Unknown Intentions [Ra's al Ghul, Briar Byrnes - Kitsune]

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It wasn’t even pitch-black when the clock struck twelve – summer was in full swing, and there was not a soul in sight (even the native wharf rats seemed to have taken a hint). At first glance, it appeared as though everyone had clocked off early, and ordinarily we would leave it at that – but on closer inspection, a seasoned detective (like the dreaded vigilante Batman) would tell you that money talks, and that the security guards often prowling the cargo terminals and loading bays, protected from vicious waves by the large expanse of stone quay, had been rewarded in kind for clocking off early.


The low grumbling of a Rolls-Royce pulling up past the gates was not even within earshot, so Carmine smirked and took a swift glance down at his Rolex wristwatch. If luck was on his side tonight, then this meeting would be done and dusted before Commissioner Gordon and his holier-than-thou boys in blue were any the wiser.


Carmine proudly bore his white dinner jacket and black dress pants, a clear indication that he’d wined and dined at one of Gotham’s classiest eateries only moments ago. It didn’t make sense not to flaunt your position in society if given the chance – and men of his calibre weren’t known for living meek and frugal existences, anyhow.


He waited until his driver let him out, and turned up his nose at the all-pervading stench of dead fish. It couldn’t be helped, though: one of Carmine’s golden rules was never to air your dirty laundry in public, and he would die before being the first to break it. At least he could find solace in…well, that he did not know. Not when the lights were blinking and on the brink of fizzing out, not when a heavy cool mist pelted against his cheeks, and not least when there was still the chance that the Bat might lunge in unannounced.


Carmine sighed and patted down his dinner jacket, until he felt a familiar bulge leaning into his breast. Well, for a meeting this big, he would have done a disservice more to himself than to his contact if he’d forgotten his firepower. Carmine blinked and shot a warning glance at his driver, who silently agreed to make himself scarce – and so off the man scarpered, to where he wasn’t concerned. Time was of the essence for tonight, and he couldn’t afford to mess this up.


He narrowed his fairly thick brows at the few men gathered before him and hissed quietly in their direction: “What are you stunads waiting for? Go look for the damn boat.” He shook his head in contempt as they shifted awkwardly and began to disperse. It wasn’t this difficult to find good help in the old days Carmine thought, the boiling frustration seared across his temples. He fished inside his dinner jacket and retrieved a carton of fine-cut cigarettes, the best his ill-gotten gains could buy, and a much cherished gunmetal lighter, engraved with his initials. He scooped one of the cigarettes into his hands and wasted no time in striking it against the lighter, against his better judgement and his daughter's constant warnings, forced into desperation for a quick smoke before whomever he was supposed to meet and greet with showed up. With the recent events that had transpired, in Carmine’s mind, he needed some way to null his frustrations before they got the better of him tonight.

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Summer nights provide little cover for secretive meetings, as the stuffy heat of the day ebbs past dusk and the sun continues to stretch out on the horizon for far longer a time that it does in every other season, throwing long shadows through the cracks between skyscrapers even when the moon should be in it's prime. Across the water of Gotham's bay, the timid waves sparkled as it reflected the beams from the mixed grey and pink sky above, with the waves only being disturbed by the travel ling of boats beating against the current. A jet black boat cruised towards the Docks that sat on the shore of East Gotham, matching the dismal tone of the warf it sailed to. The buttoned up sage overcoat that Ra's wore provided all the protection he needed against the swell of the waves below his boots as he stood on the prow of the water bound vessel. His eyes panned out across the warehouse covered pier before him, inspecting the shadowy figures waiting by the car.

The Head of the Demon was not alone on this mission, with him watched another five Assassins, each garbed in a similar austere fashion with katanas worn on their backs and rifles sat in the palms of their hands. Looking back on them, seeing them stand staunchly around him, made Ra's wonder why he needed to affiliate himself with common criminals such as the Roman himself, Carmine Falcone. Falcone seemed to be one of the last true members of the Old Guard, a brand of men from the days before Gotham fell into chaos and anarchy and instead worked through corruption and structural brutality, when the Mob ruled the streets. But times change and with the rise of the Dark Knight, the day of the Mafia was all but over as a wave of Jokers, Two Faces and Riddlers followed in the wake, outdating the old school Mobsters for good.

