Bab 32: Issue #30: Ninth IV - Weird Guests
Sweat dampens my hair, eyes dilating in exhaustion and exuberance as I greet the families of Gotham's elites with a charming smile on my face. My body is now clad in a well-tailored, three-piece, double-breasted suit and a silver necklace with the emblem of some sort of defunct elite society.
Mother is in her most charming dress as she flirts and flits amongst the populace, helping herself to her fourth glass of bubbling champagne whilst lending her ear to the gossips and whines of the trophy spouses. With Father stuck somewhere I don't care to know, the businessmen that used to litter my birthday are suddenly stuck with their family while their children espouse their unholy virtues on our maids and their food.
While the first part of the party was located on the pools south of the manor proper, the luncheon is celebrated in the largest hall of the manor. A ballroom, once empty and dingy with cobwebs, now looks as if it's been transported from the great halls of the English king.
Towering behind me is the seven-tier birthday cake handmade by my mother and that patisserie she hired. Crimson fondant reigns in the center of the room, interspersed with navy blue icing as a Superman-themed cake looms over my body and heart.
Never did I dream that the sight of Superman would make me balk and scream in utter dread, but, boy, my mother sure exceeds every single one of my expectations.
"I gotta say, I'm not jealous anymore, Eddy." Dick cackles in delight, slapping his belly.
"Kill me. Kill me now." I mutter under my breath, roughly shrugging off his 'comforting' hand on my shoulder.
"Thank you for inviting us, dear Edmund." Bruce says, hands clutching the waist of Rachel Caspian.
I nod, glad to have Batman and Martian Manhunter on my birthday but also a little bit scared. If I'm a betting man, then I will bet that something is about to go down in the middle of the room.
'Thank god, I'm technically still too young to bet.'
"Miss Rachel, did you come here as Bruce's plus one or on mother's invite?" I ask, tuning out Dick's continued cackle.
My question startles both of them. A blush appears on her face as she gazes at Bruce.
"Plus one." She says, causing a smile to brighten Bruce's face.
I grin, "You hear that, Dick? She's Bruce's plus one, which means you're here uninvited."
"What!"
I snap my fingers. "Olgar, throw him out."
Olgar pretends to chase after Dick as the latter runs away from the Russian and the conversation. Bruce shakes his head at me as I holler at my bodyguard before kissing Rachel's hands as she leaves to help Mother, noticing the slight creases on her Mother's face.
Having been left alone with Bruce, I clear my throat as I swallow the fried shrimp. "I've been wondering, I still haven't seen an article about the formation of the Justice League?" I ask him.
His smile widens, nodding at a businessman who raised a glass at him before tearing an eye towards me. "We still have problems with the UN and South African countries, but I expect that to be resolved once the hacker is found. If we could get hacked, then so could they."
"Are you even going to join? That doesn't feel like you." I give him a quizzical eye.
He chuckles, shaking his head in assent. "Officially, I am a consultant to the League. Unofficially, I'm bankrolling everything in conjunction with Kord Industries and Queen Consortium."
"You think you can get me an invitation?" I ask nonchalantly.
He looks down at me, literally, and breathes through his nose. "No."
"It's my birthday." I reason.
"No."
"Are you still angry about what I said?" I ask, brows arching in incredulity. "It's been half a week, bro."
"Of course not, Edmund." His whisper takes on a more serious and sincere tone. "What you said was true, and it took a few days for me to get that. It would be hypocritical of me to scold or be angry at you for ending that man's life when I should have been there to help you. What I can only do now is to tell you that if that scenario ever happens again, please let me handle it. I do this. I go out at night so that people and children like you don't suffer the same thing I did. I want you to remember that you can always go to me, Edmund. I will always help you."
I stare at the crowd like he does, eyes nearly watering from the emotion Bruce has put through that little speech. While I may not be a fan of his strict codes, I do intend to follow through with it while I'm still under his tutelage and I tell him so.
