I bought Batgirl and YAY. Have stuff to say that's worth a post, including the arrow I saw that is kind of big nbut didn't detract from the enjoyment of the title at all.
Rabbithole ruined Avatar for me, in the sense that I couldn't watch it without thinking about how events would be different in my own Sue-filled AU, because Rabbithole had eaten my brain. And now, that AU is no longer in full control of my brain, but instead I have Chiraptora. and now I'm reading all my batbooks through Chiraptora coloured glasses.
So instead of just enjoying Streets of Gotham, which I did, I also have to fight bunnies for how things would be different in the Chiraptora world. Or.... I could not fight them and write it instead. Because it's not like anyone's waiting for more tales of early Bruce/Dinah, right?
"I say show of force. Get the Justice League up here to show him who's boss."
"Yeah, we'll call that Plan B."
"What's Plan A?"
You know when you can feel when someone is staring at you? A tingly kind of feeling, people say; like hairs standing up on the back of your neck? I don't get that. Not in my neck, anyway, because when someone's staring at me, especially when they're a straight man, the part of my body he's staring at has the hairs removed regularly, without fail.
I recently instructed a very good friend on the importance of a good outfit, and in making the best of what God gave us, which is what I'm doing today. There may be websites upon websites out there comparing the superbosoms of my sisters, but I know where my qualities lie. You can keep your golden eagles and boob windows; when the nerds compare legs, there's always one name that comes up. And this, I have to say, is my real superpower.
One look at these babies and he's already off balance.
Wayne's office - my office - is crawling with women. The big leather office chair is being occupied by two young Asian kids, spinning it idly while both looking sulky. To the side of the desk, a severe looking brunette and a redhead are conferring over a thick leather folder; at first I think the latter is sitting in a visitor's chair, but a second glance reveals that she's disabled, in a wheelchair. Both of them are wearing suits, and either might be pretty if they let their hair out, and stopped looking so miserable. Everything about them screams lawyer.
And then, there's the blonde, standing at the desk with her back to me as I come in. She is not a lawyer, by a long way, and for a second I wonder if I ran into her at that charity ball last night. She's primped and polished and that dress is certainly not business attire.
How do those designers do it, anyway? That dress barely counts as a loin cloth, but somehow it's obvious someone paid at least a hundred grand for something that might as well be painted on. She turns as I come in, and before I can ask what she's doing here, the little blonde receptionist I passed outside comes running in.
"Oh, Mister Wayne!" she says, in a rush. "Your wife came by so I showed her into your office."
I shouldn't be here. I don't know if I can be here. Looking at him, looking at that face. His face. I suddenly want to hit it as hard as I can, break that perfect jaw for everything he's put us through, everything he's put me through.
Except it's not him. It's just his face.
I thought nothing could hurt as much as losing him, but seeing him again...
Babs comes to my rescue. "We won't be staying long. We just wanted to drop off the papers and leave."
"What papers?" he asks, and I'm back on the script, pulling the envelope away from Helena and pressing it against his chest.
"This, Bruce," I tell him, "is you being served. I'm suing you."
I suppose a little anger is in character.
"You're suing me?"
I'm tempted just to have the pretty receptionist call security to have the lot turned away. Suing me? Suing Bruce? Don't they know I have the best lawyers money can buy?
"Suing you," she repeats. "For violating the terms of our prenuptial agreement."
I glance at the envelope in my hands. The papers inside aren't just well done - they're legit, and her lawyers are watching everything I say. "Which terms are these?"
"All this ill advised spending," she says. "Frittering away our daughters' inheritance!"
And then, the screaming starts.
Give that girl an Oscar. Sin gives it just the right shocked pause before turning on the waterworks and burying her face into Cass' shoulder. Babs and Helena look up sharply. And me, I cover my mouth in shock.
Yeah, that's right, you bastard, I know you see it. I let you see it, as I move my hand from my mouth to my very-shocked bosom. You were friends, you've seen it before. And you know what it is, what it's worth, what it means.
"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that, Bruce. A pity my lawyers won't be quite as kind."
I even twist it slightly on my finger to make sure he keeps it in mind. My wedding ring.
This is a set up. She was planted by that brat. This is just some sort of stupid ploy I'm not going to fall for.
"So?" I say, when I've got my bearings back. "How's that going to look, greedy trophy wife tries to stop philanthropist from doing good works for her own end? You're hardly going to come off well."
"Maybe not," says redhead. "But she'll still come off rich. I think you'll find all the papers are legally binding, and all signed by Bru... I mean, by you. Ms Lance is going to take every penny you have."
God bless you, Bruce, for thinking of everything. Every single possible little eventuality. God bless you for planning everything down to the last legally binding detail.
Eliot goes white. "Ms Brown, show these ladies to the door."
Ms Brown does no such thing. I smile, and stand up from the desk on which I was leaning. Behind me, the girls come off the chair and even Helena stands up straighter, as I lean in towards him.
"We were going, anyway," I tell him. "I just wanted to see your face again. Goodbye, Bruce."
The final sell, before he even checks the contracts in his hand. He has to know that I'm serious, that everything we've just said is true. So even though my stomach is screaming out in protest, I pull him down and press my lips against his.
I tell myself its the sell, but I don't know that I believe it. Maybe I just wanted the chance to finally kiss him goodbye.
He's married? Bruce Wayne was married? With everything he did? Who would...
Her leg has wound around mine. I thought it was the sell, but it's something else. Suddenly I'm very very aware that if she flexed, I could break all three of my long bones.
"Heard you had an altercation with the boys last night," she whispers. The lawyers can't hear, but are they lawyers, really? "You should have played along, Thomas. They were good cop."
She smiles that shallow, playgirl smile as she leaves with her brats.
"Shall I call your lawyers?" Miss Brown asks. I wave her away. I know what the papers will say.