15596/Show Me The Way To Go Home *hic*

Show Me The Way To Go Home *hic*
Date of Scene:	13 September 2023
Location:	Saint Mary's Park, Fort Clinton
Synopsis:	Satana goes out for dinner, gets interrupted by the Batman, who drops her off at her employer's home in a state of near-dishabille. Bruce gets suspicious. VERY suspicious. Which isn't news. Bruce is always suspicious. VERY suspicious.
Cast of Characters:	Satana, Batman

---

Satana has posed:
It's the witching hour, so what better time for a little witchcraft? Satana, working for Bruce as she does, has to commute between Boston and Gotham daily ... the little hotel room she'd rented as part of her disguise no longer really being necessary since Bruce thinks he knows the 'truth'. And the St. Mary's cemetery is a perfect nexus point for easy teleportation.

A puff of sulfurous smoke and she steps out of the cloud, near a mausoleum she'd prepared in advance, and heads out of the cemetery. Once out the gate (the locked chain simply falling off before her with a curt hand gesture ... only to, perhaps more disturbingly, rewind and lock itself behind her as she walks away.

"I am feeling a little peckish..." she murmurs to herself as her curse starts to get to her. "Maybe I'll top up..."

Her gaze falls on St. Mary's Park. 3AM. St. Mary's Park. Not really a place for an obviously wealthy woman to be, especially one who's dressed as Satana is now, in her trademark deep purple catsuit with panels of bare flesh flashing out right where the eye most wants to see it, dressed in a way that would make a streetwalker (like the three she passes on her way to the park) go "girl, you're tryin' too hard!".

And dressed like that, wearing (oddly skull-themed) bling that is worth more than an average person's annual salary, she steps into the infamously dangerous park.

Batman has posed:
Like so many truly big cities, Gotham City never truly sleeps. There is always something open somewhere. Some restaurant, some club, some hot spot. There are always those that work into the last hours of night, to the wee horus of morning for some reason. There are always people out and about.

And far too many of them are criminals.

At least as far as the Dark Knight is concerned. Which, of course, is why he takes to the rooftops and alleyways night after night, sometimes with a specific lead in hand to track down those up to no good in his city. Sometimes with just police reports as they come in. Sometimes just to patrol.

That is what he is doing tonight. Roaming through the city on the look out for any trouble. It has been surprisingly quiet thus far, at least as far as police reports go. Even the usual snitches he might shake down for info have been steering clear from the streets. To be sure some of that summer heat has passed, the deep night cooler now and the sky overhead is devoid of any stars as the cloud cover lays thick over the city.

As he nears Saint Mary's Park he pauses on the rooftop just across the street, eyeing the quiet pathes and tall trees still bearing all their leaves. Quiet, but not deserted. So he takes to the air once more, swinging across the street to continue his patrol through it's sometimes dangerous confines.

Satana has posed:
So what's the best way to attract the attention of someone dangerous? Being a woman is an item on the checklist. Being an attractive one is another. Being scantily clad ("like a whore") is a third. Looking like you're made of money is a fourth. But Satana wants to hammer home the point that she's prey to the wannabe predators of the park.

So she's staggering, quite convincingly, like she's at least mildly drunk. Perhaps more than mildly given how, just as she passes a shadowy figure by a tree, she 'accidentally' drops her clutch which opens to spill...

Oh wow. That's a lot of bills.

Satana's shrieking laughter as she drunkenly lurches around to chase what looks like dozens of bills ranging from $20 to $100 attracts attention, naturally, and the shadow she'd only just passed detaches itself from the tree.

"Fuck off now, bitch."

That's how said shadow, now forming the shape of a tall, muscular man, probably 19 at the oldest, decides to say hello.

"I'll be right along my way," Satana slurs, not even looking up, "as soon as I collect my money."

"MY money, bitch!" the man shouts. "And you know what? You're mine too now for mouthin' off to Angelo Dimitri N'Dour!"