"Thank you, Bruce. I promise, I'll try not to kill people, just maim and break every bone in their body." I chuckle at my joke, turning to see the grim smile on his face. For a moment, I thought that I had taken it too far before he snorts in amusement and shakes his head.
"You never learn." He says before his eyes widen as he gazes past the hubbub of the room and locks eyes with a familiar man. "Is that J'onn?"
"Yep. He looks good, doesn't he?" I say with a smile.
J'onn is seated at the farthest table where the cooks deliver and set the platters to be served by the servers. Alongside him is a redheaded man and a smaller and female version of him; James Gordon, his wife, Linda, and their daughter, Barbara, animatedly converse with a clearly embarrassed John Jones. While Bruce is concentrating on the conversation between the alien and the detective, I pick up another weird note on that table. A girl of wild, long, black hair continuously flits her head around the room before surreptitiously writing down something hidden below the tablecloth.
Bruce leaves me be, leaving the room, which is followed by J'onn excusing himself and going towards the same door Bruce entered. With the alien gone, the Gordons talk amongst themselves as I curiously eye the woman. Her demeanor confuses me, which is further confounded by the unerring feeling of danger I have been experiencing the moment I was informed of J'onn's arrival at my birthday party.
While I could be wrong and, frankly, I'd rather be wrong, I thought it best to take precaution. I walk towards where Olgar currently is, having chased away Dick and is now drinking his third glass of champagne.
"Hey, are there reporters outside?" I ask Olgar as I train my eyes on the weird woman.
"A dozen or so, a few police. Why? Want me to take care of them?" He grins as he answers my question, cracking his knuckles.
"No, but, really? Just a few police when a Chinese diplomat is coming here?" I ask in disbelief. While there are triads in Gotham, never once would I assume that they would be nationalistic enough to warn off proper villains about doing in one of their own.
"Small-time crooks are too afraid of the Reaper to do something and the big guns are not going to risk killing off their business partners. Don't worry, though. We don't have heavy guns, but the guards are armed enough to be cannon fodder." Olgar lectures me with the inner workings of Gotham's underworld. "What is it, kid?"
"I don't know… Just keep 'em steady, get me?" I look at him with pursed lips.
He scoffs, "I've seen that look before. Don't worry."
He nods at the guard posted on the door before walking away and into the swinging door to the kitchen. I trust him enough to read the guards in case of an emergency and, if I'm guessing right, then he will also inform Jasmine of my gut feeling. While my mother could be a stubborn woman, Jasmine has been her nanny-turn-maid-cum-assistant for decades now and she can take care of mother if, or when, shit hits the fan.
I put up a smile and glide towards the man, making sure to stick to the wall to evade the eyes of many. Wallace's family is in my direct path, so I make sure to wave at him and greet them with gusto. Unlike my father, Wallace's dad loves his son dearly, so much so that he tends to spoil the kid whenever he needs to leave town for work.
I remember his sixth birthday, which his father could not attend due to Atlantis' attack on western Europe canceling all flights for almost a month. Wallace cried like a baby before the damn Flying Grayson and Boston Brand himself, along with their circus, came onto their estate and performed a special presentation just for him.
'It's a shame about Boston, heard he got shot somewhere.'
"Thanks for coming, sir. And also about the suit." I rub my hands over the coat, knowing that this was his work.
William gargles his drink, chubby cheeks rumbling in conjunction. "Good, some of my best work. Now, go on and do what your daddy does best."
He winks at me as he flicks Wallace in the forehead when he whines about me leaving without a conversation. I eventually skitter my way through the line and surreptitiously sit on the chair next to the woman when she looks away.
"I don't know you." I say, slightly startling her as she turns towards me with a surprised face.
"Oh, uh, I, uh, I came in from–"
"You're a reporter?" I ask when she stammers to answer my greeting.
