Chapter Text
Waylon ate more than Joker, which was honestly saying something. For a wirey clown, he could pack it down, and Waylon was right there with him. Alexandera hummed as she did one last check of her fridge contents, she knew she'd have to go food shopping soon, possibly just pull from the Den and The Diner's stores.
Waylon sat on the ground across from her couch, he was afraid he'd break the beat up sofas springs, and she didn't want to risk her secret stache of liquor getting crushed under his bulk. He was licking at the last of the egg yolk off the plate.
"Ah'd say sorry fer eatin' ya outta house an' home, but damn Ma, way betta th'n the halfway house." Waylon showed off his teeth in a grin.
"Nah, it's good, most of this was going to go bad soon, haven't been staying here for a while, won't be for another few days."
"Thanks, Ma...." His clawed fingers played with the keys she'd given him. "Wha' 'bout when ya come back? Ain't right kickin' ya ta th' couch." The Chef snorted and made a show of flipping the fabric backing of the couch up and rattling the bottles around before pulling out a mason jar with a rusted lid filled with clear liquid.
"I'm not risking you smashing my worst kept secret." It took some effort to twist the lid off, and the second the seal was cracked, the vapors alone made her eyes water and nose burn, even with the jar level to her stomach. "Want some white lightning?" Waylon's pupils dilated.
"Ruckus Juice?!"
Alexandera snerked, passing him the unlabeled jar. "Ruckus Juice?" Waylon opened his maw, and poured half the contents into his mouth, a deep rumbling noise vibrating the air from his chest.
"Is wha' we called it back home."
"You Cajun or Creole?" She accepted the jar, and unlike her whiskey, very carefully sipped it, hissing at the burn.
"Mos' folk don' know there's ah diff'rence. Cajun, Cher."
"I only know the difference because of the food." She admitted, taking one more conservative sip, before screwing the lid back on. "Took Crane to teach how to make a proper brick roux, though."
"Skinny Bird taught'cha? Ma, Ah can show ya rec'pes ya ain't gonna get nowhere 'cept tha bayous." Alexandera grinned her happy, grisly smile as Waylon chuffed proudly, his tail swaying to his side.
"I'll pay you extra." She checked her public phone, and nodded at the email. "The Super to the building is gonna start the paperwork to transfer the lease to you for this place. It ain't pretty, and the neighbors are loud, but it'll be yours, and it'll keep your Parole Officer happy. Until my legal savings is back up, we'll crash here, but we'll need to find a bigger place soon." Waylon second lid blinked, both blinked owlishly.
"Ya wan' me sharin' space wit'cha?"
"I've been kidnapped already, and I *don't* want to stay forever at Wayne Manor, I'm liable for arson if pissed." Alexandera ran a hand through her hair "And it won't be long until the photo leeches learn this is my residence, so I'll need a place with security. And seeing as how you're my 'Official' bodyguard, kinda, it just makes sense to keep you close." Waylon blinked again.
"Even though ah eat-... Ate people?" It was Alexandera's turn to blink. She had heard of it, but just thought it was newscolum sensationalism
"..... Did you at least eat their livers with a nice chianti and a side of fava beans?"
Waylon looked lost.
"Wha's chianti?"
Alexandera sighed.
"You, me, and Brat are gonna watch a movie soon."
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Madam Feng met them in the back alley behind her shop, imposing despite her hunched barely five foot height. The only vehicle that could accommodate Waylon was the catering van, and the shocks groaned and creaked as he scooted out the back, standing with a hunched posture, trying to make himself less imposing, especially with how short Madam Feng was. Jervis stepped forward, dressed in dress shoes, slacks with suspenders, and a long sleeve collared shirt with a floral pattern, gently taking Alexandera's hand, and cupping it fondly, a smile showing off the gap in his front teeth, Alexandera afforded herself a moment to kiss his knuckles, causing the madman to blush, though it didn't compete with Alexandera's bright red ears. The woman hummed, and her cane came out to sharply hit Waylon's calf.
"Stand straight, Boy. A dragon is proud, and stands tall, stop slouching." Alexandera bit back a snerk when Waylon straightened quickly, memories of nuns doing the same to her orphanage 'brothers'. Feng walked a slow circle around Waylon, sizing him up, literally, before nodding.
