Gotham Nights (Batman4560 & VelvetWhispers)

[VelvetWhispers]

​

The alleyway behind the Ardor smelled of wet concrete and grease, with a faint undertone of the ocean carried by the night breeze. Selina Kyle crouched beside a battered dumpster, her black work shoes dodging the oily puddles that dotted the ground. In her hands was a crumpled napkin cradling a few scraps of seared salmon she'd nicked from the kitchen's waste bin.

"Here, kitty," she murmured, her voice low and warm as she extended the makeshift plate toward the skinny tabby crouched a few feet away. The cat hesitated, its pale green eyes wary, but hunger eventually won. It padded forward, sniffing cautiously before diving in. Selina watched with a faint smile tugging at her lips.

"Enjoy it while it lasts," she said, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face. Her thick dark locks were pulled into a neat ponytail, but a few rebellious wisps always escaped, framing her sharp cheekbones. The dark grey blouse and tailored black skirt of her uniform weren't exactly her style, but they fit the image of a high-end server in one of Gotham's priciest restaurants. The outfit was practical, with just a hint of sophistication—much like Selina herself.

"Kyle!" The shrill bark of her manager's voice shattered the moment. Selina winced, rolling her eyes before glancing over her shoulder. Gary, the perpetually irate and perpetually red-faced manager, was standing in the back doorway, arms crossed over his beer gut ready to burst out of his fancy tux.

"You think you're on break?" he snapped. "Tables aren't gonna serve themselves. Let's go!"

Selina sighed, tossing the napkin into the dumpster as the tabby darted away into the shadows. Rising to her full height, she brushed off her skirt and sauntered toward the doorway.

"You're absolutely right, Gary," she said, flashing a toothy smile that didn't reach her eyes. "The tables aren't going to serve themselves. Maybe you should pitch in and help."

His face turned a deeper shade of crimson, but before he could fire back, she slipped past him into the bustling kitchen, her heels clicking against the tiled floor.

Inside, the air was thick with the aroma of truffle oil, sizzling steaks, and fresh-baked bread. Selina grabbed a tray and headed out to the dining area, where crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over polished mahogany tables and Gotham's elite chattered over overpriced wine.

"You won't believe who just walked in," whispered Carla, one of Selina's colleagues, as she sidled up beside her at the server station. The older woman's heavily lined eyes were wide with excitement.

"Let me guess," Selina said, arching a brow. "The mayor? The DA? Someone from the tabloids?"

"Better," Carla said, practically bouncing on her toes. "Bruce Wayne. Table eight."

Selina's interest piqued despite herself. The so-called Prince of Gotham wasn't exactly a stranger to the Ardor, but his appearances were rare enough to cause a stir.

"Five bucks says he tips at least a hundred," one of the busboys chimed in, sliding into the conversation.

"I'll take that action," Selina said with a smirk. "Rich guys like him… they're all flash, no substance. Fifty bucks says it's twenty percent and not a penny more."

As the others laughed and placed their bets, Selina grabbed her order pad and made her way to table eight. Bruce Wayne sat alone for the moment, a vision of tailored perfection in a midnight-blue suit that likely cost more than her yearly rent. He'd draped his overcoat casually over the back of the chair, and his piercing blue eyes scanned the menu with practiced disinterest.

"Good evening, Mr. Wayne," Selina said, slipping into her professional tone as she approached. "Welcome to the Ardor. Can I start you off with a drink while you wait for the rest of your party?"

Waiting for the Prince of Gotham himself to decide, Selina's mind began to churn. Bruce Wayne. Billionaire. Playboy. Philanthropist. And, if the rumours were true, just as reckless as he was charming. How much of that fortune was tied up in priceless art, antique jewellery, and state-of-the-art security systems?

Selina's lips curled into a sly smile. This place was a goldmine, not just for its obscenely wealthy clientele but for the careless conversations they held over cocktails. Deals, trades, acquisitions—everything the rich deemed too mundane to keep secret, they discussed openly here. Information was power, and Selina had learned to gather it like a magpie collecting shiny trinkets.

And tonight? Tonight, she had plans of her own. The black suit she'd stitched together over the past few weeks was ready for its debut. Inspired by Gotham's own caped crusader, she'd decided it was time to elevate her game. No more petty larceny or picking pockets. It was time to aim higher.

Selina Kyle's mind wandered to Wayne Manor. What secrets—what treasures—lay hidden behind its grand façade? She'd find out soon enough. But first, she had a shift to finish and a part to play. After all, a cat always knows how to bide its time.

