Nike Crawford-Marine (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nottheshoe) wrote2012-07-16 09:44 pm
nottheshoe) wrote2012-07-16 09:44 pm
for ka0s~
He never really knew when she was going to be around, her schedule, if possible, was more sporadic than Bruce’s. It wasn’t that she was just in and out at odd hours of the night—it’s that she had a tendency of completely disappearing for days at a time. Eventually she’d come back, check in, get a report on how Bruce was doing, she hardly ever spent the night. He knew it was something about that… magic he heard her speaking of with Bruce before.
Magic, he could hardly believe his ears when it first came up. Like some sort of tale his mother had told him when he was a small child.
Then he saw her one night. He had walked in on her mumbling to her cat—which he considered an oddity in of itself, but that was another gripe he had which he chose not to voice—and then he realized her arm was cut. Nothing life threatening, but it was bleeding. Before he could manage to offer his assistance she made a sort of odd exasperated huffing noise (one he noted that she shared in common with Bruce) and held her hand on top of the wound. An odd blue glow seemed to encase the entire area for a moment, and when her hand moved away, the injury was completely healed.
She must have heard him at this point, because she looked up, straight at him, and before he could get a word out edgewise—
“Sorry!” Her response was quick, almost tripped over, “I didn’t mean for you—I didn’t want—“
She looked… flustered, embarrassed almost. It’s at this point he realized she probably wasn’t all that comfortable using her magic in front of—well, normal people. And he also realized that the look he was giving her at this moment probably wasn’t helping. He took a second to compose himself and stopped her mid-babble.
“It’s quite alright, Miss Nike.” After all, if he could get used to Bruce dressing up as a bat and beating people up every night, what was a bit of magic?
She was quiet, secretive even, but he felt she meant no harm.
Even despite tripping over her bloody cat (whom he found out could: talk, read her mind, and transform into a snow leopard…. It was a trying couple of weeks for Alfred) several times, her scaring the living daylights when managing to literally appear out of nowhere, and her strange habit of not sitting in a chair like a normal person. Despite all that, he could see the sort of charm she had. She had a smart mouth on her, didn’t take any guff, and despite her very un-lady like presence, she had a grace about the way she moved. Not to mention he could see that she definitely fit under the umbrella of “exotic beauty”.
All in all, conversations were kept to a minimum, he didn’t really mind it, he figured she’d talk if she’d want to. However, the time for Master Wayne’s return was slowly closing in—and despite the fact that he decided that maybe this young woman wasn’t such an odd choice, Alfred still was decidedly, not convinced. Rather, he was worried. He was worried that this would turn into another Rachel, or that it would crash and burn even more brightly than with Rachel. And as much as he couldn’t control how much Bruce got beat up physically, by God he was going to do his best to field any more emotional trauma he’d have to go through.
So he read up on what Bruce had found about her, precious little. There really wasn’t much about this young woman. Tracks had been covered up, much more tightly than even he and the master could manage for Batman. He stops just short of calling someone from her past, no, this was his conversation to have with her. No one else’s.
He waited, patiently, for her to arrive. The usual strange gust of smoke (from a spell she was casting he had found out), the whispered steps through the halls, and through it all a slight smell of sweets (Bruce never brought home sweets or had wanted any baked, the smell was so distinctive amongst what he was used to); then he would bump into her, in the den, on the stairs, in the kitchen, she’d normally give him a nod of her head and then continue whatever she was doing. This time though, he stops her, her curly head of hair buried in a thick stack of notes.
“Excuse me Miss Crawford-Marine.”
She looks up at him, blinking, almost shocked out of whatever trance she had been reading those papers.
“Could you meet me in th’upstairs office in about fifteen minutes?”
“Uh.. yeah sure.” A nod of her head and she scurries off out of his sight.
He nearly chuckled; he had to admit, how easily she got spooked by him was quite endearing.
Fifteen minutes later he stands waiting in the office, hands idly running over the groove of an old baseball bat he found in a corner of the room, gathering dust. He’s in the middle of inspecting a particularly fascinating knot when he hears her at the door, the sudden shuffling stop of her feet tells him all he needs to know.
