days). A voguish comportment vaguely cobbled from the kinds of classy male caricatures generally seen strutting on red carpet catwalks, peacocks fanning their feathers for their – in this case – drabber female counterparts (fans who would squeal and fall over themselves with glee if given a chance to even get within vicinity, let alone dare to lay claim of victory). Suave and stylish – if slightly synthetic. All preened plumage and perfect poses, placid and practiced. Like plastic roses, permanently planted for all to adore – parading proud and prominent down a promenade. Whose upbeat character's charm was hardly diminished as he grinned gregariously in greeting, the gorgeousness of such a stunning smile more than making up for any handicap. …Although she noted the guy's gait seemed somewhat rigid for somebody of his stature, walking with a minor limp towards her. Her blush deepened as he approached, exuding a masculine musk as his powerful paw extended to shake.
"Welcome. How can I help you, miss…?"
"Brown. Stephanie Brown." She babbled rapidly, tongue tying again as she tripped over her response. "Nice booty- I mean, nice butt- I mean, nice to meet you. …You know what, I'm so sorry, I'm just gonna go."
Fortunately, he seemed to take the semi-suggestive (if perhaps politically incorrect) comment in stride, simply chuckling aloud with unalloyed aplomb.
"Trust me, I've heard it all. Richard Grayson, at your service." The dreamboat flourished a forgiving bow, adding with a flirtatious smirk: "You can call me Dick though, all the ladies do."
ohmygod please stop
"Um, I was wondering if I could check you out-" She hastily checked herself again. "Er, check out your equipment?" God, why did that still sound so embarrassing to say. "I was thinking of signing up to join if you've got memberships available."
"Sure, although we usually close around this time. Was just about to lock up soon actually. I'll make an exception for such a lovely little lady though."
Red crept further onto her cheeks. "Thanks, I'll just take a quick peek."
He nodded. "Feel free to look around, most of our stuff's upstairs. Would you like me to give you a special tour?"
"N-no, that's okay."
She squeaked, subduing an internal squee.
"All right. Let me know if you need anything."
She skipped swiftly up the steps, heart skipping beats. Today was turning out to be a pretty good day after all.
When she reached the upper floor though, she stopped short to see someone was unexpectedly there before her: the very person she had intentionally come to forget about.
What's he doing here?
He didn't seem to notice her presence, focused intently on a pair of uneven horizontal bars before him. Muttering something to himself under his breath, clenching his fists and flexing a few times. After the limbering stretch, he inhaled deeply before charging at his opponent, clearing the first hurdle with ease by using it as a springboard. He appeared to have some trouble latching onto the second, but managed to rectify his grip in time, righting himself as he swung up and over in a circle. Adjusting his center of weight, he settled into a handstand, still facing away from her. Gradually, he removed one palm from the pipe, impressively relying on a single limb's strength to maintain balance.
A memory pricked in the back of her mind. Gotham High. After dusk. An empty gymnasium. She had forgotten her homework at school after practice, so she hopped on her scooter and raced back. As she neared the gym though, she heard a groaning crash within, followed by an angry curse. Poking her head cautiously through the door crack, she spotted someone lying prostrate on the floormat beneath the parallel beams (which were presumably set up again by said individual after having already been put away prior), alarmingly appearing unconscious. At first she panicked, and was about to run and call for an ambulance when the comatose corpse stirred, sluggishly staggering to its feet. Despite dragging them a little, he wobbled over to take previous position at the end of the pad. Stabilizing himself, he waited a minute for dizziness to dwindle before tumbling and backflipping across the entire expanse, vaulting high into the air to land – almost, but not quite – on the mark.
