7498/Great Art=Great Donor

Great Art=Great Donor
Date of Scene:	23 August 2021
Location:	Gallery - Wayne Manor
Synopsis:	Batman and Zatanna have a late night conversation that ends in them launching on a quest for the most important object in Zatanna's life.
Cast of Characters:	Zatanna Zatara, Bruce Wayne

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Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Late at night, there is a hush to the library reminiscent of old churches. But, there is no aroma of incense or the holy - the scent of lemon polish, old books, and leather predominate in the book and art filled gallery. A light in the dark gallery illuminates a circle on the polished floor, the light source an antique green-shaded lamp sitting atop a secretary's table. Authentic and of museum quality, it's one of the few pieces that doesn't rotate to museums and resides permanently in the Mansion.

It's one of Zatanna's favorite places besides her bedroom. A great-grandfather twelve times removed crafted the piece when he followed Catherine de Medici to the French court. Two large books sit open to either side of her elbows; books of the sort that have half-inch thick covers and illuminated pages - another reason for her to love this place. It contains one of the largest collections of paranormal and magical books outside of the Sanctum Santorium in the world.

The lamplight glows softly in Zatanna's dark hair, making her pale hand glow as she turns a page. She wears a cashmere sweater over black pants and soft slippers, all black, stay-at-home wear, far from the glitter of her top hat and tux.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
Typically, Bruce would be 'at work' around this time of night. During the day he keeps up appearances as Bruce Wayne, shallow billionaire, making the rounds on the links or snoozing through board meetings. At night, it?s the cape and cowl. It's anyone's guess where he finds the time to sleep, but that's just one of the many mysteries that make up the man.

But he's on the sidelines tonight. A bombing attempt at Arkham Asylum the night before seeing an assault rifle shred up the muscle in his right arm. Though bandaged, stitched and tended to the muscle itself is still healing. He's wearing a simple sweater with a collared shirt underneath and slacks, his arm done up in a sling of gauze.

His footfalls are light as a feather across the parquet flooring, making for a silent approach as he moves towards the light. When he speaks, his voice is quiet so as to not completely overpower the hush of the gallery.

"When your father told me how dangerous magic could be," he begins, "I knew I'd never trust it, but I could learn about it and respect it. Though if I'm honest, half the books are written in ciphers and off-brand Enochian and I've never taken the time to translate them all. Not yet at least."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"My father respected your intelligence, Bruce, and never spoke down to you. He was a haughty man and difficult to approach but liked you enough to treat you as an equal intellectually," the young mage replies as quietly, eyes glittering in the lamplight as she looks up from the notebook she was writing in. "You understood how potent and dangerous it is. Not everyone does or if they do, it is often too late."

A faint smile curves her lips, "Besides, how many non-sorcerers would ever take the time to translate off-brand Enochian." With a nod at his arm, "How's it feeling?"

Bruce Wayne has posed:
Bruce pauses a moment to glance at his shoulder, icy blue eyes staring at it before he offers: "Familiar. I've been shot forty-eight times discounting grazes and flesh wounds. Usually, small caliber but sometimes rifles like this was. I'm used to the feeling, but -- "

He grunts as he pulls up an upholstered, wooden chair alongside her and takes a seat. A grimace of pain crosses his face, and he bares his teeth.

"But it doesn't make it any easier to shrug off, unfortunately."

"I don't think we've ever had much of a chance to talk about your father," he continues, glancing down at the notebook, "I don't know if he ever mentioned it, but I went there hoping to learn magic myself. Not the ... pulling rabbits out of a hat kind. The real kind. When he showed me what it was like behind the curtain and under the hood I decided I could live without it."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna's smile fades. She looks briefly away then back at Bruce, head tilted to one side. "He told me how brave you were. Odd isn't it? What we know about our parents and don't know?"

When she glances down at the notebook, her expression darkens, "This is not the one, you know. My father's, that is. I still haven't recovered it but I have an idea now of where it might be."

With a slight shrug and a nod as though his words confirmed something, "Many dangerous things reside under the hood. He did say you have the hands of a prestidigitator but not whether you possessed the gift like he did or I do. I suspect you do though."

She studies him intently for a moment before proposing, "I can heal your arm. If you'd like."

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"If you need help finding it," Bruce begins, nodding towards the notebook once more, "I've tracked down a lot of rare books in my day. That's the Armagnac Breviary in that case over there."

