Nelson, Blade and the jocks are very untrustworthy little snotty bullies because they are bad influence because their abusive parents abuse them. And, they all been house arrested and scared straight at Arkham Asylum by Barbara.
Congratulations anon. I just decided that I have the time today. In order:-Nelson is a major twip, but he's a twip so consistently that it actually circles around and makes him trustworthy. Myth busted.-Blade isn't a snotty bully, she just has high standards and a withering gaze. But don't worry, you're not the first to confuse these things.-Nobody's a bad influence on me because I haven't followed anybody or anybody's advice since the dawn of time. Ask literally anyone.-...as opposed to their abusive parents loving and cherishing them?-Are they house arrested or at Arkham? Unless they moved, they can't be both.-Let's be real, we could all use a little scaring straight from the Commish.
Max isn’t quite sure how she got here. If the miles and miles of sand are any indication, she’s in a desert. It’s nice though. Quiet. Occasionally a breeze runs through and stirs up enough sand to make Max wince. She can’t get sand in her hair. Mom will have to redo it, and she’ll be irritated.
“Your mom doesn’t do your hair anymore. You’re sixteen,” says a voice to her left.
Max pulls the hood of her–what the hell is she wearing anyway? she feels like a Star Wars extra–floaty cloth thing over her head and glances up at Terry. “Is it your fault I’m in a desert?”
“Nah, it’s that weird kid’s fault.”
“That’s how I know this isn’t real,” Max says sadly. “The real you actually knows his name.” She runs her fingers through the sand, taking up a handful and watching quietly as it rained back down, finding its home in the sand she couldn’t hold and settling again. It was kind of peaceful.
“Do you want me to say it?” Terry’s voice is gentle, but Max bristles anyway.
“No. I know.” She gets up, brushing sand from her dumb desert parachute suit and looks off into the distance. “I have to get moving. I have to wake up.”
“What’s our landmark?”
Terry’s got his hands tucked into his pockets. Max frowns as she takes him in. “Why do you get normal clothes?”
“Probably because this isn’t my metaphorical dream journey.”
“It’s not a dream. I’m unconscious. They chloroformed me.”
“Ah. Well then, I think this is the moment when I tell you that the anger will give you the strength to move forward.”
“Was Dana too busy guiding someone through a blackout to help me? Because you’re bugging me.”
Terry dropped an arm across her shoulders. “You want me here, kiddo. And from the looks of it, we have some time to figure out why.”
“Joy unbounded.”
–
The Burj Khalifa is not in the middle of an otherwise barren desert and, even though she has yet to go, Max is fairly certain that the lobby isn’t a single platform that floats you straight to the top. That’s what’s happening in this one though, and the higher they go the more sand they see.
“So do I wake up at the top?” she asks.
“Maybe. How would you feel about that?”
She wants to snap at him. She did a couple times during the walk. At least she thinks she did; she can’t remember every step of the journey, but it would be weird if she hadn’t snapped at him at least once. Getting angry is usually a great way to get people to leave a sensitive subject alone, but Max thinks she’s running out of time for that. With consciousness probably getting closer, Max figures she might as well start being honest.
After all, this is all happening in her head. There’s no better place to be vulnerable.
“I’d feel scared.” she says. “I feel scared. Wayne’s the only one who knew something was even happening, and he doesn’t like me. What if he didn’t tell you?”
“He told me. You heard it.” Had she? Max thought she’d heard it, but she can’t be sure it isn’t just wishful thinking. “Do you think I’m not coming to get you?”
“I’m never sure,” she admits with a shrug. “But that’s not about you.”
With a rueful grin Terry says, “I’m not sure we have time to get into that one. Maybe in the next desert.”
“Maybe.”
”Say the worst case scenario does come to pass. What happens if I don’t show up? What’re you going to do?”
Max sighs. “Break some shit. Find the control room, shut the place down. Go from there.”
“Just for argument’s sake, I’m going to point out that you don’t have to break anything.”
“I’m gonna.”
“Alright, good talk.” Terry takes the cowl out of his pocket and studies the blank eyes. “You know I’m on my way, right?”
Max stares up into the approaching peak. A white light is shining down from it. Typical. “What I know is that you’re a figment of my imagination.”
“I’m still coming to get you though. If I’m saying it, you already know it.”
“I hope it,” she corrected quietly. She watched the light get closer and tapped out a restless tune on her leg. “I’m really scared this time.”
“Can’t remember the last time that stopped you.”
