My Own Greek Tragedy - part 3

Words 3,379

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You hadn't worn in a full suit a long time. It's a realization that strikes you as you stare uncomprehendingly at the dark silk tie in your hand. A bit late considering the gala was supposed to start in two hours.

Pulling at the collar of your shirt with an irritated scowl, you go about relearning a skill that you thought unnecessary with the greatest tool known to man.

The internet.

Clicking on the first suggested video, you follow the instructions as shown, or at least you try to.

Somehow, someway, you end up with more a hangman's noose wrapped your neck than the simple knot that'd you been promised.

It only got worse as you attempt to tug the knot open. It doesn't budge, so you tug harder, and harder, and then you hear a soft ripping sound, and the tie falls into a pile of ribbons at your feet.

It's a good thing you bought extras.

Thirty-five minutes until you're supposed to pick up Rose.

You hurry just a bit faster towards the drawer.

Ten minutes later, with luckily no more destroyed clothes or torn ties, you stand at your bedroom mirror fully dressed. That in of itself is a miracle worth celebrating seeing as you went suit shopping a day before.

Thank god your neighbor was a tailor, you even got a discount. Not that your accounts couldn't suffer the cost, but it was the thought that counted.

Mrs. Eckhart really was a sweetheart, you think. The little old widow to some long dead corporate magnate had been nothing but courteous to you since you moved, and never even mentioned your late-night activities outside of a conspirational wink in the elevator.

You'd have to pay her back, somehow.

But first, you had to get to the Wilson's....in fifteen minutes. Before the thought even finished, you're out the door.

The Wilson home was a simple two-story house, with an old wooden fence and a yard dotted with yellowish-green grass in dire need of water. An old SUV that's seen one too many years sits in the driveway to complete the look.

In short, it was the quintessential suburban home and gave zero indication that the most infamous assassin in modern history lived inside.

And what did that make you? The poor sot taking his daughter out on a date.

Your first official date, you belatedly realize. You doubt fucking like bunnies in the back of a truck would count for Rose.

With unusual trepidation, you knock softly on the door half-expecting Slade to burst through at any minute sword held high ranting and raving about you stealing his baby girl's purity.

Thankfully, it's Rose that opens the door-

Your train of thoughts comes to a screeching halt, the conductor abandons his station as it flies off the rails, and proceeds to explode in a blaze of glory all in the span of a heartbeat.

The only way to describe what she's wearing is, sinful. Sinful in that it's filling your head with thoughts that would make a nun blush with embarrassed horror.

A midnight blue dress that hugs to her like a second skin and framing her naked back, and ending tantalizingly close to her mid-thigh.

Paired with her white locks tied up in a high ponytail, well let's just say you're starting to have second thoughts about going to this gala thing at all.

"So you like it?" she asks with a tone that makes it clear that she knows exactly what you're thinking.

You resist the urge to blabber unintelligibly.

You swallow thickly. "It's not red," you get out.

She scoffs in response a single finger trailing up the length of your shirt.

"I know. But you don't care, do you?"

Sure, you could say you do care, but all you want to do is at this point is get the two of you in that car alone.

"Nope, not one bit."

"That's what I thought."

Her lips graze the side of your cheek as she reaches up on her toes with the help of her heels.

"I'll be waiting in the car. My dad wants to talk to you, first."

That makes you pause. "Did he say about what?" you ask warily.

"Not that he would tell me. He's down in the basement and hurry up, I'm waiting."

The hidden meaning behind her words is all the encouragement you need as you enter Deathstroke's home.

The basement, you realize, is more like a man cave, and far larger and spacious than any basement had the right to be.

It's darkly lit with only low burnt lights hanging from the ceiling and the brightness of the TV as the only source of light.

A long couch is set up in front of it, but you don't find Slade there.

Instead, you find Deathstroke, the most feared assassin in perhaps all the world, lounging on a recliner, a glass of whiskey in hand, and watching soccer.

"You going to stand there all night?" He abruptly asks fixing you with his one good eye. "Take a seat, I want to talk."

