"Charity of the week" Banquet [Flashback][Batman]

[Deleted]

Bored.

Alcohol wasn't helping. Even the expensive champagne they were serving that most of the women were twittering over wasn't helping. It hadn't been able to breathe long enough. And it was warm. But still, the three flutes she'd nabbed and drained were not enough to drown the prattle. The whispers. The annoyances. The irritating chatter of the privledged that knew nothing other than just that. Privledge. And even though she had been invited to this event, and, horrifyingly so had attended solo, she was bored. At the back of her mind there was the nagging, the tugging, the darting looks cast to the gorgeous skyline that she couldn't keep her eyes from slipping to, even when man, or even woman came to chatter at her, asking opinions on this or that.

She just didn't care.

And if she didn't get her act together, she'd be out this circle for the rest of her life in Gotham. Something she just couldn't afford to do.


Not for the money. While she was a newer philanthropist on the scene, her own money already being whispered about amongst the harpies and the playboy wanna-bees looking for some new enticing trinket, she just didn't care. It wasn't worth the time to glance at what everyone was wearing; she already knew everyone was decked in their finest from head to toe. Runway gowns, designer suits, the finest gems and baubles.

She herself had secured a barely off the runway Versace and some rare Canary diamonds. No one would have guessed to wear the pale yellow hue. Especially in this season. Yet, Selina Kyle had dared to, the green gown complimented by the sunny gems.

But that was something else. Forcing a smile to her face, a laugh at the edge of her voice, she assumed the role. The mask. The facade that enabled her to indulge in her actual hobby, her life, her passion. Animated she would discuss this or that, hitting each topic of interest thrown her way like a pro, almost disinterested at who was trading what, or where there was a new trunk show. She didn't care. But the acting was good. And even when a slight hush went over part of the room, drifting through like a calming wave, she didn't care. It truly was the calm before the storm, as a cacophony of noise and laughter erupted from whomever had made such a splashy entrance.

As soon as the whispering and chatter started back up, Selina deposited her empty flute back with another waiter, curious. It would be quite blase to ask who the tall, dark and ditzy man was; even as he was draped with two models; Eastern European from their profile. Instead she would sidle up to another woman, click her tongue and give the barest nod to the other brunette as she feigned...some emotion. And of course that would will up a response; it always did. "Oh, Bruce," her fellow female would spout. "He's always so tacky. His parents would be appalled. Doctor Wayne was always so ....not this." would be parroted at her, and Selina would nod gravely.


So this fine specimen of masculine depravity was Bruce Wayne, delinquent playboy heir to Wayne Enterprises. Maybe her night was about to get a bit less boring. Or maybe he would be vapid and dumb. Then again, vapid and dumb was better than droll and boring. A quick scan of the room was disappointing; he'd moved somewhere and she'd missed it. Damn the forced chatter! About to turn, and possibly engage someone else in a bit of prattle, she'd barely had time to take another breath before she heard in her ear, "Dance with me." Not a request, not loud. It wasn't a demand, but a statement. And not one to subjugate curiosity, Selina raised her left hand, waiting to see her dance partner show his rather arrogant face, and to hopefully prove he was swift on his feet as well.

[vigilant]

Their fingertips touched. The briefest, most gentle impact, skin unto skin, flesh unto flesh. It was like the epic-center of an earthquake. An instant later, his fingers, long and surprisingly assertive, gathered hers and drew her into the circle of his arms. Then they were off. Two figures spinning pirouettes across the dance floor, making even the most graceful couples among them seem awkward and cumbersome, like a herd of stampeding oxen. Their chemistry was flawless, as though their bodies were magnets, attuned and drawn to one another by a force that was almost magical, and completely dynamic.

Yes, he was quick on his feet. Surprisingly so, for such a tall man.

"I don't recall having seen you here before."

He breathed the words against her ear, confident that she'd hear them. Dark hair, bright eyes, and a face sculpted by the hands of God Himself. There was no doubt that he was handsome. Absolutely dashing. And he was rich. The sort of man that'd make a woman's light eyes up on sight. But there must be a catch... right?

"But that's the thing about being famous..."

