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And in the Night, A Child Cries
October 9th, 2001
Participants: Nightwing, Azrael and Sophie
Scene: The arrest of the Scarecrow doesn't end Nightwing's long night, and even the escape of the Mad Hatter and Bane are of a lesser concern right now. Somewhere in the last lingering darkness of Gotham's night a scared and ill girl hides from the horrors of the earlier evening -- needing medical attention and care...
The Scituate [Northern Gotham]
Once the home of all of Gothm's professional sports teams, the area is quiet with its sports complexes deserted for new facilities built on the central island. The area has yet to see some of the restoration others area have, though a few businesses and residences are occupied and life is slowly returning to normal despite the loss of the teams.
People and Things:
Sophie
Roads: [S] - Burnley [W] - Otisburg [E] - Newtown [N] - East RiverThe abandonment of this small sporting arena has left it feeling haunted by its memories of 'the good ol days.' One can almost still hear the rapid patter of track runners, or the heave-ho of heavy lifters and pole vaulters. Normally this area is only visited by the random punk who wishes to leave his or her mark on a clean wall of concrete, but this time there are signs of another visitor. At the front chainlink fence, there is a bend in the swinging gates that are secured together with chains. Hanging from a few loose wires in the bend is a frazzled, blonde wig, and some bits of blue and white material. Not too far from it, a black dress shoe has been carelessly discarded.
Despite a somewhat productive night, one can't rest on one's laurels and so Nightwing still finds himself out and about, swinging down from a nearby building and landing lightly by a chainlink fence that seals off parts of the abandonned sporting arena. The midnight blue skies of night have slowly given way to a more greyish color with just the faintest tinges of red shooting through the overcast sky -- dawn's light slowly creeping up on the still slumbering city. But it's done little to warm the city up and the chill breeze still sweep through the city streets out of the north. But that's not Nightwing's concern either. Somewhere out here there are a pair of unfortunates, victims of the Mad Hatter's manipulative microchips.
Walking quietly along the length of one section of the fence, a fluttering motion catches the masked man's attention, the blond wig snagged on the wires waving slowly beneath the northern breeze. Padding over silently, Nightwing kneels nearby, unhooking the wig from the wires before doing the same to the torn fragment of blue and white material. Yup, if the wig wasn't indication enough, that pretty much confirms at least one of them came this way. And who knows their condition after last evenings experiences. Mouth setting into a grim line, Nightwing hops over the gate lithely, landing on the other side as he peers through the shadows that still lay thick on the stark concrete walls of the once stadium.Azrael has arrived.
The slow-fading light of the moon appears to be reflected off yet another shiny dress shoe, found near the wide arc entrance to the old arena. In the shadows underneath the arc, a pair of torn stockings can be found. Both could only fit a small child, which can be seen as further evidence as to which victim went this way: Little Sophie. What might alarm and disgust our hero is a small trail of vomit and blood that curves in the direction of the shaded area beneath the stadium bleachers. Well, the child did consume at least three cups of the Hatter's tea. Chances are she slowed down around here somewhere, though, so it couldn't be too late to find her alive.
Walking quietly along the length of one section of the fence, a fluttering motion catches the masked man's attention, the blond wig snagged on the wires waving slowly beneath the northern breeze. Padding over silently, Nightwing kneels nearby, unhooking the wig from the wires before doing the same to the torn fragment of blue and white material. Yup, if the wig wasn't indication enough, that pretty much confirms at least one of them came this way. And who knows their condition after last evenings experiences. Mouth setting into a grim line, Nightwing hops over the gate lithely, landing on the other side as he peers through the shadows that still lay thick on the stark concrete walls of the once stadium.
The early morning light does little to illuminate the unkept grounds of the stadium, though perhaps that is just as well. Debris is far from uncommon and abandonned newspapers rustle as the breeze catches them, blowing them aout randomly until they catch in some corner of the building or against the fence. Stepping lightly and quickly towards the entrace of the large, deserted structure, Nightwing's gaze falls upon the second of the abandonned shoes and he kneels beside it for a moment. The girl. Even the dim light is enough to show the slick trail of bodily fluids leading away, deeper into the stadium. And while a trail might be desirable, it too is an indication that the young child requires help. Rising to his feet once more, Nightwing quickly passes beneath the arch, entering the abandonned stadium -- pace quickening as he moves through the grafitti covered tunnel.
