100YoP Chapter Five "Semi-skilled labor, minimal experience required." (Patreon)

"A'ight, I've got one," Farah said. "Jobs that you pulled through, even though it went wrong."

"Ooh, I like that one," said Billy. "Let's see... Sam, you mind if I use the Killer Moth story?"

We'd established early in the game that we had to have a different story each, since we'd worked so many times together.

I laughed when I remembered what he meant. "Ah, that's a good one. Yeah, go ahead, I had another one in mind."

"Right," Billy said. "So Sam and I were doing this before the Goonion  and all that, right? We'd been doing hench shit for 'bout a year by  then, and we were still stuck working with C-Listers and taking shit  gigs no one else wanted."

"So you was working for Mothman?" Farah asked.

"So we worked for Mothman," Billy nodded. "And he sends us out to steal  lamps for his mutant fucking bugs or whatever, so we go break into a  WallMart. I shut off the alarm, Sam smashed the cameras 'cause he's  taller, and once we're in we use a cart to start piling on the lamps.  And because this is WallMart, we ain't even gone into the back room  before we gotta go get another cart."

"Plus we took some other stuff, right?" I asked him.

"Yeah," he said, "I grabbed... I think I grabbed a bunch of t-shirts?"

"Yeah, I think you saw there were these t-shirts that said 'Batman Could Beat Superman' and you just started grabbing them."

"Right, 'cause fuck Metropolis," he said, which was met with nods from all the Gothamites in the car. "What'd you take?"

"Uh, I think just groceries and shit," I said. "Maybe some jeans? Oh,  and a bunch of tools. I remember my kitchen sink was broken and my  neighbor hadn't returned mine before he moved out."

"Right, yeah, I remember you bitching about it," Billy nodded. "So we  grab everything, we end up filling like five carts, and we just pile  everything into the truck and drive off. We're listening to music, we're  talking, y'know, we're relaxed. It's a WallMart and we were subtle, so  we're probably not gonna get caught, right?"

"And that's when you got caught?"

"If only," Billy scoffed. "No, that's when some total ass t-bones our  truck because they were high and I was fighting for my life."

"I put in a CD of The Pogues and he was trying to punch it out," I explain.

"Can't stand them," Billy said. "Except for 'Body of An American', that song rules. And 'Fairytale of New York'. But besides that, they're the worst."

"So what happened then?" Yua asked.

"Well, I blacked out for a second, and when I wake up I've got my face  buried in the airbag, the asshole's gone, and Sam's shaking me," he  says, "And I see his eyes are all fucked up and that his air bag didn't  turn on, so I realized he's concussed. So he's shaking me, and he's  saying 'I heard glass break, I heard glass break', so I tell him  that it's probably on account of the broken windows on top of us. And he  says that he heard glass break behind us."

"No," Farah said.

"Yeah," Billy said, grinning. "So we get out, I'm all dizzy and Sam can  barely walk straight, and we open up the back and just find a fuckton of broken lamps."

"They all broke?" Farah asked.

"I think maybe... five survived?" Billy looked at me, and I gave him a  flat look, "Yeah, I don't know why I ask your brain-damaged ass. Yeah,  'bout five survived. So I'm just freaking out, thinking I'm gonna get  eaten by a giant moth, when Sam just starts shaking me again, and he  points at a lightpost we crashed into. And he asks me if I thought that  was a bright light. So then next thing I know, Sam's driving from  lightpost from lightpost with brain damage and I'm standing on top of the truck so it's easier to climb the lightposts when he stops at each one."

Farah started laughing at the mental image while Billy started miming,  "I was just using my belt to climb those fuckers like Mulan, on that one  song? We must have put half the Narrows in darkness."

"And you didn't get caught?" Yua asked.

"People must've thought we were too stupid to be of any harm," I suggested.

"For sure," my friend agreed. "So eventually we've got as many big  lightbulbs as broken lamps, and we get back to the base, right? And  Killer Moth looks at us and asks what the fuck happened to his truck,  and this fucking legend over here says that Batman clipped us on a tank  because he feared the might of properly stimulated moths. Fuckin' Killer  Moth buys it, of course, and then he asks why Sam's eyes are all fucked  up."

"I said I was wearing contacts," I said, over Farah's cackling. "He  said, very helpfully, that I should try another style because they just  made me look concussed."

"So I tell Killer Moth that it's not a total loss, right?" Billy  continued. "I show him all the lightbulbs I've got, and he goes 'where  am I gonna plug these in', and the fuckwit next to me says 'Bill and I  are good with lights', which we definitely were not."

