Chapter Text
The Port Of Alexandria
The sun was high in the sky, and beating down upon the masses of people that were moving in a way much more akin to ants than to human beings. All along the docks vendors were hawking their wares, men sporting fez, which identified them as either being Christians or Jews, and women wearing burqas.
This was one of the oldest and richest cities in the world when it came to history, and yet it was no different than many other places that the group had been to.
Except the heat. The heat was almost unbearable. It beat down upon anyone and everything, sending up shimmers that break through the superheated air. The waves of the Mediterranean that brush against the dock did very little to cool the dusty defile, and at the moment there seemed to be no wind.
Just a sea of tents and movement, the people haggling, arguing and laughing as they trudged along, some moving with the current and others against it.
This was Alexandria. A city founded over two thousand years ago by Alexander the Great himself after he seized the land from the Persians. It was the gateway to the land of the Pharaohs, the keeper of secrets, and yet Bruce Wayne couldn’t be bothered at that moment to look out over it and take it in.
No, the eccentric billionaire was over more from the gangplank which had been set down by the crew for the passengers to disembark. Instead of the people, he was looking at the two white sheets that were laid over something that he couldn’t see, but which was also innately familiar to him.
There was a corpse under those sheets, and only one side of each respective one was stained crimson. Around the body, or rather two separate portions of a body, were the sailors, each of which were milling around and inspecting the scene, scratching their heads at the horror that had somehow befell the ship the night before.
They didn’t mind as Bruce Wayne came forward, not even really noticing, lost as they were in the conversations they were sharing with one another.
‘Hmm…’.
He started with a blank slate of course, knowing nothing about what had happened but still trying to take it in and reconstruct the scene to the best of his abilities. As far as crime scenes with a dead body in the center there wasn’t much to go on.
Aside from the body itself and the thin line of blood that went straight across the deck back towards the ship’s superstructure, he could only see a steel cable which was used to secure the lifeboats to the ship when they weren’t in use.
‘It broke free’.
He notices how the other end was wrapped around the rusted handrail that ran along the side of the ship, making sure that nobody would fall off if they got too close. From what he could tell about the opposite end, it must’ve broken free from its moorings, and when it did?
The poor unfortunate soul who’d been standing in its path was sliced in two.
‘Which explains the thin blood trail’ he thinks, bringing a connection between the overhanging cable and the crimson line below it. ‘It must’ve dropped all night…drying’. Even still, some bits of dried and blackened blood clung to the steel, which would no doubt be cleaned soon so as to prevent rusting. Bruce got the sense that that was just the kind of captain that Arthur Curry was.
All business.
“Can you believe it? One of the lines came loose last night” one of the sailors says, allowing Bruce to overhear them as he moves over towards the starting point of the cable, where he then reaches out and touches it, looking at where the other end of the cable had been moored.
“Impossible. These lines are about the only thing on this ship that ain’t rusted”.
“But it did, how do you explain that?”
“I’m not sure but…”.
Bruce had his suspicions, but they were outlandish, even for him. When he looked at the cable, he didn’t see the telltale signs of an uneven break. Instead? Clean. Right through, as if some force had sliced right through it at once.
‘But what could’ve possibly done that?’
He didn’t have an easy answer to that question, and so he turned back to look at the body, or rather the single shoe that was poking out from under the end of each sheet. Black leather, perfectly shined, very much so like the shoes worn by every member of John Stewart’s gang.
‘Would Stewart have killed one of his own men?’
That was a likely explanation of course, but not one that sat right with him either. It didn’t make any sense, especially not when ample opportunities would soon present themselves for the mob boss to off a disobedient member of his criminal enterprise.
The desert was before them, and yet, if it was the case, he’d chosen to kill one of his men on a ship where there was a much greater chance of the incident being investigated. And if it was investigated, the odds were there that he’d be picked as the first suspect.
It didn’t add up, and even with some questions answered, such as what had happened, Bruce was left with many more questions and new worries.
“Hmmm”.
“Bruce…”.
He turns rapidly at the interruption, and finds himself coming face to face with Shayera, the woman who the night before he’d saved from falling over the side and who he’d almost kissed…until she slapped him of course.