The cool, morning air is something new to Azrael. The shadowy night is usually his sanctuary, and very rarely does he ever find himself out this early in the day - but he heard what happened last night. Before he left for his journey into the city, he cursed himself for not being there; for not helping with his fellow brothers and sisters with Bane, the Mad Hatter and, of course, the Scarecrow. He'd be angry, but there just isn't the time for that. Not when two young girls are wandering the streets, their minds going into a twisted shock of realization of a nightmare come true. As the crimson and gold armor leaps from building to building, the man behind the mask finds himself in the dilapidated sports area. Coming to a rest on a nearby rooftop, he silently peers over the horizon with his blank-white eyelits, looking for anything useful.
The final sign lies in a heap underneath a group of distant bleachers. Curled up in a pile of old sporting equipment and the skirt of her dress, little Sophie shivers uncomfortably, her eyes closed and mouth mumbling incoherently. The horrors of her nightmare only seem to replay in her mind as the toxin does its work through her system. Images of the funny little man coming to dinner, seeing herself do things she wasn't in control of, and then snapping out of it to realize that none of it was a dream, just seem to dip the poor child further and further into the grip of insanity that this city seems clench around every one of its residents eventually. Her face is soaked with tears and her apron stained with upchuck. Mama always said that rest would cure any illness, so she has laid down now, hoping to be well whenever this horrible feeling passes.
The dark tunnel is short and light from the far side beckons Nightwing onward, the trail confirming the child came this way. Reemering into the early morning air, Nightwing glances around the wide open spaces of the interior of the stadium. But nothing stirs, even the sound of vermin and rodents absent on this morning. But somewhere in here there is a very sick girl requiring attention, the trail of vomit making that all too clear. Trotting slowly along the edge of the track that runs the length of the stadium, his masked eyes dart up into the seats, searching for some sign of life and finding nothing. At least until he nears the north end of the stadium and the bleachers there. A faint sound catches his attention and Nightwing steps off the track at last, edging his way between the makeshift seats. The stronger smell of vomit wafting in the still, sheltered air is testement enough that the child is somewhere nearby.
For the most part, this area of the city has all but died out. On occasion, a helpless vagabond might find shelter around here, or a small-time street gang could of resurrected a small base of operations somewhere deep within the grime and grit. Both of which can be very frightening for a little girl on the verge of madness. On the rooftop he has perched himself on, Azrael solemnly thinks to himself as the rising, bright orange sun gracefully impacts his dull armor, causing a slight shine to crease the nearby horizon. Below, old newspapers tousle and roll in the morning breeze, and the stench of the city fogs over everything like a wet blanket. With very little area left to search, having already covered a good bit, the man takes in a long, deep breath, then exhales before leaping off the building and into the shadows.
Her mind still wanders, the images still appear. Sophia can stand it no longer! From monstrous bats to short imps being followed by tall gorillas, her mind is being bombarded by warped images of the nights past. She tosses and turns where she lay underneath the bleachers until her back springs up and she let out a scream that echoes through the empty arena. The monsters, they're everywhere! No matter which way her head turns they keep coming at her, laughing and trying to grab her. Even when she closes her eyes, they're still there, breathing down her neck, this feeling only encouraged by the cool breeze of the morning. Once again little Sophie finds her vision clouded by tears and her mouth unable to close for crying. In her fear and grief she begins crawling bare-legged across the concrete, kicking out at any invisble monster that gets too close for her comfort. They're coming to get her, they're coming to get her... "Leave me aloooone!"
Well, if the smell wasn't a dead give away, the sudden scream is certainly confirmation of someone's presence beneath the makeshift metal seating. The sound is familiar enough to those of the earlier evening that Nightwing has little difficulty in recognizing it as from the young girl held by the Scarecrow earlier. His gaze whips about, darting towards the far end of the bleachers and he immediately moves in that direction, dodging around the thin pillars that support the structure above. As he eats up the distance in a matter of seconds, Nightwing's eyes fall upon the thrashing child crawling across the hard, cracked concrete and he kneels quickly by her side, laying a gentle though restraining hand on her shoulder to try and stop the more violent of her thrashings before she manages to hurt herself. "It's alright. We're going to get you some help," he says softly, over and over again even as the young girl's wailings likely drowned out his words.