Terry’s grinning when she drops her gaze to him. Max mimics him, the corner of her mouth twitching up just a bit. She looks down at her clothes and pinches the cloth with a scowl of distaste. “I’ll tell you one thing. If I wake up wearing anything nearly this stupid, I’m going to be pissed.”
He laughs as the light from the peak swallows them up. “I can’t wait to see how that turns out.”
She isn’t floating anymore. It’s humid, and the gentle slopes of sand are replaced with darkness. Her outfit still feels stupid, there’s a breeze across her stomach, and she’s still feeling a little afraid. Damn it.
It wasn’t uncommon for Max to spend lunch in the computer lab. Actually, it happened at least twice a week–she’d get started on a project and skip lunch in favor of finishing–so when her seat at the table was empty on an unremarkable Wednesday, nobody questioned it. Chelsea used Max’s lunch code to pick up her tray, and together with Dana and Terry went up to her favorite lab. They found her at a computer in the back corner with her legs crossed in the seat and a determined look on her face.
Chelsea put the tray beside Max and peeked over her shoulder. “Fine-tuning your world domination plans?”
“Nope,” was all she said.
“Doing next year’s homework?” Dana guessed.
“Nah.”
Terry took a fry from the tray. “Ruining someone’s life?”
“Don’t eat my fries.”
“Looks like we have a winner.” Terry pulled over two chairs, settling in one before sitting back so Dana could drop into his lap. Chelsea scooted the second chair right next to Max and continued studying the screen. “What’s she doing, Chels?”
“She appears to be altering a nutritional health care plan for Eddie Deeds,” Chelsea said. Eddie Deeds was Max’s lab partner and a proud groupie for the Ts. He specialized in obnoxious jokes, tripping freshmen, and generally working on Max’s nerves.
“You don’t alter a nutritional health care plan. That could kill someone.”
“And murder is outside your pay grade?”
“Incredibly so.” Max paused, then said: “I’m creating a nutritional health care plan.”
“Oh yeah, that’s much better,” Terry said around a mouthful of fries. He smiled at her as Max tugged her tray closer and shot him a dark look.
“You can be next.”
“What are you going to do? Force me to eat my vegetables?”
“You should actually take this seriously,” Chelsea said. “She’s added iceberg lettuce and strained beet salads to his diet for the next six Wednesdays, and she’s taken cookies completely out of his rotation until after winter break.”
Dana leaned forward to read for herself, putting Terry’s hand back on her waist when he tried to use her to block another fry stealing attempt. “Actually, it looks like she took out chocolate-chip cookies specifically. He can have as many oatmeal raisins as he wants. So, you know, not a total loss.” She shot Max a grin. She’d heard her friend complain about her lab partner before. If he’d pushed Max to filing actual reports and the like, he must’ve really pissed her off. “What’d Eddie do this time?”
“He’s under the impression that being my lab partner means he has unfiltered access to literally every bit of work I’ve done for that stupid class at no cost to him.” Max punctuated her sentence with a few harsh keystrokes, adding soft steamed broccoli to Eddie’s daily meals. “I tried to work out a deal but no, Eddie preferred to break into my locker, go through my things, take pictures of my workbook and put in so much general effort that it would be easier for him to just study for the slagging tests. So now Eddie gets my full, undivided attention in the pettiest ways I can think of because he couldn’t control himself. I hope it was all worth it.”
Chelsea and Dana shared a look. Dana shrugged. She’d gotten her answer and quite frankly, if anyone deserved gross salads and oatmeal raisin cookies, it was Eddie. A glance in Terry’s direction resulted in similar disbelief. Chelsea cleared her throat. “So…just to clarify, you’re putting Eddie on a diet that looks not unlike my aunt’s composting bin because he’s cheating off of you?”
“No, I am putting Eddie on this shitty diet because I tried to negotiate and he chose to steal. Remember Family Studies? I did Nelson’s homework for a week without complaint because he was caring for that automated demon. We came to an agreement. Eddie and I also could have come to an agreement, but Eddie wanted to be a conniving little shit, so no cookies for Eddie.”
They watched as Max finalized her work, setting the end date of this health plan for the second day of the spring semester. Terry whistled and Chelsea whispered, “Ruthless.”
“This won’t get you in trouble, right?” Dana asked. “Because I’m all for ‘no cookies for Eddie’, but only if this doesn’t end with you in detention.”