While she winced in his place, he merely picked himself up and gave it another go, repeating the routine over and over, for what felt like hours. She stood there and watched with silent marvel, gaping in spellbound, slackjawed awe at each graceful arc and twist, utterly mesmerized by this bizarre boy's sheer determination to get it all precisely right – nearly bordering on desperate, if not suicidal. No matter how many times he tried though (nevermind shocking disregard for the quantity of bruises gained in the process), each attempt produced little improvement. Even if he managed to successfully pull off the whole maneuver, his hands shook so much upon descent that he still slipped off the perch – almost as if some part of his subconscious were involuntarily compelling himself to hold back. Finally, he kicked the dual poles over in frustration, storming off towards the outlet. She hurriedly ducked around a corner, but was able to get a good glimpse at his visage before he vanished.
She knew his name straightaway from face alone; everyone did. She'd seen him around in the halls, heard the whispered rumors, but had never spoken to him before. Most people strove to avoid interacting with the "world class weirdo" if they could help it, and his raging outburst at the end was admittedly a bit disturbing. …But the bitter expression of disappointment he wore as he glumly gave up became burned into her brain, ingraining irritation on his behalf. He evidently possessed extraordinary talent, yet still wasn't satisfied with himself. (Her own signature moves paled in comparison, and not even the most senior members on the team could come close to the caliber of coordination and dexterity – let alone stamina – required to execute the intricacy of the initial sequence.) No one else seemed to recognize his raw skills either; or rather, he didn't allow anyone to witness them for whatever reason. When he showed up to class the next day sporting so many injuries, everyone speculated how the infamous "delinquent" must have gotten into some kind of brawl outside of school, and steered clear even further. He didn't say anything in his defense, but she found herself privately lamenting the misunderstood look of loneliness in his eyes – that in a way felt so achingly familiar from when she'd spend her mornings carefully concealing her "loving" dad's last night beatings with makeup in the mirror.
Yet, she couldn't bring herself to openly express sympathetic sentiment. She had her own pressing business to attend to, as shortly after that she discovered she was pregnant. Her louse of a boyfriend had already long broken up with her, dumped and ditched to fend for herself as soon as the quake of '09 hit, fleeing like a coward while she stayed to try and help other survivors. Not only that, he completely skipped town in the aftermath – coincidentally for the entire duration of her gestation period – only coming back when chaos died down and the coast was clear, in all contexts. After she gave birth, he actually had the gall to try and get back together with her, but she kicked him hard in a certain place and then punched him in the face – twice – when he wouldn't stay down. (Okay, so admittedly she was taking out more aggravation at herself; maybe he didn't thoroughly deserve the brunt of such brutal treatment, but she hadn't had the best experience with guys who refused to take "no" for an answer either.)
While the calamity exposed some awful realities about human nature, she wasn't the only one who chose to remain behind to aid relief efforts. Among the scattered, smattering handful of Samaritan citizens left, she had observed another teen around her age (maybe a little younger, if his size was anything to go by). Although for an excruciating amount of time, he seemed frozen absolute, suspended animation amidst the burning wreckage. Glazed pupils in a trance, as if unable to process surroundings – before snapping out of stunned stupor into action. Festinating, fighting frantically through the frightened crowd, urgently racing to rescue as many as he could from the rubble. At one point he even recklessly risked his own life to dive under a crumbling, unstable column, reacting on impulse in order to save a small child from the structure as it collapsed. He almost looked more terrified than the toddler afterwards, whole mass trembling (and not just from the aftershock tremors), but he held the crying kid close and soothingly promised it would be okay, that they'd find his parents, that they were okay. He was okay. Everything was going to be okay.
She didn't learn who he was until later, when she and the majority of the refugee student body were relocated to Gotham Heights High nearby, since their own cheap institution was devastated beyond immediate repair. (Eventually it would be rebuilt and renamed, dedicated in honor of the late Mayor Hamilton Hill, who perished during the upheaval.) The noble sacrifice that stranger demonstrated on that day seemed a stark contrast to his cold reputation, and she admired wonderingly from afar, confused as to how someone could portray two totally different impressions in such a short span. Deep down, she was sure the brave hero she saw emerge back then was but a flicker of the real self buried underneath frigid fortress's exterior, convinced that a closed off heart was far kinder and more courageous than the owner let on.