"Don't call me a fuckwit, I had brain damage."

"What's your excuse now?" Billy asked, to which I replied by punching  his arm. He kept talking, "So anyways, I spent the whole night,  improvising a wall of lights for a bunch of moths working with like,  vague memories from one class in high school, a fuckton of broken lamps  and this asshole ocassionally pointing at things and going 'maybe put the thing with the thingie'."

"I fail to see how I could have been any clearer."

At this point, Farah was holding her sides. "H-How the fuck are you guys still alive?"

"I wonder that every day," Billy muttered. "Somehow, we fucking got it  to work without lighting anything on fire. Killer Moth paid us in full,  talked to everyone about what good drivers we were and so  multi-talented, and as far as I know he never found out."

"I think that got us our first gig with a B-List villain, actually," I said.

"Right," Billy nodded. "Basically I owe my success to Sam getting brain damaged."

"Maybe I should hit you over the head with a crowbar before the job, Boss," Farah suggested. "Y'know, for luck?"

"Nah, fool," I said, "You gotta hit me during the job. For greater effect."

"True, you right."

We'd been playing this game for a while now. One proposed a funny story  related to the job, and we all competed for the funniest one. So far  we'd done biggest job that got interrupted by weather, dumbest way  something went wrong 'cause of civilians, jobs that turned out to be  traps, best tricks cops pulled during interrogations, stuff like that.  It was a fun way to kill time as we got to the place in Butcher's car,  and it helped us get to know each other and how we worked.

For example, I learned that Yua was shit at seeing through tricks and  traps, so she usually just said nothing during interrogations, but she  excelled at getting through anything that required a physical approach.  Farah liked to make people underestimate her, and had told a few stories  of running multiple cons at a time while pretending to be caught on  one. Billy talked about the miscellaneous skills he gained over the  years, I talked about a few jobs I'd run in the past, and I could see  them filing it all down.

The team wasn't a certain thing yet, but I could see us being a solid crew for heists.

We were all dressed to the nines. I was on my Sunday best, freshly  cleaned of dirt from the alley. I'd chosen to forgo the jacket that  night, settling for rolled up sleeves on the grounds that it looked  freaking sexy. Billy was on a simple white shirt and black jacket, top  buttons untied, going for a more casual vibe. Yua was on a backless red  dressed that stopped just under her knees and red flats, while Farah was  wearing an all-black suit with a gold tie.

"A'ight, I can top that," I said, "This happened 'bout a year back, I was working for Firefly and- ah, hol' on, we're here."

The Iceberg Lounge came into sight, and we all put our serious faces on.  It was an ostentatious building, designed to look like it's nameplace  and with tons of those lights that shoot into the sky swinging around,  calling attention. Tons of people dressed even fancier than us were  coming and going, some on the way out looking like they were incredibly  pissed, which I attributed either to the crime or the casino sides of  the business.

"Okay, showtime is now, people," I said, opening the glove box to  retrieve our written invitations and a fat stack of bills. "Note the  cameras, but don't look straight at 'em. Count the guards, try to see  what they're packin', check knuckles for callouses, that sort o' thing.  If there's a reason, you can try and find the vault, but that ain't a priority today. This is just for gettin' a feel of the building, a'ight?"

I was met with nods, and started handing out money. "Make sure you're  seen playin'. Be risky if you wanna, it's Two Face's money."

Yua took the money hesitantly, "Should we split up?"

"Nah, no need if we're comin' in together," I said. "Y'all can do your  own thing, but if you wanna hang out it's good. Three or five hours from  comin' in, we meet near the entrance. If you feel good with the info  you got, talk about bein' done playing. If most of us are good to go, we  go, and we talk about what we got at Butchie's apartment. Sound good to  everyone?"

After getting nods, I smiled and said, "Oh, and top priority? Have fun, not every night you go to Gotham's top club."

Farah rolled her eyes, Billy smiled, and Yua gave a very serious nod.

A valet took the car to the parking lot, and we all strode in. The  lounge was split between a more recreational area, with live music and  tables where people dined, wined and planned out the future moves of  their criminal organizations, and a casino area, where people played  with their money, and either lost most of it or got escorted to a back  room. In the far side, I could see stairs leading up to the VIP area,  presumably with more of the same but better and with more women with  less clothes. And if the floor plans that Farah got her hands on were  right, a little above that was Cobblepot's office.

