Chapter Text
Gotham City, Valérie Argent
The dressing rooms are dimly lit by the old flickering light overhead. I reach to open the door with ‘Rosie’ written on it in bold letters. My fingers wrap around the knob and open the door with a twist. The lights are already on, the first indicator of someone being here. The obvious sign though is the couple making out on my couch. I slam the door against the wall to get their attention. My right hand finds its place on my hip, while the duo shoot up, cover themselves up and look at me with wide eyes.
“Rosie!” Yuna my coworker exclaims as she lets her hands covering herself fall , and gets up from the couch. My eyes dart to the TV Girl poster on the wall behind her. “Yuna, cover yourself, please.”
Immediately she puts her shirt back on, and whispers something to the man on my couch. He grabs his things and leaves, shutting the door behind him.
I walk towards my locker, open it and take my sweatpants and hoodie.
“Don’t tell anyone about this,” I look over my shoulder at the petite girl with long dark hair falling down her shoulders. “If he finds out...”
“I won’t say a thing,” I promise the girl, holding out my pinky. Yuna stares at it for a second or two, but ends up wrapping her finger around mine anyways. “, use someone else's room next time, though.”
“Thank you so much” her arms wrap around my torso.
I softly pat Yuna against her back in response. “No problem, now leave so I can get dressed.”
She practically runs out the room, probably on her way to look for that guy. Urgh, I’m gonna have to throw my couch away. Fast, I put on my clothes, take my purse and leave the club through the backdoor. There the man who wanted to talk to me earlier leans against the wall.
“Took you long enough.”
“I’m sorry,” a chuckle forces its way out of my mouth, “, had to make sure my coworker didn’t conceive a child on my couch.”
His eyes grow wide and shoot his eyebrows up, while his mouth falls open in surprise.
“Don’t ask.” My heels click-clack against the pavement as I pass him by. Within seconds he’s walking by my side. A thought that has been bothering me breaks the silence between us. “Who are you?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, in the process muttering under his breath: “I forgot to introduce myself.” He holds his arm out in front of me, forcing me to halt. My eyes flicker between his outstretched hand and his azure eyes. I don’t get the time to grab his hand before he has taken mine. “Dick Grayson.” He shakes my hand, a charming smile curls his lips upwards.
My eyebrows lift, “Your name is Dick?”
“It’s a nickname.” He lets go of my hand. Finally. “My real name’s Richard.”
“How old are you, again?”
“Why does everyone keep calling me old?”
“Have you heard your name?”
The streets of Gotham are what you can call chaos, like always. During the day and especially during the night. This night isn’t an exception. Sirens sound in the distance, a low hum of people talking and the screech of tires somewhere are the norm. It’s surprising no one has tried to rob us yet. Despite all the noise it’s still quiet. Dick doesn’t answer me, instead he’s looking around subtly, but a trained eye can detect anything.
“Valérie,”
His attention is drawn back to me. “Huh?” Grayson hums confused.
“My name is Valérie.” I tell him with a tilt of my lips. “Strippers have stage names, you know.”
He doesn’t respond, again. “Valérie…” Or he does. Maybe I’m a bit impatient –no– he’s just slow. “You have a pretty name.”
“Thank you.” God, why did I say it like that? He’s still a man, he should be thanking me for allowing him to talk to me. I would’ve tased him if this wasn’t necessary for the greater good of Gotham.
“Where are you taking me?” Grayson’s eyes widen immediately after the words spill out of his mouth.
“Wow, I’m not kidnapping you.”
He chuckles, “I didn’t mean it to come out like that.” His laugh is warm and welcoming–something you don’t usually hear in this city. It’s a real, genuine sound. Now on the streets I can inspect his features better. A defined jawline, a Greek nose and unique azure blue eyes that I’ve never seen on a face. Obviously this is all very objective, since when do I admire men? Since him apparently. Shut up! God, I need sleep.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” He’s caught me, but it doesn’t matter. The smirk playing around his lips doesn’t intimidate me; it makes me wanna fight it. And I never lose, not again.
I raise an eyebrow, “Maybe I already have some.”
“Have you been stalking me?” He gasps and has to contain the smile breaking through his 'shocked' expression.
I shrug my shoulders. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Finally we arrive at Gotham’s Park. I lead Grayson towards my favorite bench under a beautiful oak tree. The wind filters through its orange and red leaves. I take in a breath. “What exactly do you want to know?”
His arms drape over the backrest of the park bench. “Anything you know about Duncan Dean can be of help.”
“Anything?”, I sigh. Where do I start? I know too much; I can’t just tell him everything. He nods his head; he wants me to start talking. “Dean was one of my regulars–honestly, I’ve never seen him sober. During session he would always talk, maybe a bit too much. Wouldn’t surprise me if that’s why they killed him.”
The raven haired man quirks a brow. “They?”
