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Post by Deleted on Nov 11, 2015 15:54:43 GMT -5
It was always odd when the ghosts from your past come back to haunt you.
For Bruce it had been in perhaps one of the most unexpected occurrences. He had been preparing for the nights patrol - tuning into the television when he had seen her, heard her. The woman he had once come to known as Talia Al Ghul had returned to him in the strangest way. She was on Summer Gleeson's talk show under the alias of Miranda Tate, yet he could see through her clever disguise. There was no denying that her presence in Gotham - more so that she had felt the need to make it known was suspicious to him. Talia was something of conflict towards the Dark Knight. She was a dangerous and manipulative woman blinded by her father's teachings. By the praise of his approval. He wanted time and time again to help her, but there was no saving the Daughter of the Demon.
But there certainly wasn't anything against questioning her.
He had spent a good portion of the night researching Miranda Tate. Her name, her address, anything he could dig out of the database was put to use. 'Miranda Tate' was in Gotham representing LexCorp - a longtime rival of Wayne Enterprises. They were making moves in his city. They were making plans and investments towards it's wellbeing when frankly they had no business being here. But Talia, he knew well enough that she didn't come into a city and make herself known without a reason. That there was more than to Miranda Tate than that of which the ordinary eye could catch. That there was a deeper meaning behind her anchoring in this city outside of running LexCorp's Gotham branch.
Her residence was in North Gotham. A high end apartment with ceiling to floor windows and an almost too familiar sense of elegancy. If the records weren't evidence enough, he was almost certain it belonged to her. He had disabled the security systems and picked his way through the door rather quickly. Her apartment was quiet but he knew better to suspect otherwise. It was late - the sun had already set and Batman was on the prowl. He moved swiftly throughout her living space as he danced from shadow to shadow.
She was in the bedroom sleeping when he came across her. He stood at the foot of her bed with the glowing white eyes of his cowl aimed directly at her as a coarse voice growled out, filling the silence of the room.
"Wake up."
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Post by Deleted on Nov 13, 2015 3:06:02 GMT -5
If she was on American soil, she had to have her pick of space. She preferred the open sky, and the fewer walls, the better. So in this case she had picked a rather airy, stand-alone space. She owned it outright, having ticked off each want and need in a neat and orderly fashion to the realtor. There had been several that fit her exact specifications, even located in the heart of Gotham. But as much as she did like the city spaces, she had preferred the North Gotham residence. It was minimal, a space that could be warmed with personal touch if wanted. And considering she may be staying in the city more often, it would need to be a semblance of 'home.' So she had brought in a renown designer, again, listed her wants and needs, and had found herself in a space filled with blonde wood and lush verdant tones. Coupled with the views of green and blue, it felt free. A space all her own, dictated by her tastes and wants. Even the hardwood floors were soft to walk upon, as she rarely donned footwear in her own domicile. Even as much as it was utilitarian, yet for those that truly knew the woman beyond her titles and monikers of 'Daughter of the Demon' and other false names, would note the small, yet profound touches here and there. A framed piece of silk on one wall, another woven throw across a plush cream colored chair. The kitchen was much of the same; wood, steel, and granite. The floor-plan was nothing revolutionary; open, each 'room' a space only denoted by what was placed within.
Entrance to lounge area to kitchen with seating to the right, a hall, and then her own room.She had no need for extra space, no need for an office. It was a simplistic, yet lavish. Her own bedroom was full of deep silks, a thick, plush mattress, and a glorious view. Candles were clustered on a few open spaces, on shelves. It would open unto a pristine master bath; glass encased shower, separate deep, standalone tub. When a woman could fully be herself, she would care for the moments she had to not hold herself to the strict postures of each mask she had to construct, and yet become with all of her being. Without such dedication, such lies would never be believed.
And so, when she was returned from the bustling city reeking of human filth, greed, and idiocy, she would find herself in a candlelit, oil scented bath. And considering who she was, and yes, with the security systems, she still was able to relax. Yet only to the degree she herself would allow herself. There were many people on this world she was close with, and even fewer she could honestly trust. Those that bypassed each system to plunge deeper into her lair, would be allowed there. And they would fully know her, if said allowance was permitted.