Max pushed aside a few of her fries until she found a couple warm ones in the middle of the pile and offered them to Dana. They were taken with a happy hum before Dana was forced to eat them in one bite to stop Terry from snatching them away.
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m good. I’m not putting him in actual danger, so something like this can really only be considered an ill-advised prank. At most administration will tell me not to do it again. Meanwhile, Eddie will finally understand my power and hopefully stop pissing me off.”
Chelsea and Dana nodded sagely. It made perfect sense after all–there were no rules forbidding what Max was doing, and she was operating firmly within that loophole.
Terry looked from one to the other before sighing. “So is it my turn to be the voice of reason today?”
“It doesn’t have to be,” Dana said. “You could just sit back and enjoy the rest of lunch like we are.”
“Okay, but those cookies are the only decent thing that comes out of the cafeteria. They’re all that get most of us through the week and a whole three months without them seems extreme,” he protested.
Dana patted his cheek lovingly and kissed his forehead. “Shush.”
“I–you know what, fine, I’ll shush, but you’ll both be sorry when she takes over the world and turns on you.”
“Nope.” Dana popped the p with a grin. “She’s already promised me a schway spot in her new world order.”
“Me too,” Chelsea chimed in.
Terry tried not to feel blindsided as he sputtered, “So you guys have discussed this?”
“What do you think we do at sleepovers, babe?”
Terry stared at his girlfriend. His girlfriend stared back. Slightly slack-jawed, Terry realized he’d lost this round.
“Alright, no chocolate chip for Eddie. Cool.” The lab fell quiet, save for Max’s typing (and Terry’s chewing) until the question running through Terry’s head made itself known. “Does that mean you have a schway spot saved for me in your new world order too?”
It was a beautiful function. Someone very rich had pulled out all the stops and it showed. The chandeliers were dripping in iridescent crystals, and every surface was covered in fine silk tablecloths the same color as the champagne, which was the best on the market. (Max had two bottles in her bag.) The event was exquisite.
It was also duller than dirt.
To say Max had forgotten the cause would be an understatement–she’d mostly ignored the invitation she’d received in favor of the guest list. The first six names she’d come across were people she’d been meaning to contact for awhile, so this party had seemed like the perfect opportunity to make some new friends and enemies. Now, she wished she’d just introduced herself with the usual anonymous message from the comfort of her home. Apparently, this whole ordeal was to celebrate the release of an air filter that was designed to purge the air of the upper levels from the filth that was rapidly spreading through the lower ones. No one had invited both their spouse and their lover, no one was making a post-scandal appearance, there wasn’t even anyone starting drunken arguments. Everyone in the room was truly content to show off their wealth and toast an air filter.
Max drained her glass and beckoned a sharply dressed waiter over. She flipped open her purse to reveal a flash of metal and found the night’s first bit of entertainment in the way his eyes widened. “Keep me from seeing the bottom of my glass and I’ll keep you from figuring out exactly how I use this.”
With a curt nod, he promptly placed two full champagne flutes in front of her and looked relieved when Max waved him away. She might be bored stiff, but at least she could get drunk on good champagne for free.
“Part of me wants to believe that you didn’t actually bring a weapon here, but most of me knows better.”
Max glanced over to acknowledge the speaker, but didn’t bother to respond until she’d finished her nice, long sip. “Anything can be a weapon if you’re creative.” She watched as Terry took the seat beside her, dressed just as sharply as every other guest while probably hiding a few weapons of his own. “You know, when I mentioned I was thinking about attending, you could have warned me that it was going to be so boring.”
Terry nodded. “I could have, but then I would be the one threatening waiters for fun.”
She scowled out at the mingling partygoers. “I should ruin you right now,” she seethed. “I should take every single one of your secrets and project them on the walls. Let everyone in this room know what you do in the dark.”
“That wouldn’t do much to make you feel better; they’re all much too afraid of me to do anything other than politely look away. Don’t worry though; I come bearing gifts.”
“If it isn’t an actual head on a platter, I don’t want it.”
“Better.” Terry unlocks his phone and turns it to show Max a picture of a man in a lab coat with wild eyes. “That is Corbin Decker. He’s the man we’re here to celebrate.”
“Ah. The great air purifier.”
“Exactly. Now, when he started this project, about eighty of the people in this room came together to fund it. They each gave him a substantial amount of money to ensure that no expense was spared in his quest to give them the product they were asking for, and he did. From where they all stand everything is perfect and Decker has earned the final payment he’ll be receiving tonight.”