Her expression morphs from discontent and surprise to something akin to an old man hanging his hat in preparation to his retirement. She sighs in exasperation before smiling at me and extending her hands.
"Angela Jung. You're the birthday boy, aren't you?" She greets.
"Nice to meet you, Angela. And I am. Name's Edmund." I smile and introduce myself, shaking her hand. "I gotta say, you're pretty good to sneak past our guards and Olgar."
She chuckles and looks embarrassed by my compliment. "Well, runs in the family, I suppose."
"One of your parents is a reporter, too?" I ask, narrowing my eyes in contemplation. 'I don't remember her name nor anyone named Jung in the list of famous tabloids and media. Is she from out of the city?'
"Ah, no. He's a detective from Colorado." Angela answers both my queries. "Look, can you not tell people that I'm a reporter? It's just… I was shadowing a senior of mine and wanted to impress the people back at the station."
I chuckle at her plea before noticing a strange glint in her eyes and although that glint removes itself a second later, a certain sensation washes over me, "I don't know, ma'am." I reply, suddenly finding myself politely speaking, "What's your angle here?"
"The Chinese diplomat. Apparently, he's pretty close to your mother. Something about boarding school? The office's informant doesn't have much detail about it." She responds, taking out the notepad hidden underneath the tablet cloth.
I hum, contemplating whether to give her a tidbit about a talking I know all too well. Mother was never adamant on keeping secrets–God, I even know about her boyfriend–and she was sure to tell me all about her friends at the Austrian boarding school where she met my father in her late years. While they were never that close of a friend, Peng Jin and mother rekindled their relationship when they found out that they were both having children at the same time. Of course, being a Chinese diplomat is busy work, so it was only a few times a year that my mother and I visited them at the Embassy in Metropolis or at their summer home in Washington. Father never accompanies us due to his "busy work", but I've always assumed that Peng never really liked the bastard.
"What do I get in return?" I ask, humming in mystery.
She scoffs mirthfully, "A-uh-Are you… extorting me, kid?"
"Is it really extortion when it's my birthday and you're here uninvited?" I ask rhetorically.
"Oh, god. I can't believe this," She smacks the notepad on her head before sighing and agreeing to my terms, "Fine. What do you want?"
"Information." I say plainly, "I need people that will tell me what I want. People who would allow me to stay within the city's newest gossip and rumor. Specifically, I need you to stay on top of things and be a beacon of information for me and me alone."
A beat of silence entrenches our own little bubble, an incredulous look appears on Angela's face before she bites back a bark of laughter that threatens to interrupt the silence. She holds up a finger in front of me as she covers her mouth with her free hand, shoulders trembling at the unseen amusement.
She composes herself, clearing her throat and looking at me with a serious expression. "That's asking a lot from me. What will you give me in return?"
"As long as your source remains confidential, the mother of his child and a hint regarding Project: Jade Dragon." I lay out my cards.
She tilts her head at the last part of my sentence. An involuntary gasp escapes her throat. Although she hides it quickly, my enhanced senses due to the nuclear-like energy in my cells still hear and see her reaction.
'You like that, don't you? I don't know what the fuck Project: Jade Dragon is, but you sure do. Which means that you aren't a normal reporter, hopefully not someone hired by a damn supervillain or, worse, some international crime lord.'
Her eyes stabilize as she leans in, her loose blouse curls outwards and shows a hint of flesh. "You're going to tell me about the mother of his love child? I thought the CCP have–"
"The CCP doesn't have shit on my mother's gossip network–much less all the housewives of Bludhaven." I respond smugly, briefly glancing down at her naked flesh before returning my attention to her face.
That brief glance places me higher on the table and allows me to regain the advantage I have on her; that is that she still thinks she has all the cards. I have to thank my gut feeling for this one, for if not for the repressed feeling of being in danger, then I would have been lulled into talking with the woman.
