bodilesswarrior | Entries tagged with your love it burns away my darkness

( Arrival )

[Filtered to Kids]

[She's stalked on the network some - enough to know she's not the only kid here, and most of the adults are at least acting friendly. Some she trusts immediately, for reasons she can't comprehend.

But that doesn't mean there's no danger here. Cabin 219 is her next stop, to see if it really is safe (and also play with robots) - but first, she needs to do this.

She smiles, and it doesn't show nearly as much nerves as she thought it might.]

Hey, everyone, my name's Barbara. I wish I could tell you what's going on, but I'm...still working on that. [She'll get it, though. There are computers in her room!] But either way - I think we all need to be careful. We need to look out for each other.

So - try not to go anywhere alone. I thought maybe we could set up...like a buddy system. Younger kids with older ones.

((Barbara is fourteen years old! Her responses will come from

flawedgem.))

[She's never felt so small.

It's the sort of thing she would hide, usually, but not today. Her shoulders are slumped, and her expression is worn, and her voice is dull.]

Everyone I know - I'd just like you to check in.

[Iris, of course, has been at her side since they got back. It's helped - it always has, holding her close - but it can't overcome everything else.

She made a promise.]

[Emperor]

You, especially.

[A strained, bitter smile.]

You can say "I told you so" if you want.

[Spam! Open to All]

[She needed to get out. Out of her tower, out of her head.

She's dressed in an old black tank, hair pulled back in a short, low ponytail. Her hands are wrapped in frayed strips of cloth.

As soon as she gets to the gym, she picks a punching bag and starts wailing on it. It's not about precision, or stamina; she'll pummel the leather until her hands bleed.]

( Spam For Cass )

[Private to Iris]

[She still looks pretty bedraggled - her hair is a mess, and her cheeks are wan, and she needs to keep blinking the fuzz out of her vision.

But she's smiling, fervently warm.]

Miss me?

[Private to the Emperor]

[She waits a bit longer, for this - she wants to be more alert, more perceptive. She's still weary, but it's easier to focus, easier to act.]

How are you?

[Barbara hasn't reached out much, since the Joker's takeover. She's kept an eye on the network, made sure the people she loved came through, responded here and there.

But she's been busy.

She took a break for the port - all work and no play tends to make shoddy work - but after that, she focused on little else.

Now, finally, she's finished everything she needed to. She's ready to make her proposal.

She's set the device opposite her control centre. She sits in the middle of it all, bathed in ghostly light.]

For anyone who doesn't know - I'm Barbara Gordon. I've been a Warden here for over two years. Before that, I lived in Gotham city, and I worked with vigilantes.

[She snaps her fingers, and various projections appear - weapons, combat suits, protective gear.

Look, sometimes she just wants to show off.]

Obviously, the priorities are different here - but not entirely. We need to protect ourselves, and each other.

[Her lips twist with a dark, wry humour.] The Joker's takeover - it reminded me that we can't trust anyone, even if they deserve it. Any one of us could be twisted by outside factors. I'm not saying we get paranoid, or distance ourselves. I'm just saying "be prepared".

[With a wave of her hand, several images come to the forefront. They look like typical clothes - thick sweaters, long jackets, dark trousers.]

These are made with bullet-resistant material. It's the kind of stuff we use on our costumes, back home.

[Another wave, and they're replaced with tasers, pepper spray, smoke grenades. Everything is labelled and described.]

Lethal force - even serious damage - isn't always needed. Extensive training isn't always necessary, either. I'd suggest keeping something on you as often as you can, just to help you get away if you need to.

Of course, training doesn't hurt. We've got a lot of fighters, here, with different perspectives and styles. I know some of us are teaching people already - made we can make it an organised effort.

[Another gesture, another rotation. These are harsher weapons, blades and firearms and crossbows.]

I don't want to encourage rampant bloodshed, here, but we all know violence can be necessary. I'd rather people knew what they were doing.

[A slight shrug.] This isn't a foolproof solution. We can end up in port without any gear. We can face people impervious to everything I - or anyone else - can give you. We can be too slow, too distracted, too hesitant. [She doesn't want to make false promises, doesn't want anyone to get too complacent.] And I understand if you don't take me up on this. But I believe it will help.

[She's quiet, for a moment. She's tried to make this all business, but she knows that only reaches so far. She allows the grim, aching frustration into her words.]

I'm tired of just waiting for the next catastrophe, and I'm tired of being hurt by people I care about, and I'm tired of watching people I love die. I'm sure I'm not the only one.

[Private to Iris, Cassandra, and Stephanie]

[No, it doesn't actually end there.]

Which leads me to my next point. [She taps her headset.] My transceivers still work here, it turns out. I've been making transmitters. [Almost unconsciously, her hand brushes the golden canary at her neck.]

I'm still figuring out who I want to give them too - and I'm open to suggestions - but you three are first on the list, if you want them. [They know how she works, and in ideal circumstances, she trusts them more than anyone else.]