In what she considered to be a very generous display of patience, Max waited for the promised gift. Terry didn’t disappoint.
“Unfortunately, a couple years ago, I requested similar air purification devices. I offered to pay extra for his discretion and swift work, and even informed him that I would owe him a favor once the job was done. Everything was fine until about halfway through the project, when suddenly the work was unethical and he couldn’t finish. I didn’t get an apology or an explanation, and he never managed to return any of my calls. He started on this project not even a month later.”
“What he stood to make off of eighty panicky billionaires seemed more valuable than your loyalty,” Max guessed. It was simple math; the problem was nothing with Terry could be considered a simple situation. “So where do I come in?”
“Am I correct in assuming that you can find his banking information from here?”
“Please don’t ask me stupid questions, I’m really not in the mood for them.”
“Excellent. Then you’ll be able to ensure that the last payment will go through his account and straight into mine.”
“And how much goes into mine?”
Terry gave her a thin-lipped glare that usually had people taking back whatever comment had offended him. Max had the audacity to look very bored. “You’re putting yourself at almost no risk.”
“Yes, but I’m putting in effort.”
“Three percent, Maxine. No negotiating.” He placed his phone in her outstretched hand and watched as her fingers flew across the screen, doing more with a smartphone than most could do with entire holographic systems. After a few minutes, she handed it back.
“If it’s not there by tomorrow afternoon, then they never intended to pay him. And I left you your three percent. I’d rather have you owe me one.”
“I expected nothing less.”
At the center of the room a tall, thin man in an unremarkable tux threw an arm around Decker’s shoulders and called for a toast. He raved about the man’s genius and his contributions, and made awful jokes about how spending so much money had never before left him feeling so at ease.
Terry’s phone lit up on the table between them. Unable to help herself, Max raised her half-empty glass with the first true smile she’d given all night.
That much was right. Trying to approch Orion Powers when she didn’t need or want any help wasn’t something the young teen appreciated. She found it frustrating, oftentimes infuriating if people tried to take control of her life. She had snapped at him already for trying to voice his opinion about them and he still worried.
“Guess so. It’s just not easy when she isn’t like you and Dana and gets my crazy hours.” Even if she did, that would be all the more reason for Orion to actively avoid Terry and add a nice amount of loathing into the mix. Orion didn’t need to know about his night life. “I’ll try. Hopefully I’ll have a head next time we see each other.” Possibly moving out Gotham not withstanding.
Max began to stir her coffee hoping it would help settle her sudden restlessness. Not only did Orion have new friends, she had new friends that were bad news. Max thought it was polite to stop running background checks on the people her friends mentioned in passing, but maybe she should bring that practice back. It would certainly prevent conversations like these from blindsiding her.
“I’ll call her. I’ve been meaning to catch up with her anyway.” Saying that out loud made Max feel less like she was spying on the girl. “You probably guessed this, but uh, don’t tell her anything about me moving. She doesn’t need the extra stress.” Not to mention the supernova meltdown Max was sure Orion would have in response to the news. That, she figured, was something she’d handle herself.
“Good. If we’re lucky, he may not immediately jump to thinking it’s a trap.” Hunters rarely were hunted themselves. It was usually prey and predators in the jungle and it applied for the concrete jungle as well. Predator would surely shift tactics and rush away from the trap if he suspected it too quickly. He sought Owlman’s destruction, but he wasn’t rash enough to destroy himself.
“I suppose our Rainsford shouldn’t be left alone for too long. We have an important game to play after all.” Terry slid on his cowl. There was no mouth, but only a pair of glinting eyes that could glow upon Terry’s command. The suit helped drive home a sense of panic in fear.
“I know how to manage my time and enjoyment.” Making his way to the window, he opened it and unfurled his wings. He fell from the ledge with grace, suddenly flying back up, silent as Death itself.
,
“I will admit that even the best hunter has to keep in mind the intelligence of his prey at all times, but rest assured--Predator isn’t at all prepared for me.” Max loved keeping people in the dark when it came to her smarts; she took it as a point of pride that she rarely gave anyone the chance to properly gauge her intelligence.
Max watched as he disappeared into the night. For a few minutes she kept up her part of this job, tossing the stone into the pond--sending messages to his employees, changing things enough to start the kind of chatter that would eventually make its way up to Predator. It kept her attention for quite some time. Once the ripples beagn, however, Max’s interest started to wane. The outcome was important, of course, but from here, there was little she could do until Predator made his move.