That memory comes rushing back to him, and he had the good sense to look embarrassed, allowing the blush to come out over his face in tandem with the woman, though hers had apparently gotten a head start as she was on her way over towards him.
“Ms. Saunders…I….good morning”.
“Yes…it…well…I guess it wouldn’t be for that poor fella over there. What happened to him?”
Her green eyes were wide open in concern and fear, even a slight queasiness that wasn’t unexpected when one came into contact with a dead body. But surprisingly she held it together well, not going to pieces as many others might’ve in such a situation.
He could respect that.
The billionaire smiles sadly and shrugs his shoulders, reaching out to place his hand on the woman’s shoulders and turn her away from the scene, though the redhead’s morbid curiosity turned her back to look at it, unable to believe what she was seeing.
“Apparently one of the cables gave way last night and he…whoever he was, happened to be standing there. Afraid he didn’t make it”.
“Jeepers…that’s one hell of a way to get bopped”.
“It is…yeah. An…unfortunate set of circumstances”.
He was lying of course. He didn’t believe for a second that this was merely the result of some accident or fate. He didn’t believe in such things, and coincidence? He believed in coincidence least of all. There was no such thing as coincidence. Not in his line of work. And especially not when he was on a ship with a mobster.
But he couldn’t do anything further, not yet, and so he’d just have to let it go.
“Is everything alright?”
“Huh?”
“Well..I’m assuming you came to find me for some reason” he says, shaking the redhead out of her stupor and reminding her of exactly why she had come looking for the man. It comes back to her in an instant, and she nods her head quickly in remembrance.
“Ohh, ohh yes. Yeah. Uhh…I just came to tell you that the crews got everything unloaded and everyone is waiting down on the quay”.
“Any problems?”
“No, everything is intact and undamaged. All ready to go”.
“No doubt that you tripled or quadruple checked it a few times” he says in a lightly teasing tone that makes the woman smirk and blush just a bit more. “Of course Bruce. It’s my job”.
“I’m guessing that the team is down there too?” he asks, receiving a nod quickly in confirmation. “Yup. They are. Though I’m pretty sure Mari has dragged Vic off so that she could go shopping in the bazaar, and George took Tatsu to go and look for a bar before we set off”.
He nods at the utterly in character description of what his friends were doing,
“No need to be pretty sure. It’s certain that Mari is already shopping, and trust me, she’ll find something to buy” he says, enjoying the easy conversation that he was falling into with the woman he’d hired. “But I’m afraid George is going to have a harder time finding a bar around here. It’s all dried up”.
“Islam prohibits the consumption of alcohol”.
“Yeah, but I’m also relatively sure that if there’s a drop of liquor around here he’ll find it”.
“Him or Vic?” she says, somewhat lowering the mood as the man looks towards her and shakes his head. “No. It isn’t like that. Vic is a real stand up guy….”.
“But?”
He knew that she was going to sense the but at the end of the sentence, and while it didn’t seem that she was unduly judging the man, he still felt the need to defend him. “He’s got some demons, demons he’s been trying to snuff out at the bottom of a bottle for a few years now”.
Shayera doesn’t say anything to that and just looks away, back over the city that stretched out before her and somehow reminded her of just how little she knew the world, and just how ill equipped she was to pass judgment on someone like Vic who’d seen the absolute worst of it.
“I…I hope he’s able to beat ‘em one day”.
“He will. He’s a tough man, and besides that he’s got all of us. And especially Mari. She’ll never give up on him”.
“Hmm…..when is she going to tell him that she’s in love with him?”
Despite the genuine curiosity that was in the woman’s voice as she asked that question and the lack of guile or embarrassment that the woman was showing. It was just rather…endearing.
“I’m not sure. We’ve all been waiting years for it. Honestly? I think both of them are going to carry a torch for the other and stay near each other until they’re old and gray, and finally, when the time for everything else has passed they’ll tell each other about their love, and the next day? Both of them will kick the bucket”.
“Mr. Wayne…how very morbid of you”.