That momentarily 'sobers' Satana up who stands up and blearily looks at the man for a few seconds, blinking with an uncomfortable amount of time between blinks. Then she bursts out laughing.

"What are you? Like, 17!? Run off home, little boy. Your Mommy's calling!" she hoots loudly before going back to the Sisyphusan task of catching all the bills that are being blown around by a mysterious zephyr that's hit the park.

Batman has posed:
It is hardly uncommon to find predators in this particular park. It is a popular spot for those in the sex trade to ply their business afterall and it is not exactly uncommon to find those willing to prey on them either.

It is the shriek of drunken laughter that catches the Dark Knight's attention at first. It is not often that someone that foolish wanders through these particular environs, but it is hardly unknown either and as he touches down at the edge of the trees, Batman begins racing in amongst them, those Starlite lense inserts in his cowl lighting up the lightly wooded park like it's day, even if it casts everything in a greenish glow.

It does let him move swiftly at the very least, without the danger of catching a root or a stray branch to send him sprawling and sure enough he is soon close enough to hear the coarse threats offered up by the juvenile hoodlum.

Unfortunately predators come in all shapes and sizes.

He is still precious seconds away. Even the Dark Knight can only move so fast, but he doesn't dwell on what could happen in those seconds. On all the possible consequences of being just a little too late. He has enough on his conscience already. For now all he can do is redouble the place, those gauntleted hands raising in front of him to push aside low hanging branches where there is a need, the clearing ahead where Satana chases that cash around while being stalked by the teen thug just barely in view through the encroaching trees.

Satana has posed:
Nothing stings male pride like being treated like a child. Nothing. Even being treated like a woman (an adult one) is less humiliating than being treated like a child. Satana couldn't have found a better way to trigger rage in 'Angelo Dimitri N'Dour' than dismissing him as someone who needs to run home to mommy if she'd tried to.

Which, of course, she did. Because while Angelo is a predator, there are bigger predators and Satana is an apex predator. Very few threats exist that can take her on, and almost none of them are in the mortal plane.

When Angelo rushes her and grabs her arm roughly, tugging hard, with a yank that would have dislocated her shoulder if she were what she looked like, but that instead just draws her up to her full height, he doesn't note the little pinpricks of red flame in the depths of her pupil. He sees the predatory smile, but mistakes it as a continuation of his humiliation.

"Stop mouthin' off, BITCH!" he shouts, apparently not very creative at insults and profanity. This injunction is paired with a vicious backhand that would likely remove consciousness from half of the women he would ordinarily do this to, causing the rest to reel and stagger back at least. If his grab of the arm let them.

Satana's head does turn when the backhand lands. But other than that it's ... not going the way he planned it.

"Ooh! You like it rough! I'm a fan of that!" Her voice has dropped to a husky growl. "Here out in the open or ..." She waves her free hand in the direction of trees. "Private?"

To Angelo's intense confusion she closes the distance, pressing against him in ways that set him on fire. Figuratively, not literally. Not yet.

Batman has posed:
Moving through the trees like this, even in the dark, is second nature to the Dark Knight. At times it feels as if there is no part of his city that he does not know intimates, completely. One more advantage in a toolbox that fits so many already.

So while he races towards the gap in the trees ahead, Batman puts one of those other tools to use. HIs situational awareness. He hasn't nearly begun to exert himself, his heartbeat level and even despite the pace and he listens closely to what lies ahead, just out of sight. He can hear that angry shout, the rage in the young man's voice. The violence that carries all too clear.

What he can't hear, however, is far more interesting in this particular instance. He can't hear any shrieks of fear, of pain. It seems impossible that someone that enraged has not already tried to assault his chosen prey and just as unlikely that whoever his unfortunate victim might be would stand there and take it wordlessly, fearlessly.

And yet nothing.

So somehow the Dark Knight finds another gear, those strides lengthening just a little, carrying him over that last bit of ground, through that gap in the trees and out the otherside. The shadows of those nearby trees might stretch out across the grass. But shadows hide nothing from Batman.