"Perhaps some wine?" Selina suggested with a smile. "Any preference on the year, or I could let our sommelier surprise you?"

 

[batman4560]

A black and Grey 1953 black and grey Rolls Royce Silver Shadow pulled to a stop in front of the valet of the Ardor and from the drivers seat out stepped Bruce Wayne. The blue suit, as midnight colored as his favorite cape and cowl set, fit snugly to his body, made by the finest tailor in the city to hide the bulk of muscle he carried around with him on his nightly activities. He stepped up the curb, his black shoes clacking softly as he approached the young valet with chocolate locks.

"Don't scratch her." Bruce winked and gently flung the keys with an underhanded toss into the kids open palm then confidently strode into the building. Soft music and the din of conversations filled the air and a hostess showed Bruce to a table, bringing with them three menus. Slowly, Bruce started to strip off the jacket and revealed the matching vest that almost seemed to be molded to his body while speaking with the hostess about her day.

"Yes, I should have two guests arriving." Bruce lied through his teeth but the smile on his face was so well practiced that it always managed to keep his tone even. As he took his seat the hostess left him and Bruce pulled the menu up to hide his features. Slowly his ice blue eyes peeked over the edge of his menu to continue scanning the room. A few servers and buss boys huddled and spoke off in the distance, the Mayor's son had a date across from him and a handful of rival business men sat around a large table, giving one another cheers for deals closed.

That wasn't what Bruce was there for though. The past six months had been spent watching and whittling away at Rupert Thorne's enforcers and Mafia leaders until they were mostly all ran out of Gotham or too afraid to continue helping Thorne. It was only a matter of time until the corrupt politician was face to face with the Batman of Gotham soon. For now Bruce watched, read the lips of the three men sitting around Rupert.

Suddenly a voice broke his focus. The blue eyed man turned to look at an angel in an apron and his heart stopped in his chest for a moment. Bruce swallowed a lump subtly and let a smile crease over his lips just wide enough to flash a toothy grin at Selina.

"Party?... Oh. It seems I've been stood up. I don't think I'll have to wait." Bruce 'admitted' with a jovial tone to his voice. "..." Bruce started to open his mouth but froze when Selina's lips curled into a sly smile. "Sorry, I drove alone. I can't drink. How about water? But you can ring me up for your most expensive wine and you can have the bottle if you want it. As far as food goes, if you sit with me, I'll trust you to put our order in. What do you say, Miss...?" Bruce suggested and gestured towards the seat across from him that was now empty with his large hand and calloused fingers. "I don't think your boss will mind." He finished with a sharp lift of his brow in question.

 

[VelvetWhispers]

Selina leaned her hip against the chair Bruce Wayne had so gallantly offered, levelling him with a slow, pointed raise of her brow. Her lips curved, not quite into a smile but enough to show she was amused—if not impressed. "Well then, Mr. Wayne, you clearly don't know my boss very well."

Before Bruce could reply, a whirlwind of polyester and cologne swept into view. Gary, her overzealous and perpetually irksome manager, appeared out of nowhere like a bad magic trick. With a flourish that only served to irritate her further, he slid a chair behind her, all but shoving her into it.

"Miss Kyle has such a sense of humour," Gary said with a laugh that sounded too loud and too fake to be genuine. He turned to Bruce Wayne, his tone oozing with the kind of obsequiousness reserved for the absurdly wealthy. "I'm sure she'll be delighted to join you. Anything you need tonight, Mr. Wayne, just let me know. Our very best for Gotham's finest."

Before Selina could protest—or perhaps sink her claws into him—Gary spun on his heel and barked orders at the rest of the staff, pointing fingers and directing their attention to Bruce's table like a ringmaster commanding a circus.

"Charming," Selina muttered under her breath, adjusting the apron tied snugly around her waist. She set the smart tablet for ordering down on the table in front of her, pointedly avoiding looking directly at the man now seated across from her. Of course, she couldn't ignore the heat of his gaze, or the way her colleagues across the room were grinning and gesturing at her like a bunch of high schoolers daring her to sit at the popular kid's lunch table.

Finally, she glanced up, locking eyes with him. Bruce Wayne, Gotham's golden boy, sat across from her with that infuriatingly practiced smile. His sharp blue eyes—ice-coloured and far too observant for her liking—watched her intently, framed by the dark lashes that probably had half of Gotham swooning. The midnight blue suit he wore was tailored so well it could've been painted on, and she could see the hint of muscle beneath the fabric. He was too polished, too put-together, like he'd stepped out of a glossy magazine spread rather than the streets of Gotham.