He shrugs, not offering any commentary likewise as the woman just giggles at his summary of how he believed the events were going to unfold. They kept walking along the deck, slowly heading towards the gangplank, as if each of them wasn’t ready to fully part from the other’s solo company.
“It must be hard for them though, things being as they are”.
“Unfair you mean”.
“It is, yes” he admits, shrugging his shoulders. “But adversity shouldn’t be what they use to keep themselves from being happy. Especially when all of us around them would support them and make sure they knew they were still family”.
“It’s clear as day really. Maybe the only two people in the world who can’t see that they’re sweet on each other are themselves”.
“Could be. Could very well be”.
The two fall silent and continue to walk with one another, not saying anything as the conversation seems to hit an impasse. Both of them were once again thinking of the night before, where they almost kissed each other. Shayera didn’t want to speak about that, not when her own emotions were still in such a state of confusion.
She wanted to enjoy herself a little, and maybe one up the billionaire on something.
“I’ll make a bet with you Bruce”.
“On what?”
“Who breaks and finally confesses to the other” she says, still obviously referencing the two friends who seemed to be completely smitten with one another. She stops right there in the middle of the deck and turns to the man, placing her hands on her hips as she smirks at him.
It allows him to get a glimpse of what she was wearing, which consisted of nothing more than boots, a pair of men’s pants that were held up by an equally masculine pair of suspenders. She wore a white cotton shirt, unbuttoned at the top to allow some air against her skin, beads of sweat already breaking out over her forehead.
He was reminded of the juxtaposition that this woman was. The easy way that she switched from one role or look to another. Like the other night, wearing that dress that made her look like any other high society woman he’d met, yet somehow even more beautiful.
She was free. That was it. Free in a way that all the other so called liberated women, the flappers, were not. Those women mistook acting like the very worst quality of men for freedom. Drinking and partying, dedicating your life to nothing but your own pleasure, as freedom.
But Shayera?
She was free in such a different way that it was impossible to categorize her that way. She was open and bold, utterly without any hint of pretension or falseness. She dedicated her life to knowledge and the preservation of knowledge. To her, following the past wasn’t the worship of ashes, but the preservation of fire, a fire that could almost be seen in her beautiful locks.
‘Be careful’.
Those two words were a warning to himself, a warning that came in light of what had almost happened between them the night before and what had occurred between him and Selina, a woman he hadn’t been able to see as of yet.
“Who do you think it’ll be?” he asks, trying to bring his focus back onto the conversation as his eyes scan up and down the ship, searching for the woman whose face had just been conjured up into his mind. He didn’t see her, and in fact was only able to see the car, with Alfred seated in the front, watching as Jason and Zatanna walk along the front row of the Bazaar.
‘A little date…supervised of course’.
“Vic. One hundred percent”.
“Really?” he asks, surprised by the woman’s answer, tilting his head to show his shock. “Vic? What makes you think that?”
“Because he’s a man who has to know what a good thing is, when he’s got a good dame waiting in the wings for him. He strikes me as haunted, not dumb, and as soon as he’s over them, he’s going to make sure she knows”.
“I think it’ll be Mari,” he says. “Nobody has got it quite like her, and she is always so in control of the situation. She’s going to get tired of it and lay down the law with him. No doubt about that”. It felt good. Having this good natured disagreement with one another. Natural even. A tit for tat.
“Which is exactly why she’s going to be put in her place. Mari is like…well, she’s like a naughty little girl, poking a lion and teasing it. One of these days? She’s going to get gobbled up and she’s going to be thankful for it”.
“You think so?”
“I know so”.
“Hmm…I’ll take you up on that bet Shayera” he says, reaching out his hand with a smile. “One dollar. To make it interesting”.
“You’re on Wayne”.
She clasps his hand, her dainty and slim digits sliding with ease into his larger and more scarred ones, and squeezing with a surprising strength that he hadn’t been expecting and was in all actuality surprised by. Even still, he shakes back, and after a few seconds, their agreement is ended, the two releasing one another as they drop their hands.
“Good. I’ll enjoy collecting that dollar from you”.
“Pfft, as if”.