"Tail can be accommodated, the bulk is no worse than Bane, and cost will be cheaper since this one doesn't grow suddenly." Feng spoken aloud, and Jervis nodded, Waylon blinked at her words. "We can use sturdy material."
"I have enough in savings for an outfit or two, but I may need to set up a payment plan, my newest expansion bled my account quick." Feng hums, eyes narrowing at Alexandera after she mumbles, dropping her clasped hand with Jervis to her side.
"Yes, yes, I've seen. Nephew mentioned you would need my work." Alexandera blinks a few times, trying to figure out who 'Nephew' is. "Our Haberdasher." Alexandera looked between her partner and the seamstress.
"Wasn't aware you two were related."
"Tch, Aye! Such an American thing to say." The Madam waves off Alexandera's incredulous look. "Dragon, you will wear yellows and reds." Feng turned away, her cane clacking on the cracked cement. "And I suppose blue, since you walk with the Huli Jing, come!" Waylon, still standing tall and rigid, looks to Alexandera, both confused.
"Dragon?"
"I don't know, dude, I don't work here." Alexandera gestured to the open back doorway to the tailor and dry cleaning shop. "But I'd get on in there."
Waylon visibly swallows, and stoops low to enter the steaming doorway.
"We'll take care of him, My Dear." His eyes were clear and focused, his smile soft and normal, which felt... Odd, in a way. "Would you like to go to the ballet, with me?" Alexandera felt her brow pinch in confusion.
"I mean, I've never been, don't know if I'd like it?" Jervis smiled wider.
"There is a production of The Nutcracker that is being out on by Jump City Company, and I think you might enjoy it."
"Um... I... Would like that? When is the show?"
"Next year, We missed this years showing in Gotham, but the advertisement brought the idea to mind. They travel the country every year performing."
"Hopeful man." Alexandera tried to play off her fluster with the barb, but Jervis merely chuckled, the sound high pitched and nearly as mad as his villain name.
"You must bring it out in me." His face slowly sobered, and he looked up at her with shining eyes, lovingly. "... We'll hopefully have front mezzanine seats, right in the center."
"Jervis, did you forget our conversation? We can't have what normal people have? You can't be galavanting in public like that." Alexandera leaned closer, staring at his eerily clear eyes. Jervis lifted the hand he was holding to his chest, cradling it.
"I'm a hopeful man, My Dear." And he lifted her hand, turning it over and gently moving her fingers to press a kiss on the palm, before reaching up to adjust her hair, soothing the flyaways back against her pull back hair. "Alexandera, you are a rare brew, and I hope to full savor every bit of you fully, someday soon." Alexandera felt her ears burn at his forward move, and watched as he smiled widely, tongue pressed to the gap in his teeth, and left her in the alley, back inside Madam Feng's backdoor.
Alexandera lights up a cigarette. Her old habit resurfacing with a vengeance she couldn't kick, confused and flustered.
The urge to run wasn't nagging her mind.
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Waylon was outfitted in a reworked Bane suit until his own clothes were finished. Black pants, black shirt, without the white accents the Luchador was known for.
"Granny scary." Waylon rumbled from the back of the van as they drove deeper into the Narrows. Marcus was, as usual, the driver.
"Joker scary, or Boss scary?" Marcus chuckled, running a red light. Alexandera rolled her eyes, fiddling with the streamers on her flask.
"....Th' fact dat's ah scale o' measurement is scary."
"The correct answer is Boss scary." Alexandera's hand smacked Marcus's chest loudly, and he laughed.
"I'm not scarier than J." Marcus laughed harder, correcting his driving when he swerved from the hit.
"Only thing scarier than you pissed off, Boss, is Fear Gas." The Chef tisked. "Boss, remember when we stormed Sidonis Tower? Query let The Patrons see the footage after we dragged Old Boss out. The look on your face when you shot Red Hood was fucking... Chilling." Alexandera blinked in shock, and Waylon cocked a scaled brow ridge.
"There's video?" That wasn't good.
"There's no audio, but yeah, there's a recording. Apparently Nygma records everything, so he can rewatch and learn from it. It's been circling around the Underworld. Been causing some dissention in Red Hood's ranks. Some are trying to figure out who's gonna take over Sidonis network now that he's recovering. Red Hood took him out of commission, but you won the encounter with Hood, that time."