A droll smile, as though he was remembering a joke. His eyes moved past her, lingered briefly on the glares burning holes through her skull. His dates. Supermodels from... Wait, where? He had already forgotten. Bruce only recalled having listened absently as they rode in the car. He caught all the keywords. The insecurity in their voice, the attempt to appear more sophisticated than they were by over exaggerating an asset. He had played into it. Offered the compliments they wanted to hear, albeit half-heartedly, at the exactly right moment. They gushed over him, saying how his parents must be so proud... And sometimes, Bruce allowed himself to believe it. That a life like his possibly had room for normalcy, and they wanted him for more than his wealth. Of course, Batman didn't have the leisure for delusion.

"Everybody knows you but you hardly know anybody. All the faces are the same eventually."

He turned his gaze towards her, remembering why she had caught his attention. Beautiful, stylish, but not gaudy. Not like the other women here. Then their eyes met, and for a moment, he felt a dizzying sensation: déjà vu. Those eyes. So green. How was that possible? Where had he seen those eyes before? Swirling viridescent pools one moment, then shards of jagged emerald. Then he remembered. The same eyes he saw, every night. If not in a cowled, feline face, then scattered across the Gotham skyline in the form of distant stars. It seems he can never escape it, no matter how hard he tries.

"But you, such beautiful eyes. Yours is a face I won't forget."

There it was. The womanizing. The cheesy romance-movie one-liner that every woman wanted to hear. But still, there was an undercurrent of sincerity in his voice. Her eyes reminded him too much of a pair he had seen, once before, atop one of Gotham's most famous museums. But perhaps he was just over-thinking. A bad case of an overactive imagination...

[Deleted]

Maybe she should have said no. But she didn't. Couldn't, as they were already swirling along the dance floor; his lead more than a command, but a whispered question as well. Fingers interlaced into his well manicured hands, her hair shifting over her shoulder as they spun. And the eyes, oh she could feel them on the duo as they danced, as he leaned in to speak non-phrases and empty words.

"Ah, Mr. Wayne. I do admit I know quite a few people by their deed only at this event, sadly." She added a bit more...substance to the conversation, despite gleaning a bit of...depth to him? A practised facade? A bored, feigned interest? All she knew about Wayne was what the papers fed to her. Be they news, gossip, or actual factual tidbits, it's all she had even experienced. And to now be in the literal arms of the man; she couldn't have asked for more to catapult her skyward in the game of socialite.

But, maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the face he had on here, the show of wealth, of power, of just not caring. Either way, she smiled, nearly tripping when he mentioned her eyes. Clearly there were other attributes he could have commented on; her eyes were quite vivid, but nothing to pause like had, those ice blue eyes locked onto her face, a few seconds where she knew she didn't dare take a breath.

It would ruin the moment.

But he faltered. Or acted. Or was just being, when he commented. So she played into it. A slight turn of her head, a faint blush blossoming over her cheeks. Shifting her hand that was interlaced with his to his own chin, a fingertip lightly tracing a barely perceptible scar. "Maybe you should visit your dermatologist to get that fully removed...or pull back on the drinking, Mr. Wayne." A beat, maybe two; "Then again, no woman really likes a soft man. A few marrs here and there convince us that you're not just carved marble, or merely flesh and bone." A rather vague comment, just to see how he'd answer.

[vigilant]

One by one, couple after couple stepped off the dance-floor to make room for the two figures spinning like twin swans across an open glade. When they went home that night, bothered by the strange intensity that marked this dance, they would wonder to themselves what they saw. Just the idea of the two of them, moving around one another in perfect sync, ushered forth fond, but long forgotten, memories of past loves, first kisses, and unconsummated desire. The kind of desire that burned so hot it turned bones to ash and left the heart in tatters. It was that very same inferno that raged between them now, and if one cared to look, it was as though sparks flew whenever they looked at one another.

It was absolutely magnetic.

But to Bruce, and perhaps Selina as well, it was just a dance. A dance with a partner that they found awfully attractive, and almost impossible to pass up. So it was with regret that Bruce thought of what he had to do. She was a danger to the Mission. She was a civilian. A distraction. But he couldn't help but be a little tempted, as her finger traced a faint scar that marked his chin. Any other woman, he could brush aside and dismiss without a second thought. Beautiful as they were, they were airheads. Vulgar bimbos who wanted his money. But she... she had substance. Wit. Sophistication. Still, he knew what he had to do. But maybe he could prolong it a little longer. Buy a little time.