Swiftly crossing the abandoned street in front of the stadium, Azrael doubts that a little girl would seek refuge here, of all places. But, as he silently leaps over the outer-fence, and into the dank, inner sanctum, the man doubts he is an admirable judge in children's mindsets. Especially those who have gone through the kind of insanity this child, in particular, has gone through. After a few moments of slowly walking around, Azrael finally picks up on the trail of bodily fluids - then a scream barrels out from nowhere. The scream of a little girl. Instantly, and without a second-thought crossing his mind, he begins to launch himself towards the innards of the old stadium, running as fast as his legs will take him. Mentally, he prepares himself for anything. Bane. Tetch. Anyone who might be a threat. The only sound his costume creates is the slow flapping of his long, crimson cloak, and the faint footsteps made in his speedy stride. Within seconds, he has broken free of the dirty tunnel, and makes his way into the center opening, looking around wildly for something. Anything. "Sophie," he calls out, hoping that was the correct name Helena told him.
Sophie's scream and thrashing efforts only seems to amplify as she is touched. Before, the monsters only tried to touch her. Now one actually was! "No! Noooooo! Get away, go away!" Her bare feet kick out a few more times as she wails. Then, as if commanded by some unknown force, the child... stops. Sophie. She heard her name being called. A monster couldn't -possibly- know her name, especially since she hadn't told it to any. Well, except the Bat Monster who was actually a man in a monster suit. "Papa?" The hopeful thought crosses her mind. Could it be? Could her parents have finally found her? Unsteadily she struggles to break away from Nightwing so that she may take off in the direction of the voice. "Papa! I'm here! Help mee!"
The image of the Scarecrow being beaten by the child earlier in the evening is no longer quite as amusing now that Nightwing has to try and calm her himself. Unfortunately he only seems to be making things worse and it's all that the man can do to keep her from hurting herself as she thrashes about on the cold, hard concrete. At least until a name rings out through the early morning air, echoing through the deserted stadium. Glancing up sharply and peering through the breaks in the metal seating platform, Nightwing's gaze scans the open grounds of the athletics field warily. It would seem someone else is hunting the girl on this night as well. "Sophie? That's your name?" he says quietly, barely able to contain the child from immediately rushing off into the arms of who knows whom. "Sophie, it's going to be okay. Just be quiet," he says quietly. Yeah right, that's going to happen.
Although the centerpoint of his search was the missing child, Azrael's empty gaze was searching for some kind of threat. He expected to find the Mad Hatter, or even Bane, but instead he sees nothing; simply because he was looking for the wrong thing. Therefore, initially, the man finds himself lost in limbo, trying as hard as he can to spot something he knows is here, but alludes him, nevertheless. 'Papa,' he hears echoing out, and instantly looks in the direction of the voice, 'Papa! I'm here! Help me!' The man cringes, feeling a bit helpless for a second. Then, once more, Azrael takes off into a brisk run which only lasts a handful of heartbeats - which is too long, in his eyes. As he closes in on where he believes Sophie to be, roughly, he begins to slow down, weary of what he might encounter. "Nightwing," he says in shock as he rounds the visage point, and the little bit of flesh turns into a relieved, thin smile.
"No! Lemme go! I want my papa!" Sophie continues to kick in Nightwing's direction. She's a fiesty little starfish when she wants to be. Unfortunately, the hallucinogens running rampant through her body finally call her attention to the pain in the pit of her stomach and digestive system, which then forces the child to stop to make another hard fit of coughing and choking. The taste of blood attempting to rise and a dry, sore throat only make her cry more out of fear and unknowing of what else to do. Sophia's thrashing stops, and her hands go to her face as it looks as though she is about to curl up on the floor once again and sob.
Ouch. He took less of a pounding at the hands of the Mad Hatter's not quite so bright minions. Ignoring the impact of her feet on him as best he can, Nightwing keeps a firm, if gentle hold on the girl child to prevent her from rushing off once more. The sound of his name however forces his attention away from her for just an instant, eyes darting up in surprise towards Azrael's armored form a short distance away beneath the bleachers. "Azrael... you weren't who I expected to see," he replies, his voice a mixture of relief and worry. The last thing he needed right at this instance was someone like the Hatter to show up, trying to reclaim his 'Alice'. "The girl's sick. We need to get her medical attention at once," he says, voice still muted in consideration for the child who shakes and cries out in fear. "It's going to be okay Sophie. We're here to help you," he says reassuring.
Then, Nightwing is quickly forgotten. Sophie is all that matters to Azrael right now. Looking down at the little girl, and the amount of pure chaos she's currently in, he can almost feel his blood curdling in hidden rage as his gaze washes over her. The Angel's blank-white eyelits widen slightly at her frantic throbbings, and since the sight of a vigilante causes her to only get worse, he reaches up to the bottom lip of his crimson mask, then quickly peels it off - revealing the only thing the young man can think of to calm Sophie down. The incredibly innocent, youthful face of Jean Paul Valley, and his tender, cyan gaze which falls from his soft, light blue eyes. "Sophie," he soothes comfortably, daring himself to take a casual step closer to the, and allowing a thin, warm smile develop on his lips, "look at me." He continues with a kind, confident nod. "It's going to be all right, Sophie," he continues, the repetition of her name hopefully being a relief in itself, "I promise."