The two fall into silence once more, and both are left rapidly running out of other topics to discuss other than what had happened the night before, or at the very least topics that would bring them even closer to it. They really should’ve left the ship, embarked upon their grand adventure, but she couldn’t.
There was something stopping her, like she wasn’t ready to depart fully for it unless she had this conversation with the man before they left.
“Bruce…have you ever been over the moon?”
“What?”
“You know….been stuck on, twitterpated. Been in love…”.
A shock of dark black hair and startling green eyes, much like the eyes that were now peering at him from out of Shayera’s skull instantly moved into Bruce’s mind, reminding the man of the woman’s face the last time he’d spoken to her. The utter dejectedness. The sadness. The sorrow.
It hurt to remember her like that, but it also hurt to realize that he was nothing more than a game to her. A source of fun and entertainment.
No matter how much he loved her, or how much she might’ve loved him, Selina Kyle was the wrong number for Bruce Wayne and he knew it. The others? They’d known it for a long time before him, but only now was he realizing that they were right.
“Once…yeah”.
“Ohh”.
“You?”
She moves her tongue over her teeth and licks her lip for a moment, looking up at Bruce with the entire world seeming to melt away at that moment. It was silly, insane even. She wasn’t in love and had never been before, but…she was beginning to feel…odd.
“No….no I…haven’t…hehe. Unless you count books”.
“Afraid books don’t make all that good of a snuggle partner” he says in response which draws a further laugh from the woman and a nod of agreement. “Yes, yes. You’re right. They’re not, even if you try and convince yourself they’ll keep you warm”.
Silence, once again, a silence that Shayera was well and truly tired of.
“Listen…Bruce, about last night…I…”.
“I was out of line” he says, cutting her off as she gets ready to…well, she wasn’t quite sure what she was going to say. Was she going to apologize or was she going to further chastise him? She wasn’t sure. Whatever it was she’d been planning, it went out the window as soon as Bruce beat her to the punch with his own apology.
“No, no it…it wasn’t anything you did….I…thank you. For saving me. That’s what I was going to say” she says, focusing on the somewhat less controversial portion of what they had to talk about. “I guess I really can’t blame you for going in for a kiss. A screwy dame like me, thinking she could fly…”.
Even now she felt that she could. If she only tried hard enough, the wings that she somehow felt were secretly attached to her back would start flapping, carrying her up and away. It had always been a childish dream of hers, that she could fly.
“Daydreams are fine, as long as they don’t lead to you jumping off a perfectly good ship”.
“Haha, yeah. I understand. But…I guess it was just natural for you to go in for one, being more than used to women just kind of throwing themselves at your feet just for you existing”. There was a slight accusation there, one that felt rather odd and strange and yet strangely comforting, like she wasn’t afraid to say what was on her mind with him.
“I know I have a reputation”.
“Yeah. One that reached even into Coast City and my dust museum. I just want you to know Bruce…I’m not a pretty face you can just seduce and use then throw away. Alright? I’m your partner in this. That’s all. Do you understand?”
These were harshly voiced terms of course, and terms that she wasn’t even sure that she should’ve put a voice to, but for her own protection, she needed to do it.
‘I’m smart. A woman of history and archeology. I demand respect’.
She was playing hardball, a game that she’d long ago gotten accustomed to playing with men, convincing herself that that was just what she had to do in order to get ahead. But when she saw Bruce’s expression…she almost regretted it.
She expected maybe anger at quarry escaping, or stoic detachment, vowing to go on to the next kill, but instead she sees sadness. Maybe disappointment. It was only there for a second though, quickly hidden by the mask that came down over him, once again cutting him off from her perusal. Or more precisely, his emotions.
Of all the things she knew or had thought she had known about Bruce Wayne, she was finding that emotionally guarded was a very apt description.
“I understand Shayera. Again, I apologize. It was just a heat of the moment thing”.
“Good. Good. I…I want you to respect me Bruce. It’s not that you aren’t handsome or that a girl wouldn’t…mind at all being kissed by you…”.
“I understand. I really do”.
“Because they would! I re…they! They really would. It’s just…”.