At any rate, she had enough concerns on her own plate for the time being, dealing with the "reminder" her ex had left her of their time spent together. While she tried to keep the matter discreet, there was no way she could hide such a (literally) huge secret forever – from her mom or from faculty. When the truth came out, some of her (idiot) friends thought it was cool she was having a baby, envying the attention and constant excused absences. Others displayed their disdainful opinions on the affair, albeit in a more "indirect" manner. Maybe they were also jealous, or more likely her teammates were mad at her for having missed so many meetings under the pretense of "not feeling well" – only to announce she was officially taking an extended leave right before the big tournament, forcing them to scramble to redo the group floor routine. (They were already reluctant to let a transfer "rival" join, even though she had easily wowed their coach during tryouts.) Either way, she arrived one day to find her temp hallway locker coated in graffiti, resentful remarks ranging from "slacker" to "slut". There were worse labels as the list went on, effectively exhausting the devil's dictionary:
Bitch.
Bimbo.
Tramp.
Trollop.
Hussy.
Harlot.
Whore.
Dreg.
Some of the comments were so harsh and hurtful she couldn't – didn't want to believe they came from anybody she knew. Given the setting's free access and availability, anyone could've written (and read) those things. So rather than instantly alert authority, she resolved to stake out between breaks to see if any vandals returned to the scene of the crime. …By the end of the day though, no one had come forward to gloat or claim responsibility. She was about to resign herself to letting the culprit(s) go when he of all people suddenly turned up in the vacant corridor – carrying a spraycan. Crushed by the thought he could've been involved – that he was really no better than his hoodlum image – she nearly called him out then and there to give a piece of her mind… when she noticed he was also holding a rag in his other hand.
He had brought cleaning supplies.
Quickly and quietly, he set to work, applying solvent and scrubbing away all the abusive slurs, leaving the cubby sparkling new. He promptly departed without a word, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. She didn't know quite what to make of this random act; lending assistance in a crisis was one thing, but for someone to go out of his way to do her a favor when they weren't even acquaintances went well above and beyond altruism in its own merit. (It was possible he was erasing evidence out of remorse, but somehow she doubted that.)
She never did get a chance to ask him about it – or to thank him – as her mother marched straight into the administration office upon hearing of the incident and pulled her out for the remainder of the semester, insisting on homeschooling – at least until the fetus finished its own term. Steph had never seen her looking so strong as in that moment. The scathing, scolding speech and matronly outline she sharply cut were striking, if somewhat startling. Their relationship had always been rather rocky, what with the pill addiction and alcoholism and all-around abandonment, but almost losing one's daughter in a nigh-apocalyptic event tends to put things in perspective. Maybe she felt guilty for not fully being there for her up through adolescence, blaming herself for any shortcomings. She took the catastrophe itself as a sign of self-punishment, almost as if it were own fault rather than Mother Nature's.
Whatever the motive, she really tried after that to make up for lost contact, God bless her. She got clean – for good this time – started working double shifts at the hospital to pay for damages to the house, all the while singly supporting Stephanie through the labor and adoption proceedings. Even went on a diet and lost some weight, though they still made sure to set aside time to eat waffles together every morning. Steph wasn't sure why the woman specifically chose something that only offered empty carbs as their "healthy" bonding agent (she supposed since it was a warm, go-to comfort food; personally she was partial to mashed potatoes herself), but it became tradition, and it stuck – as did their adherence to each other, nonartificial sweetness strengthened with syrup.
When she returned to school, she was mildly more anxious to face friends than foes; to that end, she wasn't even sure where on the spectrum "that person" lay. (Incidentally, she gathered he'd also spent some time "away" in the interim, which didn't do much to dispel his shameful status.) At this forgone stage, she was uncertain how to broach topics long past to someone she'd still never even had a conversation with. Plus he always seemed so… difficult to approach, exuding an overwhelmingly daunting lone wolf aura. Finding courage or commonality to confront him was a bold challenge, and she always awkwardly lost her nerve whenever she came close.
