7626/News From The Belfry

News From The Belfry
Date of Scene:	31 August 2021
Location:	New Troy
Synopsis:	See Terry speak to Batman. See Terry sweat. Sweat, Terry, Sweat.
Cast of Characters:	Terry O'Neil, Bruce Wayne

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Terry O'Neil has posed:
It's a busy day for Terry O'Neil. He has follow-ups to do and more data to collect before Lois will sign off on a Gotham project he has been cooking up for a while. It's dangerous, and so it requires the utmost planning and available knowledge.

He's been trying to secure a conversation with one potential informant, a retired orderly who used to work at Arkham a few years ago, but the man has been hard to track. Last ping he got on him, he was somewhere in Metropolis.

He's in his human shape, taking a break from The Cat as he must every now and then, lest he get too chaotic. Phone in hand, he's sitting at a bench on the sidewalk adjacent one of the small parks that double up as impromptu lunch gathering spots for the businesses nearby.

<<Any luck finding Cayce?>> he texts idly, in the vague hopes that his contact might have some news. There haven't been any new developments in a week, and that's worrisome because Lois can be impatient.

Huffing a little, he looks up from his device, taking notice of the rather fancy car pulling up.

Maybe Lady Gaga's coming to walk her dogs. Rumor said she was in Metropolis to do an impromptu concert. You never knew.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
The car itself is a monument to excess. A solid black Bugatti 'La Voiture Noire' that goes for a whopping eighteen million dollars on the market. Terry's aren't the only eyes the car draws as it rumbles down the street, a beast of an engine making sure that everyone stops to at least peer at the shiny black monster. What's strange, however, is how it slowly pulls to a halt.

Right in front of the park bench Terry is sitting on.

The window slides down with a soft electric hum, and the driver ducks his head to peer out at the intern from across the passenger seat. His face is partly concealed by a pair of Versace aviators that reflect the world around him, but even with his moonlight tan and a layer of stubble he still cuts the unmistakable figure of Bruce Wayne.

"Terry," he calls out, his tone jovial and his features cracking into a broad smile, "I thought that was you! How've you been? Hop in, I'll give you a ride."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry isn't particularly extraordinary-looking. Unlike some of his Titan friends who range the gamut of people who could easily be models and actors (and, come to think of it, some of them /were/), he just has the ordinary boy-next-door look which some find appealing, but not exactly remarkable in his human form.

He does, however, have one thing that makes him stand out: he has incredibly expressive eyes. They are large, and when he's not careful, they tend to telegraph strong emotions like surprise, awe, anger and other things for miles around. Like they are doing right now.

"M-Mister Wayne." The wealthy and the powerful get to call you by first name, but he has the Irish Catholic blue collar upbringing's reticence to be so familiar, at least in his human form. It had taken him six months to stop calling Diana 'Princess', despite her insistence. But his expression is more than just the surprise of being addressed by Wayne in such a fashion- there's some knowledge there, and nervousness.

"That's... very kind of you, sir. Thank you!" He gets into the car, because to do otherwise would be both suspicious... and rude. And Agatha O'Neil raised him better than that, or so she'd like to think. "I've been well... working the double shift and all..." being an intern at the Planet wasn't exactly his claim to fame, as much as the fact that the cub reporter was also the only superhero with a public identity working for the press. It was rumored that J. J. Jameson almost swallowed his mustache when the news hit, and that he had been actively trying to find someone to do the same for the Bugle, 'except that public menace' you-know-who.

Terry has never been inside a car this expensive. Even Gar, whose father ranked around one of the wealthiest men in the world, didn't have a car like this, because the green teen liked things more on the frugal side...

And Terry wasn't comfortable with his boyfriend paying Terry's way for anything except an equitative half-and-half. So it was on their apartment, so it was everywhere else. Which is why Terry, up to this point, still doesn't own a car after his previous one was decimated by the Warzoon.

"I have to admit, um, I'm surprised to see you in Metropolis!" he says by way of conversation, glancing nervously at the luxurious interior and not too much at the man just yet.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
As soon as Terry is inside, it begins to move. The supercar roars to life, hurtling down the street at speeds that definitely brush up against what might be called the legal speed limit in Metropolis. He drifts between other cars with spectacular precision, heading to what seems like an onramp to the Gateway Bridge. The work of structural engineering magic that spans the Delaware Bay between the City of Tomorrow and Gotham.

"It's not so strange," Bruce answers, his tone suddenly quite flat and his voice much deeper and resonant, "I'm a fortunate man. I have the luxury of going wherever I like."

There's a horn as he speeds past a taxi, missing it by mere inches.

"How're the Titans? I've been following your work."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Amazingly, Terry muses, he has something in common with Bruce Wayne: They drive alike. Of course, Terry has always lacked the precise machinery and state-of-the-art motor to truly show off. Which is why Gar had always insisted on driving instead.

"Oh, they're- they're doing great, actually. We've helped stop alien invasions and things, and we're still keeping watch over our part of Metropolis. It's really kind of amazing how strong the comeback has been after the hiatus when..."

