An ever-changing landscape of shimmering angles passed me by as I fell. It was like one of those kaleidoscope toys, except someone had taken the damn thing and turned it into a world.
It was a beautiful sight… but, well, my head was starting to hurt.
"Anybody there?" I yelled out.
No one answered me. The only constant was the occasional window into different places that I fell past.
I was moving so fast I could barely catch more than a glance. There didn't seem to be any pattern either. Bathrooms, offices, bedrooms. It seemed any place that had a window or mirror was accessible from here, which was extremely useful, but unfortunately meant jack shit when I was falling.
Nearly ten minutes had passed since my near-persuasion of Batman had been sorely interrupted.
[Feat Achieved! Bullshitting Batman]
[+1 Bronze Gacha Ticket]
No, no, no. I wasn't bullshitting, damn it. I was truly persuading the Bat's heart. The damn Caped Crusader was on the ropes, I was sure of it!
Of course, my Luck had to kick in and prevent the legendary alliance between Bruce Wayne and the Goonion. Hopefully, the cool billionaire wouldn't take offense at the abrupt ending of our call.
I had a feeling Bruce Wayne and I could become fast friends.
Unfortunately, any future drinking plans would have to be put on hold while I figured out how to escape this weird mirror world. I contemplated summoning Simmy, but that might fuck up one of her tasks, or she might already be working on getting me out. The Gargoyles obviously weren't going to be of much help either.
Hmm. Well, let's see how the dice roll first.
[Rolling Bronze Gacha Ticket]
[Paper Trail]
|Common Trait|
For some reason, you are always carrying the relevant paper or information with you. And so do your familiars, apparently. Just reach into your pocket, and you can find whatever identification you need.
Ohhh, nice! I'd have killed for something like this in my early Goon days.
Still, it wasn't very useful for me right now. I could just wait for Simmy to potentially get me out of here… but where was the fun in that?
…Ah, well. In for a penny, in for a pound.
Doing a sort of butterfly stroke, I tried to steer myself through the air. I kept my eyes open, trying to find the nearest-looking window, and… there!
Placing my hands in a diver pose, I aimed myself at the window and let gravity do the rest.
Passing through the mirror was a strange feeling, like swimming through Jell-O.
Despite that, my body didn't seem to lose any momentum. I shot through the air fast enough that I was a little worried about the landing.
I crashed into a pile of fluffy sheets and pillows with a muffled thump.
"Fortune's Lover for the win!" I muttered into the pillow of the extremely soft bed I had landed on.
As much as I wanted to relish the divine bed, I probably needed to check where the hell I was.
Rolling over revealed that the room around me was a posh but ancient bedroom. Hardwood everywhere, with various paintings and old ceremonial trinkets decorating the walls and shelves. I lived in a literal mansion, and this place somehow topped that.
Some sort of hotel or estate, maybe?
"UGH! Those damn imbeciles, who do they think—"
The door slammed open, and a young boy in a suit and cloak stormed in.
He froze as both of our eyes met.
"I think you've got the wrong room, kid," I lied.
If this were a hotel, maybe…
"What?" The kid paused before looking around. "What do you mean, wrong room? This is my room!"
Shit. Not a hotel.
Okay, time to gaslight a child.
"Are you sure?" I leaned back casually on the bed, the very image of nonchalance. "I don't see your name on it."
The kid scowled as he walked toward the bed and snatched up one of the pillows that had fallen during my crash. He turned it toward me and pointed.
"Derek." His finger slid down the golden thread. "Powers."
Who the hell emblazons their name on their pillows?
…Man, I fucking hated rich people.
I very much ignored the fact that I was rich, too. It wasn't the same. I was rich for the little goons and mooks of the city!
"So who are you!?" the kid growled. "No… you know what? Guards—"
"You dare!" I quickly stood up, and the kid flinched. "Do you even know what my family is capable of?"
The kid looked a little scared, but he squared his shoulders and sneered. "Oh? And what's your family name? The Powers are one of the masters of the Court of Owls!"
Court of Owls… oh, these were definitely the assholes who sent assassins after me. Wow. Real original name. I guess they wanted to stay on brand with the costumes.
"Hmph!" I shoved my hand into my pocket and pulled out some sort of business card and license, making sure to fling them at the kid with all the casual disdain of a born-and-bred snob.
"The audacity…" Derek hissed, only to pause as his eyes scanned the ID. "You're a Vanaver?"
"…Yes," I lied.
"Oh." The kid seemed mollified by the answer. "I've never seen you around, though. What's your relation to Ms. Vanaver?"
"We're second cousins, and I doubt you've seen me. I've been abroad in France." I tutted and shook my head. "My first day back, and this fiasco occurs. How uncouth!"
I threw my hands up in false anger. For a second, I thought I might've overplayed it, but…
Derek just nodded. "The help truly are buffoons. The Talons are idiots, too, so they probably messed up your rooms. Peasants who don't know a damn thing. Thank God they can at least be used for our dirty work."
…Wow, you're looking really kickable right now, kid.
I exhaled. Kick the ass of the evil kid later.
"Totally… screw poor people," I replied half-heartedly.
The kid seemed too caught up in his own head, berating peasants, to notice.
Well, at least the kid wasn't suspicious anymore. I eyed the long mirror I had come through. It was still shimmering slightly, so I could go back, right—
A beeping noise came from Derek's watch, and he twitched.
"Oh, the meeting is going to start soon!"
Oh… well, it'd be rude to leave so soon.
The kid quickly pulled out a pale white mask shaped vaguely like an owl and donned it.
That looked culty as shit. Fucking rich people, man.