“His gang, squad, group, whatever you wanna call it.” A loose curl falls in front of my eyes. I blow it out of my face and let my eyes connect with his azure eyes. Richard comes a bit closer. “What do you know about this gang?” His charming smile has turned serious, but that doesn’t take from his looks. Val, what are you thinking? Just stop already. How dare you stoop so low.
“They’ve been trying to be a part of Gotham’s underworld for about a decade now,” Don’t think about it, Val. You’ve got this. “but they have nothing against criminals such as Penguin and Joker.”
“How come no one’s heard of them?”
“Oh no, you definitely have, you just haven’t connected the dots yet.” a nervous laugh leaves my lips. “They’re everywhere, and with the right connections they’re easier to find than you’d think.”
A moment to register my words lingers between us. A moment of rustling leaves and Gotham’s chaos in the distance. My eyes fall on the figure of a girl walking her dog. A red cap rests on her blonde hair. What is she doing here? “How did Duncan Dean even end up in this gang?” Grayson breaks the silence. My gaze leaves the blonde and her dog. I shrug my shoulders. “I only know he was one of the first ones to join. I’m pretty sure he was a rank 3.”
The confusion is shown clearly in his expression. “What is a rank 3?”
“Don’t know exactly how their 'gang' works, but when you join you get ranked.” I tell him, “It’s to show how dangerous someone is.”
“How dangerous is a three?”
“Deadly.”
Richard doesn’t show a sign of fear. I usually don’t have trouble reading people, but he is different. An exception, that is Dick Grayson.
“I don’t think you understand what I’m saying.” Most people wouldn’t have caught the small smirk forming around his lips and disappearing. Though, I wouldn’t consider myself like most people.
“I understand a lot more than you’d think.” There is that comforting smile again. “However, I have one question left.”
“Ask away.”
“If Duncan Dean was a rank three, who are a rank two and one?”
“I don’t know.” I answer him honestly. I look at my watch: 23 minutes past 2. I’m late.
“Don’t worry,” Grayson places a hand on my bouncing leg, “you've helped me a lot more than you can imagine.”
After a quick goodbye and another couple thank you’s from the man I leave the park and take my usual route back to my apartment.
I open the front door to my home, only to be knocked off balance by Spark. “Hey there buddy.” My hand glides through the rottweiler's dark fur. “You couldn’t wait a second longer, heh?” I close the door behind me and hang my keys on the key-rack.
My steps echo through the small hallway towards the living room where the sound of loud laughter is coming from. A pair of black converses lay scattered across the room. One beside the couch, the other near the kitchen counter. Spark claims his spot on the couch, and lets his head rest on a certain blonde’s legs. “Kat.” My hands each find their place on my hips.
“Oh, hi.” Her gaze doesn’t stray from the TV.
“Don’t ‘oh, hi’ me.” I move to stand in between the coffee table and the television. “What were you doing in the park so late?”
Little Kat purses her lips. “I was walking the dog.” Her eyes feign innocence, whilst she widens her big blue eyes. She's lying, obviously.
“Stop that, you should know that doesn’t work on me.”
The girl rolls her eyes at me. “Okay, if you really want to know…” Kat groans, irritated. “You didn’t come home around 1:30, so I checked your location, went there and saw you with that one guy Chris talked about.”
My brow raises up a bit, while I tilt my head to the left. I give her the look–or at least that’s what Kat calls it. She says that when I get annoyed I give people a really disapproving look. Though, after knowing the girl for nearly eight years, I still have no idea what she exactly means with the look.
After I lost my parents I met the sisters: Chris and Kat–they too didn’t have anyone except for each other left. Despite being completely different people with completely different backgrounds, we grew close. I guess nothing brings people closer than trauma. Honestly, I’ve never cared about the fact that I’m not their blood sister and neither have they. We're a family, a really unstable one, but still family.
“Did you ever pause and think about the fact that we live in Gotham City whilst you were doing that?”
“As if you don’t work at a strip club in said city.” The blonde scoffs.
“It’s not that simple,” I point at her, “you should know that.”
Spark’s whines sound through our argument, and at the same time he pushes his snout against the couch’s cushions. I take a moment to take in a breath. Kat has her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes dart across the room and make sure not to meet my gaze.
“Look,” I breathe out, “I know you want to help out, but Chris and I don’t want to put that burden on your shoulders.”
Kat’s blues land on the carpeted floor. “I know.” Her voice is quiet; weak. “I just feel so useless."
I flop down on the couch beside her and let my head fall on her shoulder. “Don’t.”
A loud obnoxious laugh departs from her throat and flies through the newly joyous atmosphere. “Wow,” the blonde slaps my knee, “words of wisdom with wonderful Val–sounds like a comedic show to me.”
“You say I could be a star?” I feign seriousness and slap her back on the shoulder.
“God no,” That answer came way too fast and way too confident; I’m offended.
“Don’t you have school tomorrow?”
“Shut up already.”
“Come one, go to bed,” I push my little sister off the couch and laugh as she barely catches herself, “it’s way past your bedtime.”
The seventeen year old sticks out her tongue right before she enters her bedroom.