“Y’can enter, Miss Crawford-Marine. No need t’be shy.”
He gives her something of a kind old smile over his shoulder.
He watches as her eyes flick down to the baseball bat, and then back up to his smile, a nervous glance. She gives him her own little nervous smile before making her way over to the couch and plopping down.
“So, uh, whaddya wanna talk about?”
And she was cutting right to the chase. Well he wouldn’t beat around the bush either.
“Master Wayne.”
“….Bruce?” Her eyebrow raises, her lips quirk momentarily, “Why’re y’askin’ me?”
“I want t’know what your intentions are.”
That gets her full attention immediately, and he can see the slightest hue of pink tinting her cheeks.
“I-uh-wasn’t aware that I had to have intentions… quite honestly.” She shifts nervously and he can’t tell whether it was because there was some underlying reason as to why she was with Bruce or if she was genuinely just caught off guard. Only further prodding would tell him.
“It is my duty to serve and protect Master Wayne. I intend to do so as much as I possibly can.” He sets the bat down on the ground, leaning it against a desk. “What’s your career?”
“Queen.”
An arched eyebrow, “Are you lying?”
“Nope.”
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen, almost nineteen.” She says that a bit sheepishly.
“Still too bloody young…” Murmured under his breath with a sigh, “So what you told Master Wayne is true?”
Clearly referring to the conversation they had had a while back, where she had joked about being a queen of some mystery island.
“Every bit.”
That gives him a pause. No reason for her to lie, it’s not as if she had even begun to ask for money, she even made pains to make sure she was never seen by the paparazzi. If she wasn’t out for fame or fortune, that was going to narrow down the pool of questions quickly.
“Why did you disappear?” His eyes fall on her, calculating. Examining.
“I—“ A whole list of emotions flash across her face, guilt being the easiest to discern, “I didn’t want either one of you to get hurt, or caught up.”
A vague answer. He was used to those.
“Miss, if I may be blunt he is the Batman, we both know this.” His tone was flat, though humor did color the edges.
“If it’s somethin’ that th’Batman could deal with I wouldn’t have gone away.”
He looks at her, staring, discerning, trying to somehow get the truth from just that sentence. He wondered just how much more complex this young woman could be. Though, considering his own ward…
He sighs heavily and crosses his arms. He’s sure he could get the rest of the truth out of her, wouldn’t be extremely difficult. He wasn’t Batman, of course, but she seemed much easier to wrangle the truth out of than Bruce. And really there was only one question that was important.
“What are your feelings towards Master Wayne?”
That gets her to sputter, and he feels some sort of small victory.
“I—Uh—“ He watches as she runs a hand through her hair and clearly is trying to find a good answer. She folds her hands in her lap, fingers tracing her palm, and he wonders how often (or how infrequent) she actually thought about this question.
There’s a good long silence and he’s just about to stand up and leave with a short good-bye—possibly to try and find some way to sabotage this relationship—when her answer comes, slow, and thoughtful. And entirely earnest.
“I care about him, a lot. I don’t wanna hurt him.” He notes how she tugs at the fabric of the skirt she currently is seated in, “I’ve screwed up a lot, I don’t wanna screw this up too.”
He gives her a long look, examining, judging, weighing—
“Alright then. That’s all.”
Her head perks up, “That’s it?”
“Unless you’d like me t’ask you something else.” He raises his eyebrows—suggesting that the next question would be much more personal and invasive. And he would ask it.
“Noooo thank you.” She stands up quickly, brushing off her skirt and practically running to get out of the door.
He gives a small huff of an amused laugh, turning back to the desk, about to get back to the work of getting Bruce’s personal things in order before he returns. There was paper work to fill, file, and sort; Things to be cleaned; Groceries to be bought.
He’s just going through the ingredients to Bruce’s favorite dish when he hears her voice--
“Alfred?”
He turns to regard her figure standing in the doorway, peeking in cautiously.
“Yes Miss?”