If he was trying to dazzle her, he'd have to do better than a suit and a grin.

"So...Is this what you usually do? Buy your dates Mr Wayne?" she asked, her voice smooth and edged with dry amusement. She tapped a manicured nail against the tablet, tilting her head to watch his reaction. "I'm not interested in your expensive bottle of wine. But thanks for the generous offer." Her inner monologue was less charitable. If she wanted the wine, she'd just help herself—a perk of knowing exactly where the restaurant kept its more illustrious stock.

The corner of her lips twitched upward in a sly smile, though she kept her tone casual, as if the conversation were barely worth her attention. Internally, though, her thoughts flickered with curiosity. She'd heard plenty about the Prince of Gotham, growing up in the city you could hardly avoid it, but now that she was this close, she found herself wanting to peel back the layers of that perfect smile and see what was hiding underneath.

Was it just an act? Or was there more to Bruce Wayne than a trust fund and a handsome face?

Her eyes scanned him again, this time with the precision of a predator. Wealth exuded from him like cologne—subtle but impossible to ignore. Even his cufflinks probably cost more than her monthly rent. And that car? Forget about it. She'd seen luxury in Gotham before, but this was a different tier entirely. She couldn't help but wonder what treasures the Wayne Manor vault might hold.

But no—this wasn't about him. She wouldn't let it be.

"So, let me get this straight," she said, leaning back slightly in her chair. "You want me to believe someone actually stood you up? Or was that just an excuse so you wouldn't look pathetic eating alone?" Her tone was playful but barbed, the kind of banter she knew would catch him off guard. She had no intention of making this easy for him.

Selina's gaze flicked back to the staff who were still watching her, some whispering and others nudging each other. She rolled her eyes before looking back at Bruce, tapping the tablet again. "Let's get one thing straight, Mr. Wayne. I'm here because my boss has a terrible sense of humour. So, what's it going to be? Are you actually ordering something, or are we just going to sit here while the rest of the room pretends not to eavesdrop?"

Despite herself, she felt a flicker of interest in the man across from her. He didn't seem rattled by her sharp tongue or her refusal to play along. If anything, he looked... amused. And while she wasn't about to let him charm her, she couldn't deny that the Prince of Gotham was starting to get under her skin in a way she hadn't anticipated. And he's barely spoke three sentences to her.

Not that she'd let him know that.

 

[batman4560]

Bruce felt his nostrils flare when the overwhelming scent of something cheap hit his nose. The blue eyed man's eyes welled with water but his attention turned to the manager swiftly swinging over to check on Bruce, the man's ears were in better shape than his belly... While the manager slid a chair into Selina, Bruce seemed to move as if protesting the action but stopped when Gary continued on about how Selina would be happy to dine with him.

"Really, Gary... please. That's not needed." Bruce went on to speak while Gary insisted on giving Bruce the finest in the building. Bruce hated the way that people around him seemed to just give the man everything. He could already afford things that was needed and didn't like to have his ass kissed, people like Selina on the other hand who seemed to challenge Bruce made him excited to get out in the city. People like Gary were the reason Bruce rarely entered it and stayed to his secluded manor more often than not.

"What a tool. Most people don't know they can do better than a place like this." Bruce shook his head, tisking the way Gary treated his staff. Slowly he drank from a glass of water that had been filled as he sat down and turned his attention to Selina who just seemed to be looking up. He didn't know the woman looking at him, but the strands dark locks that farmed her face drew attention to her stunning and intense gaze and made Bruce feel smaller, like she could see right through the act he put on for the city and those who inhabited it.

"Well... when you think about it, unless everything is paid for with an even split, someone always pays for a date. But if you're asking if I just ask people to join me while they are at work. No. I don't normally do this." Bruce's confident smile never wavered but his shoulders slouched a little as if trying to relax around the woman. His gaze only darted to the tablet she tapped once and still from the corner of his eye, Bruce watched Rupert intently, reading the man's lips and committing his conversation to memory but Selina's mere presence almost ironically made it difficult for Bruce to concentrate on the task he arrived for to do.

"Ah, I understand. Don't tell anyone, but I don't drink either." Bruce spoke but his smile almost wavered at Selina's next question. He couldn't help but lean closer, seemingly interested by the way Selina posed her question.