Slumbering as deeply as one could after a solid time of deep meditation and tea, Talia was beneath several cashmere and silk bedclothes. Ever warm-blooded, she could still feel the chill deep in her bones. As much as her Father tried to beat it into her by lessons and death, she was still human. One that had beaten death time and time again, but still, she was not immune to cold temperatures. And in her own home, she had nothing to prove to anyone but herself.
Even as her body stirred, she knew there was a visitor. Not one that would care to call ahead, or even ring the buzzer. This was a visitor she had not seen, or heard from in a while. Even as much as he was silent in his machinations, she was still better. She had already mastered the skills he had been taught at the hands of her Father. In her years, there were two men that had fully embraced the teachings of the great Demon. And both men she knew with her heart of hearts.
Breath paced, as if she were in a deep slumber still, she mimed the slumber of a woman who had no cares. Clad in green silk, the simple slip anything but; dark hair unbound and wild about her pillow. Her body was haphazard as she lay on her side, an arm curled beneath her pillow. To anyone that had cared to look around the room there would be a simple crystal decanter and glass beside a bottle of prescription pills. A strong sedative that would allow any hard-working CEO to get a restful night of sleep. That is, if they actually took such pills, and did not stage it to seem. Always thinking, even if she were unconscious. Or feigning that, when she could immerse herself in deep meditation. And how rude he was, to think he could command her so. No hello. No sweet greetings. He was always feigning stupidity, why would he feign politeness with her now?
Of course Batman would growl at her, commanding her as if she were one of his costumed children.
"So brash, Bruce. Strip off your silly costume and join me?" She'd call, limbs stretching from their sleep-drunk positions, toes pointed, body arching as she shifted to her back, drawing up against her headboard. "I cannot think of another reason why a man would play dress-up and visit a woman slumbering, unless it was for some nefarious reason."
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Post by Deleted on Nov 14, 2015 14:33:02 GMT -5
Bruce stood at the foot of her bed. Dim light shining in from her apartment window, providing perhaps even the smallest view of the shadowy figure before the woman on the bed. His cape draped over his shoulders and his eyes watching her sleeping figure for the few minutes she remains at rest. It's an all too familiar sight for him. A sight that reminds him of nights before when the Batman was merely an ideal. When perhaps there was just enough emotion in the man to seek comfort in another. Nights spent in lavish hotel suites occupied by champagne and candlelight. But he's not here for that. He's not here to seek anything but answers from the Daughter of the Demon who's mysterious arrival to Gotham sparks far too many suspicions in his head that he yearns to put to rest.
He knew better to assume she's asleep. He knew that the bottle of pills and glass on the table was nothing but a mere distraction to try and make anyone who entered her bedroom think otherwise. He also knew better than to assume his entrance into her bedroom was to be completely unnoticed until her eyes began to open. She was a well-trained weapon by her father, one who senses were nearly inescapable. Where he had received but a few years worth of mastery under Ra's, she had received several lifetimes of it all. She was unborn and reborn a thousand times over and each time fine tuned with a new skill to be the perfect weapon. The perfect son the Demon had never acquired.
As she woke, he didn't acknowledge her statements. He wasn't here for that, for her, time and time again he's reminded of the soul purpose of his visit. He wanted answers and frankly her attempts of swaying him otherwise are not appreciated. His lips pulled into his recognizable frown and fists clenched behind the curtain of his raven black cape as he takes another step forward. Glowing eyes narrowed down at the awoken woman before him as he stood at the foot of her bed. "Now is not the time, Talia." He replied gruffly - abruptly shoving her offer to the side. There's no time, no need for such a distraction. If he knew Ra's such things as time were of the very essence and each moment she denied answers was another second the Demon gained an advantage.
An advantage that could lead to the downfall to the very city the Batman protected. His city. "Where is he, Talia? Where is Ra's Al Ghul?" He demanded as he closed in on the bed - armor brushing up against the edge of the bed. He knew that questioning Talia was nowhere near the likes of interrogating your common street thug. The Daughter of the Demon would never give up her father's doings so easily. It would take time, patience, and persuasion to get her to break that undying loyalty to her father for so much as even the smallest hint to his business. There were no direct answers with her.