Just around the entrance I counted five cameras and twelve guards  discreetly standing amidst the other furniture in expensive suits. They  had those little curly wires going around their ear, which I had to  wonder if it was a matter of aesthetics or if they really just bought  those when air pods and such existed.

In any case, Farah split for the poker tables without a word almost  immediately after we changed our cash for chips. Billy went after her  once I gave him a miniscule nod, and Yua stayed with me as I headed to  the blackjack tables.

"You know how to play?" I asked her, and she shook her head. "Ask for  cards until you hit twenty-one or close to it to win, don't go over or  you lose, and don't do too well or they'll break our legs."

Yua nodded. "Understood. It reminds me of some of my childhood games."

I raised an eyebrow and looked at her, but she chose not to expand on  that. She'd been tightlipped on the ride over as well, rarely sharing  stories of any jobs she did.

"Well, hopefully you'll get the hang of it quick," I said as we sat  down. We had time to get to know each other and I'd rather not skip  right into childhood trauma.

​

Later that night:

Okay, I thought as I took a picture with a small camera Farah loaned me, That  makes... seven cameras north side, eight south and five east and west.  And considering the lack of new holes in my anatomy, I'd say they  probably can't see through my camo.

I wandered around the outside of the building, trusting in my Spidey  Sense and Spidey-flage (the name was a work in progress) to warn me  before I got caught as I carefully noted the places defenses. The odd  architecture of a place made to look like an iceberg gave a lot of  places for people to hide, but any Gothamite can direct themselves in a  fucked up building. Typewritters, bottles, cages, vegetables and  animals, if it shouldn't be a building, some enterprising architect took  a shot at it and stuck it in Gotham.

By the time I was thirteen, the typical black skyscrapers adorned with  gargoyles and grotesques were taking over the city, but you could still  find the ocassional odd building if you knew where to look.

Billy's favourite gentlemen's club was in a building shaped like a pair of heels, for example.

In any case, the older generations of Gothamites are basically immune to  mazes. And after spending the first nine years of my life living in a  building shaped like a Rubix cube that I swear to this day moved when you weren't watching, a glorified chunk of ice was no big deal.

Still... I thought, watching the guard shift change, Hate to admit it, but I'm getting worried.

I crawled around the icy spires that jutted out the top of the building,  until I spotted a small window. It was near the top of one of the  frozen spikes, and I saw it was a bathroom window, locked from the  inside. Going around the... thing that I ran out of synonyms for, I saw  there was one for each bathroom in the same spot.

I took a picture, then almost flinched away when someone came in,  stopped when I realized that I was invisible, then kept flinching and  looking away because it was a bathroom.

I almost left, but decided to take a risk and hope I'd be lucky for  once. After a few minutes where I focused very hard on not hearing  anything, the toilet flushed and a male voice cried out, "Goddamn,  that's the last time I eat Indian. Phew!"

I turned and found a guard, unlocking and opening the window and walking away.

Thankful for my gas mask, I crawled in after him, waiting and then  rushing above him after he opened the door, then crawling around the  second floor.

The VIP sector was, quite naturally, glamorous as all fuck. Chandeliers  hung above, lights now turned off decorating the walls and ritzy gold  decorations as far as the eye could see. Stripper poles and cages for  dancing girls weren't sparce, either.

Looking around, I soon found the stairs leading up to Cobblepot's  personal office. While I went up, I heard the guards arguing behind me  about the window being closed, with the one that suffered the, uh, Indian burn saying he'd close it in a minute. Can't count it to happen often, then?

The door to Cobblepot's office was pure still, and putting the back of  my hand against it let me feel a small tingle of electricity. The  doorframe appared to be metal as well, and there was nowhere to grab and  pull. Just a small keyboard and a scanner. On a whim, I tapped at the  wall and noted with amusement that it was drywall.

I took a few pictures of it and the surrounding area, as well as the  inside of both bathrooms, then I went down and did the same of the  downstairs bathrooms, taking car to walk on the roof as often and as  quietly as possible.

Once that was done, I went into the brown bombed bathroom, opened the  window, and left without closing it. If the guard got fired, then at  least it was one less worry for us.

Going over everything in my head, I had a single thought: I can work with this.




Closer to the morning:

"We can't work with this," Fara said, which was met with nods from everyone but Billy.

I'd just returned from my inspection and was met with overwhelming  pessimism. Suits had been loosened around the table, and Butcher was  handing out cups of coffee while I sat down.

"That how they say hello where you're from?" I asked, taking off my mask and handing her the camera.

"This isn't a joke," Farah said. "I counted thirty guards just on the bottom floor."