Satana has posed:
Angelo's will now fully under the control of the temptress, he guides Satana to the direction of the copse she indicated, disappearing among the trunks and leaves.

Before entering herself, Satana pauses and scans the environs, and ... looks directly at Batman. For a moment she freezes, and thus gives him a direct look at her entire body from ankle to head, and that face ... looks very familiar.

She then disappears into the leaves as if tugged. Moments later there is a sound of struggling, desperate gasping, and finally a call for help. "HELP ME! SOMEONE HELP ME! GET OFF ME YOU PIG!"

Batman has posed:
Emerging into that clearing, the Dark Knight darts a quick look around, for just a moment spotting a rather familiar looking figure disappearing into another section of the wooded park. Curious, but certainly not enough to divert his attention from the matter at hand.

Almost at once he starts off after her and her apparent attacker, crossing that grassy lawn quickly with that long, loping stride and starting back in amongst the trees just as the expected cries finally begin to ring out in the night.

Something to consider, to be sure. But later, after he makes sure that those in danger are safe.

He is only a little surprised at just how far they managed to get past that treeline, once more bursting through that greenery as he follows those cries for help, bursting into that copse with batarang already clutched in one hand.

Satana has posed:
Satana is putting up a struggle against Angelo, and it is a good struggle. Very believable. To any without the Batman's sharp observational skills. And even he probably gets fooled. For a few seconds.

But something feels off.

She's definitely being pushed around, pawed, even having clothing torn. And she's definitely trying to push back and pull away, making for the break in the trees that lead to public space. But ... there's something wrong when he strikes her. It doesn't feel quite like she's actually being injured, despite the auditory evidence of the fists hitting her and making that sickening thud/smack sound. And when she looks like she's trying to break free ... it just doesn't feel like she's going full strength.

It's just ... off somehow.

Still, she is screaming for help and he is assaulting her. Maybe ... beat down thug first, ask questions later?

Batman has posed:
While the Dark Knight might not be oblivious to the signals that he is receiving, that there is something off with the entire confrontation, with the entire situation as a whole, he is not about to ignore things either. While those fierce bellows of rage no longer seem to be coming from her attacker, he is still to all seeming appearances, completely out of control. And Batman isn't about to let that pass, no matter how many questions he might have about the current situation.

Despite the struggle, he never even hesitates to draw back that hand and let that batarang fly, the weapon cutting through the air to click Angelo in the side of the head solidly.

He doesn't count on that alone being enough to resolve the situation and stalks across that small clearing even once that batarang leaves his hand, closing with the other man with surprising swiftness, simply grabbing hold of him and wrenching him off of Satana rather harshly.

No matter what oddities might exist in the present circumstances, he is clearly dangerous -- not so much to the Dark Knight -- but to any one else frequently this part tonight. And Batman can't allow that, can't allow him to hurt anyone else -- even if he is not entirely sure just how much the woman in front of him has actually been hurt. "Give it up," he growls as Angelo thrashes about and tries to escape his grasp. "Before I have to really hurt you," he adds.

Then he is casually kicking the man's feet out from under him, sending him crashing to the forest floor.

Satana has posed:
Angelo's face gets a look of intense surprise a moment before intense pain hits it. He releases Satana in confusion, uncertain of how the sudden pain entered his world, looking around while staggering back. Just in time to catch the dark shadow that reaches out and grabs him, tearing him further away from his victim. The fist partially turns out the lights even before the foot sweep sends him to ground.

"Hey, man, I ain't done nothin' wrong!" the thug calls out, a distinct slur in his voice that wasn't there before. Concussion time! "We was ... playin', wasn't we babe?"

Satana, for her part, is scrambling away from the pair on the ground, fear on her face but something ... difficult to place ... in her eyes. Is that amusement? Maybe? Or something darker. Again, it's night time and night vision goggles do play tricks on vision, flattening out scenes and dropping nuance. But what they don't drop is light (by definition!) and that angle is making light shine from Satana's eyes.