The offer of healing is considered for a moment before his mouth quirks up at the corner and he shakes his head, raising his good hand palm first.

"Thank you, but no. I made a ... decision not to rely on powers beyond my control. As easy as it'd be to go seeking out mystic healing whenever I need it, it's all making deals I don't quite understand. Besides, give it a week and I'll be operating again."

In pain and with stiff joints, true, but operating nevertheless.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna's lip purse at his refusal, one shoulder lifting in elegant dismissal. She knows the price of magic and did not offer lightly. Still, she smiles briefly, teasing him, "Though medicine is equally beyond your control when it comes to antibiotics and surgery requiring anesthesia." More seriously, she adds, "You know that the offer to heal is always there should you wish it."

Gazing down at the book, she strokes its cover thoughtfully. "This has value but not like the one that was stolen from me at my father's death. Do you think it would be easy to acquire?"

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"Nothing comes easy," Bruce answers, settling still and statue-like in his seat by the table, "Chances are whoever has it is keeping it from you, or else you'd likely have it by now. That suggests someone who either thinks it's too dangerous for you, or someone who wants its secrets for themselves. Maybe both. Most likely one or the other."

He rolls his shoulder painfully, jaw tensing in a grimace.

"I've got a week to kill, Zatanna. Why don't we work this case? Maybe we'll find something new."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Eyes narrowing, she observes in a voice much lighter than the expression she fixes him with, "You mean you have a week to kill yourself in before the next charity ball? The book is protected by magic otherwise..." She flips over her balled fist and opens it to reveal a small white flower in the palm of her hand. It releases a rich jasmine perfume. "...I would have it."

Leaning forward, she places the flower next to him then straightens. "It would be very dangerous." She does not tell him how she would risk her life to possess it again.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"Dangerous doesn't sound so bad. The alternative is eating mulligatawny soup and watching the camera feeds. Honestly, you'd be doing me a favor. It may be magically protected, but if it's still a physical object on the planet then I know we can find it."

He pats the bandaged shoulder beneath his clothes, as though testing the flexibility of the joint even now so soon after the wound was inflicted.

"Or at least get a solid lead."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Or at least get a solid lead," Zatanna repeats solemnly, eyes blinking like an owl. Looking sideways at him, she asks with a straight face, "You are telling me that you would expire from boredom? I think, though you haven't asked my opinion, that you are an adrenaline junky."

She clears her throat and regulates her breathing, hoping he won't detect her deep desire to have that book in her hands once again. Her father's last legacy to her and a gift that most sorcerers would sacrifice dearly to own. "I heard that it was auctioned. Secretly and for a lot of money."

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"I'm just an interested party, Zatanna," Bruce answers, voice low and flat, "I owe your father a lot. The least I can do is help his daughter."

When she offers the information, he nods his head thoughtfully, leaning back in the chair. For the moment he's the very image of the consulting detective, simply listening and learning.

"Secret auction is a good lead. There's a few of them that operate on a wide enough scale to get noticed. They pride themselves on protecting client anonymity, but they're criminals. There's always someone keeping score in case they need to get out of trouble later."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Yes. It is. Though I have dead ended with that information." Zatanna folds her hands together carefully, the whiteness of her knuckles the only sign of the tension she holds inside.

What she wants to say is, 'Only if you let me heal you.' But, like her father, she respects Batman too much to impose her will on his. A thumb twitches, preamble to gesturing a spell. She doesn't always need to repeat an incantation backwards to wield magic.

"So, what do you propose? Follow the money? Follow the auctioneers?"

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"This is the part you - the rest of the League - don't see. The work behind the curtain. Legwork. No kicking in doors and demanding answers yet. First, we set the Batcomputer to cross-reference any discussions or ads on the typical dark web haunts around the time it went missing. We should get a bite. Based on the request, we can use the profiles in the computer to determine who made it. From there, we can find the auction house."

There's a pause as Bruce glances towards the notebook once more, a faint smile on his lips.

"Just need to give it a few hours to work."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Amusement sparkles in Zatanna's deep blue eyes as she raises an eyebrow at his words. "We don't, do we? I see, Maestro Batman and detective. You have my permission then, to begin the legwork that will draw us closer to the goal. Especially if it doesn't hurt." She looks at his shoulder significantly with an innocent expression that is all pretense.