"Pull back on the drinking?" He sounded appalled, "You make it sound like such a big issue, Ms. Kyle. What's the saying? The one by that really poor guy. If money can fix it, then it's not really a problem."

There, he had done it. Maybe he hadn't revealed to her yet that Bruce Wayne was stupid. An absolute fop. But she would see that he was vain. Arrogant. A complete snob. How long before she scoffs at him, and walks away? Five minutes? Ten? Thirty? A record, even for Bruce Wayne. But still, he was a little sad at the thought of her leaving. And though he would never admit it to himself then, he hoped that she would stay. Stay long enough to keep him company tonight, before she has to see for herself that the things the tabloids spouted weren't entirely false.

"But don't you know? I'm Gotham's Golden Child. A man like me has to keep up appearances... In Poker - or was it Monopoly? - they call it a bluff."

Mixing depth with vanity. Sophistication with empty talk. Never quite one or the other. Even her, clearly more intelligent and astute than the rest, would find herself grabbing at straws. Suddenly, he paused mid-dance. A nearly imperceptible pause. Then he stepped back to make room, so he could spin her through a full twirl. For a moment, time slowed. The hourglass of time was tipped onto its side. Every change in her features, taken note of and memorized. The most remote details, from the freckles on her face to the infinitesimal size difference in her arms, signifying where her dominant hand lay, was burned into his brain. Something to remember her by... in the event she storms off and they never get the chance to speak to one another ever again.

"And I can't have them thinking poorly of me, can I? Also, I don't think any woman likes a man soft."

He had long stepped forward since then. Mid-spin, he caught her in his arms. Chest against her back. Breath nipped playfully at her ear. Light, but hot. Then she was facing him, hands repositioned back to where they belonged. His dates gaped at them from across the room, then stormed out with an enraged shriek. But the other spectators didn't seem surprised in the least. Oh, just Bruce Wayne, standing up his dates for a prettier woman. Just Bruce Wayne, publicly raunchy and marking his territory. At least they got that part right. Bruce knew it was only a matter of time before all he'd have left of her is a passing hello, and a glimpse of her with another man during other charities.

And he can't have that, can he? Because if he couldn't have her, then no one can.

[Deleted]

A prettier, newer woman to the scene. If this wasn't going to help her rocket to a new 'known name' she didn't know what would. Even as they bantered back and forth, her brow would furrow here and there. Either he really was that stupid; or he was addled enough by expensive drink and luxury he was mixing his metaphors. And phrases. And...everything. She didn't have enough reason to chalk him up to stupid; yet, so she settled rather tentatively on alcohol as his miss-wording for now.

But even as they swirled, stepped, turned, and slowly the rest of the crowd melted away as they murmured to each other and laughed, she couldn't think of much else. At the edge of her brain another man threatened to enter; someone who made her heart crush against her chest, and encouraged her to play. But that man she would never see at some frilly dance, some droll benefit....or anything other than something so ...serious. She had to push that thought out of her mind. She was....and literally had been in Bruce's arms mere seconds before he decided to spin, and twirl her, dipping her down and back just as easily as exhaling a breath.

Which he did.

Near the nape of her neck. It was too bad she was ambidextrous. Not that he would pick up on that. Or that she was skillfully dancing in nearly 4 inch heels. In a very couture gown. With rare, expensive gems dripping off her ears and wrists. Then again, most of the women in attendance were wearing such things. But they didn't understand the elegance behind them. The effort it had taken to get them in time. Or how long she had been waiting; and planning to get back to Gotham to put her plan in play.

And now....Bruce Wayne. Either she had caught his eye, or her his. Did it matter? He had a reputation. And she...well, Selina Kyle was always looking to play. Maybe not his game...but there was a game she was going to be playing.

"Ah, Mr. Wayne. You are light on the dance floor..." She offered him, once they were back face to face, possibly closer than they were prior dancing. "But you are correct. No one likes a soft man. Bluffing, though, can be done by most anyone." Selina beamed up at him, flashing him a dazzling smile; coy.

"What are the papers going to say tomorrow morning..." She mused, teasing him. "Bruce Wayne shuns dates for newcomer? Ms. Kyle snatches Gotham's Golden Child? What do you think?"