"Yeah. We were playing!" Satana says bitterly, after she regains her breath and totters to her feet, seemingly overcome. "Predator and prey, me as prey. He was going to..."

She shudders artfully, in ways that enhance her physical appeal.

"You saved me!" she says to Batman. "How can I repay you?"

Batman has posed:
Something very well might be off here.

But that doesn't make the Dark Knight have any more sympathy for Angelo's plight. His crude insistence that they were just playing doesn't seem to hold a great deal of weight and while the situation doesn't fit quite right, certainly Satana has put on enough of a show to convince him of that much.

So as he goes down to the ground, slurring his words and seeming increasingly incoherent, Batman plants a knee in his back to pin him there to the earth, removing a pair of ties from his utility belt before binding his hands behind his back. "Tell it to the police," his says, that low voice a growl, but with Angelo contained he leaves it at that, instead slowly rising back to his feet, turning his attention to the apparent victim in all of this.

Those starlite lense inserts are wonderful for lighting up the dark of the night, in giving him one more edge in his battle against those that creep through the shadows. But certainly fine details are lost when the world is cast in a greenish glow, not the least of which is the subtle look in someone's eye. While any number of Gotham's criminals might disagree, Batman can't just read minds and while he might have a few lingering doubts about how all of this played out, he is not about the blame the apparent victim either.

"The police will be here soon enough to collect him. He won't have a chance to prey on anyone else anytime soon," the cowled figure asserts. Though 'soon' might be relative in both cases. Police response times are not exactly amazing in this part of the city and these is a better then average chance the Angelo will make bail all too quickly.

That appeal is obvious, though one certainly wouldn't be able to tell based on the Dark Knight's reaction. "No need to repay me," he says flatly. "I don't know what brought you to this park at this hour, but next time remember just how dangerous this part of the city can be."

Satana has posed:
"Oh, I'm so sorry to have troubled you," Satana says, stepping forward a little unsteadily, seemingly via a combination of drunkenness and the sudden drop of adrenaline. "I'm new to Gotham; I was just out partying and this looked like a shortcut home."

Not ... entirely a lie.

"I work for Bruce Wayne," she says, name-dropping with speech slurred from a different kind of concussion; the chemical kind. "But I'm from Boston."

Batman has posed:
Given the temperment that she has displayed thus far, the Dark Knight was not entirely sure of her identity, despite all the similarities.

But unless his aide turned indecent distraction has a twin sister there seems little doubt that this is exactly who he has managed to rescue. If it was a rescue. There is still that nagging uncertainty, though she certainly seems to be on the verge of incapacity.

While he dislikes taking time away from his patrol, she doesn't seem fit to leave here alone in the park. Especially given how long it might take the police to arrive to pick up her attacker. That seems to be enough to tip the scales and settle the matter for the vigilante.

"Understood," he says quietly, voice still rough as he looks her over carefully for any signs of injuries. "Is there somewhere I can drop you off then? It's not safe out here."

Satana has posed:
There's mild abrasions and a scratch caused, seemingly, by either a fingernail or possibly a tree branch. And of course torn clothing. Clothing that's artfully revealing more than it already revealed when she started, almost as if by design ... but that couldn't be right!

"I'm in a hotel..." Her hand gestures vaguely in a direction that does, in fact, make a shortcut through the park something someone drunk might come up with. "It's not a great hotel, but it's a bed."

She pauses, looking at Batman, leaning slightly to the right.

"If you're tired, maybe you could... stay? A while. To rest, I mean. I can make ... uh ... I think I've got tea."

Batman has posed:
There are not many who could somehow manage to look and sound enticing after such an attack, but she some how manages.

And while he might appreciate the display on at least one level, it does add to his questions about what exactly went down. Though really, he shouldn't be all that surprised. His aide does practically radiate sex afterall.