Even if took all night there was an unmovable air about his stance. He was determined to get answers and stop Ra's before he could even begin whatever affair brought the Al Ghuls to Gotham. Thankfully there was enough vigilantes and trusted individuals out on the streets of Gotham to give him all the time in the world to get the answers he so desired. Ra's never came into a city without a purpose, without a plan, even if his presence was never to be known. There was no finding Ra's Al Ghul unless he wanted to be found.
Even the breadcrumbs the Demon could leave behind would leave nothing but subtle clues to a few individuals. There was not a hint of his presence but that of his daughter on the television of which only a few could recognize. Something that made it so imperative to Bruce that Talia not mess around tonight for her sake and give the shadowy protector something close to the answers he was seeking.
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Post by Deleted on Nov 18, 2015 3:32:19 GMT -5
She wasn't going to play his games. She knew them by heart, no, had mastered them by the time she was 8. If he seemed to forget who he was talking to, or who had taught them both. This was her home. Her turf. If he wanted to demand things of her, he would at least show some courtesy. Watching the dark shadow of his costume against the darkness of the room, her eyes narrowed as she watched him shift closer. She could feel the faint shift of the bed when he made contact, his footing firm.
Closing her eyes momentarily she then opened them. "Now is not the time to be asking stupid questions, either, Bruce. Especially in some costume. Take off your mask and talk to me like I am a real human being, not one of your thugs you are seeking information from." She arched a brow, hand brushing her hair over one shoulder.
"Unless you are thinking of tying me up as well?" That would go over well in the news. LexCorp chairwoman tied up by Batman. How sensational. She couldn't hide the sultry smirk from her lips, instead pointing to the silk dressing gown thrown over a chair near him. "Grab me that, would you, Dark Knight? Considering I have the esteemed savior of Gotham in my home, I may as well be properly adorned, and offer refreshments. You still prefer your tea proper?"
She didn't offer anything else at the moment, his questions asinine. He knew better to ask of her something like that. Who was she to ask why the breeze blew one direction, and then the other? Who was she to monitor men of the world that were older than she? Would he ever learn? "You know I am not my Father's keeper. I saw him several weeks ago, in the park. Since then I have heard little from him." Well, other than the incident at the shed. But that was more inconsequential on his behalf. He'd been in a mood, once again, and she'd hopefully made a good impression in his wake.
If he were an immovable force, then she would be the water than flowed around him. It would be no different if she were seeking answers from someone else. He would be unnecessarily obstinate, and she, ever as she was, would just step around him. No need to follow the exact path he had predetermined. And so, she waited for him to offer her the dressing gown. And she, could ask him in turn why he needed to know where her Father was.
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Post by Deleted on Dec 12, 2015 0:46:31 GMT -5
She danced around his question as elegant as ever. Leaving nothing but more questions as the Dark Knight stood at the foot of her bed calculating his next set of questions that would hopefully lead her to giving a more specific answer. Batman heavily doubted her remark about not knowing her father's whereabouts - if there's anything he's familiar with it's the close-knit family known as the League of Assassins and their devotion to Ra's. It's almost silly that he's here asking these questions -- but frankly he feels he can get somewhere with Talia's guidance no matter how hard h has to push for it.
She may not know exactly where her father is -- but Bruce knew he wouldn't be too far behind. Where the Demon went, his followers were never too far behind. And while there'd been no noticeable hints of Ra's in his city Bruce wasn't going to take no for an answer. Especially not with Ra's daughter in front of him in all of her flesh and blood. Their conversation a cleverly crafted game of chess where currently she was exceeded at evading his pawns. But for a moment -- he considered his defeat. Talia had made a point. She wasn't the common thug. She was smarter, stronger, superior and he'd been so accustom to his interrogation tactics that he'd almost forgotten to account for that. For once, Bruce Wayne had scarcely remembered that the woman in front of him was human as opposed to before when she had been much more then that.