"Recovering?! He survived a shotgun to the fucking face?!" Alexandera blanches, memories of the bloodied, chunked visaged flashed in her memory, tinged with the faintest hint of fire creeping into the corners.
"Ma... Yer crazy." Waylon rumbled.
"We live in Gotham." She countered, her go to answer for all this craziness. Waylon nodded sagely in agreement.
"Roman's in a coma, but until a body is cold, no one's dead until we see the body or the funeral. Open casket, just to be sure it's not empty wood. Part of why shits stirring in the wind, no one knows if he'll survive, and some people are jumping the gun, trying to figure out if they should follow you, Hood, or wait."
"Fucking hell, I just wanted to run my shitty diner." Alexandera bemoaned as they pulled into the alley behind Hodge Podge. The backdoor propped open, and Patron's hauling crates of restock for a few carts. Damien was already waiting by the backdoor, arms crossed and looking... Impatient.
"You are late. And did not send word ahead to the diner." The boy huffed, nodding to Marcus and eyeing Waylon curiously, head tilted. Marcus huffed as he passed in amusement, chuckling under his breath about 'birds' as he passed by. "Waylon, you look... Adequate. I have brought the required tools, as well as a chair that will not buckle under you, we will begin today."
Alexandera felt her face punch in confusion, and Waylon's tail shuffled side to side in a show of embarrassment.
"Tools?"
"In our introduction conversation when you hired him, it came to my attention he is barely literate. I will be teaching him to read." Alexandera looked to Waylon, and he shrunk into his shoulders, a low rumble echoing in his chest.
"You signed all the hiring paperwork?"
"Ah was taugh' how ta write mah name...." Alexandera blinked.
"....Before you start letters and shit, read over the hiring contract with him and make sure he knows what it entails." Damien nodded slowly, head bowed low for a long moment, shoulders squaring, and he gained that look in his eye like he had when she tasked him with contacting the Rats.
"Naeam, ahtki. Come, Waylon, lessons begin now." Alexandera frowned at Damien's behavior, but let it slide, still unsure why the behavior made her gums itch. Waylon followed dutifully after her Brat, and The Shutterbug peaked through the door.
"... So... Can I ask what's going on with you and Luthor?"
He gave a mischievous grin when she groaned loudly.
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Damien somehow was surrounded by a few Patrons and Waylon at one of the booths, directing a lesson on reading and writing, Barry taking subtle photos and taking notes between recipes, allowing The Chef to read over his own writing. Occasionally, she would cross out sections of notes, and the reporter never argued.
"So... You and him are just friends?" The Chef sighed for the umpteenth time.
"Yes, what so damn hard to believe about that?"
"That's two of the richest men in the world you have a close relationship with." Alexandera shuddered.
"Please don't use the word relationship again, especially when referring to Wayne."
"Well that just makes me more curious!" Barry laughed, before hissing when his wrist grazes the griddle.
"Shutterbug, this is one of those things where you keep pushing, and I'll deep fry your camera." Barry raised his hands in surrender.
"Fine, fine. Can't blame a reporter for his natural born curiosity." It was silent between them, Marcus behind them pulling rolls from the oven, the heat blasting their backs. It was a surprisingly nice lull....
Until Tazer burst into the front doors, stumbling, and jumping over the cashier counter.
"Mama! Mama you-" Tazer panted, face pale, and shakily holding up his phone.
"-eaking news! Gotham Rogue Mad Hatter has surrendered to GCPD, and has willing been taken to Arkham! We have the la-"
Alexandera felt cold.
Fire crept into the corner of her vision.
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
She felt hands on her shoulders, and didn't realize she had stumbled away from Tazer in the service window, Marcus holding her upright.
The kitchen door to the lobby swung, and Damien was at her side.
The backdoor slammed, and Harley was shoving Barry away, hugging Alexandera.
But it was all lost on Alexandera as she watched the new
s feed on Tazer's cracked phone.
Jervis wasn't wearing his hat.
Jervis was lucid.
Jervis was smiling.
Alexandera didn't feel the urge to run...
She felt her heart ache.
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