“Shayera, I understand. Trust me. No need to soothe my ego” he chortles, reaching out to place his hand upon her shoulder, calming her as best as he could, which stops the woman in her tracks and makes her realize she’d been stuttering.
She definitely hadn’t meant to stutter.
“I…yes. I’m sorry. I guess I’m just in the rather nasty habit of assuming things about you that I’ve got no right assuming”.
“It’s alright. There isn’t exactly a flattering picture painted of me in the newspapers” he says, turning so that they could both begin to make their way down the gangplank and onto the pier where they could begin to rejoin their friends.
“Which makes it even worse since I know the truth”.
‘You aren’t even close to the truth’ the man thinks inwardly while keeping his smile on outwardly, not wanting to arouse the woman’s suspicions or ire any further, which definitely wouldn’t be good for the moment.
Instead she just smiles back at him, calmed down now that they began to make their descent.
“I do hope though, that we can become friends, Bruce”.
“That so?”
“That’s so” she says, now blushing once more which made her only look further out of place in this desert landscape. “Yes. That is so. I…I’ve never really had many friends before Bruce, I think you kinda know that though. So…I don’t know, it just feels nice to be around you and the others. You’re all so…exciting and accepting”.
“I think you’ll find that I’m rather plain” he says in response, looking down so as to not allow her to see anything in his eyes.
She goes on though, not even heeding his words.
“I actually find you to be….beautiful”.
He stops as they get to the bottom, stepping onto the land of Egypt for the first time, caught in the midst of an odd conversation. Shayera was now caught with her foot in her mouth, and she lights up like a Christmas tree and struggles for something, anything to say that might make it better.
“I mean…the bee’s knees…berries…I….what I guess I’m trying to say is that you’re a real darb Bruce. Aside from….well…”.
“I…thank you Shayera. Thank you. I appreciate your high esteem” he says, suddenly realizing that his hand had remained on Shayera’s waist, holding her close throughout the entire time they spent walking down onto the pier.
Like she was red hot, he releases her, and coughs into his hand, taking the opportunity to look back towards the car to where Alfred was positioned in the driver’s seat, more than ready to go. “I think you’re…one of the most amazing women I’ve ever met”.
“You…I’d say that the company you keep of the dame variety then must be very dull, but I know Tatsu and Mari…so instead I’ll take that as either an over the top compliment, useless jawing or…one of the sweetest things I’ve ever heard. Thank you Bruce”.
“You’re welcome”.
The conversation wasn’t going to get any better, which made the distraction that was introduced to the entrance to the Bazaar even more welcome. Both of their heads turn to watch as two figures glide out over the pavement, one familiarly dressed in a blue jacket and slacks, his wide brimmed hat perched over his head to ward off the hot sun above.
“I’m telling you darling, you should’ve bought one of those nice little loincloths”.
“Ohh no” Shayera says, laughing aloud as she hears the voice, and Bruce can’t help but contain his smile a bit too.
“Mari, it’s called a wrap, and there is no way that I’d ever wear one”.
“But darling, it’s so hot here” the black woman coos, twisting and twirling about, which forced the excess fabric of the new dress that she must’ve just purchased from somewhere inside the marketplace to flow out.
Bruce had to admit, Mari had a flair for the dramatic and beautiful.
She was now wearing a white dress made undoubtedly from the purest of white Egyptian cottons. It would’ve been rather hot, heat wise, had it not been for the two slits that were cut up either respective side, allowing a large expanse of her dark, cocoa colored legs to be viewed as they moved in and out of the dress itself. She’d replaced her heels with sandals that went up to her ankles to be bound.
“Are you absolutely sure?” she coos, coming back in and placing her hand against the man’s chest, caressing him softly and lovingly as she stares into his eyes, sensing and thriving on the discomfort that she was able to cause there. No doubt it was there that this woman drew on the powers of the animal kingdom, her innate femininity teasing and clawing at the man, drawing in his masculinity in such a way as to compliment the others.
“For me?”
He couldn’t help himself as his eyes were drawn downwards, to the valley of the woman’s chest which was put on full display by the dress she wore. The top had fabric only on one side, the front, and went up around each of her shoulders respectively to pin around the neck, securing it in place.
