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Damian was looking forward to a weekend of having the entire manor to himself.
Dick was in Bludhaven, Tim was working in his office at WE, Jason was sleeping over at Roy’s, Cass was in Shanghai along with Steph and Barbara for a ‘girls' weekend’ or whatever it is they called it, Father was in space somewhere while Alfred was on a well-deserved and overdue vacation.
That left Damian to his own devices for what was supposed to be a peaceful weekend without his meddlesome imbecile siblings.
He had been looking forward to it and was playing video games (yes, he is capable of such activity) when the unexpected doorbell ring interrupted his solitude.
Damian set his controller down, scowling at the empty room. He knew his nosy family’s habits and routines like the back of his head, and he was sure no one would return until Sunday night.
Perhaps Alfred changed his mind and returned because he felt Damian was incapable of tending to himself. Typical of his pseudo-grandfather figure, always putting others before himself.
Or it could be Todd returning to retrieve something he had forgotten to pack earlier in the day.
Damian’s eyes narrowed when he heard the bell ring again, somehow sounding louder than the first attempt.
That wasn’t right. If it were someone from the family, they wouldn’t be ringing the doorbell.
He made his way out of the living room and, as he did, grabbed his katana from under the coffee table.
Of course, he wouldn’t put it past Todd to forget his keys, or god forbid he lost it.
Todd or not, it didn’t stop Damian from clutching the hilt of his katana and hiding it behind his back for a surprise attack.
If it was one of his family members, they could dodge his attack. If not, how unlucky of the intruder to have stumbled onto the manor’s property.
The bell rang once more just as he reached the door to crack it open.
He met with the sight of an admittedly pretty girl looking about his age, with raven pigtails, bright blue eyes that put his emerald ones to shame, and an innocent face that looked like she wouldn’t harm a fly.
His brows furrowed regarding the girl in front of him with suspicion. She could be a delusional fangirl. But he knew better than to underestimate the enemy.
He tightened his grip on the hilt of his katana, ever so ready to strike if she were to make any sudden moves.
“Who are you? How did you get past the gates?” He demanded, his voice sharp with wariness. He knew the gates were closed at all times.
He supposed she could’ve climbed over the gates, eying her short and tiny figure. Despite his deduction, he couldn’t shake off his skepticism. The girl was getting more suspicious by the minute.
A blinding smile fell across her face, and he stared.
Her smile was bright like some sunshine child, and he couldn’t have predicted the words that fell out of her mouth next. “I’m here to rob you!”
Damian swears he could see sparkles emitting from her glimmering eyes. That didn’t stop him from wanting to scoff at the pathetic attempt to rob the manor. What kind of an amateur announces a robbery?
He eyed her with a contemplating gaze, intrigued against his will. The girl didn’t look to be struggling with money or in debt.
He kept his expression blank, interested in how this interaction would play out. “Are you even qualified?”
An offended look replaced her sunny smile, and she glared at him.
He could’ve sworn he heard faint laughter coming from her purse.
“That doesn’t matter. Just, can I rob you?” the girl huffed out, looking impatient like she had somewhere to be and made the sporadic decision of committing the worst robbery attempt of the century.
Had she forgotten what city she was in? That was possible. She did have a French accent.
“Miss, this is Gotham ,” he drawled, letting his katana hang on the spot behind the door with minimal effort. If the girl turned out to be a threat, his katana would still be easy to access.
She merely raised a brow in response, unimpressed. “And?”
“You don’t just ask for permission to rob someone. Do you see the Joker asking people politely if he could respectfully hold them hostage?” Damian asked dryly.
“Well, Mr. Riddler asks riddles. Scarecrow rhetorically asks people if they want to test out his new fear toxin gas. My question could as well be rhetorical,” the girl countered, looking at him like he was the crazy one.
He rolled his eyes. “Tt. Didn’t seem like it.”
“Can we make this quick? I have somewhere to be,” she said, looking annoyed.
She pushed past him, and he reacted, the katana appearing in his hand in seconds and on her neck.
What caught him off guard was she had punched him. Hard. In the solar plexus. He grunted, his katana clattering to the ground.
For someone so small, she packed quite a punch.
His hand twitched toward his katana as the girl disappeared into the manor. He should be slitting her throat for that, but he found the situation mildly amusing.
She reappeared a second later, hauling a medium-sized potted succulent.
“Of all things in the manor, you decided to rob a plant?” Damian asked in disbelief, wondering why he even cared.
Why did he intend to let the girl walk free after robbing the manor? Even if the robbery in question was something insignificant like a plant.
Was this how Father felt every time Catwomen stole? Why did it have to be a genetics thing? Damian could already hear his siblings’ teasings. They could never find out about this.
“There’s nothing wrong with plants!” she protested, holding the plant close to her chest for emphasis.
Damian should phone the GCPD. But all logic seemed to have flown out the window because instead, he said, “I will let you go just this once out of pity so you can get the taste of having successfully robbed someone. With your non-existent thieving skills, it is unlikely that you would be let off as easily the next time, let alone be successful in the operation.”
“Oh, thank you, kind sir. I’ll be taking my leave now,” the girl grumbled, albeit sarcastic.
He was coming up with a last-minute dignified plan to get her name and number without losing face when she shoved a piece of cardstock in his hands.
It was a business card for the fashion designer Drake was obsessed with, MDC. Except the pseudonym was struck out, with Marinette Dupain-Cheng replacing it on top instead, and her number was underneath where her email was.
He looked up to see the girl— Marinette, already gone.
She was fascinating, to say.
Hadn’t his family always pushed him to make more friends other than Jon?
Damian would have to conduct a thorough background check to see if Marinette would be worth befriending.
As he pondered the possibility, he couldn’t help but wonder if their possible friendship could evolve into something more.