And then she does something unexpected and smiles, “I’m glad you’re around.”
And then she’s gone like a gust of wind, not even giving him the chance to respond.
He gives a half-hearted ghost of a smile. Okay, maybe the sabotage would be off for now.
“Children, th’both of them.”
Magic, he could hardly believe his ears when it first came up. Like some sort of tale his mother had told him when he was a small child.
Then he saw her one night. He had walked in on her mumbling to her cat—which he considered an oddity in of itself, but that was another gripe he had which he chose not to voice—and then he realized her arm was cut. Nothing life threatening, but it was bleeding. Before he could manage to offer his assistance she made a sort of odd exasperated huffing noise (one he noted that she shared in common with Bruce) and held her hand on top of the wound. An odd blue glow seemed to encase the entire area for a moment, and when her hand moved away, the injury was completely healed.
She must have heard him at this point, because she looked up, straight at him, and before he could get a word out edgewise—
“Sorry!” Her response was quick, almost tripped over, “I didn’t mean for you—I didn’t want—“
She looked… flustered, embarrassed almost. It’s at this point he realized she probably wasn’t all that comfortable using her magic in front of—well, normal people. And he also realized that the look he was giving her at this moment probably wasn’t helping. He took a second to compose himself and stopped her mid-babble.
“It’s quite alright, Miss Nike.” After all, if he could get used to Bruce dressing up as a bat and beating people up every night, what was a bit of magic?
She was quiet, secretive even, but he felt she meant no harm.
Even despite tripping over her bloody cat (whom he found out could: talk, read her mind, and transform into a snow leopard…. It was a trying couple of weeks for Alfred) several times, her scaring the living daylights when managing to literally appear out of nowhere, and her strange habit of not sitting in a chair like a normal person. Despite all that, he could see the sort of charm she had. She had a smart mouth on her, didn’t take any guff, and despite her very un-lady like presence, she had a grace about the way she moved. Not to mention he could see that she definitely fit under the umbrella of “exotic beauty”.
All in all, conversations were kept to a minimum, he didn’t really mind it, he figured she’d talk if she’d want to. However, the time for Master Wayne’s return was slowly closing in—and despite the fact that he decided that maybe this young woman wasn’t such an odd choice, Alfred still was decidedly, not convinced. Rather, he was worried. He was worried that this would turn into another Rachel, or that it would crash and burn even more brightly than with Rachel. And as much as he couldn’t control how much Bruce got beat up physically, by God he was going to do his best to field any more emotional trauma he’d have to go through.
So he read up on what Bruce had found about her, precious little. There really wasn’t much about this young woman. Tracks had been covered up, much more tightly than even he and the master could manage for Batman. He stops just short of calling someone from her past, no, this was his conversation to have with her. No one else’s.
He waited, patiently, for her to arrive. The usual strange gust of smoke (from a spell she was casting he had found out), the whispered steps through the halls, and through it all a slight smell of sweets (Bruce never brought home sweets or had wanted any baked, the smell was so distinctive amongst what he was used to); then he would bump into her, in the den, on the stairs, in the kitchen, she’d normally give him a nod of her head and then continue whatever she was doing. This time though, he stops her, her curly head of hair buried in a thick stack of notes.
“Excuse me Miss Crawford-Marine.”
She looks up at him, blinking, almost shocked out of whatever trance she had been reading those papers.
“Could you meet me in th’upstairs office in about fifteen minutes?”
“Uh.. yeah sure.” A nod of her head and she scurries off out of his sight.
He nearly chuckled; he had to admit, how easily she got spooked by him was quite endearing.
Fifteen minutes later he stands waiting in the office, hands idly running over the groove of an old baseball bat he found in a corner of the room, gathering dust. He’s in the middle of inspecting a particularly fascinating knot when he hears her at the door, the sudden shuffling stop of her feet tells him all he needs to know.
“Y’can enter, Miss Crawford-Marine. No need t’be shy.”
He gives her something of a kind old smile over his shoulder.
