4055/Sneaky

Sneaky
Date of Scene:	13 March 2018
Location:	Wayne Manor, Gotham City
Synopsis:	Mariam finds an injured Bruce Wayne. Secrets are close to being discerned.
Cast of Characters:	Mariam O'Shea, Batman, Alfred Pennyworth

---

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    Early morning in the Wayne Manor is one of the best times of the day. There is rarely anyone about other than Alfred. The rest of the family seem to keep the same hours as their erstwhile benefactor. If she sees them before noon, it's always a shock to Mariam. It must be nice being that rich. One of the best parts about living in the manor though was the coffee. She'd never been one to like the stuff. Yet, the imported high priced goodies they kept stowed away in the pantry, she had allowed it to become a part of her morning routine. With the plain white coffee cup in hand, she heads toward the private gym.
    This is her routine now. Get up, shower and dress in her workout clothes. Then to the kitchen to brew a single cup of coffee, her personal naughtiness since it really wasn't good for her body. She would take the cup with her and go to the gym. The cup would be almost empty when she put it on the bench and headed out onto the mat, stretching before she began her morning katas.
    Today was the same as she entered the gym with it's antique equipment, the morning light coming through the high windows. She walked to the bench and set down her coffee cup then moved out to the mats. A bow to an imaginary master before she set foot on the surface. Then she began her stretches.

Batman has posed:
    It's during this time of the day that the place is often most akin to its Gothic counterparts, the long empty halls, the quiet rooms, only the faint sound of the ancient foundation settling would be there to accompany her. But at this point she's most likely gotten used to the steady tedium of her duties. Usually at some point in the afternoon the Wayne household awaken and putter around. Food is acquired but meals are rarely shared.
    Mr. Wayne would at times go over his itinerary with her and they'd coordinate their efforts for when she'd be able to provide him cover. The day would progress, sometimes with business, sometimes with pleasure. There were meetings shared, times where he'd show his face to the crowds. Then, often they'd retire back to the manor where he'd spend some time to himself. Or, as was more common, he'd go out for some social situation that she'd accompany him on. Though at times he would tell her that he'd need a measure of privacy. And with the give and take they had worked out... it had worked for both of them. She had done her job, and he had remained unkilled. Success.
    But this morning as she had proceeded with her work out, there was a certain palpable tension in the air. Something that had remained taut and held whip-like in potential. Dragon had taught her to if not be fully aware of such things, to at least trust her feelings... and something was out of kilter.
    Perhaps it was the silence even from the kitchen with Alfred not working on matters in this moment for some reason. Perhaps it was the absence of noise from the other wings that normally housed the youths of the family. Or perhaps, when she would emerge into that hallway again, it would be the two. But only two droplets of blood that had fallen upon the dark wooden floor of the hallway. Barely visible against the hard wooden finish, but catching the light of the sun in that one moment, glistening. And leading to the door that was ajar, one of the guest bedrooms?

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    With a towel around her neck and empty coffee cup in hand, Mariam emerged from the gym well before her usual time. The coffee hadn't gotten completely cold, more a lukewarm that was still sippable despite the temperature being less than optimal. Something was off. Her workout felt shadowed, which was the only way she could describe it. She knew to trust her instincts and she opted to cut her workout short after the first kata. Unheard of for the woman who was all about her routine and control, since her work was often the exact opposite.
    Stepping into the hallway, she took a step and stopped as her eyes caught a glimpse of something on the floor. Any other place, it might not have caught her eye but in this place, where Alfred practiced a type of warfare on anything out of place, a few drops of liquid on the floor were something worthy of note.
    Absently she set her coffee cup on a nearby table in hallway and squatted, worried she might have spilled a few drops of the java on her way through. But no. A touch with her fingers showed it was blood, still rather fresh but it had been there for a little bit. She frowned. It had to have been from this morning.
    Glancing up, she spotted that the door was just slightly off from being fully closed. Immediately she was on her feet, concern for the people of the house in her mind but that bit of suspicion there due to her very nature. Cautiously she walked to the door, placing a hand on it and pushing it open to see what was inside. She kept her body to the side of the door, ready to duck back to cover.