[vigilant]

But of course he noticed. He was Batman. But she didn't know that. Nobody did. Still, to say he noticed was a vast understatement. Bruce didn't only notice. He saw, understood, and analyzed. It wasn't mere chance that brought them here tonight, locked in one another's arms, lost in one another's eyes. Bruce was drawn to her, like electricity towards metal, for her sophistication. Her class. Her great and astonishing beauty. The kind of beauty that made her skin glow like starlight, brought to life by the very virtue of her persona. There was a certain quality to her... something he recognized immediately and has seen in his lifetime only once, amidst Gotham's darkened rooftops. Whoever this Ms. Kyle was, she had the spark of life, and whatever she touched seemed all the more alive because of her.

It was oddly reminiscent of a certain femme fatale. Still, perhaps he was over thinking. The tricks of an overactive imagination.

"I'd have to disagree with that one, Ms. Kyle. Bluffing is a skill. A practiced skill that takes years of honing and natural aptitude. Take Poker, for example..."

Then he smiled. A mischievous smile that was almost boyish. He drew her closer, so she could feel the whisper of his breath against her lips. Perhaps it was the proximity, but she would feel the warmth of his hands as they held her body... embraced her, as though she was a goddess in bronze, decked in satin and ivory and too fragile to roughen, but too precious to let go. There was a silken quality to his voice that gave her a fleeting glimpse of the playboy, and the man all the women whispered about. Suddenly, all the stories about his skills came flashing before them, and the look he gave her was that of a man who knew tenderness as well as he knew passion.

"But if you would like me to demonstrate... After all, you can't play with a man's ego and not expect him to rise to the expectations."

Bruce laughed. A light-hearted sound that allowed her to construe what he said as she will. Perhaps she will interpret it as a joke. Or, better yet, she will see through his guise. See that he was running circles around her, the same way a certain feline had been running circles around him.

"Or, maybe... Newcomer Seduces Gotham's Most Notorious Womanizer." A pause, then his index finger rose to her chin, and tilted her head up. His gaze bored deeply into hers, and his brow wrinkled wryly. "But the question is: who seduced who? Because by the end of the night, I might be twirling with another woman, and the headline might end up being, "Another One Hits the Dust."

He looked away. Just for an instant. An instant that allowed the sadness and guilt to cloud his eyes, like smoke, before dissipating entirely. He knew he'd miss her. But this is the price paid for The Mission, and he reminded himself that he should have known better.

[Deleted]

Felines never ran circles around another. But he didn't know that. Nor did she care to illude to it. She was enjoying his veiled banter, a smile toying on her rouged lips as she noted he was a bit more well versed, and held a depth that the papers clearly didn't touch upon.

As they twirled and stepped across the floor, she was more aware of the flashbulbs, and the gaping mouths; the wide eyes and the glares now following the duo as they continued to talk, and flirt; of course. But his words grated. Did he say it as so on purpose?

.."Don't you mean Another one bites the Dust Mr. Wayne?" She teased, yet not, saying the words lightly, as her hand gripped his solid bicept as they spun together across the floor.

"And as a matter of fact, I do enjoy bluffing; be it in betting games, or gala's like this, or even at those silent auctions I forgot Gotham was so fond of putting on for those, well, invited." Selina paused, her hand rising to his shoulder, resting there. "Or, you know, with engaging members of the not-as-fair sex." She continued, a twinkle in her eye.

Snapping back to attention after he turned away, it was almost if she had drawn her own mask upon her features. As she was a returning Gothamite, she couldn't blow a chance like this; be it in the spotlight with Bruce Wayne, or otherwise. "Oh Bruce. You know you'd rather be here. Neither of those lovely 'dates,' as you call them can ballroom dance. Or barely walk in those heels. Did you already suds them up before you came to make sure of that, so they'd never hit the dance floor at a song like this, or...was it all for the papers anyway?" She teased, this time flashing a dazzling, yet curious smile.

"And if I do say so myself, they don't know where to grab a good espresso in a barely noticed cafe after the closing bids are called, now do they?" ..that is, if he wanted to grab coffee after the night was done. As much as she hated it, Bruce Wayne was turning out to be more than met the eye; a welcome friend if she dare call it that at these fundraising bores, or even, a deeper thinker than he let on.