Despite his history of misconduct, he was perceptibly bright – brilliant even – when it came to academics. His high exam scores earned him enrollment in accelerated classes in their senior year (although even then it seemed like he was still withholding some superior source of knowledge, moderating only enough surface energy to scrape by), and the advanced placement ahead of her only broadened the unattainable distance between them, no matter how hard she struggled to catch up… Which made it all the more astonishing that, in the end, he'd willingly accepted a spot in the same local state college rather than a private university. One might then cynically accuse her of seizing opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak, but it was purely by chance she happened to secure a practical arrangement that put them in rough proximity. Ostensibly though, the only other times their paths managed to fleetingly cross outside of lecture hall took place behind separate, if adjacent bookshelves – until today's accidental encounter, that is.
As she retrospectively looked on, it seemed he couldn't sustain the stance for long, dropping posture to hang upside-down for a moment before dismounting. Again, some kind of subliminal instinct seemed to kick in before he hit the ground, and he stumbled with a heated swear. She clapped politely in appreciation though, and he jolted at the noise. Swerving, he snapped without warning:
"Damnit, will you quit bugging me?!"
Her hands halted, shocked by the sudden shout. He blinked as he registered the spectator, growing more mortified as he became aware of his error.
"Shit. Sorry, I- thought you were someone else."
"It's okay. I didn't mean to startle you."
He gulped and shuffled uneasily, steadying respiration before attempting to start over.
"So. It's you again, huh."
Hello to you too.
"Hey. Fancy meeting you here. We just keep running into each other today, don't we?" She ventured what she hoped came off as a friendly jibe to defuse tension, though there was some genuine suspicion behind it. "You wouldn't be secretly stalking me, would you?"
He didn't fall for it. Rather than take the bait, he instead reached casually for a water bottle on the bench beside his bookbag, relatively unfazed by the half-serious allegation.
"That's my line." His tone was almost eerily calm compared to before, as he unscrewed the cap and nonchalantly took a swig. "I could inquire the same of you, I've got a legitimate reason to be here."
"Oh really. And what would that be?"
He jerked his head towards the staircase, jabbing a thumb for emphasis. "The guy downstairs? He's my older brother."
She squinted, distinguishing some physical resemblance now that he brought it up. "You two are related?"
That… explains a lot actually.
"Not by blood," he clarified. "He was also adopted by Mr. Wayne at one point, so technically that makes us step-siblings."
There was a pronounced privation of fondness in the terse, formal way he delicately articulated their former guardian's designation, tongue tart and taut as a tightrope. She hazily recalled reading about the second sensation in the tabloids at the time (alongside an exposé detailing the new ward's scandalous criminal record).
"Oh right, I saw a, um, documentary on T.V. about that. …Wait, you mean he's Grayson as in 'The Flying Graysons'? The famous circus act?"
"You didn't see all the posters in the lobby?"
He pointed over her shoulder at a giant flyer pasted over partition, the enormous wall scroll unambiguously inflating the centerpiece's ego.
"…Ah. Guess I must've been, er, distracted."
Irises rolled in exasperation, as if expecting such a reply. "He tends to have that effect on people."
Curious concentration transferred from the glossy print back to him as he begrudgingly murmured this. Hard to think the two were connected to each other, if tangentially. Like day and night, they were. Tentatively, she tried to gear the dialogue in a different direction, nudging towards an encouraging compliment.
"So that's how you picked up all the acrobatic stuff?"
"Uh- yeah. Something like that." He winced and rubbed the back of his neck, still seeming uncomfortable with the subject.
"You're really good at it. That was pretty amazing, what you did just now. You should consider joining the gymnastics team, the males' division could probably use some support. I hear it's in danger of being cut to provide more funding for contact sports." She scoffed inwardly. Like those jocks need any more budget.