"If you want to know the truth, I'm an undercover agent for the F.B.I. and I'm spying on Rupert Thorne and Roland Dagget since they seem to be the only big time mafia heads in Gotham. My bosses want to know their next moves so I've been watching Thorne while my partner watches Dagget. The dinner was my cover and I did get stood up so I'm hoping you can help make it look like I'm blending in... as best as Bruce Wayne can.... But I'm not really worried about looking pathetic either. I've had drinks thrown in my face during very public speeches. Eating alone wouldn't be the worst of looks given my history."

"Ah, yeah I could eat. But only if you don't think I'll look pathetic?" Bruce reached out to take the tablet, zipping through the menu to order a salmon with steamed sprouts and white rice, then slid the tablet back to Selina. She had thrown him for a moment when she started to question him, but Bruce was quick to adapt and roll with punches.

"Please, call me Bruce. I really dislike Mr. Wayne, it makes me seem like a professor or doctor and those are two hats I don't wear." Bruce chuckled but tapped the screen in front of Selina. "Please, order something. I know places like this don't give free meals to the employee's. If you are going to be miserable, you may as well be well fed as well."

Bruce gave Selina a knowing look and then flickered over towards the staff watching them. gently his fingers raised to give them group a wave then he turned his attention back to the woman sitting across from him. "Someone as sharp tongued as you doesn't work here normally. It can't be the tips, so... what's your story?"

 

[VelvetWhispers]

Selina tilted her head, dark lashes fanning over her cheekbones as she watched the exchange between Bruce Wayne and Gary—Monsieur Mortimer, as he insisted on being called. The way Bruce casually called him Gary was either a power play or familiarity, but either way, it was amusing. Selina only called him Gary to needle him, to watch that practiced façade crack when someone dared remind him of his roots as a fry cook in Blüdhaven. She leaned against the chair as if Gary wasn't there, though she made a mental note of Bruce's almost protective flinch when the chair was slid under her.

Her lips quirked upward when Bruce dismissed Gary's obsequiousness with a dry "What a tool. Most people don't know they can do better than a place like this."

Selina's amusement faltered.

"Most people can't do better, Mr. Wayne." Her voice was velvet with an edge of steel. "Some of us have bills to pay. A place like the Ardor—" she gestured around the meticulously decorated restaurant, its polished silverware catching the dim light— "is a pretty big deal for those of us not born into... well, whatever castle you crawled out of. For the record, Gary brags about working here like it's the Ritz."

She couldn't believe she was defending Gary Mortimer.

She caught the flicker of discomfort in Bruce's expression and let him off the hook with a shrug. "It's not your fault you don't spend much time outside the rich boy's club bubble. But I'll give you credit—you don't seem as insufferable as I expected."

Her posture eased back into languid disinterest, though she listened keenly as he spoke. She noted his slouched shoulders, the practiced ease of his words, and the way his eyes darted—not nervously, but calculatingly—toward Rupert Thorne.

Strange...

Selina's brows raised ever so slightly when Bruce grabbed the tablet and ordered salmon, white rice, and sprouts like he owned the place. She eyed the device as he slid it back to her, considering her options. Why not? It wasn't every day she got to watch Monsieur Mortimer trip over himself to serve her hand and foot. Besides, it'd give the staff plenty to gossip about once the shift ended. Selina flipped the tablet to face her with the tips of her fingers and tapped the same order, making a mental note to exaggerate the details later for laughs.

When Bruce launched into his absurd FBI cover story, Selina couldn't help it—she burst into laughter. Low and throaty, the sound was genuine and completely unrestrained. "Oh, that's good. An undercover agent? And here I thought you were just another bored trust fund baby playing dress-up." Her grin lingered as she leaned in slightly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Let me guess, you're wearing a wire right now? Careful, I might spill state secrets."

When he asked her about her story, Selina leaned forward with no real intention of revealing anything about herself, her expression conspiratorial. "Since we're playing pretend," she began in a dramatic whisper, "I'm a thief. I work here as a cover so I can rob all these people blind. The earrings on the woman at table five? Cartier. That diamond bracelet? Real, by the way. And Rupert Thorne? Let's just say his bank accounts will be a little lighter by the time I'm done."

She leaned back with a smirk, watching his reaction. Of course, he'd never believe her, but that didn't make it any less amusing.

"Speaking of Thorne," she continued, her tone casual but pointed, "I wouldn't worry about him for too long. Word around the grapevine is that his days as Gotham's big shot are numbered."

Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes as she considered the work ahead. Thorne's attempts to gentrify the East End weren't just business—they were personal. Personal to her. The people there weren't just neighbours; they were her people. His plan to bulldoze the history, culture, and lives of those who made the East End their home lit a fire in her that no amount of diamonds could quench.

Selina lived in Gotham's East End, a gritty, crime-ridden area filled with struggling families, small businesses, and a strong sense of community despite its challenges. This neighbourhood was where she grew up, survived her toughest years, and honed her skills as...well as many things. For Selina, the East End wasn't just where she lived—it was her home, her sanctuary, and a place she protected fiercely and would continue to do so.

And this was precisely why in the weeks past Rupert Thorne had found himself on her bad side. Thorne saw the East End as prime real estate for a new luxury development project. His plan was to demolish the area's historic buildings and replace them with high-end apartments, shopping centres, and entertainment venues. His goal wasn't just profit but also to eliminate the haven for lower-income residents and petty criminals who could oppose his power in Gotham's underworld.

To make this happen, Thorne used a combination of legal and illegal methods to push his project forward. Buying out officials, he bribed city council members, zoning board officials, and judges to fast-track permits, rezoning the neighbourhood, and shutting down any legal opposition from residents. Then there was the evictions and harassment. Thorne hired thugs to intimidate tenants, sabotage small businesses, and force residents out of their homes by illegal means like cutting off utilities, vandalism, and even arson disguised as "accidents." As well as false charges and framing using his influence, Thorne fabricated charges against community leaders, activists, and anyone opposing him. He also spread false rumours about the neighbourhood being a hub for dangerous criminal activity to justify police crackdowns. And not to forget the destruction of heritage sites. Thorne targeted historic landmarks in the neighbourhood for demolition, erasing the cultural significance of the area. This included a church, an old theatre, and even the orphanage where Selina spent part of her youth.

Selina initially notices subtle changes. People she knew, like a family-run diner owner and a local shelter manager, suddenly left under mysterious circumstances. A favourite corner shop of hers was boarded up overnight without explanation. Her own apartment building was cited for vague "safety violations," and tenants were threatened with eviction. Over her dead body was she leaving her place. Of course a curious kitty like herself had to find out what was happening. So she began her own investigation some weeks ago and it was then she uncovered Thorne's web of corruption and his ruthless plans for East End. What enraged her the most was that Thorne's project didn't just target her home—it preyed on vulnerable people who couldn't fight back.

Naturally her retaliation was swift. Her response was calculated, creative, and devastating for Thorne. She began by using her influence with Gotham's underworld to rally local gangs and community members to protect the neighbourhood. She also ensured Thorne's hired thugs were dealt with swiftly, using her agility and cunning to humiliate them. It was easier than she expected and there strangely didn't seem to be that many. But she wasn't in a position to question her good fortune.

Next there was the infiltration and sabotage of the construction sites. Destroying equipment, leaving incriminating evidence of unsafe practices, and caused delays that cost him millions. The memory of that night a few weeks ago bought a small smile to Selina's lips.

The clang of metal had echoed through the half-finished skeleton of the building, but Selina moved like a shadow, her footsteps silent against the steel beams. Her gloved hands had worked quickly, slicing through power cables and planting small charges along the foundation, each movement a deliberate act of rebellion. The air had smelled of sawdust and fresh concrete, but in her mind, it reeked of greed and corruption. It wasn't just a construction site—it was an insult, a threat to everything the East End stood for. As she had crouched behind a pile of lumber, watching the oblivious guards pace beneath her, a grin had tugged at the corner of her mouth. They had no idea who they were up against. She had left her mark where it would sting the most: clawed gouges in the foreman's desk, a blueprint shredded to ribbons, and a taunting note: "Better luck next time, Thorne. – C." When the first sparks of chaos had erupted—machinery grinding to a halt, alarms screaming into the night—Selina had slipped away, her heart pounding with righteous satisfaction. That night wasn't just sabotage; it had been justice delivered with a cat's elegant precision.

Tonight, she'd remind Rupert Thorne exactly who he was dealing with. The new suit was ready, the plan in place. She'd break into his penthouse mansion, make off with a few personal trophies, as well as those all important documents proving his illegal activities—like bribes, intimidation tactics, and connections to organized crime. She would anonymously leak these to the press and Gotham's few honest officials to expose him to Gotham and the world and leave a message that even he couldn't ignore.

Selina's gaze flicked back to Bruce, her smirk returning. For now, though, she had a billionaire to humour and salmon to enjoy. Let the rest of the night take care of itself.