He does eye those injuries and though they don't seem overly serious, that, combined with her apparently inebriated state seems to make him come to a decision, reaching out to support her just a little as she starts to keel over. "Not practical I'm afraid," he says quietly. "But you probably shouldn't be entirely unsurprised either, until your injuries have been looked at," he says. "I'll drop you at your employers. He no doubt has contacts," he says, just a faint dry not creeping into his voice.

Glancing about the nearby trees and the uneven ground, he adds, "Can you walk?"

Satana has posed:
Satana slips an arm around Batman's waist, leaning against him, murmuring in a husky voice, "I can now. I think ... I may have drank too much."

Her body heat seems to penetrate the batsuit, making her presence very obvious and conscious.

"You'd drive all the way out to Wayne Manor?" she asks. "That's ... really nice of you!" she enthuses. "I hope he isn't ... ah ... disappointed?" She looks around as if Bruce is hovering nearby ready to catch her. "I'm not really dressed ... professionally." She pauses, then breaks into a giggle that shakes her body from ankle to neck. In very noticeable ways. "Well, not the kind of profession I'm working for him as, I mean." She muses a bit before drunkenly suggesting, "Is there a clothing store nearby I could buy something more decent in?"

Yes. Definitely something off.

Batman has posed:
Certainly she does have a knack for being distracting.

Both within costume and without, Bruce does tend to be surrounded by some impressively beautiful women on a regular basis, so it's not as if he is entirely innured from noticing such things. But there are not many that have quite the same effect on his attention span. Which, when combined with the irregularities in this assault, in her approach, and her interest in his library all adds up to a growing mystery.

One that he is increasingly committed to solving.

While her presence leaning against him might be impossible to ignore, the Dark Knight certainly does a good job of seeming uneffected, slipping an arm around her and helping to guide the woman and what remains of her clothing through the trees, towards the park entrance and the waiting Batmobile.

"I think you'll find that there is not much open at this hour," he points out, tone going dry again. Though fortunately it is fairly likely that Alfred will have a suitable change of clothes on hand. He is almost always prepared for just about anything that comes his way.

Though she might set him back."

"Not much further," he assures her, the gate to the park just ahead and the sleek vehicle that he patrols the city just beyond that.

Satana has posed:
"Ooh! Is that your ride!?" Satana's eyes widen at the sight of the iconic Batmobile. "You must be loaded yourself!" she adds with a sly, sidelong glance. "Or have the backing of someone loaded."

Her guesswork is striking close to home for someone as drunk as she's presenting...

After a bit of excitement trying to get her into the Batmobile (a process that involves almost, but not quite, displaying all of her wares ... but leaving it clear that said wares are both high quality and available ... Satana is in the Batmobile and looking around at everything with intense interest. And while it's not out of the question that someone as drunk as she supposedly is would be staring at things with such ... Well, comprehension. Disturbing levels of comprehension, in fact. ... it is again another item of strangeness adding to everything thus far. She doesn't *say* anything, but she seems to understand what everything is for. Even the bits that aren't on a normal car. Like the targeting systems. Or the weapons systems.

"My, this is a fascinating car," she purrs. "And I thought Mr. Wayne's limousine was fancy!"

That raw sensuality she's been projecting since Bruce first met her is NOT going away as the ride progresses. Even when she's not actively aiming it, it seems to be in operation. Like ... an area weapon.

"Will we be getting there soon?" Then, in an added purr. "If you like we can take the long way. I've decided I like you. And it's not just the car."

Just.

Batman has posed:
It is pretty rare that the Batmobile fails to impress, admittedly.

But then it is all impressive lines and power, a technological marvel to be sure, for those that appreciate such things. Others might admire the aesthetics. While still others might just love the speed once it gets going.

It does take a little effort to get her into the car and settled and he does shoot her a brief look at the sharpness of her observation, the way she looks around as if taking everything in. The whole thing definitely doesn't feel like someone who is inebriated, who has had their mental faculties impaired in any respect.

One more item to add to the growing list of things that don't quite fit right. One more thing to keep a careful eye on going forward. And while the risk might grow seemingly with every passing moment, so does the challenge.

In short order he has joined her within the confines of that sleek vehicle, the Batmobile springing to life with a powerful rumble, a tremor seeming to run through the entire car as its engine springs to life.

And then they are off, whipping through Gotham's dark streets at some truly impressive speeds.

If anything the sense of her in the more confined space of the car is that much thicker. That much more apparent, even without it being quite so finely directed.

"You'd do better with a good nice's sleep and some proper medical attention," the Dark Knight counters. Though there might be something rough in his voice that suggests he is having a little more difficulty then he would like in not picturing her spread across the hood of that car.

"We're almost there."

Satana has posed:
"I do hope we don't wake Br... ah ... Mr. Wayne up." Satana does a bit of an "oopsie" shrug. "I'm sorry, he's rich and handsome. I can dream of being on first name basis, but I shouldn't say it out loud in the presence of others. You ... won't tell him, will you? I'm keeping our relationship purely professional." So far. For now. "He's a good employer, if you can handle a bit of chaos. I wouldn't want to lose my job." She's still going all-in on that paid work thing, despite the fact Bruce already knows she doesn't need the money. "Maybe," she continues, seeming to develop cold feet, "you should drop me off..."

She looks around at the neighbourhood they're in, which is distinctly short on hotels.

"Too late, I guess," she says. "Best just face the music. I hope he's not disappointed in me."

Batman has posed:
They are definitely outside the city proper at this point, the bright lights of the city giving way to rolling hills and woods once more. The roads curve a little more, weaving about and even he has to slow that pace a little. Without streetlights, only the glow from the Batmobile gives them any indication of where they are going at all.

"I imagine you'll be given a special dispensation under the circumstances," the Dark Kngiht retorts quietly, though whether he means do to her apparent intoxication, her recent 'attack' or the fact that she is half-clothed is a little more difficult to determine. Perhaps all of those would play a role.

Then he is reaching for one of the buttons on the dash and electronic jammers override the security gate of the Wayne Estate, allowing them to race up along the long road that finally gives way to the Manor House at the end of the drive as they emerge from the estate at last.

The car comes to a squealing stop and in short order Batman is assisting her out of the car once more. "I imagine Wayne's butler will see to you from here. It will be fine," he states quietly, starting back for the car.

Satana has posed:
The jammer catches her attention and again she looks at it with sharper interest as it operates, her eyes seeming to drink in what it is and how it works. Once delivered, she manages to get out of the car herself, still acting slightly tipsy, but the trip seems to have done her some good as far as inebriation goes. She turns to Batman as if to offer something ... pressed, extended lips suggesting what ... when he starts going back to the car. Being behind him, Batman doesn't get to see the brief flash of pique that crosses her face. She doesn't like being ignored, apparently. Of course nobody will know that because nobody has cameras running from all conceivable angles, right?

RIGHT!?

Sighing she turns to face the mansion and climbs the steps to the door, knocking at the door after adjusting her clothing.

To be more revealing. Duh.

Batman has posed:
No sooner is the Dark Knight back in the car then he is contacting Alfred to let him know just what he should expect.

Then that sleek black masterpiece of engineering is roaring back down the driveway towards those woods beyond. It won't take him that look to make his way to the secret entrance to the Batcave and will be able to join Alfred with their guest. Still, the elderly butler will have to manage until then.

Even forewarned, Alfred probably is not quite prepared for what he is facing and when the door opens he gives a brief double-take at the state of the woman standing there. "Oh my. It would appear that you have had something of a difficult evening Ms. Hellstrom. Come in, come in. Let's make sure you're not too hurt. I'm sure we can find you a change of clothes," he adds solicitously before pursing his lips. "Well, probably."

Standing aside, the Wayne Estate butler ushers her in.