Then he remembered that working with the Falcone clan provided him with a sense of security, placing yet another buffer between the League, the strings they hold and the puppet that is moved. The Boat entered the port, bobbing slowly up to the keyside where men were ready to throw ropes over to the workers ready on land. Land was what Ra's needed and he was willing to collect it through any means, even if that meant he had to temporarily involve himself with the criminal classes. A ramp was quickly slid from the vessel to the men ready to catch it, who sharply buckled it to the ground. Before walking to meet the Roman, Ra's turned to the woman nearest to him, Briar Byrnes known in many circles as 'Kitsune'. The girl had never failed him in the past, her skill and dilligence did her great honour and her work for the League was most impressive, partially due to the fact that Ra's had provided her with some lessons back during her earlier years of training.

"Keep your weapon sharp and you mind sharper still, these are not men to be trusted. Like Dogs they will turn on their master given the oppertunity for a larger meal, but that is why we keep them on a leash at all times." Across his carved pale face a grimace was crafted, the closest the Master ever came to a proper smile. He didn't need to remind her of the dangers around her, she was well aware of her surroundings. Stepping onto dry land with a light jump, Ra's looked to the man in the dinner suit, the one who he had promised a large sum of money for their midnight meeting."Mr. Falcone, I am Henri Ducard, it is a pleasure to meet you."

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The crisp sea air’s edge was somewhat dulled by the fading heat of the summer day. Such heat also tended to have the effect of keeping senses dull and blades sluggish. For most anyway. But Kitsune was not just anyone nor were the other occupants of the jet black boat that they traveled upon. The boat cut through the black, glimmering waters toward the Docks where their contact assuredly awaited them. And soon, she could see the shadowy figures waiting on the land before them. She glanced over to the Head of the Demon without movement. His eyes, as always, were fixed on the horizon, seeing what futures lay just beyond the horizon.

Certainly, her master was a visionary, but that made him seem so remote and inaccessible in moments like these. Just like the lofty goals of the League. As the boat entered the port, her gaze shifted to the men on the ground. Men that worked for the Falcone family. An old group in Gotham with an old philosophy as opposed to the anarchic ways of the many freaks taking up residence in the city. A dying breed. They lacked what the League had to keep it going through the centuries. An animal, just before it dies, is at its most desperate, and, though dangerous, that created opportunities. They were here to take advantage of one such opportunity.

Her musings were interrupted by movement from Ra’s al Ghul toward her. Kitsune straightened, standing tall and proud. Her master, the leader and founder of their ancient organization. The League had raised her from the time of her earliest memories. She knew no other life. And, as such, Ra’s was something of a father figure in her life. Perhaps a grandfather figure, but still fatherly nonetheless. She had sought to never fail him or the League in any endeavor. Such failures were not looked upon kindly in their world. And with enough continued failures…

Kitsune listened stoically to her master speak, offering him a curt nod of understanding as he finished. A familiar grimace worked itself on his face. The Master’s version of a smile. A thrill of satisfaction shot through her at it, an unconscious reaction. It was almost immediately shut down as Ra’s disembarked from the boat, her eyes scanning the men around the Docks apprehensively. She did not like being out in the open like this. Observable under so many sets of eyes. Yet the Master’s safety was the imperative in this mission.

Leaping off the boat in a light jump, Kitsune’s feet connected with dry land, a harsh counterpoint to the fluidity of the boat deck. The other assassins followed suit, their eyes upon her, the master, and the Falcone men around the docks. With a quick flick of her hand, she signaled to the assembled assassins as she kept to the side of the Master. They disbursed, taking up concealed positions around the Docks to keep a wary eye out for uninvited guests while still remaining close to aid the Master if things did not go according to plan.

Kitsune was the only one that stayed in the open beside Ra’s. The first line of defense as it were. And, hopefully, the only one required. She remained a silent sentinel as her Master greeted the Falcone under an assumed name, eyes sharp. Watching. Feeling and knowing that eyes were watching her.

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Carmine’s smouldering gaze put his men in their place. He didn’t pay them to run around like headless chickens. His lips curled around the cigarette and he took a long, soothing drag, still on the lookout for the emissary that Ra’s al Ghul had sent.

It wasn’t long until one of his men clocked a jet-black boat on the horizon. “Shut the hell up,” Carmine grumbled. “I don’t want to give ‘em the wrong idea.”

Carmine skittered across to a streetlamp near the bay Ra’s men were to dock at, even though it was fizzing in and out constantly. He didn’t want to give them the impression that he had failed to make it, even though it wasn’t truly pitch-black yet.

