View source for 2012-03-02 - Of Secret Lore and Legacy

{{Logsummary|
Title=Of Secret Lore and Legacy
|Summary=Ted Grant gets a [[Batman|night caller]].  Intelligence is shared.  Plans are hatched.  Ties are cemented across generations of crimefighters and warriors.
|Who=[[Wildcat]], [[Batman]]
|Date=2012-03-02
|Where=[[Grant's Gym]], [[Bludhaven]]
|When=Late, late night.
|}}

During the wee hours of night, Ted Grant enforces curfew at his gym. There's no staying up late and partying. No drinking. No smoking. All those interested in training with him have retired to quarters for the night so they are ready to get broken down again the next day. The trainers, save for the in house trainer, have all gone home, which leaves Ted Grant alone on the workout floor. Everything except for the emergency lights are out, leaving plenty of long, dark shadows all over the place. The only exception is the solitary light shining down in the middle of the ring, lighting up the squared circle.

Being alone on the gym floor might seem lonely for most-- but it's second nature for Wildcat on those nights when he's not spending company with another. And lately, he's been spending more nights alone than not. The aged prizefighter is sitting on one of the bleachers to the side of the ring, feet up on the bench seats and a cold beer in his hand. Sipping the cold beer at a leisurely pace, he's somewhere in the neighborhood of the 5th out of the six pack of beer that's on the bench next to him.

The old man seems lost in thought, simply watching the boxing ring with its solitary light that currently shines down in the middle, highlighting the focus of Ted's current attention.


There's a pensive nod from the Dark Knight, whether Ted is looking or not; it doesn't seem to matter particularly. He does grunt a simple, quiet little affirmation though, thoughtful. It might leave one with the impression that his inquiry was more than simple small-talk or passing curiousity, or the first thing that popped into his mind in the attempt to make Ted jump or lose bladder control. Of course, Wildcat already knows Batman's seldom got time to waste with useless questions.

For that matter, neither does the bruiser. The Batman smiles a bit, in the shadows, despite the gravity of his news. "Weapons are coming into Gotham. Advanced weapons. I intercepted one shipment at the docks." That was also already intercepted once before he intercepted it. It's complicated. He gets right into it the simple way, instead. "Cutting edge military gear. A team outfitted to the gills tried to take out a bent businessman. Micah Gibraldi." There's a dossier offered over from within his cape, as the Dark Knight moves through the shadows to Ted. "Amateurs don't tend to float that kind of bankroll." The Bat's analysis of the attempt. "But I have reason to think it's tied to a much bigger player."

Which brings Batman to the first reason for his visit, at that. "With the heat on in Gotham, they may diversify, try to move their gear through Bludhaven. Even to Bludhaven gangs. I need to know who's rising faster than their star deserves." The Batman pauses, and more quietly, and less ominously, appends, "And you need to watch yourself out there keeping the peace." 'Spread yourself thinner, work harder, fight on longer, but oh don't hurt yourself.' Dick Grayson spazzes out in a tantrum, somewhere.


Ted turns slightly, reaching out a hand to take the dossier from Batman as he feels the shift of movement from the Dark Knight. He leafs through the file, eyes poring over the information within as he listens to the Bat give the overview. With every continued word, the Champ's expression becomes just a little more grim, ending with a brief scowl as the folder is closed, clutched in his hand.

"I'll be fine," the old man replies simply, almost curtly, to the Dark Knight. "Been doing this for too long to let some stupid punk punch my ticket." That's probably his way of saying 'I understand. I'll take it under advisement'. "I've been hearing some rumors-- even had a visitor the other night. Someone callin' himself the Witching Hour Lurker." The NAME is said with a slightly sardonic twist of grim humor as the champ's blue eyes glance over at the Detective, a very slight grin teasing at his face. "His costume looked pretty damn familiar. Minus those ears."



By the time he finishes explaining, the Batman mirrors Ted's features, beneath his cowl. "If you turn anything up, let me know." Which is also his way of saying 'If you need help....'. It's just one of those things that can go unsaid, right alongside lecturing Wildcat on how all it takes is one lucky moron with a clear shot. Now, if the fellow heavyweight were one of his /students/. Well. Could be here all night.

"That one." The Batman notes with a familiarity, if unreadable neutrality in his tone. "Somehow... I think he's on our side." For some reason, this seems like an anomaly to the Dark Knight. An anomaly within that in itself, given the extent of the Justice League at this point. "Seen... anything else?" Like, Nightwing?


There's a brief snort that accompanies Ted's own judgement of the Lurker, "He's on our side, alright. Just got a flair for the dramatic." No trace of irony, just a vague amusement to his tone, certainly not as unreadable as the Detective.

Setting the dossier back down on the bleacher next to him, Ted grabs the last beer in the holder and twists open the cap to take a drink. Rude SOB that he is, he doesn't offer to get one for the man in the cowl. He does look at Batman sideways, though, studying his former student for a long minute. Whatever he gleans from that look, he takes a sip of his beer before answering, "Seen some signs here and there of his handiwork. Heard a few rumors on the streets. Nothing in person lately, though." It's the vague sort of answer that won't mean anything to anyone other than Batman, really.