"Really?" I said, "I counted twenty."

I took off my jacket and hung it, then removed the kevlar and settled it against the wall, leaving me in jeans and tanktop.

"They were hidden on the tables," Farah said. "I noticed when I was  playing the sucker at the poker tables. There were a few there,  strapped, helping the dealers rake it in."

"Cameras don't miss an angle either," Yua muttered. "There were more  than on the plans that Miss Kane found. There's no way to sneak in."

"That so?" I asked, "Butchie, you still got that whiteboard?"

"This is serious, Sam," he told me, and I rolled my eyes to look around  for it. "You can't sneak in when there ain't no guards because there's  never no guards, you can't sneak past the guards, and four niggas ain't  enough to outmuscle them all, even if you're a meta now."

I grunted, finally finding the whiteboard and moving it out before the  couches, in front of Butchie's TV. Once that was done, I looked at  Billy. "Any notes, William?"

He thought it over, nodded and said, "What's the play, Boss?"

I smiled while everyone turned to stare at him. Then I turned around and started drawing on the board.

"Y'all are right, of course," First, I drew an approximation of the  Lounge, "Too many eyes, too much muscle. Penguin has enough money for  the best of the best, and he ain't puttin' it anywhere if he ain't  puttin' it on the Lounge."

I turned around and pointed at them, "So, how are we gonna do? Any ideas?"

Farah raised a hand. I pointed at her.

"Why does Butcher just have a whiteboard in his apartment?" She asked.

"Sam used to tutor young'uns here," Butcher said. "Filled the apartment with the sound of math and conjugations and shit."

"Clearly, you should have listened more closely," I muttered. "No one else? No? A'ight, the answer is we do everything."

"Right, that way we get capped every way," Farah nodded. "That checks out."

"Farah?" said Billy, speaking before I could. When Farah looked at him, he tilted his head slightly at me. "Listen."

Farah frowned at him, but turned to look at me.

I nodded at Billy and continued. "We're gonna divide into three teams,  one of two and two of one. One's gonna hit the place to rob it, straight  up, one's gonna sneak in, and one's gonna infiltrate."

"Ain't those two the same thing?" Butcher asked.

"Nah. You inflitrate, people think you supposed to be there. You sneak,  people don't think shit because they ain't know you're there." I smiled,  "Penguin prepared to be hit any way. We're gonna hit 'im every way."

{[X]}​

A few weeks had gone down since we did some recon on the Lounge. I'd  passed around invisible again, mostly just confirming what we knew and  making sure there were no big changes, and failing to find that, we'd  decided that in three days we'd do the job. Until then, we were killing  time, adding time between our investigation and out heist and faking  evidence to make it believable that someone on mook level could go to  the Lounge twice in their life.

Money for henchmen was... weird, even after Billy and I managed to  establish a solid minimum wage that only a few disagreed with. Certain  jobs, like moving palletes or some crap like that, tended to be a slow  month. But the same henchman that dropped out of kindergarten and has  only had experience moving palletes from Point A to Point B could get  put in charge of making sure the death trap Batman's gonna get dangled  on about a half an hour after it was finished, some of the paint not  even dry yet.

With that risk and variety in place, we never needed a union to make  sure our brothers in arms would never get taken advantage of.

Few people appreciate the variety of skills required. Know how to fight,  how to build, be in good shape or be very clever, know how to scan a  room and make sure there are no intruders, make sure you can arm a bomb,  make sure you can disarm a bomb in case something goes wrong,  and the amount of weapons training that I got just out of experience is  incredible. Villains hand out rifles, cannons and rocket launchers like they're candy and just figure that, as a criminal, you would know how to. Or figure it's aim and press the trigger and done.

I'd been an average soldier of a common gang from eight to fourteen  years old, and I'd learned to deal with cops, think in the right angle  to take the most profit out of any problem, things like that. In the  four years I'd been a henchman, I'd learned everything from gardening  (Poison Ivy) to classic Latino literature (Bane) to memorizing five  dozen riddles (take a shot in the dark and tell me who you think I got  that from) to handling military-grade weapons and vehicles (Bane again)  and Stunt Driving (believe it or not, I just took a course out of  necessity and love for my life).

I mean, I wasn't an expert. I had a vague idea of what I had to do for  simple things, and the rest was bullshit and a poker face. Billy, on the  other hand, had told me once that he could drive tanks and helicopters  and I believed him. He never missed a shot that I'd seen, never lost a  fight in hand-to-hand, and could make a bomb out of the contents of your  average supermarket.