He simply shrugged. "I'm not that great. My brother's better." …It was pretty plain to see he had a heavily severe inferiority complex. Remarkably though, sourness seemed to subside as a reminiscent, reverent mist remotely shrouded his vision, looking longingly at the faded ruby and gold costume. "You know he's the only person in the world who can perform a quadruple somersault?" There was a touch of envious excitement in his tenor as he placed a hand on the worn placard, smoothing over wrinkles in the parchment. "…Or he used to be anyway, before the- accident."
"…Is that also how he lost his eye?"
The clouded veil instantaneously evaporated.
"Sorry. Was just wondering."
A voice emanated from the stairwell:
"It's all right. I don't mind you asking."
The two turned to see the proprietor poised at the top of stairs, leaning over the railing as he took in the picture with an inscrutable countenance.
"It happened during the quake. Was trying to help some victims trapped in a bus underneath the highway. Got hit by falling debris in an aftershock. …Pretty dumb, huh?"
"I wouldn't say that. That was really heroic of you."
Meanwhile, her other company said nothing, but shot a peculiar look at his brother, who merely beamed benignly back. There was a blank, stony sort of quality to both their semblances though. Impenetrable. Stephanie had the inexplicable feeling she was intruding on some mute, confidential exchange between the two, and decided now would probably be a good time to excuse herself.
"…Anyway, would you look at the time. Guess I should get going. It's getting late, and my mom's expecting me."
"Of course. Thank you for stopping by, we hope to see you back again."
"I'm sure you will. …Oh, one more question before I go: How do I get to Widowstone Creek from here?"
A brief description of bearings later, Stephanie strolled out the door, now confidently armed with coordinates. The manager waved with a sunny smile as she left – though it might've been her imagination, but the salutation seemed a tad subdued as opposed to earlier reception.
"Bye now! Take care."
He subtly elbowed his younger sibling, who sullenly put up a lethargic hand as well.
"Bye."
Really, could those two be any more different.
The sky had grown grim, but she was still able to navigate her way around well enough as she approached an area she was accustomed to. She had been right about the place being close to her house, it shouldn't take her long to get there. …Although now that she knew where she was headed, she opted at the last minute to cut through a back alley to get to her block without further delay – which turned out to be a colossal, costly mistake.
"Well well, what have we here?"
Stephanie stiffened as she heard the thrum of throaty sniggers and motorbikes, headlights peering through the gloom as they illuminated a score of whitewashed faces, arrayed in garish garb; bright polka dot and patchwork patterns that were even more blinding (like looking through a psychedelic kaleidoscope, or experiencing a bad trip on some of her mom's pills). She would've been amused by their gaudy guises, if not for the gleaming assortment of weapons they wielded: knives, chains, clubs, hammers, pipes, bats, and of all things – a spiked rubber chicken, which was the only thing that didn't seem ridiculously out of place in this scenario. (Scratch that, they still looked ridiculous.) Brazenly brandishing rusted iron and brass to match their brash appearance, lurid and leering. She'd seen reports of their mischievous miscreant behavior on the news, but had never directly run into them before. Outlying residential regions weren't typically their turf. …But of course today had to be the day they chose to terrorize her territory instead.
Dear Diary, remind me never to try taking a shortcut again. …Assuming I even make it out of this mess alive, that is.
She thought as she backed up slowly, finding herself fenced in by whooping hyenas, sneering and snickering as they encircled their prey. A gang of hellion hooligans, rebel riffraff risen up out of the ashes and anarchy following the cataclysm – even more enormous fashion disasters taking after their borrowed namesake:
Jokerz.
Clowns are here to let you know
Where you let your senses go
Clowns all around you
It's a cross I need to bear
No Alvin Draper sorry. =P
Apologies if there are any timeline mistakes. Originally I wasn't sure whether I wanted to include the earthquake as part of the story, but there's evidence one did take place in the DCAU, and it ended up being a convenient trigger for several plot points. I imagine a major quake did occur in the interim bw BTAS and BB, but it wasn't severe enough to warrant a complete government-sanctioned shut-down period of "No Man's Land" in Gotham.