So with a huff, he accepted his defeat. She wasn't the common thug and his persistence would only further resistance -- it was in his best interests to play along. There was no scaring a woman who'd been exposed to the many other horrors of the world in order to strengthen and prepare her for the worst. His white eyes darted over to the clothing as he snatched it from where it rested on the chair. He extended his arm and dropped the gown in front of her before guiding his arms back to his sides and allowing the thick darkness of his cape to consume them.
"Talia." He said, his tone the slightest bit lighter. "I know your father, not as well as you do. But I know he doesn't come without purpose." He spoke, turning on his heels to face the wall behind him as he rose his arms across his chest. "I need answers, motives, I don't want to have to harm either of you -- but I will not let him wander about my city without knowing his intention."
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Talia al Ghul
I can tell a lot about a person by what they choose to see in me.
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Post by Talia al Ghul on Dec 12, 2015 7:04:56 GMT -5
She shouldn't have thought the better of him, the silk puddling on the floor before she swiftly intercepted it. Barely pursing her lips she pulled it about her as she tied the sash, bedclothes thrown aside as she rose from her once warmed bed. Her hair was pushed over her shoulders as she didn't bother to give him a glance as she left her room.
"Bruce. This is my home. Temporary home as it while I am here on business. Legitimate business, even. So I highly encourage you to remove your costume if you wish to further this conversation with me." Curt, welcoming, and danger were woven into a three twined cord. He could do as she had asked of him, or face the consequences of failing to heed a rather polite warning. He had entered her home, not vice versa. There were standards.
Through the hall to the kitchen, she busied herself in the familiar ritual of making tea. A work that was made much easier by the use of modern equipment. No need for a fire, kindling, time. No mortar and pestle for the brew. It was a turn of a knob, a gentle clinking of fine china and silver. The longest decision was just which leaf to use.
Turning from the counter-top, she once more faced him. "Oolong, rooibos, white, black, chai, or herbal, Bruce? You have to understand you will get nothing from me until you answer that." And he wouldn't. She had all the time in the world to tease out this little encounter. If he wanted to behave rudely, well, he could see how that option would pan out.
Even if she cared to fill him in on ever step of her Father's whereabouts, what would that benefit her? Why did most men seem to think that there was blind devotion only to Ra's, when he had a rather vulgar way to enforce loyalty? When there only were offered two choices; follow or death, most would be wise and take the first. Few thought of ways to bind the loyal to their side in quite subtle ways, that not only benefited the one being worshiped, but the worshipers as well.
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Post by Deleted on Jan 22, 2016 14:32:18 GMT -5
There was no denying the insidious heat of subtle physical attraction both pristinely skilled combatives held for one another. The long, twisted, and incredibly confusing checkered past that bound the Bat to Talia was to blame for their bizarre sense of polite etiquette and moral respect held for one another at every interaction they shared. Yet? Boiling things down to a baseline at the end of the day – Talia was apt to follow (albeit reluctantly at times) the path of her beloved father rather than Bruce’s path. That was what drew the razor sharp line slick down between the two of them every single time.
She wanted him as nothing else but the Dark Knight; he knew if he ever gave completely into that guise and simply became the Bat completely and totally, he would set aside the soulful architecture of his inner-most personal rules and boundaries and cross a line from which he would and could never return. Ra’s once respected him so immensely he was ready to take Bruce on as his prodigy and son – Son of the Demon, but Bruce declined. He would not kill. He would impose justice, not vengeance. And there was the driving spike between both he and Ra’s exotic, beautiful, deadly daughter Talia.
Her eagerness to free him of the confines from his biotech armored black suit had stopped amusing him years ago. He wasn’t sure who would win when it became to being more cryptic – Ra’s or Talia. She certainly picked up her father’s talent for finely spoken bullshit and stall tactics, that’s for sure. And yet it was so classic Talia… He couldn’t help but harbor a sliver of soft spots for the extraordinary woman who now slipped past him to begin making tea in her cozy apartment’s kitchen.
“Black.” His graveled reply called out from behind her, his muscular armored black form still a sharply pointed ghost silhouette within the shadowy gloom.
“Compromise. I remove my mask, you cut the bullshit.”