Batman has posed:
    The door was silent as it opened, a testament to the efforts of the butler to maintain the homestead. It opened onto a room that was lit only by the shaded tall window that allowed small slivers of the sunrise to slip inside. But it was enough along with the faint glow of another light source from across the way. Each guest room was decorated well, in the art deco theme of the entire manor, but no one is the same. This one particular room seemed to have elements of horses, racing, great steeds in competition depicted on several paintings as well as two pieces of sculpture. But it was behind the door that led to the bathroom that she'd see the light underneath it, even as the door was ajar just enough...
    To see Bruce Wayne looking at himself in the mirror, his hands upon the marble basin as his blue eyes seem to blaze as he stares into his own. There is such intensity there, such almost animal-like focus that if it were leveled upon another person it might well make them quail at the sight. But what might draw her eye all the more, would be that gleam of crimson.
    She'd see it along the curve of his bare muscular back. The line and contours of his torso marred with a criss-cross latticework of scar tissue and ancient injuries that seem to speak entirely to a life spent as something other than a pampered billionaire. The injury is just down near his waist. An open wound that looks as if it had been tended to roughly by a field medic, an exit wound of a pistol most likely. Several plastic staples having been applied roughly, quickly perhaps. And two of them have split apart, tearing the flesh. Perhaps unnoticed as the blood clearly spattered the grey sweat pants he wears and nothing else for the moment.

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    As the door opens, Mariam quickly scans the room and her eye goes to that bathroom door. She steps in from the hallway, footsteps silent as her feet are bare and there will not be a creaky floorboard in the domain of Alfred Pennyworth. She takes two steps into the room while scanning the view before her.
    Gunshot. She's seen enough of them to recognize it for what it is. Exit wound by the size and shape, despite the attempt at repair by someone. Obviously not a medical professional with the state it was in. Unless he had done it himself, trying to reach behind his own body to do it. But that made no sense. Bruce Wayne could afford the best in medical care.
    "What the hell?!" she calls out. "I let you go off on your own and you get yourself shot?!"
    The angry words are out before she can stop them as she closes that distance between them, apparently intent on slamming open that bathroom door and getting a good look at him. Her mind is spinning. She didn't do her job. She let him have his space, trusting him, and he managed to get hurt. Almost killed! A gunshot wound was nothing to play with. And why wasn't he at a hospital? Come to think of it, what were all those other scars on his flesh? Gunshots, knife wound. Old but they were there. Why would Bruce Wayne be so battered? It made sense for a soldier but not for a billionaire playboy. Even as her mind tried to process what she was seeing and make sense out of it, she was still speaking. It was like she couldn't stop herself. "Why didn't you call me? Mr. Wayne, we need to get you to a hospital immediately. Is whoever did this in jail? Did the police already fill out a report? How did you get home?"

Batman has posed:
    The man's reaction is something else entirely than the man she is used to. He turns smoothly, though his features are a touch paler than normal. The look in his eyes, the height of him, the way he takes up almost the entirety of that small bathroom doorway makes him seem like some sort of grim spectre with the dim light and the one source behind him blocked by the mass of his body. He faces her, eyes holding hers and a hand lifts to hold her off from moving closer.
    No words come from him in answer. Not yet at least. He looks aside towards the door, to her, to the path she stepped. He notes her garb and manner, and she can see each thing being ticked off mentally. The result? He scowls at himself. Scowls at the carelessness of the situation. Of the small possibility of their times overlapping and the location in this moment. The unlikeliness of it and the fact that fate. Fate always takes a hand.
    But there is no use taking exception with that. The present must be dealt with. And when he finally answers her, it's in a severe voice that she isn't used to hearing. Save for perhaps some hint of it some time ago, when she thought her freedom was forever going to be taken from her. Not as modulated for some reason, but the steel in the tone is there. "There's still work to do."
    And that's her answer. At least for now.

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    Mariam comes up short. Not because of the hand but there is something in his manner, the way he is holding himself, the expression on his face and in his blue eyes. This isn't the man she knows. Certainly he is far from the playboy he portays but this even exceeds the half version she had met, the one that had let her in on his secret. She knew he put on a facade for the world at large, that he was actually a very shrewd businessman. But this was something new.
    She stops about fifteen feet away, watching as he tracked his gaze to the door then back to her. The scowl literally made her take a step backwards. It was the strangest thing since she was never intimidated by anyone.
    Well, one someone had that power over her.
    Then he spoke and there was something niggling at the back of her mind. Familiar. The timbre, the tone. It wasn't clicking but her brow furrowed as she concetrated, perhaps letting him see she was trying to figure it out. Her sunglasses hid her eyes so he couldn't see it there but her expression was a giveaway.
    The words make even less sense than the image he is presenting. Despite her tepidation, she swallows and presses on verbally though not physically. "Work? I think whatever sort of 'business' you were dealing with last night will wait for a visit to the hospital. I'll get Alfred. He can call someone here if you are going to be stubborn," she says, looking to the front of the gunshot wound. It is in better shape than the back, easier for him to see when he doctored it. She has no doubt now he did it himself. "Your stitches in the back are already tearing." His response may let her know if she is off the mark. "And why do you look like you've been in a warzone? Multiple times?" She looks to his face again and her next words might be the worst yet. "Why does your voice sound familiar? Not like your normal one but there is something..."