This was the only covering that was provided to her, a large v pattern coming down to just below her belly button, allowing her sides to be seen as well.
Between her breasts was dangling the totem, a totem that she never actually went without, though it was very clear that Vic wasn’t looking there.
Without any chastisement or anger, Mari moves her hand away from Vic’s chest and up to his chin, slowly, so as to allow him a longer look, moving his head up so that he was looking at her in the face.
He goes stock still, having almost no power over the woman as she did to him.
“For me?” she asks, repeating the question with a sexy slither. “Would you do it for your queen? Mari, ruler of all of Egypt?” That broke the trance a bit, and the pale Irishman smiles, good naturedly rolling his eyes.
“Always preparing for a role Mari. Always”.
“Of course” she says, as if she was almost offended at the very notion that she shouldn’t have been so prepared. “I would make an excellent Cleopatra, though I suppose a bit darker. Still, a girl can dream of the role of a lifetime”.
“I hope it happens for you Mari”.
There was something soft and almost naive, but all the more endearing for it, in the way he said that. It was filled with hope, a hope that the almost completely jaded Mari McCabe found intoxicating.
Around the top portion of her head was a circlet of gold, or rather gilded steel as Bruce suspected, with a cobra at the very front portion, coiled up, waiting to strike seemingly. It was a very apt symbol for how Vic was feeling at that moment. Like he was being eyed by a cobra, waiting to strike.
“And who would I choose to be my Antony?”.
“I guess the studio would…”.
She reaches out and grasps his cheek, smiling as she shakes her head. “No, no. I intend to be so high up when it comes to top billing that I get to pick my co-star. Tell me Vic? Any desire to get on the big screen?”
“Well…I uhh…”.
To those two it was as if the entire world had shrunken away to nothing, leaving only the two of them in their own little sequestered portion of their universe. They weren’t though, and everyone was watching them. Alfred in somewhat apathetic disapproval at how obviously they were carrying on, dancing around one another, obviously in love but daring not to speak those words.
He grasps the wheel of the car, white gloved and immaculately dressed, even here.
Zatanna and Jason both smirked and laughed separately at what they were viewing, not realizing how it was somewhat hypocritical until Zee looked down at the item in her hands. It was a humanoid cat, a representation of the goddess Bastet. She had the head of a lioness, and in one she clutched a khopesh, and in the other a baby, which she held closely to her chest.
She blushes as she remembers Jason buying it for her mere moments ago, the merchant having told him in very broken English that the statue would protect its owner. It was strange of course, being a symbol of a pagan goddess in a land that was now, nominally, islamic, but even still, Jason didn’t think twice about buying it off of him and instantly handing it to Zatanna.
The young man blushes now, remaining near the top hat and coattail clad sorceress who wasn’t sweating at all in the heat, no doubt due to the cooling charm she’d cast over herself and her blossoming love.
“Bloody hell! Not a single bit of corn or a pint in the whole damn place!”
The final couple, the one that was much less new or reserved in their boisterous and all consuming love, enters the area, with George’s arm wrapped around Tatsu’s waist, the much shorter Japanese woman seemingly unaffected by everything around her as she holds a small umbrella up over the two.
“Watashi no ai o rirakkusu. It was…to be expected”.
“Expected? Expected?! What kinda bloody city don’t have booze?” he asks, stopping before the car and not hesitating to go to the trunk, opening it up and depositing the few things that he had bought into it, next to the luggage of course.
“Ohh what is the matter now?”
Mari was frustrated at having the spell that was being woven between her and Vic broken, the land of mystery and romance seemingly having quite the quick effect upon them, and she brought the detective behind her. Shayera and Bruce and Jason and Zatanna, the other two remaining couples, quickly make their way to the car as well, regrouping as the last of their equipment was offloaded, placed in a neat bundle by the quayside.
Bruce watched it with a practiced eye, especially with the knowledge that John Stewart was still there.
The death on the deck of the ship was still hanging heavily in his mind.
“Booze, or rather this city’s lack of it I would assume” Zatanna says, smirking at the angry George, who just shakes his head in anger. “It’s a sin. A right sin I tell you. It ain’t right. Mark my words, it ain't. What kind of country don’t have no hooch?”