[vigilant]

Bruce could taste blood, sweet and intoxicating, on the tip of his tongue. It called to him, teased and flirted with his senses, like the lilting melody of a siren's song. Would she notice the way his nostrils flared, as though he was restraining himself from urges too dark and desires too terrible? Would she notice the way his lips pulled over his teeth, like a wolf baring its maw before the eventual slaughter? It was a sensation he was all too familiar with. But not here. Not in this too-public place with these too-fake personas who sported more masks than an actor on a Broadway show. Not in this place where the cameras clicked like machine guns and every nonsensical idea was allowed to spread into the papers like wildfire.

It was on Gotham's darkened rooftops that he knew the darkness's call. Not here. Not in the arms of this woman who had proven herself more than capable of holding her own in their verbal repartee. Not here. Not now. He had a Mission to accomplish. One that he refused to jeopardize for anybody.

"You think too much, Ms. Kyle. Can't a man just have some fun? Or are you trying to seduce me?"

There was a smile in his voice. One that he'd allow her to interpret as she will. Was he joking? Didn't he realize that, by casting light on what her intentions may be, he might end up going home, empty-handed? Where was his manners? His consideration? Still. His eyes, ice blue, sharper than they had been throughout the whole night, held an unspoken challenge. Was he testing her? Seeing how well she could handle a man whose boldness knew no bounds?

"And barely noticed cafes aren't exactly my style. Why go through the trouble of buying this super expensive outfit, and wear a woman on each arm, only for no one to see? Kind of defeats the purpose of a.. boast, doesn't it? Everyone has to see."

Then he pulled her into a darkened corner, one that provided a momentary reprieve from the flashing lights and prying eyes. His fingers trailed along the gentle curve of her waist, pausing only to press his thumb against the ridge of her hips. It would be so easy. A tug here and a pull there, and their hips would touch and their lips lock. But he waited, breath still and eyes intent.

"Honestly, if I were to kiss you now, it'd be all the sweeter with a thousand cameras flashing around us. That way, everyone will know you're my mistress. My slave. ... My whore."

His words were whispered with a strange, almost eerie intensity. When he released her, it was with the smile of the foppish, arrogant playboy. He had made it clear to her that he didn't respect her. That he had a blatant and proud disregard for the feelings of any woman. He waited, expectant. She would likely storm off in a huff. But secretly, he hoped she wouldn't.

[Deleted]

She twittered, her laughter filling the air around them. "Perhaps it's just my perfume, Bruce. It is quite expensive, and from Paris you know. Never would a new-comer like myself even dare attempt to do that, you know. It would be an attempt to outplay the master, no?" She teased, her hand slipping to the firm outline of his jaw.

To his next question [was he interrogating her? Because it certainly felt like he was dancing around that sort of conversation...], Selina only shook her head as they spun and twirled; a calculated smile here, a demure look over Bruce's shoulder at another flashbulb. "Because you appreciate good quality, Bruce. There is nothing finer than a well cut hem, a unique, one of a kind, object d'art. It imbues others with a lust, and envy for something they don't own, and in turn, that breeds greed, and an admiration for someone that stands so far above them. Thusly, you are viewed a god."

As they twirled, he artfully steered them to a darkened corner. Was he making a physical play on her words? No doubt he was still aware of the cameras, the flashbulbs. She was acutely aware of the distance now closed between the two, and him pressed quite close to her, the once gap of air now gone. As he spoke again, no, whispered hot at her, she had to offer him a wry smile. Was he trying to woo her with words, again?

Her palm cupped his cheek, the smirk still on her lips. Bruce Wayne's whore? Oh, not her. But much like other women had more than likely balked, and then recoiled at him, she drew closer. Pressing her hips against his, the pad of her fingertip tracing his plush lower lip, Selina nearly purred.

"Oh Mister Wayne," she started lowly. "But you already have kissed me in front of cameras. And in a dark corner, no less? Are you sure they're going to think I'm you're whore, or mistress, or just that you're quite enamored with a new face on the scene, like it seems to be each week?"

As they pulled apart, she let her finger linger as long as it could until they parted, smiling sweetly at him. "I think with such a short attention span, mistress isn't going to come to mind. Woman d'jour may, but I think you're the one they're going to be more focused on. Just as you've always enjoyed."
So as they turned back to the rest of the party that nearly halted at their little tete a tete in the corner, she offered a coy smile, her hand still firmly placed in his. If he had been aiming to knock her off kilter, he had failed. Selina Kyle wasn't new to this rodeo, even if she had just returned to Gotham.