You slowly obey, each step marked by your precognition conveniently going haywire flashing through broken images like a squirrel high on cocaine. Most of them leave you less and less enthused to take the next step.

The two of you slip into an awkward silence with only the announcer's muffled voice there to fill the void. You take that time to look around your surroundings and see how a man like Slade Wilson actually lives.

The room is spartan for the most part, and the walls are empty of adornments. But out of the corner of your vision, you see an entrance to another room with a desk and walls lined with little statues that you couldn't identify.

"You haven't been taking any missions." He says without turning his attention from the TV.

"Ah, well, busy with school and stuff...." you finish lamely. "you know how it goes."

He grunts noncomittally before taking a sip of his drink.

"I'm calling in the favor you owe me. More accurately, all the favors you owe me."

His words are surprising, and more than enough to pique your interest.

"Which would be from?"

"Taking you in, getting rid of all that street-level shit the Cat taught you and making you actually competent?"

"Uh-huh."

"Giving you a line to my web of contacts across the globe."

"Go on."

"Letting you sleep with my-"

"Okay, I get the point. Fine, what do you want?"

"I'll allow you to take your little sabbatical. But one day, maybe soon, I'll be calling on that debt. You'll be briefed on what you need to know later."

"Oh, and one more thing," he finishes his drink with a single gulp before turning his head towards you. "You hurt my daughter, and I'll kill you myself. Are we clear? Good, now get going."

It's only after stepping out the door does a sudden thought strike you.

Did I just get the dad talk from Deathstroke?

"What did my dad want to talk about?" Rose asks once you get in the car.

"Nothing! Nothing at all," you reply quickly. Maybe just a bit too quickly based on her suspicious look.

The streets of Gotham zip by as you head for the Wayne Tower. You know you've reached it long before you actually see the Tower.

Bright floodlights from the ground and the lines of paparazzi stretching far around the corner are all the signs you need to know that you've made it.

Wayne Tower is surrounded by a hive of activity, with limousines depositing guests on a long red carpet that stretches a staggering distance to the doors of the tower.

You can see security guards everywhere buzzing around like army ants pushing back the tide of reporters and fans and through the glass, the guests and invitees are swiftly being ushered into the elevators.

It's something straight out of a movie, you think. And then an errant flash blinds you and all the surrealness of the moment disappears with an ignoble whimper.

Luckily, you're able to find a valet only a small distance from the entrance, passing your car off to them.

"Shall we?" you extend a hand to Rose.

"Are you kidding?" she replies taking the proferred hand with no little excitement. "I've been waiting all week for this."

Wayne Tower was somehow even more opulent than its usual self.

Waiters flock to and fro with glasses of champagne while guiding guests up the elevators or through a wide sweeping staircase to where the party was.

The dull sounds of cars rushing outside and the camera flashes of the paparazzi come in a muffled discord from behind as you approach the front desk, with the man behind it looking at the two of you suspiciously.

"Hello," he smiles politely. "what can I do for you?"

What did he think he could do for you? Order a burger, schedule an appointment with Bruce?

"We're here for the gala,"

"Terrific," his tone makes it clear it's very much not. "now if your parents can show their invitation cards then we can get you all going."

It takes all the dregs of etiquette resting in the back of your mind to not punch the fucker right in the mouth.

Instead, you take a deep breath, making your irritation clear, and turn your nose up imperiously staring down at the diminutive turd that stained your eyesight.

"I was invited by Mr. Wayne personally," you toss the invitation across the desk and taking a not-so-little enjoyment at the "oh shit" look that comes across the secretary's face. "And she is my plus one."

"I-I'm sorry, Mr. Othrys, I did not mean any offense. Please, enjoy the night," he says nervously.

You hmph in contempt before striding towards the elevator, Rose giving you an amused look all the while.

"I didn't know you could be that pompous, I thought you'd been replaced by blue blood for a second."

"I can be pompous," you protest. You'd learned how-to from the best in the business, after all, a billionaire playboy who moonlights in a Halloween costume, and a millionaire thief who likes to dress up in a catsuit.

She rolls her eyes but smiles nonetheless. "Yeah right."

The elevator doors open to a large ballroom decorated for a party fit for royalty.