Batman has posed:
    The response is sharp, severe, as he takes up a towel from its place in the bathroom and wraps it partially around himself even as he strides forth. "Go back to your room, O'Shea." The way he says that, it might almost make one think he'd throw her there physically, but with his pallor and that wound it's doubtful he'd be throwing anyone anywhere unless he had to.
    He steps past her and she can catch the tang of leather and blood, the crass scent of gunpowder. It's out into the hallway that he moves. His features dark and the frown stern, he says over his shoulder towards her. "We'll talk later. Right now I don't have time." But he shakes his head. He's angry alright, but more angry at himself. Attempting to avoid the condemnation and attention of others... he only gained the attention of another. And what to tell her? He stops in the hall, rounding on her.
    "My life, Ms. O'Shea, is complicated." There's a touch of the Bruce she knows, even though his voice is still sharp. "I have to find Tony Stark and speak to him. I can't take the time to go to the hospital or deal with..." He seems about to say something else, then adds. "Do you understand?"

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    The world is spiraling out of control so Mariam does the one thing she can. She focuses on the immediate. She ignores the tone, the way he reminds her of someone by calling her O'Shea, something he does not do normally. Only one person has called her that before, in that tone of voice. Her heart is starting to beat faster as she tries to ignore that thought.
    No good can come of it.
    "No. I don't." Her own words are clipped, hard, showing her anger even as her face falls into neutrality. She won't let him see it at least. "But I will respect your wishes. However, you will go to your room and rest. You can call him from there or I will call him for you, if you wish. Passing out from bloodloss because you are pushing yourself isn't going to help matters. You are already as pale as me. Not a good sign."

Batman has posed:
    "You're not in any position to make demands." And perhaps he is a man that is used to being followed, to being listened to. Because as he says that he stalks away from her, moving down the hallway and past that gym that she had emerged from. His stride is even and steady, though controlled. Perhaps in some way he figures that was the end of the conversation, because as he moves he seems to offer no further inroads into addressing him.
    He takes a corner and starts to move towards the library, footsteps even and growing precise as he seems to force himself into shape through just the force of his own will. If she's going to pursue him, she'll have to rush to catch up, and even if she does so she'll just be in time to see him opening the door into the library.

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    He's right of course. She can't really force him to do anything. While he isn't able to fire her outright without the approval of the company, he is still her boss in most ways. It's a strange situation to be in.
    Despite his being stubborn about it, he needs medical attention. She does follow, trailing behind. She is at the turn in the hallway when he reaches the door to the library. At that point, she heads away from him even though everything in her screams not to leave him alone for long. He could pass out on the floor at any moment. She just has to get to her phone, which she had left in the guest room she used.
    As soon as he was out of sight, she was running to her room and swinging the door wide. Then she picked up the phone and was back out, running toward the library. She pushed the contact for Alfred and hit the button even as she reached for the library door.

Batman has posed:
    When she gains her phone and rushes back the distance from the one to the other... and who had to make the halls so damnably long? She gets the door open to the large library and steps inside and...
    He's nowhere to be found. Assuredly she'll look up and down the stacks, walking across the room towards the other end and scanning the second floor for his presence. Even should she ascend and look around at the small quiet reading areas... not a sign of him at all. Just silence there in that library, the old grandfather clock ticking away.

Alfred Pennyworth has posed:
     "Hello" Alfred's voice chimes out on the other end. There's a sizeable pause before the same voice adds. "You've reached the personal cellular telephone of Alfred Pennyworth." He pauses again. "I'm afraid I'm indisposed at the moment or else I would have picked up the phone by the third ring, please leave a message with your name and telephone number and I'll respond as soon as I can." A third pause. "Please wait for the beeping sound, before recording your message and enjoy the rest of your day."

     Meanwhile far beneath the building, waiting at the bottom of the elevator of the Batcave is a single individual with a stern look on his face tapping his shoe against the hard ground. He's waiting and watching the lights slowly descend from on high, as his phone rings away in his pocket for a few moments deciding if he wants to answer.

Batman has posed:
    The elevator light glides slowly down the long shaft, illuminating parts of the Batcave as it descends until it settles down at the bottom of the shaft, the twin doors sliding open and revealing the man within. Who, to be fair, is not at the moment obviously incapacitated or even out of breath. His pallor is perhaps lighter than normal, and he is wearing grey sweats as well as a towel wrapped around his waist. His brow is furrowed darkly, however, even as he espies Alfred there waiting for him with such a stern look.
    Bruce's eyes meet the other man's and he gives a short sharp nod as he offers a single word. "Alfred." And that's it, no explanation, nothing further revealing anything at all. Instead he's stepping away from the ready area and the armory, he starts to walk across the metal gantry towards the training area and the medical bay with an even stride.

