2014.06.17 - The Banshee's Cry: Returned to the Sea

Considering that Gotham's waterfront does not have all that much in the way of a view, there are a surprising number of hotels along its shores. Lots and lots of hotels. The room where McMichaels had taken the wayward siren had long since been vacated, even (somewhat) cleaned, broken glass replaced. After that, it became a game of following reports of drownings or near-drownings, all near waterfront hotel bars, until Jess's car was parked in front of a chain hotel with an attached bar and piano lounge, and the former super-heroine sat, staring in horror at the sign welcoming the group currently holding its conference within its walls. "Yeah. You're gonna need to call your sex-demon boss lady. This is going to be a slaughterhouse if we can't stop it."
In big, bold, black letters, the words WELCOME, VOICES FOR GUYS MENS RIGHTS CONFERENCE.
Which is how it came to pass that Jeannette was now on Edward's arm, accompanying him into the piano lounge while Jessica and Katia the assistant and stayed outside to keep anyone else from entering the building.
The missing siren was in plain sight, but unfortunately... she was also on stage. And plucking away at the piano keys and murmuring ever-so-softly into the microphone in a voice that just seemed to... lure the male guests out of their room and into the bar. A soothing sound. So far, everything seemed... okay. The non-words washed over the audience like so much water (or, perhaps, something a little stronger), making them feel... good about themselves. Confident. Happy. One fedora-clad fellow even got up onto his feet when Jeannette came in, despite her being on the arm of another man. "Hello mi'lady! Can I offer you some form of libation?"
Jeannette simply gritted her teeth, and continued to move towards the stage. "Edward, I do hope you remembered to put your earplugs in. Marissa may not be the only one raising her voice tonight, and I've grown fond enough of you not to want to kill you."
Edward had to admit, in his youth-- he could have been one of these men. It wouldn't have been hard. But he'd met Echo and Query early in his youth, and that... well, that'd set him on a different path as much as crime had. It was hard to think of women the way these men did, when he'd often depended on the girls to keep his fat from the fryer and to make sure plans went off as scheduled. (.... though he had his fair share of issues in treating them like equals, he knew it didn't have anything to do with sexism and eveything to do with his mental illnesses.)
"Earplugs are with me. Also, I have never been so glad to dodge the fedora bullet. Bless you, derby, bless you." He glanced to the side. "Do you need me to bait her out?" Because he didn't particularly want to die by banshee's scream, and didn't particularly want to die by siren drowning, either.
"It might be best," Jeannette said, ignoring Fedora 1 in his continued advances as she watched the stage. "I don't think she was particularly happy with me when we last spoke, but... then, if McMichaels or anyone else has upset her enough... I can probably convince her to come back with me," she said, thoughtfully. "I know she's... slipped. But I think there's still hope for her. With enough rest, and care..." the banshee looked a little distant. "Get her attention quickly. I'd kill all of these idiots if it would keep the blood off her hands." McMichaels had already heard her cry. His death would go on record as natural, heart failure of some sort, but the experience anything but. He'd heard the laughter of the crowd and the swing of the axe.
Meanwhile, outside, Jessica and Katia were struggling with one particularly nasty drunken conference-goer (he still had his nametag on, but had wandered out of the hotel in search of other bars after the hotel's cut him off), trying to keep him from going back inside. "No, really, sir, you don't want to go in there. Really bad stuff going on. Like... specifically Gotham-y bad stuff. Did you guys read up on this city at ALL before you decided to have a conference here?" "What're you? Some kinda feminazi protester! We dealt with that before! We got every right t'be here!" There was some ranting in there about the draft and sitcom husbands, but it all kinda melted together into a drunk mess of Reddit. "No, sir, I'm trying to keep you from being hurt-" "you know what yer problem is?" "I took a really, really stupid job, and this is worse than the gryphon shit I had to clean out of my car?" "Yer just some dyke who's too stuck up and hates men!" "My husband would disagree." And that's when Jessica just gave up and knocked him out, and shrugged at the startled Katia. "I say we just do that from the start with the rest of them." Katia failed to think of an argument against this course of action.
Edward leaned over and presented the tip of his cane to Fedora 1's chest. "Since you obviously can't understand that you are the least interesting thing in the room to her, maybe I can. Back off." Fedora noticed the gleaming gold question mark tie-pin, and then looked up at Edward; green suit, green hat, black shirt, purple tie... Riddler. Shortly after, he fucked right off. Sometimes his reputation was a wonderful thing.
"Right. I'll be right back. Plese don't murder the morons if you can help it, I'd hate to have to explain anything to Batman later."
He left Jeannette alone at the bar, slipping off to skit the crowds, time it just right, and then slipped through the service door and vanished from sight. Dodging hotel security and staff wasn't hard, but getting onto the stage without tazing a poor schmuck was impossible. (Sorry, dude, he left you a twenty as an apology note.) THen he was back stage, looking up the controls and finding an annoucer's mic.
He simulated, with a clever bit of electrical trickery, a short in the line-- creaking and staticy, before he spoke into the mic: "Pardon us; there'll be a brief pause due to technical difficulty." Then, it was time to drop the curtain. Marissa wasn't up at the edge of the stage, so the red velvet rolling down wouldn't hurt but, but it'd at least get her alone... with him.
In for a penny, in for the... sound? Oh, puns.
"Dismemberment is okay though, right darling?" It... wasn't clear if Jeannette was kidding or not. Especially when left alone with so many utterly defenseless mortal men. "Something strong, for the love of all that's holy," she told the bartender, and bit down on a marashino cherry from someone else's glass.
Marissa startled just a little when Nygma approached, but the movement was a little... distant. Almost as if she were already underwater. She turned from the piano to meet his gaze, and smiled, just a touch. "Oh," she tilted her head just a little. Even when she spoke, there was something otherworldly in her voice. Haunting. "I like your suit," she said, after a few moments, and hummed. "Your waters aren't as dark as the others. You're more like me, I think." She plucked out a few notes on the piano. Despite the lack of any mic system, her voice still resonates around the stage. Of course.
"Mad girl... Can you believe what they've done to you? Wouldn't they stop when you asked them to leave you alone? In all your fairy tales, how did the prince say he loved you?"
She stopped, and pulled her legs under her on the bench. "Is that you, my prince, here to save me, then? Or is that the knight? I forget how the stories are supposed to go. Or... if I'm the dragon, now."
"I'm -- well, that's sort of heartening, actually. Not quite as scummy as some." He surpressed a shiver at the soujnd of her voice -- trying to keep it from being too distracted; the earplugs were small, but bright green. They dimmed enough sound that he could hear her, but not well.
"I'm Edward. We've yet to be introduced. I'm no prince, and certainly no Knight. I'm... just an unusually smart gentleman, come to make your acquaintence. Might we talk a while? Some where else?"
"The last man who asked me that took me to his room," she said. "But you're not lying like he was. You /do/ just want to talk." She sat with her chin resting on her knees, and studied him. She knew the earplugs meant she couldn't sing him into doing what she wanted. Tricky one. "Buuuuut you're still hiding something," she added. "Men who just want to fuck me don't usually work this hard to hide it. And they don't come prepared with earplugs. She sent you, didn't she? She hires the best..." the siren looks down at her hands. They're webbed, very delicately. Once-manicured nails have started to grow more clawlike. Being near the water's done more than make her more powerful.
Red alert! Red alert! Edward's eyes flicked to her hand, and then back to her face. Watch the eyes.
"I make a policy of not lying, and frankly-- you're not my type. "Jeannette's worried. McMichaels was doing terrible things to you while claiming to help you... and sadly, you can't kill them all. Especially in Gotham. Leaving with Jeannette before, say, the Bat gets involved..."
Well, it'd be best for everyone.
She nodded. "I know. I knew someone would stop me before I killed too many," she admitted, and sighed a little. "Cell Block Tango would have been a good number to go out on though, don't you think?" she asked, wistfully. "I'll go with you. But I can't go back with her for good. I've... swam in her dreams too many times, been lost in her waters. They're too... vast. Too many years, too many songs," she said, raising her hands to tug at her hair, closing her eyes shut hard.
"I tried... so hard to sing everything away for her. Her money and her doctors, they fixed me enough... then I'd hear her songs again, when she slept." The room began to grow humid. The siren was crying. The air tasted of salt water. "I don't think she knows I know. Everything. What she saw in Csejte...
"Better me than Batman." He'd help her get out -- not because what she did wasn't wrong, but because there's no way the GCPD or Arkham could handle something like her. "You know I've never liked Chicago. Maybe that's strange of me, but..." he shrugged once.
He slowly apporoached, taking up his cane and leaning it against his shoulder. "Where can you go? That's safe for you?" He didn't like the taste of tears every time he took a breath, but pressed onward. "I'm sure she'll understand if you're safe-- and away from men like the rabble out there."
"I... think it's time I went back to the water," she answered him. "The beach isn't far from here, is it? I think I can hear it," she told him. "But then... I always think I can hear it, now," she admitted. "Since the man took me from the desert, and I woke up here. The songs were funny, at first, but I hear them better now. If I swim out far enough, I can be alone long enough to just... be." She took a breath, relaxing a little at that thought.
"That will do more than the doctors can, I think. Then maybe look for where that pretty man whose songs call the whales, see if there's anywhere in his kingdom I can rest for a while. The television said he's friends with the bright knights, and your Batman. If... I explain that I was sick when I hurt people... maybe he won't turn me away." Or she could go to Namor. He's pretty cool about the whole "killing humans" thing. Either way.
"I should... I should tell her goodbye, though," she added, sadly. "She did try to help. She did help. Saved me for a while. Is she here?"
He could understand that, at least. But he nodded one, before he tipped his hat. "If I could escort you down to her, that'd be lovely. Then I'm sure we can drive you to the piers." See the job through to the end, at least.
He offered his arm. "If you'd come with me, i can escort you properly." And keep the riffraff off.
Marissa untucked herself from the almost protective little ball-type type posture she'd taken on the piano bench, and took the ex-rogue's offered arm. Her hummed a little to herself, and her free hand played with the air, making it shimmer in litte rippling waves like the heat rising off a hot road. "I'm still singing for these ones. But they'll just dream," she tells her escort. "It will hurt at first, facing themselves, but they'll be happier afterwards." She smiled, placidly.... and then, furrowed her brow, sensing something. "Though I think we should probably hurry."
Meanwhile, in the bar, Jeannette had not killed anyone. She had broken several bones in a man's hand after he dared put it on her thigh, though, for which he was now cursing her out, while she calmly listened, drink in hand, face blank in total, oblivious misunderstanding. Why on earth was he so upset? It was only six or seven bones at best. Did he know how many there were in the human hand?
Edward did not make haste, per se, but neither did he dawdle. Instead, cane in his other hand, he walked her out into the main lounge.
"Miss Jeannette, Marissa- I think it's time we absconded from the scene. Let these gentleman dream whatever it is that makes them happy."
He looked between Jeannette and Marissa, ready to play mediator as needed.
The humming seemed to keep the creeps at bay. They even parted for them. Fedoras tipped occasionally with a condescending "mi'lady" here and there, admittedly, but... there was only so much her powers could do at once. They'd sleep tonight, and dream. And tomorrow night. And dream again. And some of them might... actually hang up their trenchcoats and say goodbye to the the Friendzone and become decent people. The desire and ability to self-reflect would be there... the social skills would be their responsibility to develop.
Jeannette grinned, seeing her lost little fish. "Darling, are you alright, has anyone-"
"I'm okay, I promise. But... I can't go back with you. The water's calling me. It's time."
The Banshee didn't seen surprised, but her smile faded, and she nodded. "Alright. Let's... find you somewhere relatively clean in to send you off, then. I'll have Katia send for a car." Evidently, Jessica's Kia was not fit for this occasion, and nothing would convince Jeannette otherwise. Which was probably best for everyone since Jeannette would only refer to Jess as the "hired muscle" and Jeannette creeped Jess the hell out, so they were never actually in the same place at the same time.
A surprisingly short wait, and a limo ride later, they were at the pier with the lowest amount of pollution and reports of dead bodies found floating nearby. Jeannette tried talking them into a private flight to somewhere a little nicer, but Marissa insisted there wasn't enough time for that.
Marissa's metamorphasis was fairly quick, once they'd gotten there. Her legs were now a long, serpentine tail that was now partially coiled, partially draped off the dock and in the water. She was strugging a little to shed the last of her clothing with her now-webbed fingers, and in the end, used her brand new claws to just shred them off. "Thank you," she said- to both of them, probably. "I'll sing your songs when I'm lonely." And then, without even a splash, she was gone. Just the sound of something moving in the water, and what passes for silence in Gotham.
Edward handled the text to Jess while Jeannette relayed to Katie - enjoying a drink at the bar and ignoring the whimpering of the man at Jeannette's feet. (Batman ha done worse, to Edward directly, so he found little ability to pity.) But then it was the most awkward car-ride possible, and a dock-side drop.
"You know, I've been thinking," he said, as he watched the water turn placid in the absence of a long tail stirring it. "I'll forego the bonus, if you don't mind. Not that it isn't an intensely flattering thing, but..." He'd had time to think -- about what he did, about what Jess said, about examples he was setting for Johnathan. He didn't know how to feel about any of it, anymore -- the future was a terrifying thing, but gloriously intriguing all at once. Not knowing what he was supposed to do, not having all the answers... well, that meant he was asking the right questions now, didn't it?
"But I'll gladly see you back into town, and settled. I imagine you-- must be grieving, as you have lost your friend. If you wish company, I can linger a while?"
"I'd like that," Jeannette agreed, after a few moments of thought. "Company would be nice." She's... didn't seem to quite understand him turning down the bonus. She thought that was the only reason she got him on the job at all. Still, she wasn't going to argue. "I think I can still find other games you might enjoy," she said, toughtfully. "Tonight though... yes. Company." And at least a bottle or two of absinthe. It is, after all, green.
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