And the royalty of Gotham indeed was in full attendance. You can recognize many of their faces, some from the news of course, but many others because they were marks on Selina's, and some were also on Bruce's list of suspected criminals.

One or two even used to be clients for Slade. You point at a smartly dressed bald man chatting with an older woman. "Hey isn't that the guy-"

"who hired my Dad to get rid of his running opponent, yep." Rose says blandly. "paid like shit too."

A woman nearby dressed in a yellow gown with a plunging neckline lets out a mortified gasp. You'd have appreciated the sight if her face didn't resemble an overripe tomato.

You survey the room, old instincts taking over for but a brief moment.

The soft tunes of violins drift from above, and a small orchestra prepares itself on stage.

A throng of guests stands mingling around the appetizer tables. It's a comical sight for you to see the movers and shakers of Gotham gossiping over crabcakes.

In the center of the ballroom, a great circle of dancing guests had formed with many more standing in a throng around them. And that's when you catch sight of them.

Dressed to the nines and hair let loose in a curled tumble, Selina Kyle looks just as beautiful since you had last seen her two years ago. And standing beside her, Bruce Wayne looks just as snobbish and self-righteous as he had been that day your first arrived at Wayne Manor.

"You've got that look when you're planning something. What are you about to do, Cadmus?"

You turn to Rose and smile.

"Come on, I want to introduce you to some old friends."

Neither of them notices you as the two of you approach, but you catch sight of two women standing to Bruce's side. One is a statuesque redhead wearing a scowl that may as well have been chipped from marble, but the other is far more familiar.

After all, you had homeroom with her. Bette Kane dressed in a white ball dress and hair done up in an intricate bun, ironically, is the first of the four to notice you.

"Cadmus!" I didn't know you were coming." She says with an infectious smile, so much Rose doesn't even flinch towards the knives hidden beneath her dress.

Bruce and Selina almost seem to flinch back like they're stuck. And two pairs of eyes, one green and cat-like, another blue and cold, glue themselves on to you.

"Bruce, Selina, it's good to see you both again."

You take a vicious satisfaction in watching them widen dramatically before turning back to the bubbly girl in front of you.

"Hi Bette, happy to see you as well, you look great by the way. And why I'm here, well, Bruce and I go way back."

Vein pulses violently on said main's forehead.

"Really?" she asks curiously. "I never remember seeing you around Wayne Manor."

"I was only there for a short time," you reply.

"So that's how you know Dick," she exclaims. You nod in confirmation.

"I can't help but notice he's not here, Bruce."

"Dick had some school work to catch up on," he answers smoothly. You may have fallen for that the first time you heard it, but now you know that means Robin's watching the streets of Gotham tonight.

"Oh, I completely forgot, this is my plus one, Rose Wilson. I think you've met her father, Slade, before. Right, Bruce?"

Rose takes your introduction in full stride without any prompting giving a perfunctory smile laced with thinly veilled malice.

He glares daggers at you silently. What's more surprising to you is how the redhead turns to look at the two of you warily in the corner of your vision.

"We've had some professional interactions, yes."

"And what does he do?" the redhead asks lazily.

"Contracting work for high profile clients. Private jobs, clean-ups, deliveries, whatever they need." Rose replies easily. "Cadmus and I both help when we can."

"Selina was actually the one to introduce me, I never thanked you for getting me such an amazing opportunity did I? Slade's taught me more than I ever could have hoped to learn."

At that moment Selina Kyle looks much like someone afflicted with "cat got your tongue" syndrome, at a complete loss for words.

"You're very welcome," she replies curtly but her expression is like tinted glass, unyieldingly emotionless.

"Oh! I just realized you guys have never met." Bette interrupts.

The redheaded woman besides fixes you with icy eyes. "Katherine Kane," she greets tersely.

"She's my cousin," Bette supplies ignorant to the rising tension.

"Cadmus Othrys," you take her proferred hand lightly. "a pleasure."

"Bruce has mentioned you once or twice," she hums. "you ran away, I believe."

You smile with thinly veiled malice. "We had our....differences. Luckily for me, Slade was more than kind enough to help me out."