Alfred Pennyworth has posed:
     "So, what reason should I give your personal guard this time?" Alfred asks following right behind Bruce at quite the clip as he keeps his arms folded right at chest level. "Skiing-skeetshooting accident?" He pauses. "Perhaps you were out hunting with a senator who mistook you for a deer?" He continues to rattle off calm and collectedly. "Or we could say you were out gallivanting in your pajama's and managed to catch a stray bullet.... but no one would ever believe that."

     As they walk along Alfred is already getting out his medical gloves, every intention of checking over the wound and hiding it the best that he can as to avoid potential complications down the line. "I believe the combination skiing skeet shooting is the best course of action for us in this situation."

Batman has posed:
    Over his shoulder, Bruce says a little peevishly, a tone he usually only allows himself to take with the man who took over for his father. "I don't have time to deal with this Alfred, I need to find Tony Stark." He reaches the medical bay and doesn't seem to pause to make himself accessible to Alfred's ministrations. He instead tosses the towel aside, that weeping exit wound definitely needing tending to but unlikely to get anything in depth right now.
    What he does do, however, is pulls open the sealed medicine bay, the container whispering open with the expulsion of compressed air. He grabs from within a plastic wrapped medical staple gun and turns to the side to look at the wound in the mirror there, frowning at the reflection.
    A glance is given to Alfred, but he shakes his head and tries to reach around his torso while squeezing the injury closed, attempting to find the right angle for the staple. "She's not an idiot. Stall her. Get her to stay in her quarters for now. Tell her that my family has a history of fending off aggressive attempts." Which, is in part, the truth.

Alfred Pennyworth has posed:
     "Bruce Thomas Wayne." Alfred states loudly and firmly in a booming voice as he walks right beside the more muscular and well taken care of man. "You are going to sit yourself down on that medical table right this instant and you are going to let me provide medical aid without any further complaints." He stomps his foot down on the ground echoing it out far across the batcave as he places a hand on Bruce's shoulder.

     "There is always time to make sure you don't bleed to death on my freshly polished floor, and you are going to MAKE said time." He doesn't even allow a pause for the owner of the house to speak up. "You'll have time to go off gallivanting with the other billionaire superheroes AFTER your medical exam and not a single moment sooner." Taking on a strong and firm tone of voice reserved for very specific situations. "Do I make myself absolutely crystal clear?"

Batman has posed:
    The man who would be Bat frowns and eyes Alfred sidelong, he shakes his head. "There's no time, Alfred. Stockton Technologies were attempting to use a cobbled together ARC reactor to.." He frowns and stops explaining as he looks to the man. Then his lip twists faintly and he gauges the time display on the Batcomputer terminal.
    Shaking his head he turns back, "I'll meet you half way. Stitch me up, but I /have/ to go." And as he says that last he tosses the staple gun to Alfred, letting him do the honors should he so wish and turning his side towards the older man. He leans forwards against the table, hands resting on the surface even as he looks towards the data display in front of him.
    "I'll..." He shakes his head as some of the tension slips from him, "I'll figure out what to do about O'Shea when I get back."

Alfred Pennyworth has posed:
     Alfred quietly gets to work patching up Bruce. It's something he's already had to do countless times. Luckally they've got everything they need to get the job done right here in the batcave. He has Bruce put his finger in one of those oxyblood detectors that tests the blood pressure, o2 level in blood, heart rate and all that good stuff just to make good and sure that the man is stable enough to actually go out and about. Then he goes through the process of shutting the wound nice and tight.

     "Obviously we just fake your death, you act as Batman full time, and she'll no longer be a problem." He pauses as he finishes stapling the man back together. "Then she leaves thinking she's failed you as a bodyguard, and you get to live with your true passion:" He pauses once more. "Pummeling people who break the law in the face until they stop moving."

     The actual process takes some time to complete. Likely a good deal longer then Bruce would have liked, but Alfred is nothing if not through in his inspection to make sure the man he'd practically adopted will make it through the day in one piece. When all's said and done he'll finally contact Mariam and assure her that everything is fine, and share the thrilling story of Bruce's Skiing-skeet-shooting accident.

Batman has posed:
    "Oh obviously, I don't know why I was worried." Bruce says as he shakes his head once he's given the all clear. This, however, was exactly what he had been hoping to avoid. But once it's settled he'll smile a smile of thanks to the man then heads back towards the armory, pushing open the secondary display for an older model of the batsuit. He'll take some time to rearm and reequip, then he tells the Alfred. "I'll talk with her tonight."
    And for now that should settle it. Unless, of course, Mariam rushes off to the press. She wouldn't do that, right?