He doesn't finish the phrase. When Superman died, along with the Titans Khole and the first Dove. It had shattered the team and left the tower a lonely place, haunted by one ghost: Raven's grief.

But things were different now.

Okay, check that- Terry might /want/ to drive like Bruce, but the man clearly has expertise. The redhead doesn't have his precision.

Of ourse he doesn't. /He/ is Batman.

Terry gulps. Quick, think of something else. "I've been covering the Titans mostly, but I've been thinking of a project in Gotham..." wait. No. No. That was the wrong topic, goddamnit.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"Gotham?"

Bruce punctuates the question by switching lanes rapidly, darting through a gap between two trucks that is barely a foot wider than the car itself. It safely coasts to the other side, the horns blaring angrily. The muted, angry voices of the drivers outside barely register in the supercar's interior.

"Is Superman's return making the crime a little thin on the ground? Thinking of branching out? It's just across the Gateway, after all."

They roar up onto the stretch of highway that leads to the Gateway Bridge itself. The long, transparent tube that makes up the Hyperloop rattles alongside them, one of the passenger pods rocketing past at speeds vastly superior to any car.

"And you know people there," he offers, turning his head to watch Terry - and making it painfully obvious that he's no longer watching the road, "Don't you?"

Terry O'Neil has posed:
One of Terry's pet peeves has always been those old Hollywood movies where the driver is clearly /not/ watching the road and holding a long conversation with whatever glamorous star happened to be in the passenger seat. Like Greta Garbo, or Lauren Baccall, or Tallulah Bankhead. Terry was far from being a Baccall, and Gar would jokingly say he was more lunkhead than Bankhead. Yet, nevertheless here was, passenger seat and all, with someone clearly talking to him and not watching the road.

The topic of people makes him pale just a bit more, when he was already fairly colorless due to being a ginger. His eyes widen ever so slightly, and he reaches for something in his mind.

"Well... y-yes, I do." He's not watching Bruce, he's watching the road because Bruce is not watching the road, "I'm friends with Harley Quinn... I sort of accidentally kicked her in the direction of going back onto the straight and narrow, when I suggested she go see Wonder Woman..." he clears his throat. "My cousin April and I are kind of her anchors, in a way. I've noticed that if she feels that there's someone who believes in her, it keeps her... closer to even keel..."

He had fallen into the topic, so he might as well just say it. "She told me about some of the stuff that went on in Arkham. And... I want to fid a way to go in, in cognito. There's something fishy about a place that is purportedly, yes, a place for the criminally insane, but nevertheless a place that should provide /some/ treatment."

He grow silent, and a bead of sweat trickles down his brow. Is Batma-Wayne still looking at him?

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"So, Harley makes you think they're curable?" Bruce asks, letting his eyes flit back to the road just long enough to make a precise lane change, "All of them? What life do you see the Joker leading if he ever regains his sanity? Can you imagine the guilt a murderer like that might feel?"

It's a hypothetical question, of course. All of it is. Bruce himself was aware of the kind of borderline torture that went on behind the walls of Arkham Asylum. He sat on the parole board, after all. But a part of him had always put less importance on turning it into a sanctuary over turning it into a vault to keep the monsters sealed away forever.

"You're a Titan, so I won't begin to question you on your capabilities. But the monsters in Arkham aren't run-of-the-mill. Do you think you could live with them? You know, there was a doctor who tried to live with them once. Spoke to them. She wanted to cure them, understand what makes them tick. Get into their heads and find a way to yank them out of whatever darkness they were lost in."

A pause.

"You know her. Her name was Harleen Quinzel. She's your cousin's roommate."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry frowns. He momentarily seems to forget his nervousness upon breaching this topic. "I am also the Cheshire Cat, Mister Wayne. I know madness. And even I know that I'd never try to touch the /Joker/. I don't think he is insane, I believe he is /unsane/." He hesitates, and adds "It's a term from Wonderland. It's like madness, but it's also like a virus. Some people are not only carriers but vectors."

"Harley is a victim of the Joker. There's a difference. She wants to change, and that's the important difference. I am not going to turn my back on her because of her past, if she wants a better future." The redhead frowns and glances out the window. "Otherwise none of us would have a future."

Bruce Wayne has posed:
There's a prolonged period of silence from Bruce as he continues to drive along the Gateway Bridge. By now it's fairly clear that he's taking Terry to Gotham City, regardless of whether or not he has business to attend to in Gotham. A few minutes go by, and there's no readable expression on the billionaire's face.

"That's an admirable way of looking at things," he says finally, "And one I'm starting to share. A long time ago I thought what you do was about revenge. About punishing the wicked for their transgressions. Now, I'm starting to see it's about something a lot harder to find."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
The redhead glances at Bruce, and finds himself disconcerted by the inscrutable expression. A memory flashes back of J'onn, arms crossed over his broad chest and the barest hint of a suggestion of a smile, saying 'Batman is a very grumpy man.'

But he listens to what the billionaire/vigilante says, and meditates on it for a few moments.