Sophie's hands go to her eyes to once again hide her from the fiends that seem all around. Then the voice of reason is heard. That calm voice in the midst of all the mad cacklings and chanted threats she remembers from moments passed. "P-papa," she calls out again, her voice a scratchy and choked whisper. Her hands lower and she glances up at the revealed face of the hero, but it is not Azrael or Jean Paul she sees, no. She sees her papa, Marcello Granacci, standing there in his funny white chef's uniform. His very image seems to make all the monsters back away, though they continue to hiss and lash around them. "Oh, papa..." Little Sophie reaches her arms out for the man, wanting nothing more than to be in the safety of his arms. "I knew you'd find me, I knew..." Her words are constantly interrupted by coughs meant to remind all of her currently ill state.
Whew. The child's delusions are going to work in their favour just this once. As her struggles slow and finally cease, and her cries of alarm and fear fade away, Nightwing finally begins to relax a little, the tension draining out of him. Glancing towards Azrael in surprise, a slight half smile plays across his features for a moment before it is suppressed, lock away behind a more impassive facade. "It seems that you're a daddy," he says quietly, gently lifting the girl up beneath the arms and holding her out to Azrael. "At least for awhile. Things will probably go more smoothly if you take her. We can't afford to struggle with her all the way to the hospital. Who knows what the Hatter fed her. She needs to get it purged from her system as quickly as possible," he says, the faint trace of humour fading from his words as the seriousness of the situation reasserts itself all to strongly.
In all honesty, Jean Paul wants to cry. The sheer innocence tainted by the Mad Hatter makes his insides weep for the disillusional little girl, but on the outside, for her own sake, the young man remains as confident and comforting as can be. "I'm here, Sophie," he says once more, choosing not to lie to Sophie, and pretend to be her father, yet using her current mental state as an advantage for them both, "I'm here to take you away from all the monsters." Giving Sohie a tender smile, he reaches out his gloved-hands, and slips the lithe girl into his strong arms, thus resting her cheek comfortably against his shoulder. Patting her softly on the back, Jean Paul grins over to Nightwing, then nods his head. "Yeah," he agrees friendly, "I know some people over at the Thomas Wayne Memorial Clinic who can help." Leslie Tompkins, to be specific, who he knows Richard is friends with.
For the first time in a long time, Sophia Granacci feels completely safe. Nevermind the pain of her digestive system being upset, or the angry monsters that are trying to get her. She's in her 'father's' arms finally, after so many years of being alone. Her head leans into the curve of Azrael's neck and shoulder and her arms wrap around whatever part of him they can. "Papa," her voice calls in a whisper, her eyelids falling heavy, "I met the nicest man while I was waiting for you. His name is Doctor Jonathan Crane, an' he took care of me. He even said he'd teach me how to make his magic potions... Can we visit him?" Her limbs go rather limp after that question, the child finally giving in to fatigue.
"That'd be a good idea. They should be able to help without upsetting her anymore then she already has been tonight," Nightwing agrees with a slow nod, a smile briefly lighting on his face. But the expression is short lived, fading away at the mention of Jonathan Crane as a frown replaces it. Eyes narrowing with concern, he seems on the verge of speaking before he gives a quick shake of his head. A matter for another time. "Oh... keep your eyes open for someone else while you're out. The Hatter had another victim with him. A young woman. If she hasn't changed she'll be dressed as Alice too. I don't know if she would be in as bad a state as the child, but if she is, she'll need our help too," he says, gaze darting between Azrael and the young girl cradled in his arms. Nope, still some work to do before rest can come. And from the increasing brightness in the deserted statement, the cover of night will not be around for much longer.
The friendly smile on Jean Paul's face slowly turns into a sorrowful frown when little Sophie mutters her words about Jonathan Crane. That bastard, he thinks to himself, his cyan eyes drifting down to the gritty stadium floor. He resists the urge to slander the Scarecrow, knowing that the girl's mind is already in enough of a tail-spin for one day. Instead, all the young man can do is hold the girl in his arms as she falls into her safe slumber, then pat her on the back at haphazard intervals. "Sandra MacDonald," he nods back to Nightwing, trying to overcome his emotions as best he can, but deciding to just turn around and begin walking away, hoping that his comrade will follow. "She lives over in the Dillon Avenue Apartments," Jean Paul continues solemnly, "and might go back once the effects of Tetch and Crane begin to wear off."
Well now, that's helpful in narrowing down the search considerably. Much mroe efficent then, say, randomly wandering the city and hoping to spot someone wearing a blue and white dress. With a nod, Nightwing trails behind the armored igure and the young girl he carries in his arms, lingering a step or two behind as they pass beneath the metal seats overhead. "That will make finding her quite a bit easier," he muses quietly, slipping out from beneath the stiffling enclosure, the chilled northern breeze sweeping down over the bleachers and across the open field that dominates the center of the stadium. "It should be easy enough to check on the apartments and then widen the search from there in case she didn't make it back," he agrees. And with luck, that won't take too much longer. Sleepless nights are not entirely unknown to Nightwing -- or Azrael either in all likelyhood -- but a little rest is a rather desirable luxury.
The morning sun has finally risen to the sky, though it hides partly behind a veil of dark clouds. Stepping out into the vast, open space of the abandoned stadium, the young man is forced to squint his eyes a bit at the sudden turn in surrounding atmosphere. He has been wearing that mask since before dawn, and only now is it registering to him what time it is. With the new light on his youthful face, Jean Paul stops his trek and turns to Nightwing, Sophie still secured comfortably in his arms. "I'm sorry," he says sincerely, "I'm sorry for not being there last night ... and, I'm sorry for all of the things I ever did wrong in you and the Family's eyes." Referring, of course, to the Azbats fiasco.
At another time the warming light of the sun would be a welcome presence -- a pleasant interlude from the oppressive shadows of Gotham's night. But right now it only serves to underscore just how long the evening has been. Besides which, it does little to take the snap out of the chill north wind that flows so readily through the stadium, coming over the bleachers at their back. Continuing to cross the field, Nightwing continues for a step or two before realizing that the armored figure is no longer at his side. Drawing to a stop himself, the masked figure half turns on the verge of dismissing his comments with a shake of his head before hesitating and simply nodding instead. "We can't be everywhere at once and things worked out well enough," he replies solemnly. "Sophie's going to be alright," he says, gesturing to the child in his arms, "And Crane's back in Arkham. Bane and the Hatter are still on the loose, but I'm sure we'll see them again before too long and then they can be dealt with too," he continues, meeting the otehr man's gaze levelly. "As for the rest... well, the past is the past. I doubt either of us is the same person we were back then," he states with quiet surity, finally releasing some of the silently held resentment locked away for so long.
Once more, Jean Paul begins to put one foot in front of the other, and slowly catches up to his comrade. His attention, however, is focused on the tunnel across the large field, choosing to look at that, instead of Nightwing. The shame the young man has built up over the many years is slowly being turned into something better, with having already spoken to Robin and Batgirl. Batman, of course, required the most sincerest of apologies, but, as only the Dark Knight can, he dispatched it with a confident nod of his cowl, and then an assignment. "No, I guess we're not," he says honestly, with a straight, unemotional expression on his face, having been suddenly drained in the past few minutes, "but, regardless, I appreciate your understanding." He then stops, and once more turns to his companion before taking the hand from Sophie's back and holding it out for Richard to shake.
And in the middle of an open, barren field, a sort of truce is called as Dick accepts the other man's gesture, taking his hand and shaking it firmly before releasing it. And a chapter comes to an end. Dipping his head in a gesture of understanding, Nightwing turns his attention to the ever nearing tunnel that leads back out to the street of the just waking city. Already the first signs of life begin to sound even in this rather quiet neighbourhood -- the rumble of cars distantly heard, the sounds of engines carried on the chilly breeze. For most Gothemites, the day is just beginning, though for at least a pair it is not quite over.
The young man gladly shakes Richard's hand, a small, thin smile coming to bear on his face. As soon as that is over, the hand calmly returns back to supporting the small child in his arms, and then Jean Paul turns once more. His feet take him closer and closer to the tunnel, as the world around him comes alive with the morning air. "I'm gonna go ahead and take her," he motions with his head to Sophie, "to the clinic, and then I'll be out there, somewhere, looking for MacDonald." No, the day's duties are far from over. "Maybe we'll run into one another again," he smirks, before turning his route to different tunnel that heads into the direction of where Lesile is. "Take it easy," he says over his shoulder, and then goes about his business, thankful to have another ally.