"A well-paying job and a home? I didn't know Slade Wilson was in the business of taking in charity cases." she drawls.

"He's not the only one," Rose replies.

Bruce's reaction is like a frozen lake, nonexistent.

"And besides, I make more than enough to cover the difference." you finish.

Selina takes a long sip of her champagne before speaking.

"I think that's enough talk about personal matters."

So she's waving the white flag...you'll accept it. For now.

The rest of the group grunts scoffs and hums in various levels of noncommitment.

Your eyes wander across the ballroom catching sight of the mayor himself surrounded by city councilmen and other public bureaucrats.

But there was one glaring problem. No sign of Commissioner Gordon. So, you ask Bruce as much.

"He couldn't be here, duty calls."

"Oh, what could be so important to stop him from attending?" you ask curiously.

Bruce smiles infuriatingly, the way he does when he knows something you don't. And then it's gone.

"I've heard the gangs are sizing each other up. There have been late-night skirmishes all through the week and the homicides are going through the roof. The GCPD thinks there's a war coming."

Katherine scoffs harshly. "Ever since Cobblepot kicked the bucket, the entire underside of the city's gone to the dogs. The Sicilians are taking over the Theatre District, the Irish did the same on the West End. And what's the GCPD doing, nothing."

"That's what happens when the one who was holding their leash suddenly stops holding it." Bruce answers.

"So, you think Oswald Cobblepot was better off left alive? After all the untold lives he ruined." You measure each of your words carefully.

"I think whoever killed Cobblepot and all of his underlings is just like him," Bruce replies.

"Don't worry, you'll understand when you're older." Katherine snipes.

"Killing anyone is bad," Bette chimes in innocently.

Rose doesn't let her disagreement go quietly, laughing harshly at the sentiment.

"I wrote a research paper on theoretical physics before I got my learner's permit. Don't try to patronize me," you reply.

"Cobblepot was a menace, yes, but his death caused more trouble than if he was still alive. A lot of innocents are going to get caught up in this." He says to you.

So that's what this is, he's trying to guilt-trip you, to make you feel ashamed of what you've done. No, you have no shame, and you will not bear the deaths of those swine like a cross.

"So you'd rather pander to criminals than deal with them? At least he's not like Batman, letting the Joker escape every week so he can kill another twenty people before he gets 'caught' again."

Bruce scowls in response.

"Rather draconian for someone so young," Katherine says. You're really starting to hate her.

"Orphans grow up quickly, don't they Bruce?" you glare at him defiantly. Selina's expression becomes stricken at the barb.

Rose looks at you with something akin to worry, but you pay it no mind.

He pauses before replying. "That they do."

"I didn't know you were an orphan," Bette says softly."It's nothing something I like to advertise."And before it could go any farther, a voice you hadn't heard since the day you left Wayne Manor comes from behind you.

"Master Cadmus, a pleasure as always."

You wonder if Alfred Pennyworth is secretly immortal because the old butler looks like he hasn't aged a day since you saw him.

He still has that grandfatherly smile and everpresent air around him that makes even the most stern of defenses go lax.

You smile genuinely at the old butler. "Happy to see you too, Alfred."

"I see your etiquette still needs some work," he notes as he looks around and takes note of the tense air.

You shrug in response. "I was never quite good at that."

"I am well aware," he replies with utter sincerity. "though I do believe that you're not a lost cause just yet."

"You'd be one of the few to think so." he follows your eyes to Bruce.

"Oh, is that so? Unfortunately, we best be off, Master Wayne, councilman Evans would like to speak with you. He assured me it was most urgent."

"I'll be right there, Alfred, thank you." He gives you one last look before disappearing into the crowd.

Before you could take your own leave, you're tugged harshly by a sharp pull and dragged onto the dance floor.

Your hand comes instinctively to rest on Rose's waist while the other curls into her hand. Your bodies press together tightly as the orchestra begins to play.

"We are going to dance," she says firmly. "and you're not going to waste one more second of tonight on anyone but me, got it?"

The familiarity of her makes you smile. "That, I can do."