Which is why, even after my metafication (name's a work in progress) he was my sparring partner.

I never stopped working out even after Spiderification, since I didn't  want my skill or discipline to rust, and so I went to Butcher's place to  work out three times a week, and at least one of those times I ended by  getting on a bout with Billy.

He got used to fighting superhumanly fast, strong and tough opponents,  and I learned to control my strength with someone I didn't need to worry  about killing while I kept up my skills.

Butcher said we had a scary amount of commitment to being ourselves, but I wasn't sure what he meant.

It was after one of those bouts that we were sitting around my  apartment. Or rather, the lazy fuck sat around and jerked off in the  kitchen, making milanesas and mashed potatoes.

"Motherfucker, can't believe you're making me cook after a three hour workout," I grumbled.

"I mean, I could order somethin', you don't have to cook."

"No, I'm going to."

He chuckled, the bitch, and left me to put the potatoes to boil and cut the meat in the right shapes.

The sound of the breaded pieces of meat going into the oil almost kept me from hearing the quick rapping on my door.

Tap-tap-tap.

I turned around, blinked, turned back to my cooking and shout over to the couch, "Billy?"

"yeah?" he shouted back.

"Did you drug me?"

"no, why?"

"I just saw two vigilantes standing outside my third floor window, holding an unconscious supervillain."

There was a beat, then the sound of him moving on the couch, then  another beat, then him saying, "Well, sonnuva bitch. There they are."

"Thought so," I said, removing the crispy golden milanesa out and  setting it on a plate covered with napkins. I lowered the heat and  started taking off my apron as I walked to the window. "Watch the oil."

"Got it," he said, used to me having to rush around with stuff on the stove because I refused to let him do shit in my house.

I walked over and opened the window, trying not to stare too obviously.  And while Batgirl was lovely as ever, and the Third Robin had always  been endearing to the former me, what mostly called my attention was the  tied up Firefly limply hanging off of Cass' shoulder.

"So..." I said, looking down for a moment while I tried for small talk  first, before turning to Robin and stretching out a hand, "Samuel Reyes,  but you can call me Sam. I don't believe we've met."

"Robin," he replied, shaking very politely.

"Nice to meet'cha." I said, and then lost my patience and pointed at  Firefly with a deadpan expression, "Why the fuck are you bringing him  into my house?"

"Uh," he looked at me, than at Batgirl, "Good question. Batgirl?"

She had been staring at me the entire time, but when he asked her she flinched a little, and then just looked away.

"... cool," I said. I looked at Robin, "So, I take it this was a good night for y'all?"

"Oh, yeah!" he said, "We stopped like five robberies and happened to stumble on Firefly!"

"Off in fifth and twelfth, right?" I asked, and he gave me a look of  shock, to which I shrugged, "I keep a few friends, and I like to know  where this one in particular is."

"That's... huh," Robin said. Then, again, "Huh."

"What?"

"Um, n-nothing," he said, then frowned at me. "You really worked for a bunch of villains, then?"

"Semi-skilled labor, minimal experience required," I shrugged. "Perfect when you're fifteen and fresh off a gang."

"And the gang?"

"Semi-skilled labor, no experience required," I chuckled. "In a  way, the perfect starter job. Experience in sales, economic analysis,  criminology and combat guaranteed."

Tim looked like he was vaguely horrified by my existance, in a way.  Guess that even as a vigilante that deals with maniacs, he didn't have  to talk that much with the people that reminded him of the  fortune of your birth. He was a smart kid, probably more mature than me.  Must have no problem realising that we were the same age.

Choosing to change the subject, I nodded at Firefly. "So, how'd it go?  Haven't been caught in that many cape fights, really, so I'd like to  hear about it."

"Uh, yeah," he said. "I-It was all Batgirl, really. She's amazing in a fight."

"I've seen," I said, giving her a smile. "I was smitten."

She stiffened a little, then seemed to snap out of it by shuffling to  drop Firefly at our feet, and then when my eyes were on her again, she  kinda put a fist to her hip and looked up and away in a manner as  awkward as it looked imitated.

Tim gave her a long look, then turned to look at me. I only saw it out  the corner of my eye, as I was busy looking at Batgirl and having the  biggest, dumbest grin in my face.

"Oh, yes," I purred. "Very impressive. That grace, that strength... it was incredible. I'd love to see more."

She shifted around, a little, but I could see the shape of a smile behind her mask.

"OKAY!" Tim said, very loudly. "I think it's time we- uh..."

Batgirl was giving him a look.