Cass - you should talk to your Warden, if you want to. And, relatedly - how would you feel about teaching people to defend themselves?

[Iris is dying.

It takes everything inside Barbara, every ounce of training and experience, to be still. She knows she'll be too late. If she goes bursting in without knowing the situation, chances are high she'll just die next.

She knows better than that. It's not what Iris would want.

So she stays in her tower. She maps the way to Jack's cabin in her head, and she gathers her weapons, and she waits.

She's just about to make her own call - to the people she trusts most - when she gets Iris' message. When her heart sinks and bile fills her mouth.

She will not feel guilty or foolish or afraid; there's no time.]

[Voice]

[Barbara's voice is low and grim, betraying none of the rage or grief she feels.]

Jack killed Iris. I don't know why, not yet. She's in his cabin; he might still be there, he might have left.

There's something wrong with Mason - drugs, she said. Not sure how it's connected.

[A slow, deep breath.]

The laughter. The warped mirrors. They might be connected, too. They might not.

Either way, you need to stay on your guard. Look out for each other. Iris might not be the first victim, and she probably won't be the last. That's how the Barge is.

[Private to Cain]

You got one too, right?

[Private to everyone Iris is close to]

[She switches to video for this. She figures she owes them that. Everyone else that Iris loves.

There are no tears streaking down her face. Instead, her lips are curled in a fierce snarl, and her eyes are blazing. Still, her voice is steady.]

No one go out half-cocked. We don't know what we're dealing with, not yet, and the last thing she'd want is you getting yourselves killed.

[Private to Motorcycle Boy]

[Back to voice! Hoarse but calm.]

Harvey may be missing. Have you talked to him lately?

[Barbara is sitting at her desk, fingers curled under her chin. Her brain is buzzing, still; it remembers feeling the universe tick.

There are notes scattered in front of her. It's her handwriting, but it's not; it's crafted by centuries and worlds she could never dream of, penned in alien ink.

When she finally speaks, her voice is quietly pensive.]

How much of this do you think stays with us? The people we become, the lives we never lived.

[She settles back in her chair.]

I was a Time Lord for three days. She was bound to her TARDIS, and she saw things, understood things that I could never grasp, not really. She was hundreds of years old, and she'd seen hundreds of worlds, and she knew the rhythm of the universe like it was her own heart beat.

[She raises her hand, taps her temple.] How is my mind supposed to process that, now that it's gone? How the hell does it work? [She tries not to get frustrated, any more, at how the Barge functions, at how much she doesn't understand. She failed, today.]

[Private to Iris]

[It's still easy, though, to smile for Iris. It's faint and it's wistful but it's real.]

You were a witch, right? I could - I'm not sure, but I was aware, of what happened in the corridors.

[The woman staring into the camera is not the Barbara Gordon the Barge has come to know. Not this Barge, at any rate.

Her red hair, cropped short, is streaked with grey. She used to say she had one for every Robin, but there's far too many for that now. She's wearing a black trench, battered and worn, hemmed to fit her.

Her chair, too, is different; it's still imbued with the same technology, but it looks more like an armoured vehicle than a wheelchair.

She's smirking, slightly, as her hands clasp in front of her. She's grown so used to the Barge's tricks, she's almost fond of them.]

Well. Clearly something is going on. [Her voice is a bit lower, a bit hoarser, but wryly familiar.] I'm Commissioner Gordon, if you didn't know. I've been on and off the Barge for about thirty years. Looks like I came back just in time to be confused.

God knows which of us are affected. [Her smirk deepens.] Or the Admiral, but I have my doubts on that one.

[Look who's awake!

Barbara looks rumpled and worn, hair mussed and skin pale. There's a stylised owl on her forehead, wings curving down her cheeks, stopping at the edges of her smile.

Iris is there with her, bedraggled and beaming. Between them, Jonesy hops and mews, clamouring for attention.]

Hey, Barge. [She sounds a bit exasperated, but she woke up with Iris in her arms and purring in her ears; she's incapable, right now, of being overly irritated.]

Fill me in on the past few weeks, would you? [Not that she won't be going through the network with a fine-tooth comb, of course, but individual perspectives are always valuable.]

[Her first thought, when she wakes up, is that she feels like one of her old dolls; torn to hell and stitched up by small, awkward fingers.

Then she remembers to breathe, sucking down air in ragged, painful breathes. She counts the cracks on the ceiling, and tries not to lose herself.

She remembers, of course. She remembers it as clearly as the Joker's smile. It's not so different, really; again, she was brutalised to hurt someone else.

Except this time it's worse, because she saw the Emperor crumple and fall.

She refuses to close her eyes, because she knows what she'll find in the darkness. She focuses on the warmth of the sheets, the glare of the lights, the beating of her heart.

When she's able to lift an arm with convulsions of pain, she grabs her comm.]

Check in if you can.

[Private to Iris]

Are you okay?

[Private to the Emperor]

I'm sorry.

[Private to Creed]

You owe me glasses.