The Bat suddenly lifted his gloved hands to the helm of his masked cowl and removed the specialized flexi-armor batmask from his face, letting it rest comfortably behind his neck and head, like some spikey hoodie. His pale, slightly unshaven, grim face now freely exposed for her to see, thick black hair slicked back and firm lips set hard. Twin razor sharp, steel blue eyes stared unblinking at Talia’s form as she prepped the tea before him.
“It’s more than some damned coincidence that your father, Luthor, you are now suddenly taking up root in my city. Don’t give me this pathetic crap about you not being particularly involved or even the least bit curious about what’s happening here… We both know you way better than that, Talia.”
When her name left his lips, only an expert in the field of psychological communications and human behavior might have been able to catch the subtlest waver of tenderness invade his tone, soften the steel in his gaze, warm the icy coldness in the set of his firm jaw. Then, just like that? It was gone.
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Talia al Ghul
I can tell a lot about a person by what they choose to see in me.
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Post by Talia al Ghul on Feb 2, 2016 5:06:37 GMT -5
It was one of the first things she learned as a child. How to prepare tea. Properly. From selecting the finest leaves, the proper bouquet for the proper circumstance. The perfect vessel to hold such a delicate concoction. The proper water temperature, as well as time steeped to extract the proper flavour, without bruising or inviting acidity to the mix. How to present such a delicate flavor to the guests. At least he offered some venue on which leaf he cared to drink with her.
And at least he got to the point. After breaking in to her home at night, rousing her from slumber, and now this. Demanding of her answers. After years and years of silence, her own work flitting about his city, but their paths never crossing. Her refusing to show her face to the man she had once thought not only her Father's equal, but more.
And perhaps he was more. But not enough. He had such finely honed skills, a steel-trap mind. And yet his own ethics kept him from being truly freed. From really seeing humanity as it really swarmed the Earth and devoured itself, like some vile Ouroboros that would not stop at it's own self. Humanity was worse, and the two of them both knew it.
Silent-and beyond that as she was not even a whisper going about steeping, pouring, and stirring their tea, she finally turned, walking to the table feet from him to set out everything they would need. Teaspoons. Saucers. Sugar, and cream if required. Somehow she had conjured from her kitchen biscuits on a tray to accompany everything. Returning to delicately remove the teapot from the counter and place it between the two settings, she invited him with outstretched hand to sit.
"Al Ghuls never compromise. You're aware of this, Bruce. We offer our words, only to have a plan beyond the promise. Your own mask is bullshit, as you claim I speak it. You sought out my family for wisdom, and now you hide yourself behind your-" Her hand flicked angrily, the only show she was not amused, or impressed by his high-tech suit. His billionaire's toys. "-by...whatever you want to call this. Did you not learn the skills to move about a crowd and never be seen? Why all the gadgets and toys? And you claim I am full of it." Closing the distance between the two of them, her hand went to his cheek, his skin prickling and cool to the touch. He was the same boy she had seen years ago, seeking for something, something to fight the self he would not admit to. The self he didn't dare give full control to. And still, he was but a man, a young man compared to her own years and experience, but still angry. Her thumb ran along his brow, smoothing away a tendril of hair that dared to escape his perfected facade of some feared illusion.
Her hand still on him, the mere two layers of silk between her body and his thick armour, she smiled up at him. "Go ask my Father. Go speak with Alexander. Why would you come to me, a woman, when you know you can find both and get the answers you need." She shrugged, emerald silk shimmering the in the little light. "I am only the daughter of the demon. A friend to Mr. Luthor. He asked me a favor. I am following through as he seeks to expand his company. I am guessing you saw my interview?" Teasing him she taps his nose once before removing her hand.
"Sit, and we shall talk. I used to read tea leaves when I was fourteen. Finish your unpoured cup and perhaps you will get proper answers."
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Post by Deleted on Feb 20, 2016 10:21:51 GMT -5
He had to admit, the woman did indeed know how to make a fine cup of tea – something he’d never admit out-loud, especially not now. Especially not now – and especially not to her. He watched Talia move within the dim lighting of the kitchen – her svelte frame much like a wisp of smoke within a current of wind. So silent, so natural, so entirely pure. Despite his bat-masked cowl now being removed from his true face beneath, it seemed to be a moot point of a move. Stoic determination was all that could now be read upon his chiseled, unshaved pale visage. Thick raven black hair swept completely back and free of his forehead, as if to accentuate the steely sharpness of his razor silvery blue eyes. Razor blade eyes as he watched Talia make her every given move.