"Uh..." he looked a little pale. "I-I mean-"

"I think," Billy said, coming up behind me, "That you should take Firefly here to Arkham or something, while I head on home."

"What?" I looked at him, then back at the Bats, "Wait here for a second."

I grabbed Billy by the shoulder and took him away from the window,  "Billy, I'm- Bro, I'm not just gonna kick you out because a cutie came  over, c'mon."

"Sam," he said, "I appreciate it, but don't be fucking stupid."

I looked over my shoulder, seeing shaking her hands into sign language  angrily at him, and if my high school course was being remembered  correctly, was reminding him of the time he ate her cookies and he swore  he'd make it up to her. I looked back at Billy, and said, "I ain't  kicking you out."

He smiled at me, "Fine, then I'm just leavin'. I can tell you want this and for once your taste ain't shit. Go for it."

I noticed the bit of strain on his face, and just sighed and did gave him a man-hug.

"You're the shit, Priest."

"I know."

He left, and Robin was eventually bullied into going without her,  straining to carry the grown man in power armor. Leaving Batgirl and I  alone. In my apartment.

Fuck it, after Penguin I was going to give Billy three quarters of my share of the gains.

"So," I said, watching how she took a few steps, looking around and  kinda staring at all the nothing in my place, "I saw you were using sign  language, would you be more comfortable if I used it?"

She looked at me, then nodded with excitment, signing [You know A-S-L?]

[A little] I replied, [Please sign slow]

She nodded, looking very excited, [Only people I know that sign are siblings and dad. Glad to see you know]

[Glad to know] I smiled at her, [Favourite skill right now]

[Don't tease] she signed, smiling a little.

I smirked at her, then remembered I'd left oil on the fire and rushed  over to finish cooking, tying back on my apron. I kinda pointed her over  to the couch without looking, but instead she chose to come into the  kitchen and watch me work. Sitting on top of my fridge.

She just kinda walked up to it, turned around without stopping her forward momentum and hopped to sit there.

It ocurred to me that I was trying to romance a cryptid. I could feel the envy from thousands of Tumblr communities at once.

I finished frying the milanesas, stacking them with napkings for no  reason that I was aware of except that this is how my mom taught me. I  set the plate to a side, and then mashed the potatoes with a bit of  butter, some milk and a few things from my spice rack to give it an  extra kick.

I served two plates, gave Cass the inevitable continent-shaped milanesa  in what I consider to be my greatest act of sacrifice and chivalry (it  was shaped like South America) and a glass of coke.

"Buen provecho," I told her, raising my glass for her to tap with hers, and then tapped it on the table and drank.

In the time between my tapping the glass and drinking, she managed to  take the obligatory sip of drink, set down the glass, pull down the  bottom half of her mask (which came off apparently) frantically cut a chunk of the milanesa and immediately put it in her mouth, chewing in a way reminicent of a starved dog.

"Were we hungry?" I asked her.

She nodded unabashedly, letting go of her implements only long enough to  sign [Missed Lunch Because Rat] and then go back to eating.

I thought it said a lot about Gotham that 'Because Rat' could mean that  either she had to fight a rodent-themed villain, or because her pantry  could have been raided by rats, or because a rodent-themed villain  assaulted her pantry with rats.

In any case, I ate at my own pace, ocassionally asking a few things and  getting hurried responses before she continued obliterating everything  in her path.

Once she had her seconds (cooking more than necessary was a habit by then (fuck you're dining Batgirl don't think about that she'll know you're sad))  she seemed to come down from whatever gluttonous haze had fallen over  her thoughts, and we just sat there, drinking down a bottle of coke one  sip at a time, just silently speaking. She hadn't put the lower half of  her mask on, and I felt my eyes pulling down a little if I wasn't paying  attention.

She told me about her siblings, how her first dad wasn't good but her  second one was, about her problems with communication (though she didn't  explain the details of her infancy). I talked about my mom, about my  friends (though not about the crew as a crew).

It was pretty late when she said she had to leave. She lingered on my  window for a while, looking at me with laser focus, before reaching over  and giving me a small pat on the chest and then jumping off, grappling  into the night.

I looked at her go, then down at my chest, wondered what the hell that  was about and then just settled on thinking of it as a positive gesture.  I washed everything, put it to dry, turned off the lights, and went to  bed.

Before I could lay down, I got a text.

Blondie (Steph):
did i just see freaking batgirl jump out your window?! ​

Me being me, my response was instanteneous:

Me:
Nah, that was my dominatrix

Me:
She just finished spanking me