"It's how Diana looks at things," he says quietly, to give credit where credit is due, "I've always felt that she has always been the best of us."

He pauses, and is suddenly horrified at the realization that his verbiage could easily be interpreted as him including Wayne in the 'us', the confederacy of masks, the lawful and the lawless. He holds his breath, remembering that he is in the presence of not just any playboy, but the famed greatest detective in the world, a man used to reading between Riddler's lines.

Crap.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
Bruce has always been good at reading body language, and through the course of his career he's become fluent in it. The expression on Terry's face tells him everything that's going through his head, and there's no visible reaction from him. No secret smile, no knowing nod. Just stern focus on the road.

And he lets Terry stew in that for another few minutes before he speaks again.

"You know something few people know. Threats and extortion work well enough to keep a secret, but responsibility works best."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
It almost feels like an eternity before Terry can form words. In truth, it has probably been no more than a minute, but time has this way of /stretching/ away into infinity when you are holding your breath. When he finally remembers to breathe again, he starts processing what was said to him.

"I already carried other secrets," he says quietly. Kara's identity, the existence of the turtles, Donna... "Not all reporters sell people to cash in on the story. I'm pretty sure Lois knows who Superman is and nobody has ever been able to get it out of her lips. I'd never breathe a word."

And then he frowns, feeling a tightness of anger in his throat, and before he realizes it, he says, "Your son threatened me, though. He said that if I breathed a word of it to anyone, he'd make sure my career would be over and I'd be stuck in some third-rate tabloid." It is particularly anger-inducing on him because he is not some strange reporter, but a Titan himself. Terry refrains from saying more on the subject. He doesn't trust his anger to keep him eloquent.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"I don't feel the need to deal in threats," comes the reply in Batman's voice now, minus the modulation that he usually employs as part of the disguise, "Besides, a good journalist wouldn't let something like a black mark against their name keep them from succeeding. In fact, I imagine they'd wear it as a badge of honor. I know one who certainly would, at least."

"No, I don't need to threaten you, Terry. Because I know a simple fact. Nobody will believe you. You're not the first person to take a close look and draw conclusions. But those conclusions are always dismissed out of hand. Unbelievable. Impossible. They all come to the same conclusion eventually, because I make sure they do. You could shout it from the rooftops, and I know nothing would come of it because I'm prepared and I know what I'm doing."

He turns to face Terry once again.

"So, I trust you to keep the secret. Because I think the keeping of it is worth more to you than the secret itself."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
The young man's frown deepens. "Being a good journalist and a good person don't have to be mutually exclusive. And if I find myself in a position where I have to sacrifice the latter for the sake of the former, I'll know I have made some very bad choices."

He returns his gaze to the road, and realizes that they are heading to Gotham. He doesn't ask where they're going, because you don't interrogate Batman. "You're not hurting the innocent nor preying on them. Your secret is not my secret to reveal. You could be of the same opinion of Damian's, that I am a worthless lunatic and a liability to my team, and my lips would remain sealed."

And then a very slight smirk crosses his face. "I am good at keeping secrets. I have practice. I went to a Catholic Highschool and nobody suspected I was gay." He suddenly remembers J'onn, and the secret he confided to him- something so secret that not even Superman knew it- the Martian virus and the real reason why he could not return to Mars. "Everybody's got their own secret gardens."

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"Damian has had a difficult life," Bruce offers, his voice softening just a fraction, "More difficult than he lets on, and it's more difficult to bear than he thinks it is."

That's all he offers along that front. He isn't about to remove all of Damian's mystique for the sake of making a point.

"I'll drop you off in Gotham. If you want to investigate Arkham, I can help you. But you need to stay out of my way and the way of my people. No killing. No guns. That's non-negotiable."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Mister Wayne, I am the Cheshire Cat, not fricking Frank Castle. I knock bad guys out with croquet mallets and rabbit holes, guns are definitely /not/ my style." He doesn't sound offended, but he obviously feels he needs to clarify. "I do want to investigate it... and I'd appreciate the help. You know... you could make use of me here, too. I know you don't like people from the outside coming into Gotham, but I /am/ a team-mate to your son and your first Robin. Titans are family."

And then, reluctantly, he adds, "And at times we bicker like one."

"If you could drop me off a few blocks from the Arcade Pavillion, it would be great. Not that I don't appreciate the ride, but you know. Contacts." Being seen arriving in a car worth millions would raise a lot of questions and close a lot of doors when talking to the less reputable members of society who had their ear to the ground. Terry relied on the fact that everybody knew what the Cheshire Cat looked like more than his human face, and so it was easier to talk to people less inclined to be forthcoming with a journalist or a vigilante.

The Cheshire face was even the face used for his byline and the one he used for all social media. This was not so much an attempt to hide his identity (since he was public) but to /push/ the appearance of his human self outside of the mainstream consciousness and instead draw the spotlight to the feline.

Someday in the near future, Donna had warned, he would start getting recognized outside of the fur and then he'd need to start resorting to disguises, or illusions. He'd cross that bridge soon enough.

"And... thank you."