"What are you doing?" Derek waved me toward the door. "We can't be late."
"Ah!" I pretended to be shocked. "The peasant idiots must've forgotten to return my cloak and mask from the wash!"
"Goddammit!" Derek looked around worriedly. "Hurry, I have an extra in my closet. Those imbecilic—"
Not the sharpest tool in the shed, this kid.
Or maybe his extreme classism was doing most of the work for me.
—
Everyone had heard those crazy conspiracy theories online, of course. Most of them were bogus, like government pigeon spies or Batman secretly being Bruce Wayne.
So, color me surprised to learn that the secret cabal of rich people controlling everything was apparently real.
"And so, have no fear, my fellows! These petulant peasants and their so-called Union will see no quarter!" the so-called Grandmaster declared, waving his staff. "It will not be long until the Bat follows as well!"
Cheers and applause erupted around the room.
There had to be at least a hundred owl-masked freaks in this hall alone. My distaste for the rich only increased as I sat through what was essentially a bourgeoisie Nazi rally.
Man… I thought Gotham was shitty enough already.
"The wonders of the Court truly are amazing, aren't they?" Derek said from behind his mask. "Truly—"
I tuned the kid out as he continued to prattle on about the wonders of being a rich asshole. It seemed like the papers I showed him belonged to some bigwig he wanted to butter up, so he stuck close to me.
It made me want to kick his ass even more as time went on, but he was helping me keep my cover, so I didn't mind too much.
Going on a rampage here was looking more and more tempting. I held back, though. Even if it would be glorious to kill everybody here…
It wouldn't actually solve anything.
I had no doubt there were probably even more members who weren't present. Plus, whatever legal tricks, inheritance magic, or rich-people bullshit they could pull meant their assets would just go to the next bastard that came along.
If I were going to destroy them, I wanted to root it all out.
Plus… what kind of criminal would I be if I didn't steal all their shit?
So, for now, I needed to get out of here and plan.
But first…
"Is there somewhere I can order some refreshments?" I asked. "I'm quite famished."
"Oh, just ask the Talon guards. They'll fetch anything you need."
"…Anything?" I smiled.
—
Derek couldn't help but feel his spirits rise.
His debut at the Court of Owls had been a complete debacle. The current state of Gotham had completely overshadowed him, to say nothing of the fact that none of the Court members had given him the respect he deserved.
He had almost skipped this meeting entirely out of anger.
But perhaps it had been a blessing in disguise.
Gaining a connection with a new Vanaver was quite fortunate. The Powers were high up in the Court, of course, but the Vanavers were one of the very few families who could arguably be called their equals.
Father and Mother would be very pleased to learn of the favor he had earned from this Jean Vanaver. More than enough to wash away the shame of this debacle.
"Would you mind leading me back to your room, Derek? It seems I've forgotten something." Jean smiled at him, a bucket held casually in one hand.
"Surely." Derek put on a polite smile at the little opportunity. "Now, about Ms. Vanaver, would you be willing to put in a good word?"
"No worries. I'll make sure she knows exactly who there is to thank."
"Much obliged." Derek didn't bother hiding his giddiness.
He didn't even look back at the commotion breaking out in the great hall as he led Jean back to his room. Whatever the fuss was about, it hardly mattered compared to securing a proper connection.
Derek unlocked the door with his key and stepped inside.
"What was it you forgot?" he asked, turning back.
Jean Vanaver didn't answer right away. Instead, he dipped a brush into the bucket and dragged a thick streak of paint across the wall.
Derek frowned.
"…What are you doing?"
"Just a little prank," Jean said, utterly calm as he painted another letter. "Just leaving a note."
"A prank?" Derek stared as a word began forming across the expensive wallpaper.
"Don't worry. It'll be very funny, I'm sure the Court will love it."
"...I see." He didn't really, but Derek didn't want to jeopardize this opportunity.
Screams echoed from somewhere down the hall.
Derek flinched as the sound of running footsteps followed.
"FIRE! FIRE!"
He turned toward the door. "What's going—"
"Here's my thanks, by the way."
Derek barely had time to look back before the bucket came down over his head.
Cold paint splashed across his hair, face, and shoulders, blinding him in an instant. He sputtered, staggered, and then something hooked behind his ankles.
He hit the ground hard.
"Argh…" Derek threw the paint can off his head and struggled to wipe it out of his eyes.
Heavy footsteps thundered down the hall.
"Derek! Are you alright?" Father's voice cut through the noise.
Derek forced his eyes open, blinking through the sting of paint. Several Talons stood in the doorway, joined by a handful of Court members.
Derek felt tears well in his eyes, hot with humiliation and fury. How dare he? How dare that bastard do this to him?
He opened his mouth to explain everything, to tell Father exactly what Jean Vanaver had done.
"What is this?" Father asked coldly.
Derek blinked.
Then he followed his father's gaze to the wall.
Painted across the expensive wallpaper in large, bold letters were the words:
I LOVE THE GOONION
Derek's stomach dropped.
"No, I didn't—Jean Vanaver did this!" he blurted out, whipping around.
There was no one else in the room.
Only the overturned bucket of paint, the ruined wallpaper, and the long mirror at the far end of the room, now cracked from top to bottom.
Derek stared.
Then he slowly turned back.
The Grandmaster of the Court stepped into the doorway. Half of his pristine outfit was covered in burns, while the other half was splattered with tomato sauce.
"Derek. Powers."
Derek gulped.
***
Comments and Thoughts would be greatly appreciated. Likes are like a drug to me and boost my creative juices.
I have advanced chapters on Pa tre on/daisyberry if you wanna read ahead.