Funny… Seeing her and having known her for so incredibly long within his years of training… The funny part of it all? Talia had been his true first… but now? Now she only served to remind him of… … Selina. What the hell? Selina had never gone over or had given or would supply help when it came to this or that… And yet…? Selina was the end thought of his day.
Sure Talia was absolutely gorgeous, capable, and understanding. But? … She was no Selina. No one was Selina save for Selina herself. Batman lives in black and white but Catwoman knows the grey. Didn’t matter how good a cup of tea she could make. Didn’t matter how good she could touch the chin. Fact was? That was all she could ever touch…. With him. If she was removed from their past romance? He had already been so and then some. He didn’t come to her with the belief of fighting fair… because it never would be.
He came to her with one simple tIf he hought on his mind: How. (He already knew WHY, could always figure out WHAT, be provided WHEN/WHERE… but? When it came to R’as Al Ghul and his formidiable daughter, Talia? The rules changed – always. And if he had his say so… For as well as he knows Talia and Ra’s… But most specifically Talia… She would never achieve true happiness until she found a lover who was willing to give his entire identity and worship her as well as her father on a daily basis – no individual thought required. That was not Bruce – nor would that everbe be Bruce. Bruce existed… Somewhere in that odd spectrum of falsely making somebody out of yourself and trying to best fit in with the world of self-destruction all around you.
“Thank you.” Was all he said the moment said tea was served. “You of all people ought to know that Ra’s prided himself on the theatrical. After all, how else could your father hope to gain any attention? What? By using you?”
The remark was made to hurt – to cut. He saw through her propaganda and harbored nothing for or against it. Only that she made a damn good cup of tea. Good for her. He had by now, not only sat – but offered her his full attention (mask not included). His razor blade eyes following her every questionable move. “Talia, c’mon now,” He spoke with such an assured richness and confidence it was unmistakable. “Even demons mess up. That’s why they were never given the power to rule Hell,” a smirk was suddenly proffered and then a gentle sip of such perfectly procured tea was taken.
“I’m making this visit ONLY because I know better than to NOT give you the credit that you deserve. You want me to bypass you and your father by strictly handling things with Luthor? Then no problem.” He almost smirked at her words about wearing a mask.
“Really? You question me about my masked methods – when you spend hours upon hours on how to get my tea taking just right. Unlike you,” The Bat suddenly snarled – leaning forward sharply without warning in his seated position before Talia – now finding himself face to face with her.
“I’m willing and ready to take off my mask and expose my true self because my soul has NOTHING to hide when it comes to my true cause!” His growl now resonated – nose to nose with her. “And as for you?”
A shit-eating-grin slid over his lips.
“You can’t even be honest with yourself. Pathetic.”
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Talia al Ghul
I can tell a lot about a person by what they choose to see in me.
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Post by Talia al Ghul on Feb 26, 2016 0:40:47 GMT -5
"...then all the better I was born female, and daughter of such a fallible creature then. I'm glad you can see the truth in my Father after all these years, Bruce. Perhaps you did learn something under his tutelage, despite your unwillingness to fully walk his path. He still considers you his perfect pupil, even if you deviated from his perfect vision."
If Bruce Wayne, of all the men in the world, on this continent, in this lifetime, meant to cut her to her quick, he was failing. She was born in regret, raised to be told she was never up to par. For someone to argue she was not good enough meant nothing to her. And yet she would still parody the emotion of pain with an artfully wrinkled brow, fingers perfectly lax around her own china cup. Bruce, like many men, was just that. Male. Man. Masculine. He had one of the finer minds she had the joy to encounter in her still short span of lifetimes, and yet he was so obtuse when he could expand his perceptions to more than just his own standards. Yet he was not stupid.