He watches as her eyes flick down to the baseball bat, and then back up to his smile, a nervous glance. She gives him her own little nervous smile before making her way over to the couch and plopping down.
“So, uh, whaddya wanna talk about?”
And she was cutting right to the chase. Well he wouldn’t beat around the bush either.
“Master Wayne.”
“….Bruce?” Her eyebrow raises, her lips quirk momentarily, “Why’re y’askin’ me?”
“I want t’know what your intentions are.”
That gets her full attention immediately, and he can see the slightest hue of pink tinting her cheeks.
“I-uh-wasn’t aware that I had to have intentions… quite honestly.” She shifts nervously and he can’t tell whether it was because there was some underlying reason as to why she was with Bruce or if she was genuinely just caught off guard. Only further prodding would tell him.
“It is my duty to serve and protect Master Wayne. I intend to do so as much as I possibly can.” He sets the bat down on the ground, leaning it against a desk. “What’s your career?”
“Queen.”
An arched eyebrow, “Are you lying?”
“Nope.”
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen, almost nineteen.” She says that a bit sheepishly.
“Still too bloody young…” Murmured under his breath with a sigh, “So what you told Master Wayne is true?”
Clearly referring to the conversation they had had a while back, where she had joked about being a queen of some mystery island.
“Every bit.”
That gives him a pause. No reason for her to lie, it’s not as if she had even begun to ask for money, she even made pains to make sure she was never seen by the paparazzi. If she wasn’t out for fame or fortune, that was going to narrow down the pool of questions quickly.
“Why did you disappear?” His eyes fall on her, calculating. Examining.
“I—“ A whole list of emotions flash across her face, guilt being the easiest to discern, “I didn’t want either one of you to get hurt, or caught up.”
A vague answer. He was used to those.
“Miss, if I may be blunt he is the Batman, we both know this.” His tone was flat, though humor did color the edges.
“If it’s somethin’ that th’Batman could deal with I wouldn’t have gone away.”
He looks at her, staring, discerning, trying to somehow get the truth from just that sentence. He wondered just how much more complex this young woman could be. Though, considering his own ward…
He sighs heavily and crosses his arms. He’s sure he could get the rest of the truth out of her, wouldn’t be extremely difficult. He wasn’t Batman, of course, but she seemed much easier to wrangle the truth out of than Bruce. And really there was only one question that was important.
“What are your feelings towards Master Wayne?”
That gets her to sputter, and he feels some sort of small victory.
“I—Uh—“ He watches as she runs a hand through her hair and clearly is trying to find a good answer. She folds her hands in her lap, fingers tracing her palm, and he wonders how often (or how infrequent) she actually thought about this question.
There’s a good long silence and he’s just about to stand up and leave with a short good-bye—possibly to try and find some way to sabotage this relationship—when her answer comes, slow, and thoughtful. And entirely earnest.
“I care about him, a lot. I don’t wanna hurt him.” He notes how she tugs at the fabric of the skirt she currently is seated in, “I’ve screwed up a lot, I don’t wanna screw this up too.”
He gives her a long look, examining, judging, weighing—
“Alright then. That’s all.”
Her head perks up, “That’s it?”
“Unless you’d like me t’ask you something else.” He raises his eyebrows—suggesting that the next question would be much more personal and invasive. And he would ask it.
“Noooo thank you.” She stands up quickly, brushing off her skirt and practically running to get out of the door.
He gives a small huff of an amused laugh, turning back to the desk, about to get back to the work of getting Bruce’s personal things in order before he returns. There was paper work to fill, file, and sort; Things to be cleaned; Groceries to be bought.
He’s just going through the ingredients to Bruce’s favorite dish when he hears her voice--
“Alfred?”
He turns to regard her figure standing in the doorway, peeking in cautiously.
“Yes Miss?”
And then she does something unexpected and smiles, “I’m glad you’re around.”
And then she’s gone like a gust of wind, not even giving him the chance to respond.
He gives a half-hearted ghost of a smile. Okay, maybe the sabotage would be off for now.
“Children, th’both of them.”