[vigilant]

It was here, in this too crowded room, with these too superficial people, that he found something awaken inside him. Something that he had felt on the verge of igniting, during his various adventures with Gotham's most notorious cat burglar. It was a strange sensation. One that brought chills to his bones and a surge of electricity down his spine. He could taste it. The faint, metallic flavor of fresh blood on the tip of his tongue. His senses sharpened, and suddenly everything became a hundred times sharper. The colors of her dress, more vibrant. The brilliance of her eyes, more startling. The silky smoothness of her skin... For a second, it was all he felt. The brush of her flesh against his, as though it was the only thing that mattered. No cameras. No lights. No people. Just the feel of her skin against his. And he found himself hanging onto it, as though it was the single anchor that kept him hooked onto this reality.

Everything just felt so unreal. Why, you say? Because she could play the game. And she was damn good at it.

Still, he stood there, frozen. Every muscle in his body begging for deliverance from this torture. The torture of seeing this beautiful, stunning, intelligent woman spin circles around him, unfazed by his audacity, unmoved by his status. It was like staring into the eyes of a big name criminal that didn't feel a single iota of fear for him. It was so... disarming. And unnatural. And for reasons unbeknownst even to him, he loved it. He loved every second of it.

Maybe because he was not Batman here. [he had to remind himself of that] He was Bruce Wayne. Playboy billionaire. Batman didn't have the leisure of play. Bruce Wayne did. And play he did...

"You seem to know everything about me."

There was a smile in his voice. The kind of smile that was both mischievous and teasing. He slipped behind her quietly, the same way one dancer would spin and pivot around another. His arms slipped around her waist, and he tugged lightly so her back pressed against his chest. The smell of her hair, her perfume... How familiar. [where had he smelled something like that before?] His lips brushed her ear, and he whispered quietly.

"I'm a man of fine tastes. I like my exquisite wine. Fine suits. Fancy perfume... and beautiful women."

His breath was hot against her ear, flowing, slowly, so slowly, down her neck. He held her against him as though she belonged to him. As though she was his trophy for the night. One that he enjoyed too much to let go of [yet]. The soft pads of his fingers drawing circles against her stomach, to trace dangerously close to the fall of her breasts.

"You're such fun, Ms. Kyle. If only you could see the things I imagine doing with you... The things I imagine doing to you."

The last part was said with that strange, dark intensity. There was even a growl on the last syllable. A barely noticeable one, but it was there nonetheless. It gave her a glimpse of the man who masqueraded as civilized and educated, when deep down, he was no better than a savage whose deepest, darkest desires for dominance burned with a raw and ruthless intensity.

[Deleted]

Now if their little interlude, after the dancing wasn't going to get people talking, this was. He didn't seem to realize what they were doing, and if he did? Well, he frankly didn't give a damn. Not that Bruce Wayne would. Not that Bruce Wayne ever did. Even when she'd been overseas, word of the Wayne family name being tarnished, or just blighted made way over the pond. And it seemed what Mister Wayne wanted; be it friend, fame, floozy, or whatever, Mister wayne got. But he was still so daft at times, nearly bipolar as he swapped from moments of intelligence, to this....well, whatever it was. Especially when he saw fit to try, and try it was; to impress her.

While she may be a newer, oldcomer, Selina Kyle was self-made. And a woman. One that could hold her own seemingly against Gotham's "Golden Boy" with ease. And she knew that threw him off. It was in the slightest shifts in his body, the most miniscule of tensions she could barely feel in his arms, in his legs, in his smile. Even as forced as it was. But as the duo returned to the soiree, she flashed a smile at those who were staring at them, questions plastered blatantly to their faces.

"Me?" She feined to his question. A hand demurely went to her decolltage, "Oh Bruce, I only know what the media covers..." She paused, a smile and a deft hand plucking a glass of champagne from a tray, "and that seems to be everything..." came bemused from her lips, a sip of the bubbly liquor passing with ease down her throat.