And he could appreciate the nuance of theatricality. The fact she was lying, yet was being utterly truthful in the same breath. She was here on a favor. She did not keep tabs on her Father-there were others that had that esteemed duty, and it was not her. At least he would bandy about with some sort of alternate accusation to her, and to her face no less! In her own home, when he could truly assume she was the most vulnerable. Perhaps sleep was that moment of greatest surprise for some. Bruce knew better. His own alternate identity was based on theater, fear, and the entire guise of an act. And he was entirely pinning her to the wrong point. Yet again. Even as Bruce lunged forward across the table, half shadow, half still-scared young man seeking desperately for answers, she would raise her cup to her lips, sip, and place cup and saucer to the side.
"I cannot answer for my Father, you're more than aware of that. He has his reasons, his ways, and I, as his daughter, am a failure and unwilling to know even the deepest layers of his schemes. Perhaps seeking out Mr. Luthor would serve you better than breaking in to my own home in one of your more intricate, yet less impressive suits, Bruce." She could deal with a petulant child bodily threatening her. There he was, no doubt Kevlar layered with some other material to keep his flesh safe, and there she was; several inches shorter than him, at least a hundred pounds less, and in silk.
"Oh." Came her flat answer.
"I thought we were discussing why I cared to visit your great city. Not the ethical and peaceful state of our souls. Honesty coming to play? How about the money you divert to supply your nightly activities? Your senseless beating of criminals without allowing them to face the duty and right of the law? I have heard the Batman regaled as a criminal himself, or even a vigilante. I am glad your soul is content with your sacrifices and means in your cause. I, too, am content with myself and my place in this world. I am honest with myself without masks."
If he cared to insult her in her own home, he could. She was clearly more than satisfied with her lot in the world, despite it being a hardship at every step. Fighting to get the bare essentials of sustenance, shelter, building her way to compassion after years and years of failure and proving herself. Many little deaths built up the understanding of humanity in the most intricately painful observation.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 6, 2016 20:26:09 GMT -5
Manipulation. She had always been one of the most skilled manipulators he had ever encountered. Easily making his top three list, no doubt. He hadn’t even been in her presence for more than 10 minutes and she had somehow already managed to have him remove his mask, have him agree to a cup of tea, and now had him mince his own words with such a gentle prodding retort that he almost lost sight of his primary objective for being there in the first place. Talia was a dangerous woman and was never to be trifled with whenever she wielded a weapon of any sort; she was a DEADLY woman and was sure to always goes for the jugular if ever she was challenged to a battle of the wits.
This was a fact he would never forget learning about her all those years ago back when she had once meant something to him; this single learned fact had given him insight as to where her true heart and loyalties would, always have, and always will lay: Herself. (A realization that actually had at one point long ago shocked him to discover – he would’ve sworn that her total devotion was only exclusively given to her father and his cause, despite her supposed unwavering dedication as Bruce’s self-proclaimed lover.)
Time, however, would finally reveal the exotic woman’s true ambitious motives and her methods of attaining them, providing Bruce with useful knowledge in the ways of recognizing her tactics and tells, as well as teaching him the most important lesson of keeping up his guard at all times whenever he had to be around her. Like now.
“Alright. Since you’re being honest with yourself, try living on the edge a little and be honest with me and explain just what sort of little favor Luthor has requested of you.”
Mask still hung limply behind his head and neck, his chiseled, pale, stubble covered jawline sat firm and sharp upon his stoic face. Blue steel eyes deadlocked their gaze onto her own almond brown gaze.
“Cut the “I’m just a poor little girl” bullshit. You clearly have some untapped value to offer, otherwise Luthor wouldn’t have wasted a moment’s breath on you.”
He still didn’t fully buy the fact that she wasn’t in Gotham to support some scheme Ra’s was possibly crafting in secret – both father and daughter al Ghul happened to be presiding in the city at the same time, and that sure as hell was no coincidence. But, she had managed to give him a potential lead to follow up on that gave her a viable reason for being there in his city. Lex Luthor would be his next target – not a real shock to hear his name get dropped as a point of interest whenever shady characters were involved. He finally drank a few swallows of his tea – a willing act done in effort to show her respect, not because he was actually thirsty or anything.
“I still have a few things to discuss with you first before you try and pawn me off onto Luthor for a surprise chat inside his conveniently new Gotham City residential address. Like discussing your recently given interview that you mentioned.”
