Summary:Batman does one last training lesson with Helena before releasing her to the ranks of the Batfamily. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
Related Logs2019-04-18 Dinner With The Waynes Theme SongNone |
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With the looming reality of an actual mission, Helena has doubled down on her work on her suit. Or rather, she's been working on it non-stop in the past couple days. Non-stop. For sure. Certainly hadn't been working on this for years.
She's down in the cave, though her work table is lit up like the noonday sun, a pair of light-weight gauntlets laid out in front of her, along with a veritable sea of wiring, electrical tools, and other bits and pieces of her engineering.
It's kind of nice not to have to hide it now.
It's cute how Helena thinks she had been hiding the suit and other work she has been doing with her gear. As Helena works at the table, she'll find her light dimmed, that sunshine cut but the the shadow of darkness that casts over it. "Zatanna visited last night. She brought more information on the weapons you may be facing. Have you decided what you will be using for your self-defense?" comes the question.
Not that he needs to wear the cowl with her, but it's a reiteration of the moment as he checks to make sure that his daughter is prepare for what she may be facing shortly. "Has Selina given you any information on what you may need to know?"
"Not yet." There's something to be said for being raised by Batman: You get a kind of super-immunity to most looming. Helena looks up from her work with a faint, cocky smile as she gestures at the spread on the table, as if it means absolutely anything. "Ready for it?"
She leans over to tap one finger and close a circuit, which sends retractable claws snapping out of the gauntlets. "And I've got this too," she adds, reaching out what seems like a short baton, then giving it a practiced spin that sees it expanding to a staff. "Also travel sized, for your convenience," she announces as she takes it in both hands, twists her wrists, and splits it into two parts.
She may have copied that move from a movie…
"Reminds me of something that.." Bruce trails off. He knows one of his wards is working elsewhere and uses a staff of similar style. After a thought, he glances at the spring loaded claws. Those remind him of her mother, and that shows, in just a mild hitch of his lip. "You have the tools. But are you prepared to use them?" he asks. Stepping away from her, the invitation is left with her to figure out.
After all, he's heading straight for the small dojo in the cave - right where he's trained her, her mother's trained her - where she's spent a lot of her life, since puberty. He needs to know she's ready for this. And for her to prove it.
"Well, you know," Helena shrugs at the aborted mention, smile flickering. "Kind of what we started with, since you know, sparring. It's comfortable and it works." As he starts toward the dojo, she catches her lower lip between her teeth, watching him go.
"Are you sure? Like…with these, now?" She gives the sticks a light spin, the click of their rejoining echoing against the cave walls. "I meant the thing about the black eyes at graduation. And it goes both ways!" She gets her sense of humor from her mother too, or at least how she acts about it.
"Then you will have to make sure that you are not hit in the face." comes Bruce's response to his daughter as he drops the last several feet to land in the dojo, the cape furrowing around him as he lands. There's a considering thought to his daughter as he studies her.
"If you are concerned about your looks, this may be something you want to have second thoughts about." He's sure that she's seen that her mother, as beautiful as she is, has a scar or two herself from the danger of their work. "Especially as you are close to graduation." Graduation from high school - and perhaps graduation into the Staten Island ranks, as well.
"Dad." Helena rolls her eyes as she follows him over, though her descent is a little more complicated, if no less speedy. Light-footed, she actually jumps up first, snagging a ledge and redirecting herself into a hop that bounces her back to the wall about half-way down, making the final jump both shorter and with more momentum.
"I'm just saying more people are looking at graduation, which means more people to ask questions. I mean, if you wanna make it hard to make a point, you can," she chuckles. "But I'm just thinking three steps ahead. Someone told me once that was the bare minimum."
There may have been a flicker of amusement there, before Bruce shakes his head. "You need to stop thinking of me as your father when we take the field. And your mother as your mother. Batman. Catwoman. Batwoman. Batgirl." he explains as he settles into a loose defensive stance. He doesn't plan to attack Helena, he's going to let her start this dance, he'll just follow her steps.
"You will need to find the name for your legacy. You do not want the press to brand you." That may have been the slightest bit of a tease. "I already have heard that you do not wish to be Robin. I can respect that. But who have you decided to be?"
"It's not that I don't." Helena stays back at first, using the full length of her staff to test his defenses. And, he will no doubt notice, his strength and fitness as well. "When I was twelve, I wanted nothing more than to be Robin. But you had one." Her brow arches pointedly at the last, accompanied by a testing flick of her staff at his ankle.