She was teasing him. But truly, if he sought to keep something private...he was failing. But she really had no time to say much more as he pulled her back into him. A spectacle, no doubt. Did Bruce Wayne manhandle any woman like he had with her tonight? No...she could hear the whispers. It was always cordial, 'here's my arm, let me escort you to some fountain of alcohol, now go away,' never this. Never dark corners, never dancing with a single partner. He was nearly sabotaguing himself in one evening!

But she indulged him, her free hand slipping between them, and down. She had to steal a quick glance up at him. "Of course you like all of that, Bruce. I'd expect nothing less from a man with your last name. And you seem to enjoy such frippery, daily." She chirped, her champagne glass directed pointedly in the direction of his 'dates.' "Even though I did note the plural in your choice of feminine companionship, Bruce. I will admit I'm loathe to share..." She murmured, relishing the warmth on her ear, the boldness of his fingertips, and his words.


She had to laugh as he attempted to be suave. Perhaps if she had not been to Paris, to London, to Italy, she would have been impressed. With his promises of tantilizing hedonism. With is darkly whispered desires. But as she stifled another light chuckle, Selina turned on him, her once free hand now trailing up his chest, along the decadant tie he had picked for the occasion. His eyes were now the only ones she cared to entreat, the rest be damned.

Locking eyes with those once icy blues, she noted they had thawed; they were now the coolest flame she had seen, and they saw nothing other than her before him. Sadly, she broke that line of sight as she tapped her pilfered object against his nose. A fine leather wallet; Dior, she had surmised from it's stitching, early release, maybe even custom made. As her lips parted in the slightest of smiles, she upped the ante. "Put your money where your mouth is, Mister Wayne," she purred, lips seeking, and finding the slip of skin beneath his adam's apple. "And find us a room then."

[vigilant]

"You know everything about me, don't you?"

The words were spoken lightly. Carelessly, with reckless abandon. But there was an undercurrent of intensity there; a strain meant to be felt with the heart, rather than heard with the ears. Those ice blue eyes glossed over, like an icecap on the verge of melting... Pain. There was pain there. So much pain that it could make the heart burst into a hundred bloodied pieces. Then it faded, and the eyes froze over once again. There was a wry smile on his lips, one that pulled at the muscles along his cheeks, but never once touched the lines along his eyes. He seemed older, an ancient soul in a young man's body.

"I'm not exactly the sharing type, either..."

He tugged her closer, so that their hips touched as he swayed them to the beat of the music. For a second, he scanned the dance floor, and envisioned her twirling in the arms of another man... A lesser man. He felt the ire rise in his belly, tiny tempers that crackled as they licked at his core and tightened the set of his jaw. No. That just won't do. Maybe he has no control over who she dances with in the future, but tonight... Tonight, she was his. He turned his gaze back to her, just in time to see the flash of his wallet between her fingers. For a second, he was shocked. Puzzled. How could he have not noticed? There was no way an ordinary, everyday woman could have snatched his wallet from him from under his nose. But then again, he had been distracted. That was the only reason she could have succeeded... Right?

"Come."

His arms wound around her waist, so that anyone watching would understand what it meant: ownership. Possession. He led her from the dance floor, towards the richly decorated double doors. Behind him, a hundred pair of eyes stared. But he was Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne, playboy billionaire. He entered and left as he pleased. Anybody who was anybody knew that the customary rules of propriety did not apply to him. He was above it all. That was why, even as he led her through the doors and into the night, he was so confident that this would help fuel his reputation as a cocksure and arrogant womanizer. Plus, what did he have to lose? Tonight, she was his. His escape from the mundane and frivolous world of riches and wealth. Tonight, he was just a man being a man.

[Deleted]

The flash in his eyes was all she needed. As the wallet was plucked from her fingertips, she beamed at him. "A girl gets bored at times, Bruce. And it's quite clear you don't know everything about me," She teased, her hips matching his every step as they emerged from their private corner.

Because if he did know who she was, he'd know of her private school upbringing. Of her family's deaths. Of her risky venture into a man's world of security business, and how she had success where lesser -men- had failed. How she was a rather valued consultant to those looking to keep their treasures private, and those means even more quiet. But, well, it seemed he was more interested in things other than private ventures for the evening. Or was he?

With a twinkle in her eye, Selina coiled herself complimentary about Bruce as they emerged into gawking faces, snarking words unspoken, and the flashbulbs. Well, this was one way to ger her name out there. Even if it was in the gossip rags. People would be digging up...sadly nothing but good on her background; her pedigree, her parent's gifts and donations, their tragic death. Her schooling, her business, and her philanthropic streak. All from a genuine Gothamite. [Even if she had learned, and plied her trade across the pond.]