With a sigh, she searched Terry’s system until she found the file he had on Predator. Might as well read up on her opponent while she had the time.
//So one of my favorite lipsticks is called "Snob" and I'm gonna go w Blade and Max <3
It’s a very nice day.
The sun is shining, birds are singing, very few people are screaming obscenities at each other from inside their cars, and inspired by the beauty of this day, Blade dragged Max out of her nice, dark apartment for patio seats at her favorite brunch place. Apparently, Blade wasn’t the only one who wanted to take advantage of the beautiful day. She was, however, the only one who could mind her own slagging business.
“Stop it,” Max said.
Blade glanced at her friend with a frown. “What?”
“You’re totally being a mean girl right now.”
“I am not. And anyway, how would you know? You haven’t looked up from your phone in forever.”
“I’m right next to you, Blade, I can feel you staring daggers through that lady at the next table. And I’ve only been on the phone for like two minutes.”
“Feels like two eternities,” Blade argues without heat. Her reasons for staring the woman down are more than valid. The girls had done nothing but order and chat, but every so often the woman two tables away shot a dirty look in their direction, and Blade is starting to lose her temper. “Is there something on my face?” she says louder than necessary.
“You know there isn’t,” Max says as she checks anyway. “Maybe your beauty is hypnotizing her.”
Blade takes a prim sip of her mimosa. “If it’s my beauty then why was she giving you dirty looks earlier?”
“Don’t know if you noticed, but I am also pretty fucking beautiful.”
Blade gives an undignified snort as Max starts to giggle beside her and right on cue, the frown lines in their new friend’s face deepen.
“You know what it really is,” Max finally says. “We’re two middle level chicks who had the nerve to spend our day here on the upper level where the air is cleaner and nobody uses their hair color to express themselves.” She leans in, waving her drink around as she adopts a lofty tone to say: “It’s just so dreadfully tacky having hair like that. And such loud clothes! What are they teaching in those public schools these days?”
Her stomach hurts, Blade is laughing so hard, but she collects herself enough to take a posh tone of her own. “Does the city still run public schools, Calliope? I’d rather hoped they’d shut them down and turn them into spas and country clubs.”
“Oh, I do so love a spa and country club, Minerva!” Max exclaims. “Which reminds me, I am due for a chemical peel, I’m starting to show my true age again.”
“Never!” Blade exclaims. “My dear, you don’t look anywhere near three hundred and two! I’d give you two forty seven and not a day over!”
“You’re such a pip, Minerva. Cheers to you.”
“And to you, lovely Calliope!” They lift their glasses, but neither one of them can take an actual sip; instead they clutch each other’s arms and laugh until they’re crying. Two tables over, their critic decides she’s had enough, throwing her napkin on the table and marching over to them.
“If you don’t mind, some of us are trying to have a civilized brunch,” she hisses.
Blade dabs her damp cheeks with her napkin. “I refuse to believe that anyone with bangs like yours is capable of anything civilized.”
The woman sputters as Max’s laughter becomes a full-on cackle. “The nerve!” she snaps. “You’re an embarrassment to your people. There are plenty of lower level people who would come up this high and know exactly how to conduct themselves!”
“Unfortunately, there’s a shortage of people on this level who already know how to conduct themselves” Max cracks.
“I will have you put out!”
“Not without buying me dinner first,” Blade drawls.
Starting just above her buttoned collar, the woman’s face begins to turn a brilliant shade of red. She rolls her lips between her teeth until they disappear and the veins in her neck begin to throb. Blade can very clearly see that she has one foot over the edge. All she needs is a little push and she’ll probably fly right off the proverbial cliff.
“Mind your blood pressure, Helen,” Max says in a concerned voice.
A strangled noise escapes the woman before she turns on her heel and storms off. Waiters leap out of her way and every plant she passes wilts (in future tellings, Blade will steadfastly refuse that she’s making that part up) as she makes her furious way inside and points them out the the first tie-wearing man she spots. He puts his hands up in a placating gesture. Helen (?) does not look very placated.
“You know, when you said ‘let’s go have brunch’ I didn’t expect it to go this well,” Max says.
“Neither did I. Same time next week?”
“Absolutely.” Lifting her glass, Max says, “To you, darling Minerva.”
“Oh no, to you, dear Calliope.” Their glasses meet in the middle and they sip to the sounds of probably-really-called-Helen returning to her table in a huff, with murder in her eyes.
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