"And now it doesn't fit. Now I'm…Well, I'm me." One, two, three. One, one end of her staff, high and right, taps for his temple. Two, the other side, low and left, hooks back behind his knee. Three Helena twists her weight to aim a high kick at his chest, bracing herself against the planted staff for extra force and support.
"You weren't ready to be Robin." comes the response, even as Bruce is moving in defense of his daughter's strikes. His arms move, using the armored ganutlets in defense against her strikes, a well-practiced dance between the pair. "There's a reason you probably would have never been a Robin, either." And before she can say something about her being a girl, he explains himself. "Each one of them that had come through here had lost something dear and important to them, Helena. Family, loved ones. We were all that they had left." he explains. "They needed an avenue for their vengance, a path to help them not to go off that ledge and become that which had taken from them."
"You were different Helena. Your mother and I knew we never wanted you to want for anything. But I knew you would eventually learn about this and want to be a part of it. I needed to make sure that you knew that this wasn't a game. Or that this was a free pass for you to do what you wanted. Or that you were doing this for the thrill.." his hand snaps out to catch the baton aimed at her temple as he follows her kick as it knocks him backwards. And there'a a grunt of approval. "…for the thrill of it." he completes his earlier statement.
"I think you're ready. Otherwise, you'd not be here right now. You…" he draws in his breath. "You are the closest one to me, Helena. I love your mother. I love your brothers. But you are my blood. And with Selina, we made your heartbeat. And I wasn't going to let you leave the Cave until I knew you were ready to."
"So basically, you're saying I white privileged my way out of it," Helena summarizes, not giving up her defensive posture as he declares her ready. She may not have been in the field, but she's sparred with every person to come through this cave, trained and picked up everything they left behind. She may be cocky, but she learns. It only takes once for her to see it and remember it, then to apply it to the next scenario.
"We could keep arguing, but it won't change the past. And I know you did it for good reasons. Doesn't mean I don't…miss it, a little bit. But if I skipped all of that, I'm not going to miss a minute of this, now, by not valuing it."
Truth be told, he's been harder on Helena than anyone that wore the red and greens. Because someday - this will all be hers. He knows that. Bruce steps in to where Helena is. And he starts with what looks like a punch, but he steps into her instep, looking to throw off her balance. His hand grabs the baton when it's raised to twist it way as he tries to open his daughter's defenses to strike at her center of mass.
"I didn't realize we were arguing." he says in a way that really.. offers no argument. "You made a comment about never being Robin, I gave you the reasoning behind it. But as you said, your moment has arrived to prove yourself. So you need to decide what to do with it."
"You weren't." Helena still seems vaguely amused by his response. She doesn't fall into the trap laid by his punch, instead swaying to one side as she raises an arm to sweep his past her ear. It means her foot is already sliding back when he steps in, though she doesn't completely escape the force of it. Still, she shifts the momentum into a back-flip, reclaiming some space.
"You're the immovable object." For all she has many of her mother's mannerisms, her mind is molded after her father's - sharp, analytical. Cutting deep beyond the surface. "All the good names are taken, though," she moves on, side-stepping to circle around him. Shadowcat, Hellcat, Falcon. Batman."
There's a brief pull of amusement at Bruce's mouth at the comment about him being immovable. "You can't let them find your weakness, Helena. And in this case, we're turning your weakness into a strength. You are the daughter of two known vigilantes. There are those that will want to use it against you. That's why your identity is so important."
At the mention of names, there's a pause as he moves, matching his steps with his daughters - it's no wonder that they always did so well at father/daughter dances, they're taught well. "Not Catwoman?" A small snort of bemusement comes from him. "Night Fury, Silhouette, Eclipse. You will find it in time. But for now, if someone demands your name, what do you say?"
"I mean, I could always just punch them," Helena grins, spinning her staff to one hand to free the other up for a strike at his kidney. "But that's just asking to end up with some name that someone else came up with." She keeps the staff moving in her one hand, a moving shield to buy her more space. She knows her strengths and weaknesses, and slender as she is, getting in close with someone as solid as the Batman is a bad move.
"I was thinking maybe…Bast."
"Darkclaw…" Bruce is still musing when she makes her comment. When she uses the staff as a distraction, he moves from the spin, to feel the glancing blow to his side. A grunt of approval is given. "You are not beholden to myself and your mother for a name." he reminds her. Though the name Bast draws a hint of a frown. "We'll work on it. Naming yourself after Gods and Goddesses invites trouble." he comments as he slides backwards, forcing her to start moving forward to chase him if she wants to strike.