“Perhaps you may take this opportunity to focus more on other joys in your life”.
He turns rapidly to his girlfriend, and wife in all but name and…ceremony, he would have to say, and reaches out to grasp her waist, giving the umbrella-covered woman two quick kisses on each cheek to calm her.
“Tatsu, ya know damn well…”.
“Do I?” she asks, raising one eyebrow as if to question him on what he was about to say. George didn’t have an answer for that, and luckily, he wasn’t going to have to give one right then and there.
“Wayne?”
A voice calls out from the end of the pier, drawing the attention of the billionaire to which the name was attached. Bruce looks out alongside the others, and lays eyes upon a man in a rather disheveled military uniform of brown material. His tie was askew and his hat was missing, his eyes carrying with them a somewhat deranged look as he came forward.
“My word…is that…is that an officer of her Majesty’s armed forces?”
Alfred was already angry at the mere sight of the blonde haired and blue eyed man who approached, a bottle held in his hand and already half drunk. Only Georgie and Vic look at the bottle itself, one in thirst and the other in sorrow and shame. Vic quickly looks away, allowing the man to get close.
“Do I know y…”.
“No, but you bloody well will mate” the officer replies, not wasting a breath as he brings the bottle up and takes a swig, drinking deeply from the contents of the glass bottle. He reaches out his hand with the other, going in for a shake that he obviously didn’t quite care about, as was noted by how quickly he dropped it.
Bruce didn’t even have a chance to shake the man’s hand before he’d done so, and only after he finishes his swig does the bottle drop. He wipes his mouth with the back of his gloved hands and makes a noise with his throat, gargling out to summon up some phlegm, which is quickly spit into the dust at his feet.
The women of the group, and Alfred, make a face of disgust, not liking this man at all.
“Captain John Constantine. 2nd Grenadiers. I’m attached to you lot to make sure nothing happens”.
“Bloody pom”.
“What was that convict?”.
The Australian and Englishman had locked onto one another in instantaneous dislike and argument, something that wasn’t all that surprising but, nevertheless was still unwelcome. To everyone’s surprise, Alfred seemed to be on George’s side, disliking the man’s utter lack of military bearing.
“I’ve never-,”
“Get used to it, jeeves. This ain’t blood Westminster” the man explains, not having time, nor the inclination, to deal with any of their questions apparently. He just shakes his head and looks up at the sun, belatedly shielding his eyes from the harsh rays as they beat down upon him.
“This is Egypt, and right now? Your little excavation couldn’t have come at a worse time. So her majesty, not wanting Bruce bloody Wayne to get offed here in what is, nominally, still her domain…has sent me and my men to make sure you get to your hotel safely”.
“Master Wayne, were you aware of this?” Alfred asks, turning back to his boss who shakes his head and sighs.
“No Alfred. I was not”.
“You’re going to be staying at the Wellington” Constantine goes on, raising his hand up and signaling for a group of soldiers, soldiers that the group of Gothamites was only now just made aware of, to move out of the bazaar. They moved right towards the stacked crates, the accumulated supplies that belonged to their expedition.
With rifles ready and bayonets affixed, they formed a cordon around the boxes, clearly designed to be guards.
“Bruce, is this…”.
“I don’t got all day,” the captain says impatiently, cutting off Shayera who glares at him, not liking how this man’s intervention had gone completely unprepared for and how he was circumventing seemingly everything. “All I’ve got to do now is make sure that you get to your hotel, and after that? To the Libyan border. After that? You’re the italians problem, though I doubt they’ll care”.
“Master Bruce…”.
“Let’s just do as the Captain says for now Alfred” the billionaire says, not seeing any easy way out of this. An army officer. Certainly wasn’t what he had been expecting, but also easy to circumvent should it be necessary. ‘All in all…not too much of a setback’ he thinks, watching as the officer takes yet another drink from his bottle, already forgetting about them.
He opens the door to the car, and reaches his hand out, allowing Shayera to get in first, followed rapidly by Tatsu, Zatanna and Mari. Vic, Jason and George help their respective female company in, while Bruce just thanks his forward thinking for having placed the bat suit and all objects relative to their secret lives in the trunk of the car itself.