He finished the last of his tea just then, setting the cup down before he once again pulled his mask back on, the image of the man now disappeared completely beneath the image of the Bat.
“And to answer your question, I actually missed it.” The tactical change of appearance from man to bat now made it impossible to tell if Bruce was being honest or simply bluffing. “Must’ve gotten skipped for recording on my DVR list. I’m sure hearing about it from you first hand should be just as enlightening.”
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Talia al Ghul
I can tell a lot about a person by what they choose to see in me.
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Post by Talia al Ghul on Mar 21, 2016 9:00:36 GMT -5
He was wrong. It was rather sad. They were always wrong. And coming from Bruce, it was just dis heartening. Mostly long ramblings and justifications that she should be more. That she was more. That her mere breathing was an affront to him, and in his city? Oh how dare she. So for her to invite him for tea, properly done after he forcefully entered her own home, he sought to lecture her. Her fingers gently laid her cup down on it's saucer with barely a clink. To think this sort of thinking, from this sort of man, with this sort of resources, was a man she had once been besotted with.
Had thought she could have a life with. Had thought she could happily change the world for the better of it's inhabitants with.
And here he was, lecturing her, questioning her. Calling her out on her own character flaws; of course as he assumed they were. Because she held the name she did, because of her Father's own legacy, so many assumptions were made about her. Always. And there was no real reason she ever had to refute them. Let other's believe as they saw. It gave her a freedom to move as she wished, others thinking her just some subordinate second class citizen. The beautiful aspect of it was that if she didn't allow it to hurt her, because in all reality, it was just words. Daunting character flaws that could cripple someone lesser than an ah Ghul allowed her to work unfettered in whichever cause she was championing for that day. Or year. Or hour. It did change, just as much as the moon waxed and waned.
Tilting her head ever so slightly to the side, and to the back, she was able to look at Bruce, up close and personal. These days he was cloaking himself were beautiful. But she was probably one of the few, few people who sat it no more than some ornate costume. Armor that allowed him to get into touch with his true inner self. Why did the masses not toss away such frippery and just embrace their true core. It was so much easier, and allowed for less contradiction in day to day life. So much less...Kevlar. He smelled angry, his body radiating a heat and specific form of rage so tightly reigned in if she wanted to push the man, she could with a mere exhalation.
"Living on the edge? I think I will pass. I have lived enough lifetimes with wild escapades." What did he care about Luthor. He'd met him at the Gala. He knew Alexander Luthor was a genius. That the man was crossing boundaries by wanting to clean up his own city. Well Bruce, if you insist on child's play and can't handle the consequences, of course someone is going to want to step in and rid your city of it's refuse, while you are off in the Maldives or whatever, lying about a brutual beating you encountered one night on patrol.
Before he fully pulled away, her fingertips lightly grazed his face, finding purchase for so few seconds it was like the wind on his cheek and chin. "He's an old friend, Bruce. And I call few, few people friends in my lifetime. You have to remember you were not the first, nor the only to seek out the oracle that people seem to see my Father as. And they will not be the last. He wanted an educated, trusted adviser for his company. A few other choices were preoccupied. So he asked. And I obsequiesed." She let her shoulders rise and fall gently. There was nothing more to say, and for his vitriol at her being in his city, she had no lie to tell.
And as for her interview with Ms. Gleeson, televised, she had no real shocking response for that either. "You missed very little on the show. Summer Gleeson is a delightful breath of fresh air in a city as dour as Gotham. It was rule and rote, Bruce. You know enough from running your own company to know how boring it is spouting fact and hopes and wants and projected outcomes, just to ensnare the general populace and encourage them that you aim for doing the best with what you have!" Pantomiming an upbeat and genuine facade, she had slipped into the beautifully crafted persona of Miranda Tate, British head of LexCorp Gotham.
It was what she needed to be at this moment in her life. Surrounded by a different sort of desert darkness in Gotham until she was called away next. Standing fluidly she removed not only her cup and saucer but his own. A quick rinse in the sink, and she'd set aside the china for later. No reason good china should get broken, or go to waste. Now he would want real answers from her. And she'd be ready.
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