There's just a brief pause, the beer stopping partway up to his lips before the Champ lowers it again, this time cocking his head to look over in the Bat's direction again, "But that ain't what else you came here to talk about, is it?"


Ted's endorsement of the Lurker seems to mean something to Batman, drawing a nod from the Caped Crusader as the confirmation is offered. "Theatricality and deception are powerful tools, Ted." Even if the heavyweight legend has always been a bit more, well.. direct when compared to his onetime protege. There's a certain theatrical element inherent in ramping a modified chopper through the side of a second story meth lab, anyway. As far as the 'report'? Batman's reply is even more unspokenly cryptic. "Sounds like we're all keeping busy."

It's easy to imagine this isn't the first, second, or fourth time they've had similar meetings. It's also not a stretch to guess that Ted is well aware the Dark Knight doesn't drink. Of course, it's also possible that Ted Grant is just a little bit attached to his last beer. He'd have to get up to get more, and he's an old man.

"Not entirely, no. I have a new student that can benefit from training with you." This, too, is not a new conversation. Once, the heavyweight legend had spent hours upon hours in the ring with a teenage Bruce Wayne. ... to say nothing of the many times since. Or Dick and Tim's own trials in this learned gym. "Your techniques will fill a vital hole in her style." Batman is no longer Ted's student, though; his words bely decades, now, of his own study and confidence.


"How'd you manage to find this one?" The words come from the cantankerous old man with an affectation of long-suffering. And yet, Bruce knows well enough to hear the excitement and challenge at the prospect of a brand new student underneath that grumpy old man exterior. Finally, he takes a drink of his beer again before sitting back just slightly. There's a brief pause, and then he adds, "And what's she know already?"


Ah, those two questions together, they're worth something like $128,000. In the metaphorical sense, at least. To some, they'd be worth much more in the literal sense. To Ted? Batman charges no fee, save the favor already asked. "She had been running from the League of Assassins, from David Cain." Ted might know the name of the assassin. "He raised her. Tried to indoctrinate her as a weapon, not even human, Ted." It's appalling to the Dark Knight. It's one of those times it's plain in his voice, the disbelief, the sorrow, the disgust, the anger. 

Vengeance. Wildcat isn't the only master Bruce Wayne trained under. Once, he was the star pupil of Ra's al Ghul. It didn't last nearly as long as the immortal madman he now opposes wished, but the methods and lessons learned left Batman with /reasons/ to stand alone against the legions, determined to take them down one by one. "She chose to take a stand here, and I choose to help her survive it. Though honestly, in an all-out fight? Even now, I wouldn't put money on you."

There's no pride in the immensely impressive statement, if true. None. It's somber. Still sad.


The disgust and anger in the Dark Knight's voice reflects on Ted Grant's face as he takes another drink from his last bottle of beer. Or at the very least, the last bottle out here. "Christ," Ted breathes out before taking a second drink, as if to wash away the sudden taste of bile in his mouth. Then there is the quiet moment of reflection from the former heavyweight champion before he looks over at the Dark Knight again, "She's that good, huh?"

Suddenly, the old man pushes up to his feet and walks over to the ring, running a hand along the lowest rope within easy reach as he paces along the side of the ring, his eyes glinting in the solitary light. He sets his beer down on the corner and turns back to face Batman, folding his arms over his chest. "Alright. So she knows how to kill," Ted starts, sounding matter of fact as he watches Batman steadily. "What do you need me to teach her?"

The old prizefighter sounds like he knows already what Batman's looking for-- and yet, it's good to be clear.


Batman's nod is similarly somber, singular, and steadfast; he's sure. The Caped Crusader's gaze tracks Wildcat as the heavyweight legend walks the ringside, considering the further question. Not so much looking for an answer, but deciding how to word the parts of the answer he gives. Some facts would just ruin Ted's fun, and the Dark Knight knows it.

"She also knows how -not- to kill. To an extent; her style is specialized, honed to a hard edge. No mercy in it. Quick and brutal is necessary, but you could teach her to cut loose without rupturing internals." Barring a concussion or five for repeat offenders, at least, right? "I could tell you specifics. Where her strengths and weaknesses lie..." how if one doesn't see them, they've already lost to her... "But you'll see for yourself quickly enough." Yes, the Bat seems bemused by this fact, even as he amends, "Let's just say I want you to teach her to be an irresistable force, -and- an immovable object."


Ted's answering grin is an affirmative to the Dark Knight's request, the old man giving a slight nod. "I can do that," he says with some modesty, uncrossing his arms and picking up his beer once more. "Maybe help her think like one of us, too. 'Course, she's already started on that path if she's on the lam from the League of Assassins."

The prizefighter takes the last drink from his six pack and walks over to put it back in its home with the others.

"Alright. If she's gonna train, she'll need to have her own rules while she's here," Ted starts, but then pauses to grin. "But she and I can go over 'em together one of these nights. I'll keep my eyes out."


"You may be surprised." Batman notes simply, and somewhat enigmatically, to Wildcat's assertions. Exactly how he means it, well. That's left to Ted to decide. By the time he's finished accepting the mission offered, the Dark Knight is simply gone without so much as a breeze. It's not always this way; sometimes, old comrades talk, sometimes they spar.

Too often? They're too goddamn busy.