He stepped back ever so slightly as a fellow gentleman, gaunt-faced and lean and spry in his build stepped onto dry land. The man introduced himself to Carmine as a ‘Henri Ducard’ – someone whose records Carmine would no doubt dig up later. Henri gave off what Carmine took as a strained smile, although given that this was a business meeting and not a social gathering, Carmine thought nothing of it. He shook hands with the man and looked beyond to the boat. He trained his eyes on the murky vessel, swearing for a moment that he’d seen a handful of silhouettes, and blinked in confusion as they seemed to vanish. Carmine shook his head and chalked it up to old age, not wishing to waste any time.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Ducard.” He looked back at the sorry state of the barren docks and offered his contact an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry we couldn’t meet someplace more, ah, to your liking – but I’m supposing that this is the sort of business discussion that can’t be talked about over the phone.”

Carmine turned to face his driver, who nodded and pulled the car out of sight, while his other men dispersed within the large expanse of dockland. “Let’s walk and talk, shall we, Mr Ducard?” Carmine stubbed out his cigarette, casting it into the open waters, and trailed slowly towards a squat warehouse flanked by a small fleet of trucks and shipping containers of similar size but varied colours. With the daylight fading ever more so with each passing moment, Carmine wanted them to get in there as soon as they could. There was a small office inside the warehouse that would be perfect for conducting their little ‘talk’.

But there was another pressing matter Carmine wanted to get off his chest.

“Mr Ducard, please forgive my impatience, but before we start, how about a show of money?” He licked his lips. “All in good faith, you understand.”

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As Carmine proposed that they continue their conversation as they take a stroll along the poorly lit water front, Ra's responded by extending his arm out into a guiding gesture to show that he would follow suit. "By all means, Mr. Falcone." Even in the darkness his eyes were able to follow the trajectory of the orange flickering cigarette butt as it felt into the gloomy recesses of the tides. The scent of tobacco shrouded the man, filling Ra's nostrils with the particularly expensive brand that the Roman chose to smoke. The man was all that Ra's anticipated, a relic of a time before the Batman, before Gotham contorted itself into the World's largest open air asylum. For more than twenty years the Falcone crime family, under the direction of Carmine, operated a tight governance of all illegal activity in the City. From nightclubs to unions, all fell under the influene of the Roman, including the courts and a large percentage of elected officals.

However like any empire, the fall occured over night as Gotham adopted a new generation; the age of the super hero. With the Batman on one side and an honest police force on the other, the Family would quickly loose territory seized by the wave of the City's new criminals, the refuse from Arkham. In their attempts to fuel the growing crisis of corruption and crime in Gotham over the years, the League had anonomously made use of the Mafia, using them as a public figure for the rising epidemic of unlawful behaviour. However this was the first instance in which Ra's had actually met the man, previously they had funded him without the use of names. But this transaction was the most important to date, and thus a trained eye was required to ensure that all goes to plan. As they walk, Ra's turns ever so slightly to the side, giving a glance back to Kitsune and his men, giving a slight nod to remind them to keep their senses active.

"You will get your money, Mr. Falcone. I am a man of my word." With a click of his fingers towards his ensemble, signalling one of them to bring the brief case forward, Ra's took it in hand and passed it over to Carmine, allowing him the opertunity to check it for himself. A paltry gift, of no expence to the League, a proverbial drop in the sea where their wealth is concerned. Yet beneath his business like exterior, it was clear to see that Carmine Falcone was like every other criminal in this City, addicted to the allure of the dollar bill, a greed which could be abused with ease. "You're payment will suffice for the services I require your enterprise to carry out. I am a representative of the City's Government, of course I can say little more than that, but we require unconventional methods to ensure that one of our future projects goes as smoothly as possible."

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Staying relatively close to the master, Kitsune proceeded to follow the pair of men at a very short distance behind them. She did not concern herself much with the view or their talk, instead watching body language and other such nonverbal cues that could give a person’s intentions away. As such, she did not miss Ra’s nodding to her and the others. She gave no response in return but internally fumed a touch. She was not a child any longer. She knew her craft.

At a snap from the master’s fingers, one of those that had not gone to secure the perimeter stepped forth and passed Ra’s the briefcase of money. Kitsune, having not had a conventional upbringing in the slightest, had little interest in money. In the League, only skill was rewarded. Yet, she had been taught that even the most useless could be considered worth something in this outside world through the use of money. It was a means to an ends, but some were consumed by their greed. Some like this Carmine Falcone.

Keeping her senses primed, she kept a silent vigil for threats from any angle. Nothing would harm the master. Nothing would touch him. Not while there was still breath in her body.