"What do you say?" I ask once more, keeping a close eye on her facial expression. Unlike when I had surprised her earlier however, she keeps her face morphed into one of contemplation and a distinct expression of amusement.
"Pleasure doing business with you."
•••
"See the woman in the back? The one I was talking to?" I grab a fist full of shrimps and devour two at a time when he nods, "Keep an eye on her. When Uncle Peng enters the room with Delian, make sure to stick close to her."
"Is she dangerous?" Olgar asks, a hint of excitement bleeding through his voice.
I sigh, "For her sake, I hope not."
Even without two of Earth's and, in this case, the universe's greatest heroes exist within the bounds of this manor. Although one of them is at a disadvantage, their combined intellect and prowess is more than enough to save and defeat whomever dared to stand in their way.
The luncheon rages on, with the servers bringing in the main course as the wide doors to the bottom left of the room opens up and out comes the delegation from the mayor's office. In his second term as the deputy mayor of Gotham, Charles Chesterfield's belly is as large as the embezzled money he had accrued over the years of being the city's treasurer.
Two years ago, however, he ran for deputy mayor on the sponsorship of the Falcones–who, at the time, ran multiple legal establishments–that, however, quickly turned into mire as Batman struck the family and released documents after damning documents. Not only did the Falcones lose a third of their illegal business, it also gave rise to Gotham's newest crime lord, Oswald Cobblepot. Charles was quick out of luck, but I have to say, he is more of a cockroach than a pig. He was quick to renounce the Falcones and risk his life to pass a city bill that cracks down on organized crime.
'I guess he's still surviving like a goddamn cockroach. Word in the street–Who am I kidding–Olgar told me that he's gonna be running for mayor next year. Is he looking for the Chinese as a supporter? Maybe the Triads. I hear they're being pushed by the local gangs.'
Mother is quick to welcome him by giving him a quick hug and a peck to the cheek as if they are the bestest of friends when, in reality, she was willfully ashamed that she had to invite him to my birthday.
"Oh, Maria. This party is wonderful," Charles is quick to touch mother's skin, admiring her beauty. "Your skin is so unblemished, so petite, so… ravishing."
Mother giggles at his words, taut nerves in her temple hidden behind her the style of her hair. "Oh, dear, what a charm, you are. Please, take a seat. Mister Wayne is expecting you."
"Ah, the heir of Gotham." He says mockingly, which elicits polite laughter from the nearby guests and cackles from his retinue. "I'll be sure to give him a little verbal thrashing, if you know what I mean."
Laughter echoes through the part of the room as Charles wades through the room, greeting men, women, and children with such ease that it feels as if he's a really good person. His table is situated north of the large cake where a little clearing is placed for our seats–minus one with Father being out of the picture.
Before the festivities can continue further, there's a clattering sound at the far end of the hall as the door opens once more. Compared to the deputy mayor's arrival, a much more appreciative crowd stands in attention to the arrival of the main guests of my birthday.
Uncle Peng Jin sports a dark blue suit with a Chinese flag pin on his breast, a smile visible on his aged face as he nods and greets back the cacophony of greetings coming his way. The dark bags under his eyes betray his warm demeanor, clearly spent and jet-lagged from the hours of travel from Beijing.
Besides him are four bodyguards on a lax guard, but there's a certain hawk-like focus to their eyes and ears. While they are deemed safe within the reaches of the Serana manor, they have experienced crazy schemes plotted by people far more intelligent than the sum of China's population combined.
While the attention of the crowd culminates unto the father, mine, however, stretches towards the girl waylaying a few meters away. Dressed in a cheongsam with a curly bow atop the last button, Peng Delian scowls at the attention her father is receiving.
'Of course, she's still a daddy's girl.'
Mother stands beside me, a cheerful smile on her face as she leans down and whispers something that made my body shudder in fear.
"You're pretty good friends with Jin's daughter, right? Don't you think Delian looks adorable in that outfit?"
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone