3029/Some Time Ago...

Some Time Ago...
Date of Scene:	31 October 2017
Location:	Gotham City
Synopsis:	This log begins three years ago while Mariam is in Blackgate prison. It continues forward in a variety of scenes giving ideas of what has happened to her up to the current day, a glimpse of her history.
Cast of Characters:	Batman, Mariam O'Shea

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Batman has posed:
    "Let it be known that we are conducting the parole hearing for inmate XJ53975-A, a Ms. Mariam O'Shea. Charges are available for your reference on page four." The sound of rustling paper is heard in that dark and dingy yellow painted room, the desks and tables set up for the hearing seem as if they may have once been fashionable in the fifties but now just lend an element of tetanus chic to the room. The guards stand tall, two at the door and one beside the parole committee which consists of five people all sitting at those desks and reading through the folders.
    "It is to be noted that the Batman gave testimony in reference to the incident that saw the capture of Ms. O'Shea, speaking in her favor." The woman leading the session looks up towards Mariam, her reading glasses hanging from the bridge of her nose though secured to her neck just in case by a small silver chain. She wears a grey business dress and seems to have seen entirely too much of this in her long lifetime.
    "Also of note is that the inmate has had an exemplary record during her two years of incarceration, all save for one incident." The glasses are lowered in the woman's hand as she addresses Mariam for the first time, "Do you still refuse to name names in regards to your assault case, Ms. O'Shea?" She asks the woman pointedly. That had been a bit of a black eye for the institution, what with five other inmates hospitalized along with the injuries she suffered.

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    Mariam is seated in a chair with a tall straight back in the middle of the room, centered where everyone on the board can see her clearly. She's dressed in the orange uniform they give to the more trusted inmates, those that they allow to work the special jobs in the offices around real people. She earned hers about six months ago. Her hands rest on her lap, wrists cuffed. They didn't see a need to shackle her to the chair but procedures required she be secured. Her hair is pulled back into her usual bun at the nape of her neck. Her sunglasses are off, hanging off the front pocket of her shirt. That wasn't her choice. The lights sting her pale blue eyes even in this dingy little room. Yet, the board would not allow for them to be worn during a hearing.
    At the question, she lifts her gaze from her lap to focus on the woman speaking to her. "I have nothing to say on that matter, Ma'am," she says simply. But she does add in an almost apologetic tone, "I'm sorry."
    She wishes it were that simple but she's the one that has to live here. To survive in the cesspool of criminals carving out their little pieces in the hierarchy. She has enough problems being the one that turned on her crew. She isn't going to add to it. After this is over, she knows she will be back amongst them. It's only been two years. There's no way they will give her parole, especially at the first hearing. It never works that way.

Batman has posed:
    A look is shared between them, then one of the guards coughs into his hand. But other than that no words are shared amongst the tribunal. Instead the older woman continues to be the mouthpiece as she refers to her folder again, then looks back up at her. "And if you were to be given parole, Ms. O'Shea, do you have any prospects? What would you do if you were given your freedom?"
    It's a standard question, one asked of everyone who looks to leave Blackgate early. The number of replies the woman has heard over the years have all blur together for her. Rarely does anyone say anything different. Going straight, doing the lord's work, they have a cousin, their boss is holding onto their job. It all just blends in to the greater tapestry and rarely.
    But the older woman eyes Mariam askance. She had a decent background, her family is alive and well. It's possible...

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    The easy route would be the standard answer. Going straight, changing her wicked ways, becoming a perfect citizen in a perfect little world. It's a crock. She knows it. They know it. So Mariam makes a decision. After all, nothing she says is going to make a difference so why not?
    Forcing her chin up, although with those harsh lights above she'd rather keep her eyes on her lap, she takes a breath. "No, ma'am. I have no prospects. I have no idea what I would do if released. I can't go back to what I was doing, particularely after what I did." Not her crime. Turning on her boss. "So you would be letting me loose without a plan. School maybe but law is out now with my record, so that doesn't hold much appeal. I could try to find a job but we all know as a felon I'll end up working at some minimum wage position, if I can even get a job at all for the first few months. Which will have me being a drain on the system since I will have no income, or I'd be forced to take back up the old standards that got me here in the first place in order to eat. My parents are out of the question. They don't even talk to me anymore." There are no phone call records or mail that she has received, backing up her claim. She lets out a soft sigh as the wind starts to fade from her sails as she realizes just how daunting a task when the day comes she does get released. "So I guess the truth is I have no idea what I would do."

Batman has posed:
    That causes some more reflection on the part of the board, the four others all lean towards the councilwoman as she looks straight at Mariam. Their expressions are dour, features grim though they at times shoot glances at the inmate. One of the guards, a large portly fellow, shifts his weight to the other foot and exhales slowly as if so tired of having to stand around here all day.
    But the committee take more looks at the folders in front of them, then back at the woman whose fate they're deciding. One of the men pipes up with, "Ms. O'Shea, you possibly qualify for a work release program with Wayne Industries. If you were presented with that as an option would you accept an entry-level position with them?"
    The others, for their part, look expectantly towards her even as the chairwoman leans forwards to make sure the recorder is on to register her statement.

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    The surprise shows. Mariam's eyes widen slightly as she looks at the councilwoman like she just grew a second head. She has to be hearing things. They can't actually be considering the possibility. She starts to raise her hand up to rub an ear, thinking that might fix whatever is wrong with her hearing. The handcuffs make a little metal-on-metal sound and she stops. Her hands go back to her lap.
    Wayne Industries. Position with them, entry level. It would keep her in food and alive. She could live on the streets if it wasn't enough. She wouldn't have to go back to...
    Her chin still up she says in a clear voice, "Yes, ma'am. Their work ethic is unparalleled, and they treat their employees well. They are known for their generosity and for caring about their impact on the environment. So yes, it would be an honor to work for Wayne Industries. I would appreciate such an opportunity."
    She realizes she is sounding a little too eager but there was that glimmer of hope there. A chance to get out of this place and get back on the right path. To stop having to watch her back every single second of every single day. She tries to school her expression into one of neutrality but fails, flicking her gaze from one member to the other.

Batman has posed:
    "Honored members of this assembly, are you prepared to render your decision?" The others look between each other, eventually they seem to come to a consensus with a series of nods but it's enough as their eyes shift back to the inmate.
    "Very well, Councilman Davies?"
    "Yea."
    Councilwoman Rinaldo?"
    "Nay."
    "Councilman David?"
    "Yea."
    "Councilman Richards?"
    "Nay."
    "That leaves myself, Councilwoman Schmidt, I vote yea."
    Then it's to her that the woman looks, "This is, of course, pending the acceptance of Wayne Industries, it will take roughly five to ten business days to hear back from their representatives. Inmate XJ53975-A, please return to your cell and await word on this verification. We are adjourned for lunch."
    There's a faint clack as the councilwoman smacks a small pair of ceramic coasters together to sound the end of this particular case and the guard places a hand on Mariam's shoulder. "Alright O'Shea, let's get you back to your cage."

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    Mariam almost jumps out of her skin when that hand comes down on her shoulder. Her mind is spinning madly, thoughts chasing one in an infinite loop. As the votes were given, she was feeling her heart sink into her ugly state issued shoes. She glances up at the guard attached to that arm, giving a quick nod of her head as she quickly stands. Then she looks back to the parole board.
    "Thank you. If...if this happens, if it works out, I owe you my life. Thank you for giving me the chance. You won't regret it." It sounds like a vow. She turns to head for the door, a small smile on her lips as that glimmer of hope still shines from her eyes.
    Just before reaching the door, she pulls her glasses off the pocket and unfolds the legs. They are slipped onto her face and just like that, she is back to her usual stoic self. Her mask is in place, her guard is up and she is ready to return to general population.

Batman has posed:
    Five months later and Gotham City is enduring what some countries would call a monsoon. Spring has sprung and the rain showers off of the river inundate the streets at all hours of the day, casting the great sweeping architecture of the city with a wet oily sheen that seems to at least in part wash away some of the grime of the old urban sprawl.
    In the streets of the city puddles fill the many pot holes, traffic is slow, and for a reformed convict who has to ride public transportation... the buses are often late. It leaves a person out in the rain entirely too long, leaves a person vulnerable to the splashes of cars rolling through those puddles, and it leaves them getting back home too late to grab something to eat from the local convenience store.
    For some it might be entirely too much to deal with, the low pay, the suspicion of one's co-workers, the sidelong glances. Combine that with today and it might lead to a person thinking fondly about better days.

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    Entering the apartment, Mariam automatically locks the door behind her. It's for the best in this neighborhood. The hotel is seedy and rents rooms by the hour, making it a draw for the prostitutes and dealers in the area. There is a small table by the door with a single chair. A bed is on the far side of the room against the wall. The only window in the room looks out onto the brick wall across the alleyway. A purple glare from a neon light out on the main street reflects off the old masonry.
    There is no deadbolt so she moves the chair under the door handle with practiced ease. This is her nightly routine. Enter. Lock door. Keys. Prop chair. She moves to the next step and heads for the tiny bathroom where she looks at herself in the mirror. Her hair is plastered to her head, thanks to the rain. Her clothes are likewise sticking instead of fitting properly. She sighs and quickly sheds them, toweling herself off before changing into a pair of sweatpants and an oversized sweater to help push away the chill. Her hair is pulled from it's binding and left to fall around her shoulders.
    She goes out and settles on the bed, feeling that gnawing sensation in her gut. She didn't eat at work because frankly, she couldn't afford it. Everything had hinged on her getting home in time to hit the store and pick up one of their ready-made sandwiches. The bus being late had ruined that, the doors already locked as she'd stood in the rain staring at the food so close yet so far away.
    She curls her arms around her midriff and leans forward, head on her upraised knees as she considers the choices she has made. Maybe, just maybe, she was wrong. At least when she was working as a criminal, she had food in her stomach and didn't have to worry about a roach running across her while she was sleeping.

Batman has posed:
    She's left to herself, her reflections, as she can feel those thoughts turning darker. It might be for the best really, and if she gets caught... at least she had three squares a day in prison, got a lot of reading done, could maybe go for her degree finally. But for what reason? Come back out to what... to this?
    The rain continues to fall heavily outside, pattering against the window with that steady staccato rhythm. The glow of the neon sign casting the room in a rotating haze of blue and red. But then there's a tap-tap at the window. Just enough of a sound to let her think that perhaps something fell off the building above, or perhaps someone threw a stone against that window.
    But then she'll see a dark silhouette there on the fire escape, its back turned partially towards the window, arms folded over its chest as it looks up towards the sky, rain droplets cascading down the black armored suit.

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    The downward spiral of her thoughts is something she has dealt with often of late. Mariam is beginning to thinks he was better off in prison. No one is trying to stab her over a tray of mystery meat here but at least she knew where she stood. Out here, she is surrounded by people that treat her one of two ways at work. There are those who are openly disapproving, almost adversarial in their dealings with her. The others are worse. They are friendly, chatting with her as she works her quiet way through the work day. When they don't think she is around or listening, they are the ones with the knives stabbing into her back as they discuss the ex-con on the payroll who can't be trusted.
    Hearing the sound from the fire escape, she frowns slightly and uncurls herself, swinging her legs over the side of the bed to the floor. Padding on bare feet, she freezes when she sees the figure outside her window.
    Familiar. Frightening.
    She wishes she had put her glasses back on, hidden herself in the way that she does for protection. She's not even in her suit, the armor she likes to don when going to battle the world. Taking a slow breath and holding it, she walks to the window. First the board that keeps it from being lifted is removed and set on the floor to the side, propped against the wall. Then she flicks the lock open. Grabbing the edge, she lifts the window all the way up then takes a step backwards. She says nothing, not sure what she can say to him. Her savior and her damnation wrapped in one package.

Batman has posed:
    Turning to face her, he does not take the step in. The rain continues to sluice down the padded armor, lining the cape and cowl with the glistening rain as he looks to her. Those white eyelets narrow as he looks at her, past her, then back to her. The tall figure gives a single nod and then lifts its voice, "O'Shea."
    One gauntleted hand lifts to stay and offer of entering. Straight to the point, the Batman addresses her in that steady rumbling tone. "I don't have much time." His arms fold over his chest and there he stands, as if in judgement of her again. His eyes narrow and he tells her, "The Riddler is gathering people to him. People who have tried to leave the life."
    Behind the mask his brow furrows and he frowns slightly, but it's only there for a moment and then gone. "I wanted to warn you to stay away. If you fall in with that crowd again I won't hesitate to take you down."
    And there it is, stern, direct. He's watching, he knows what she is facing, what she is enduring. And he's warning her. He turns away and for a moment it might seem like he's leaving even as the four walls of that small apartment seem to crowd in around her, as everything seems to come crashing in.
    But then he pauses and looks over his shoulder. For a moment, just a small moment, his voice changes slightly. Not quite as gruff. Still strong, still deep. He tells her, "I know how hard it is. To put in the time. To try and get past everything. Very few people make it. It takes someone who is strong to make it."
    He looks back and his gaze meets hers, "You're strong enough, O'Shea. Trust yourself to be."
    But then he drops from the fire escape, falling from view in the steady rainfall as the night swallows him. Leaving her there to reflect even as her belly rumbles.

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    As he drops out of sight, Mariam finds herself trembling. Not out of fear of him. Certainly it's daunting to know he's keeping tabs on her, watching her from afar when she didn't even think he'd think twice about her after she went to jail. He had spoken on her behalf when she was sentenced, sending in a statement that actually was used to help make her time in less than it might have been.
    The reality that he's there outside though is more than just that. If she steps out of line, she knows he will turn her in again. The knowledge about the Riddler was new to her, something she hadn't picked up yet.
    Closing the window, she flicks the lock back in place then puts the board atop, wedging it in tightly so it won't be loosened easily. Then she draws the dark curtains, the room cast into shadow although that faint neon glow gives enough light around the material to allow her easy navigation. She moves to the bed and starts to sit when there is a knock from the front door.
    Her hand goes under the bed, finding the baseball bat. She carries it to the door and peeps out the hole. The hat the man is wearing proclaims Pizza Xpress and there is a warming bag in his hand. She can smell the pizza and her stomach makes another noise.
    She moves the chair then unlocks and opens the door, peeking out carefully. "What do you want?"
    She gets a roll of the eyes as the answer. "World peace. What do you think, lady? I got your pizza."
    "I didn't order a pizza."
    "You aren't Miss Jones? This is the right room." He looks at the paper attached to the bag.
    "She used to live here."
    "Well, guess you got yourself a pizza. It's already paid for, tip included." He pulls the box out and holds it out to her.
    For a moment, she considers not taking it but then her stomach makes the decision. She opens the door and accepts the cardboard box. The delivery man is down the hall heading for the stairs. Mariam follows her routine to lock up then moves to the bed with her pizza, a small smile on her lips. Maybe things were looking up after all.

Batman has posed:
    Snowflakes cling to the windows, living out their life briefly as the warmth from inside the Research and Development wing of Wayne Industries causes them to melt and turn to faint droplets that trickle down small rivulets over the glass, only to disappear below. Perhaps to become future icicles or perhaps to simply join the ice upon the ground under that window.
    It's the graveyard shift, and the mood in the break room is somber as three of the six security guards assigned to the R&D wing busy themselves with cigarettes and sodas, leaning upon the table with their voices lowered into a hushed back and forth.
    "You see this Christmas bonus?"
    "Yeah, buncha crap."
    "What're we s'posed to do, Merry Christmas, here's a candy bar?"
    "I know, fuck that."
    "Seriously, fuck it."
    "Well," The taller man at the table takes a drag and ashes out his cigarette, then looks sidelong towards the door. "I've been thinkin' about that."
    "What?" The more rotund of the three men quirks an eyebrow curiously, "You know same as I do they ain't doin' overtime. Especially when they shut down the advanced mechanics lab."

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    At that point the door opens to the break room, silencing the trio as they look sharply to see who is joining them. Mariam slips in the door wearing the drab gray security shirt tucked into a pair of black slacks. A pair of boots cover her feet, disappearing beneath the material of the slacks. It isn't the most stylish of attire, but it is what they are required to wear. Her sunglasses are in place and her expression gives away nothing.
    She isn't there for a break. They only allow three on break at a time. Instead she is ducking in to use the soda machine in the corner. She reaches into the pocket of her slacks as she crosses the distance, the rubbery soles on her shoes making no noise although she does scuff once sending a cringe-inducing squeak through the room. "Sorry," she murmurs softly as she reaches the machine and tries to feed in a dollar bill. It comes back out. She rubs it along the edge of the machine to flatten it then tries again. Accepted, she pushes the button for a bottle of water. It thuds to the bottom in the slot. Taking it out, she spins off the top and allows herself a deep draw of the cool liquid.

Batman has posed:
    A few quick words are murmured between the men, hushed and furtive. But then as Mariam gets her drink they sort of look up and over towards her. The tallest nudges one of the others in the arm then smirks a bit.
    "Hey, Mere." He says truncating her name to that first syllable. "You did some time, right?" The third man, a guy who's broken uniform tonight by wearing a Gotham Knights baseball cap backwards nudges the tall guy, Wilson. "C'mon, Wilson. You know it's not fair to give her shit about that stuff."
    Wilson turns back to that other, "It's okay man, just sayin'. She's got an angle on things like this." He looks back, "Like I was saying, Mere. If you had a shot at gettin' some of the loot from the machine wing, like say your cellmate told you or something, I bet you got a guy to fence it too, right?"
    The rotund guy pipes up though, "C'mon man, she didn't do that stuff. She was with the weird costume people and stuff." But then he nervously shoots a look across the way at her, "Not that there's anything wrong with that. I mean, they're pretty cool. Sometimes."

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    As soon as she hears the nickname, she is bristling. Her name is Mariam. Not Mere, Mare or any other weird connotations that her co-workers seem to love coming up with. When he broaches the conversation with her past, she is ready to just walk out of the room. Outwardly, nothing changes. Her expression remains blank, her sunglasses not allowing them to see her eyes and read her reaction. She looks from one to the next, eyes moving but nothing else. It doesn't allow them to realize who she is focused on which is always disconcerting. She likes it that way, especially when they are discussing things better left unsaid.
    "Yeah, I know some people who know some people. I wasn't always running with the costumed crowd," she says, sharing a bit more information with them. "It was whatever got the money in my pocket, y'know what I mean?" Probably more words than they have ever heard her string together at once.
    She walks closer to the table, the bottle of water in one hand, cap still in the other. "You got something going on?"

Batman has posed:
    Wilson looks at the other guys and sort of gets a wry grin. "Yeah, sorta."
    "Man screw this shit, you're crazy, Wil." The third man, Otis, an older employee who had been there longer than any of them, he gets to his feet. "I ain't saying shit, but you need to stop lookin' for the fast way to make a buck. That shit'll get you killed, man." And that said, Otis gets to his feet, downs his diet soda, and then tosses the can into the garbage. Turning away and heading towards the door.
    "Ehn, fine, more for me." He looks over at the round fella and tilts his head, "You in, Cotes?" He lifts his cigarette and gestures towards Mariam, "Lady's got the fence, got a ton of equipment that's going to be demolished. Nobody'll know it's gone."
    But Cotes, he frowns and wipes a beadlet of sweat from his brow, even as he looks over at Wilson, then back to Mariam. "I... I don't think so Wilson. I mean, just... I've been trying to stay clean, and keep my nose out of things. If I got a lot of money I might... it's just bad, Wil."
    But then, perhaps surprisingly to Mariam, Cotes turns to her. "And Mariam," This is the first time he's managed to look her in the eye, but quickly looks down. "You're a fine lady and you don't have to do this stuff. You could find a guy that'll... that'll treat you right. You know." He looks over at Wilson, then back to her. "You just don't need it. Is all."
    But then he's up and throwing his own cheese and crackers snack into the bin, leaving her alone there with Wilson.

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    As each of the men makes their statements, Mariam puts the cap on her water as she waits. Her arms cross, closing her off from them further. Only they aren't bright enough to notice that body language is toward Wilson as she is centered on him when she does it. Otis is given a nod as he departs as is Coates although she bristles again at the idea she might need someone in her life. It's complicated enough without romance.
    When they are alone, she tilts her head so that Wilson knows he has her full attention. "You want to steal equipment, obsolete or no, from the company we work for and fence it?" she says outloud as though she is weighing the idea. A dark frown mars her expression as she leans forward. Her hands go flat on the table in front of him as she glares. Not that he can see it. He should be able to tell from her posture alone. "This is a good company. They are giving people like me a chance to do good. I've worked my way up from a roach infested hole in the wall to a little apartment thanks to this place. And you would betray them for a few dollars in your pocket that you would probably waste in a week." She shakes her head as she pushes off from the table. "You disgust me, Wilson. I will be reporting you immediately. I'm sure Otis and Coates will back up my statements."
    She turns and heads for the door, pace unhurried.

Batman has posed:
    Anger lights in Wilson's eyes as he pushes his hands upon the tabletop and rises to his feet, looking as menacing as he can considering the seven or eight inches he has on her when he stands up. Gesturing sharply to the side with his cigarette he snarls, "Oh that's rich, like they're gonna believe an ex-con with bad decisions written all over her face. Otis won't roll, unlike you he ain't a snitch."
    Then there's a smirk on his lips, "And as for Cotes, sure he might be sweet on ya, but fuck sake that junkie doesn't know shit and they won't believe him. Especially considering he's so damn stupid, he can't even pick up that you don't play on his team."
    The cigarette is almost dismissively flicked at her, "So go ahead, fuckin' tell whomever you want. Just careful on your way out the door tonight, O'Shea. Parkin' lot is dark at quittin' time." He steps forwards to loom over her, his jaw clenching. "So do what you think you gotta, but make sure you don't make a mistake."
    He squints, "A big fuckin' mistake."

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    As she hears that chair shifting, Mariam stops and turns to face the table. She watches as he rises to his full height, trying to loom over her. He does it well due to their height difference but that doesn't matter. She waits, hands held loosely at her sides as he speaks, insults washing away like water off a duck's back. She's heard it all before, particularly while she was in prison. Nothing he says is new or even the tiniest bit amusing.
    The cigarette bounces off her arm to the floor but she pays it no mind. She remains fully focused on him, letting her body relax and tapping into that meditative spot where she is able to best focus. When he stops right in front of her, she is forced to tilt her head upwards to see his face.
    Her first instinct she must ignore. It's to take him down. Hard. Fast. Leave him whimpering on the floor as she walks away. It would put her as the instigator though so she has to wait, not allow him that.
    Her second instinct is what she goes with. Her lips twist up in a knowing smirk as she stares up at him with just as much menace as he is exhibiting. "You never turn on your boss unless they've betrayed you. It's a simple rule for my kind. You're not smart enough to have figured it out," she says. "I've taken out men who are bigger and frankly better than you. Don't test me. You /will/ lose." Her tone is soft, no raised voice, no hissing annoyance. Just as cold as the bottle of water she still holds in her hand. "Now get the fuck out of my way or do I have to move you?"

Batman has posed:
    To be fair, he moves first. Can't really change that, he backs down enough to step to the side and let her go on her way even as he scowls and steps away. It gives her an open path towards the door that lets her make her departure. And even as she gets to the door and makes her way outside, he doesn't follow up with any last words. She gets the freedom to depart and head on back out onto the floor to make her rounds.
    And for now that's the end of it until she gets a chance to make her report. She'll have to finish up the shift and then gather herself to get her statement together, figure out how to pitch it to the supervisor. That Ms. Goodall is a tough nut to crack, and likely won't take this lightly at all.
    But then, an hour before the shift is over... she'll hear her named called on the intercom. "O'Shea, report to my office, please. O'Shea to my office."
    Now that bodes ill. So much so that she might have a bad feeling growing as she heads to that office. A feeling that is proven true when she enters Supervisor Goodall's office only to see Wilson there. And he's smirking.

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    Mariam steps into the room without hesitating, which makes her proud of herself. A smooth motion as she shuts the door behind her, giving those extra seconds to get herself composed from the shock. Being called to the supervisor's office was bad enough. Wilson smirking and looking so pleased with himself was worse.
    She has the feeling she knows what is about to happen. Steeling herself, she turns back to walk over in front of the desk the supervisor is sitting behind. She doesn't even look toward Wilson. She won't give him the satisfaction.
    He's going to say she was the one with the idea. In truth, he's right. Otis won't say a thing. He's close enough to retirement and he won't rock the boat. Coates might although they would claim it was just cause of the crush he has on her. Not that she's ever encouraged it but the argument could be made and he might be considered biased. Which makes it a question of who is more believable.
    She's the ex-con. It doesn't take a genius to see the writing on the wall.
    "Yes, ma'am? You wanted to see me?" Her tone is neutral and she's proud that there is no tremor to it showing her discomfort.

Batman has posed:
    Supervisor Goodall smiles a bit, a little apologetic as she looks across her desk towards Mariam. Her desk is covered in paperwork, though there are a few nods towards her family. A picture of her sons, her boyfriend. Usually though, from day to day, she's a hard ass and takes no sass from anyone. So it might be a bit strange to see her smiling. She gestures with a hand towards Wilson and says, "I don't think you've met Brian Jensen, team lead for corporate security."
    "Pleasure, Ms. O'Shea." The tall man leans forwards and offers his hand towards her, "Sorry about the stress levels of late. All for a good cause I hope." His language and accent has definitely cleared up, but he definitely seems more at ease. "Sorry to push so hard at that last there, thought you might clock me."
    But then Ms. Goodall smirks and waves him back towards a chair and then motions for Mariam to take one herself. "Honestly, she should have. Above and beyond, Jensen. Above and beyond."
    "Hey, I gotta be me."
    But then she looks over at Mariam and says, "So, I imagine you have some questions."

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    There is a slight furrowing of her brow showing her confusion. Mariam looks from one to the other, behind the safety of her sunglasses. The conversation is followed. The words all make sense. They are even in a language she understands. Yet she is still lost as she tries to understand what just happened here.
    "Huh?"
    That's good, impress them with her ability to communicate there. She swallows and tries again as he turns her head to look at Wilson. No, not Wilson. Brian Jensen, team lead for corporate security. Which means he is one of the good guys. So why would he be wanting to steal.
    It all clicks into place and her expression relaxes even as she tries to figure out why this was done. " 'Whomever.' I thought that was off but at the time, I was more worried about if I was going to have to hurt you," she admits. She takes the offered seat but remains perched on the edge, showing her anxiety with that posture. "Was this some sort of test? To see if I would turn on the company?" she asks, getting right to the point.

Batman has posed:
    "See, she's quick." Back to her, Jensen nods. "Yeah, I slipped up there. Shoulda noticed." He spreads his hands towards her, "Sorta. There've been some opportunities around you over the last half year or so, chances for things to go south. You usually handled it decently. Made noise when you should. Didn't ignore things. But you also showed strong awareness about your people and the people around you."
    Goodall looks over at him and they shrug towards each other, but then he looks back. "Basically, we're always on the look out for possible candidates for our corporate security team. We handle things above the pay grade of the good folks taking the night shifts in the factories and all. Decently vetted people, or people who come with recommendations."
    Goodall then interrupts. "What he's saying is, if you're willing, there's a spot for you in the training program. If that goes well then it'd mean a promotion, more responsibilities though. But a better career path."

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    She's felt this way before, sitting in front of the parole board. They were discussing a chance. Hope. The possibility for more and better. Mariam doesn't just leap at the chance though. She weighs the decision carefully.
    They were testing her. It's a pro and a con. The pro is they felt she was worth the effort. The con is that, well, she is one. Which is a good reason for them to suspect. The times she has brought attention in the past to things that would damage the company she worked for had seemed miniscule but the right thing to do. Now they were paying off by this experience and her choosing not to go back to her old life.
    She had a chance to promote in the company. To get a raise. More responsibility didn't bother her. She felt she was spinning her wheels at her current level anyway. She had seen some members of the corporate security team from time to time and they seemed so far above her paygrade. They also carried themselves like they knew what they were doing, more on par with the skills she had learned but just used in practice alone in her apartment now.
    A chance to grow with the company that has given her so much since her release. She's been paying her dues. It's going to pay off. If she can get through the training program.
    This is all gone through in seconds. Her answer is four words.
    "When do I start?"

Batman has posed:
    It was two years later, the week after New Year's when the city is still somewhat at ease considering the end of the holidays just passed. It was as if a collective sigh was let free by the city itself, having gotten past the maddening chaos of being held hostage to the whims of a mad man who thought to use the holiday as a fine laugh and an excuse to take what lives he could.
    One of the men that had been destined for the graveyard was Walter Raines, Chief Operating Officer of Wayne Research and Technologies. It was during the Christmas party that it happened, a group of six men had snuck through the metal detectors, gotten into the party as waiters. They knew the security details would not have any guns and that with the party taking place in one of the tallest skyscrapers in the city that the number of security personnel would be thin on the ground. So when they had brandished their ceramic knives and all had rushed the man...
    They only had one bodyguard to stand in their way. It seemed almost as if it would have been too easy. But then most of those men were in a hospital across town. That lone bodyguard, she was laid up here in the hospital room, the sensors beeping faintly to allow her to rest as best as possible, though her recovery was going well...
    If only it wasn't for all the horrible boredom.

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    Click. Click. Click.
    The switching of the channels on the television were in time to the beeps from the monitor hooked to Mariam's arm. As soon as she realized she was doing it, she made sure to alternate the clicks to between the beeps. More entertaining that way.
    She shouldn't have dodged that inch to the left. If she hadn't, she'd not be suffering now and instead would be off to whatever comes after shedding this mortal coil. Instead, she had dodged and the knife blade and sunk deep into her back instead of into her kidney.
    A satisfied smirk touches her lips as she thinks of breaking his arm. Not that she enjoys such things, it's just the job. He simply had deserved that for stabbing her.
    The lights are completely off in the room, only those from the monitors keeping track of her vital signs and the glow of the television giving illumination. It allowed her to keep her glasses on the rolling bedside table instead of on her face. At least she had a private room so she wasn't hearing double beeps from the bed next door. Or listening to them droning on about whatever was wrong with them. Worse, having their family visit and feeling like an eavesdropper hearing how cousin Larry as going out with a girl half his age. Again.
    Click. Click.
    Suddenly she stopped as he came across a Bruce Lee movie. She pushed the volume to turn it up then set the remote down on the sheets beside her as she tried to lose herself, even though it was one she'd seen about a hundred times already.

Batman has posed:
    'WAASHAAAA!' comes from the television screen, even as Bruce backhands a guy in the face who had been sneaking up on him. He gets ready to take on all comers, starting to punch in time with their charge. A few make it in on him only to get smacked as one wildly takes a swing with a nunchaku... only to have it taken from him by Bruce who holds it in front of him as if it were a holy relic.
    They done messed up now.
    But even as the movie plays out, she might hear the sound of footsteps down the hallway. Probably a nurse on her rounds or a doctor making stepping past on his way to one of the exam rooms on the same floor. But it might surprise her to hear her door opening with a faint click. Then a stooped over man in his sixties steps in, short and squat with a huge bald spot and a wild mustache, he looked staggeringly like some guy who should be dispatching taxis back in the seventies. But she assuredly recognized him as something else entirely, as her current supervisor Willie DeFontaine for Executive Protection, Gotham City Division.
    He walked into her room, a bouquet of gift store bought mixed flowers in his hand, looking all over the place. "So this is the place they got you locked up? Not bad, not bad. Bigger than the apartment I had outta college."

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    Hearing the door, she automatically reaches down and picks up the remote. It takes Mariam a moment to find the mute button but she manages, setting the tethered thing back into place beside her. "Locked up is the proper term," she mutters half under her breath. The pitcher on her table is lifted and she pulls off the lid, turning it into a makeshift vase that can be used for the flowers.
    She's a bit uncomfortable, and not because she's in a hospital gown in front of her boss. Why in the world is he here. She isn't the social type. She doesn't really have friends at work. It's why she's here going stir crazy with nothing to do. While she has spoken to her boss officially, this is not the sort of circumstance she would expect to see him.
    Propriety. That explains it. She was hurt in the line of duty so they have to put on a good face and send someone to check up on her. A flunky would've been fine. Instead, she gets the boss. Maybe there's press outside and it makes for a better show.
    "You can put them here," she says, offering the pitcher. "How can I help you, sir?"

Batman has posed:
    "What, I gotta have some reason other than wanting to see how the worst troublemaker on my team is doing? You know how much paperwork I had to do?" Willie walks around her bed to grab the pitcher from her and to deposit those flowers in it with little to no ceremony, a small sploop sounding from the water as he sets the container down upon the table near her bed.
    "Oh boo hoo you almost became a cripple because you were too slow to get out of the way of a guy and his knife. Last time I checked we didn't reward mediocre. Yet here I am."
    That said he smirks a bit towards her and then pulls up a chair, hopping into it and sitting up straighter so he can look at her eye to eye. "How are you doin', kid?" He frowns a little, looks her over, but then looks back up into her eyes, "People were worried. Heck I was worried. Just for a second though, then the Knicks game came on."

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    "As long as it was only a second," Mariam says with a hint of a smirk. She doesn't want to be amused but she can't help it. He's disarming. Her defenses crumple under his humor. More, because of that instant where he gave a damn. That's scary. It's not what she's used to. It lets her know that she's seen, appreciated. Such a little thing that means so much. "Wouldn't want to interfere too much with the bleeding out thing."
    She shifts the sheets, pulling them a little higher up her torso to hide the ugly green gown. She misses her clothes. There's no one to go to her apartment and get them for her so she's stuck in the hospital attire. It sucks. Especially when she has to go to the bathroom and the breeze hits.
    She doesn't answer the question about how she's doing. To her, that's pretty obvious. She's alive. She's in a hospital bed. She's considering jumping out the window to alleviate the boredom. Instead she asks, "How's Mr Raines? I figure he's pretty shaken up after all this." He was unharmed physically but there likely will be emotional scars. Then something the boss said sinks in as she tilts her head to him, pale eyes locking on his own. "Don't reward mediocre. First, there /were/ six of them. And I had no weapon. Second, what do you mean 'yet here you are'?"

Batman has posed:
    "Oh you can count now!" Willie responds, eyes widening incredulous, "Look at the big brain on O'Shea here. Maybe if you counted earlier on when they were rushin' you, you woulda beat feet with your charge and saved yourself gettin' ventilated." But he can't hide the small smile as he is unable to carry off the hard ass thing for much longer and instead he says. "But really, you did good, kid."
    A hand lifts up as he gestures next to his head as if waving her off, "Heck, almost reminded me of me in my prime. I mean I was prettier, for one. But still, a close approximation." He leans forwards, hands interlacing as he looks at her, "But just wanted to say thanks. You did the right thing. People notice these things and..."
    A grunt comes from him as he cuts himself off, "Anyways, you're off. Take some time, get better, job'll be here for you when you get back. And this ain't code for act like you're fine, then secretly bust your ass to get back on the job just because you're afraid of being left alone to your own devices and all that crap. Seriously..."
    He points at her, "Take some time off. I see you back in the office in the next month or so I'm liable to forget what a gentleman I am and beat your ass."

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    There's no stopping the laughter. A bright smile is on her face as she shakes her head at him. "I'd like to see you try, old man." The world must be coming to an end for her to be teasing back. Maybe it's the pain meds. That must be it.
    The compliment is shrugged off. It's not something she knows how to accept gracefully. Instead, it just makes her uncomfortable. She was doing her job. No more, no less. It's what they paid her good money to do. While she appreciates the praise, dealing with it in any way other than embarrassment is lost upon her. She drops her gaze to the sheet, fussing with it few moments. An imaginary wrinkle is wiped smooth.
    He called her on it too. She would try to go back to work too soon. It's what keeps her going, keeps her focused. Her mind doesn't wander. She isn't tempted by her past anymore. That's far behind. But boredom is a mind killer. So she works out, trains, and spends entirely too many hours on the clock. She volunteers to take shifts for others, covering for their vacations or just if they need a few hours. To not be in the office for a month? She's not sure she can handle it but she is going to be forced.
    "If you insist on the time off, I will. I could still work shifts inside, take some of the monitor duty from the inside security guys," she says hopefully.

Batman has posed:
    Looking at her as if she were completely insane, Willie spreads his hands out, "The fuck did I just say?" But then he ahems, and tells himself. "Language." He pushes both hands at her, as if forcibly threatening to keep her in that bed. "No. You got a month and then some off. I want you to come back and for me to be like, 'What? O'Shea who?'"
    A deep sigh is given and he shakes his head, "But anyways. I gotta go. I stay here too long some of your greenhorn noobness might rub off on me and I have a reputation to maintain." Despite the fact she's been working with him for a few years now.
    He hops off his chair and starts to walk towards the door. "Take it easy, O'Shea. Rest, get better. Come back your same miserable self. Alright? Alright."
    And with that said he shuffles towards the door.

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    Mariam lets out a resigned sigh as he heads for the door. It had been worth a try. She'd be sitting on her ass doing nothing yet still he's insistent. That window is looking better and better as the idea of six weeks recovery before the puncture wound is fully healed stretch out before her.
    As he reaches the door, she does call out softly. "Sir? Thanks."
    That's it. She doesn't elaborate, she doesn't get sappy. She's touched by his visit and his words. There was something else there for a moment. Outside of the comradery and teasing. He had been about to say something. Things like this were noticed. What did he mean by that?
    She picks up the remote, choosing not to think about in as she pushes the mute button to return the blaring noise of the martial arts movie into the room as she settles further back on her pillows.