“Alright, good. You’re all settled in? Nice and cozy?”
“Sod off”.
“I don’t like him”.
“Not many do love” the blonde man laughs, shaking his head as he begins to shamble forward, waving his hand for Alfred to follow. “Gonna get to my staff car, and when you do? Follow me. Don’t get lost in these streets. You do and the locals will eat you”.
Bruce wasn’t concerned. Not at all, at least not for himself.
No, he had a feeling that of the many threats that faced him and his team as they set forth on their expedition, it wasn’t going to come from the people who occupied this place. It was going to come from afar…somewhere more familiar.
He could see them as he turned his head, looking over his shoulder towards the opposite end of the ship where another party was disembarking. The Black Mask and his gang. Most of them were already aboard their vehicles which had been unloaded as well, and their own men left to guard their assorted valuables.
Bruce could see the odious man in the passenger seat, sitting there, glaring right back at the man as if he somehow knew that he was looking.
He didn’t much care for him, especially not when it was another pair of eyes that drew his attention towards them. These eyes were filled with much more than hate. Yes, there was anger there, but hate? No. None of that. In fact the opposite. A love so all encompassing, so passionate that it somehow proved itself to be even more dangerous than hate.
They were growing further away from one another, the driver of the car pulling Selina away from him, but even so he saw her eyes, locked on him and him alone.
“Bruce? Are you okay?”
“Huh? Ohh, yeah. Yes Shayera. Sorry” he says, responding to the nervous and somewhat frustrated redhead beside him. “Just…thinking”. His main thought? Tonight he would have to go out, as Batman, and he would have to find a way to get to Stewart. The opportunities for such on the ship were limited, too limited, but here and now? He had a greater freedom of movement.
‘Tatsu and I…tonight’ he says in his mind, looking towards the Japanese woman who already seemed to sense what he was thinking. She gave him the thinnest of nods, a movement that matched with the intensity of her expression.
When it came time for it, Tatsu was nothing but business.
The car moves forward under Alfred’s firm touch, following slowly after the man who was supposed to be “protecting” them, though it didn't seem like he could even protect himself. The crowds swirled and moved about the car, a flowing mass of humanity. Like salmon, moving upstream.
In a way he was happier to be here than on the ship.
Batman could operate much more easily in a city.
Across the Bazaar
Alleyways were the perfect hiding place should one decide to do so. In Alexandria? Especially so. In a place like Gotham one might find the act of someone leaning up against the shaded wall and peeking out into the open place before it suspicious or odd.
Yet here in Alexandria?
Such a place was so often highly populated that one didn’t look twice at any man or woman who remained inside the shade of the alleyway. Even now women and children sat down on the filthy floor, playing or resting, weaving or carrying on private conversation.
The man at the end though, closest to the exit, was doing no such thing.
He stood there, wearing his turban and face wrap, obscuring his features which would most definitely be out of place here, which would draw attention like the many other Europeans and Americans who were there now.
‘Definitely Americans’ he thinks to himself, his arms crossed over his chest as he nods, remembering how they’d all so openly carried on, fawning over and purchasing trinkets for triple or double the price they were worth.
‘Always Americans’.
What this bode? He wasn’t sure. All he could do was watch, waiting, hoping for a clue on how to proceed. None of that would come from waiting though, and he rapidly decides that a conversation was in order.
‘The grandmaster. He must be made aware’ he thinks, pushing himself up as the expensive car moves out of sight. He wades through the alleyway, one figure amongst many. Nothing more than a man in all white cloth.
There was one single piece of jewelry that distinguished him from the others, though you’d have to look very close in order to see it.
On his ring finger was a large gold band, embossed with a rather archaic symbol that not many around the world had even thought of since the time of the venture’s completion…or what history has often seen to be its completion.
Upon the ring was a cross, a red cross, surrounded by a background of the purest white. It would be the item that the man used to gain access to their sanctum, their hiding place from which they launched all of their necessary operations.
He would be making his report about what he had seen today.