"I have heard of a new team that is forming. Younger heroes. Ones closer to your age." he comments as he waits on her move. "I plan to speak to their leader about financing them, if they have not already secured Stark's funding." He doesn't expressly /ask/ if she wants to join them, but he does watch her face to gauge her interest.
"I mean, only if you embarrass them." Helena is still grinning, keeping the staff spinning as she follows him back. "Which is probably harder to do than embarrassing you and Mom." Mid-spin, she splits the staff in two, jumping toward him with a flurry of blows now that she's watched him long enough not to worry that he's hurt somehow.
"Young heroes, huh? That's cool. But I really don't need to be bought into a group, you know."
"I didn't ask you if you wanted to join, Helena." As the strikes start to land, Bruce is weathering the storm. He's making mental notes of her strikes - and he knows her patterns. Once he finds out exactly what pattern it is that she's using, he moves to counter it, a quick strike to the inside of her arm as he aims for pressure points to start to disable her arm from using the weapon itself. "You're allowed to do as you wish. Your mother is much the same way." She may have done a group or two, he's not fully sure - but he knows of his time with the Avengers. "Though you are already part of one." Their family, blood and extended.
Helena loses her grip on the weapon when her hand goes numb, but she rolls with it - as the baton falls from her hand, she slams her knee upward, sending it toward his face. "You wouldn't have mentioned it if you weren't looking for a reaction," she points out with a smirk, bringing the other baton up to try to sweep his arm away before he can strike another point. "You don't share information unless you've got a reason for it."
Fine, she's right on that one. He jerks his head back, Helena's knee barely missing his face as he attempts to use the girl's own momentum against her, grabbing her foot to force her over before she's ready to throw her off balance as he has to disengage to avoid the other baton. There's several leaps back, and Bruce settles into a crouch, the cape obscuring him, before he rises to his feet and comments. "Enough. Well done."
Pride pulls at his voice as he offers a bow to her, and finally decides. "You're ready." Turning from her, he walks over to the small altar that is set up to medidate at, and picks up something from it. "I know Selina doesn't use one. But I thought I would offer it." With that, he turns. She's seen them before. Bruce has a larger one. But the utility belt he's assembled for her is smaller and sleeker. "No batarangs. But the usual assortment of stealth and tracking devices, as well as grapple gun." He holds it out to Helena.
Between her mother and other more acrobatic members of the team, Helena has learned a few tricks for being thrown. She tumbles with his push, rolling across the mats, but comes up in a three-point crouch with baton still in hand a few feet away, none the worse for the wear. At his approval, her cocky smile softens, granting a glimpse of real warmth. For all her facades, she values his praise more than anything.
She straightens as he moves to the altar, following after him. "Nothing beats being prepared," she says as she looks at it, looking up at him before she reaches to take it. "I love it. Thanks, Dad." And then, cowl or no, she's coming in for a hug.
He can't stop her from participating in this life. She's as much of an unstoppable force as her mother is. The best that Bruce Wayne could ever do is prepare her for it as best he could. Now it's up to her. Her training and skills are as strong as they can be without experience. And he's found a mission he hopes will help get her started. "Allow me." he says, moving to return Helena's hug, but clicks the belt into place. There's no words to be said.
Instead, the Batman accepts Helena's embrace, and holds her tightly. His arms tighten to just hold his little girl one more time before releasing her into this life. He knows when he lets her go, it will be for the last time as just his daughter. She's part of the larger family now. Just a few seconds longer, it's all Bruce asks for, his cowled head bent to draw in the same sweet scent of her hair as he used to do when she was an infant and he was holding her.
And a soft hum of his voice, the sotto-tone of 'Isn't She Lovely' by Stevie Wonder in his breath, before he finally releases her. Stepping back from his daughter, and appraising the newest member of the Batfamily, Bruce kept his cowl on - but there is just a hint of a tear at the edge of it. He gives a rough nod of approval, and decides. "See Catwoman for the mission. I expect the report when you're done." With that, he turns away to head off, because he's going to need just a few moments to regather himself.
Emotional moments with her father are rare enough that Helena isn't going to end it first. Her arms are tight around his waist, cheek pressed to his chest. It's the safest place she knows - the rough feel of armor over the warmth and steadiness of someone she knows would do absolutely anything to keep her safe.
Once he steps back, though, she lets her arms fall, adjusting the belt just so. "Yes sir," she answers with a nod, pretending not to see the tear.