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Cordelia sat perched on the parapet of the roof. Gotham had a wonderful way of providing a lady with a seat whenever she needed one. Delia patted the stone under her gloved hand once, as one would a good and loyal hound. She gazed out over Gotham’s harbor, watching the refracted light glisten.
The harbor was such a unique blue. The waters felt like their secrets could drag you down and never let you go. Cordelia loved that particular shade of blue.
Cordelia smoothed the front of her coat. The rainy grey color stood out against the dark rooftops. With its wool lining and drop waist, it did wonders for her figure and preserved her warmth.
The scraping of asphalt against leather and metal was more than enough to alert Delia to her awaited guest. She pulled the edge of her glove away, revealing the antique-style watch. All the delicateness of years gone by, with all the technology of the modern age. The face lit up, just a few minutes after two. Not bad. Still.
“It’s rude to leave a lady waiting this late in the evening.”
“It’s not evening.” The voice was modulated and rough.
Delia let out a soft sigh before turning away from the harbor. Her companion stood nearly as tall as the Bat himself. Perhaps taller.
In leather and a crimson helmet, he was unmistakable. The new crime lord in town. The Red Hood. How original.
“I suppose, by the proper reading of a clock, it’s rather early in the morning. But men like you don’t operate in the morning. Only in the deep of night.” Cordelia took a step closer with every word. Until they were a mere foot apart. Red Hood didn’t move. Just watched her.
Half turned away, staring back at the waters. “Behind masks. Behind false hoods. In the darkness of self, a friend can be mistaken for foe.” She turned back to face him. “Isn’t that right, Little Bird?”
Those two words trapped Jason. She knows, rang through his head like tolling bells. Then his head actually rang as it bounced off the rooftop.
Cory swung, form perfect as usual, decking Hood across the left cheek. The impact echoed across the bay.
As he lay groaning on the ground, Delia perched herself on his back, posture posed. Adjusting her gloves, she admired them. More than a pretty accessory, they were a clever bit of technology that enhanced a person’s strength. “Now then, dear. Let’s talk about why you’re running around breaking poor papa’s heart.”
By the time the sun began peeking over Gotham’s skyline, a great deal had been said. Not necessarily politely.
Jason sat slumped on the parapet, fidgeting with his helmet. Greasy dark hair glinting in the new light.
Cordelia sat, legs crossed, next to him. Thanks to her brother’s newfound bulk, the sun refused to touch her, leaving her in the fading shadows.
“Stop slouching. It’s bad enough Tim goes around hanging off furniture like he’s a boneless blob. I taught you better.”
Delia paused. Taking a moment. Considering what she said. Oh. Yes, she’d forgotten. With a quick, well-aimed kick, she jabbed the point of her stiletto into the back of her brother’s knee. Without ever rising from her seat.
“Shit! What was that for?” Jason bent over, helmet clattering to the roof as he held his poor injured knee.
“Do not. Jason Wayne. Ever. Raise a hand to our brothers again.” Each word dropped like a bullet to the ground.
“Now then,” Delia stood, brushing dirt from her coat, “would you like some pancakes?”
“What?” Jason asked, still holding his injured leg.
Delia sighed. “Do you want pancakes, or is that beneath a big, bad, crime lord?”
“Ahh, no…”
Delia quirked an eyebrow at him.
“I mean yes. I mean, no, it’s not beneath me.” Jason scrambled to reply.
“Great. I know a wonderful little place nearby.” Delia moved to the fire escape.
Nearby? Jason mouthed, confused.
“Are you coming?” Delia called.
Jason glanced up. Delia had already disappeared over the edge. How does she do that?!
Family Rule:
Meals are not optional. Anyone who misses a family dinner without proper cause will be retrieved.