Turning up at Bruce as they walked, she smirked again to him. "Well, I'm more of a one-on-one gal as well. A bit of a loner, independent, Bruce. I do think we'll get along fine." No matter what the next venue would be...

[vigilant]

Of course, come tomorrow, Bruce Wayne wouldn't care who she was. Just another beautiful woman that had given him a pleasure-filled night. But Batman... Oh, Batman would know everything there was to know about her. [or in her case, everything she wanted him to know] The philanthropic background. Her top-notch performance, as a student and businesswoman. Her parents' tragic deaths... And he'd wonder, for a moment, whether she'd understand. The pain of having had everything, loving parents, wealth, a future, only to have it forcefully ripped out of their hands. Everything they held dear, everything they thought would forever be theirs, here one moment, gone the next. Poof. No trumpet. No fanfare. Just gone. No explanation. No clarification. Just gone.

Gone.

But they always understand. For a week. A month. Three months. Then they expect you to be happy. To smile. To rejoice in... What? That you had survived? That the only people you had were gone, and you were left, forsaken in a cold, cold world all on your own? Of course they understand. They understand to a certain extent, then they expect the good little boy to move on. To move on with his life as though it never happened. Most of them will bring it up, reluctantly, when the situation demands it. Some of them will do so, frivolously, not knowing the pang it strikes in your heart, like a spear plunged straight into your gut, and they laugh, and they smile... But they never see the rage in your eyes. The fury in your bones. Telltale signs of you not being quite over it.

You'll never get over it.

"I don't know about that, Miss Kyle..."

They had left the banquet behind them, and was heading across the street, arms locked. He guided her safely across, and turned her around to peer deeply into her eyes. A hand lifted, and brushed aside a strand of stray hair. His fingers lingered there, traced along the contour of her ears... Then his hand cupped her face, and drew her closer to him, so that she was nearly swept off her feet and into his arms.

"I think every woman, whether they need to be or not, wants to feel protected. It's the independent ones, the ones who claim they don't need it and don't need love, who needs it the most."

[Deleted]

She would understand. A life of priveledge once, a safe, secure family life, one filled with love. All ripped away in a moment. In mere seconds. Not in the same way as his, not that she'd know that. But the same comforts lost, and gained through a different means. If only he knew how she chased the emptiness away. While he would save others from such a tragedy, she had taken a new route. A different one. Taking, no, stealing. From those that didn't deserve, to those that did. Anything she could get her hands on to re-build the life she once had, to clothe herself with objects, with things, with money. She'd created a persona for herself that utterly hid who she really was. And who she had wanted to be.

But even in this new construction, she lived, she breathed. She excelled beyond what she had expected, and was at the top of her game. It's why Paris, Belgium, Italy had bored her. She had learned the ins and outs from the best, and now it was time to return home, and ply her trade on familiar ground.

And if that meant gaining access to Bruce Wayne's mind, and manor, all the better. He seemed to be a bit more intelligent, and layered than the press gave him credit. And while she found these galas and whatnot droll, he was a welcome partner to ease the banality.

So as they cut through the crowd, the dancers, everyone like butter and just left, she breathed a bit more freely in the night air. She was home. Now only if she were stories above the parties. Looking down. Freefalling. Instead she was whisked into the arms of a tall man; a light gasp pulled from her lips. It wasn't in awe of his so-called romantic move. It was more than the proximity to Bruce Wayne was making her heart flutter; it was the honed muscle she could feel beneath the expensive suit. While he could be a gifted martial artist, or..runner, this was something more. A structure, a build she had known in only two other men.

And they had been entirely something else. So as she watched him keenly, allowing him to shift and touch her in the lamplight, she observed. And let a slow smile blossom on those red lips, a coy glint shading her green eyes.

"And sometimes, just sometimes, those independant, secure women speak the truth. Especially to those men who have it all, and seem to want to be right, and have the last word all the time, just because they can throw a check at whatever they wish, and it becomes theirs." Her hand patted his cheek. "Sometimes, those genuinely independant, strong women chose who they care to show their vulnerable side to, Bruce." She murmured to him.