Gives a Whole New Meaning to 'Cat Burglar' (Em!)

[Selina Kyle]

Dusk had just ended. The inky sky over Gotham was broken only by the twinkle of starlight, the glow of a half-full moon, and the faraway gleam of the sun still lighting up a gray line of defiance on the horizon. Gotham was a curious town, thought Selina Kyle as she waited for the darkness to overtake the city completely. It was probably the one place in the world where night really seemed more fitting than daylight. New York might be the city that never sleeps, where Time Square lights register as far away as the Moon, but Gotham was the real night time metropolis. Only Gotham had an entire subculture creeps, freaks, and vigilantes that only came out to play when nervous citizens with nine to five careers locked their doors against the other half. She had never considered herself one of those nocturnal subhuman types, but, she realized with a smirk, she was quickly becoming one. And she couldn't find the dignity to feel sorry for it.

The wind pushed past her slim body as she rocketed out of East End on her trusty old Honda sportbike, finally ditching it in a public parking garage a few blocks from her target. She would have to send the mayor a note to thank him for his parking revamp; it was dead useful. She took a few moments to prepare then. Black latex gloves made it almost impossible to identify her fingerprints, and a black Mardi Gras mask obscured her facial features. Beyond that she was as nondescript as she could get: A black leotard covered her pale skin from wrist to ankles and a pair of tall dance boots ensured both her anonymity and her mobility. The cat burglar was more than ready to go.

Cat burglar. Teehee.

Standing on the back of her bike, she easily slipped up onto the upper level of the parking garage. From there it was only a short leap onto the balcony of a nearby corporate building, which she scaled with ease. Once to the rooftops it was a few blocks to her destination, and she arrived without having ever been noticed by the denizens below. She made about as much noise as a mouse, but if the game was cat and mouse she was definitely the former.

Careful green eyes peered over the edge of the building into the alleyway below, and when she spotted the manager of the mob-controlled jeweler coming out of the side door to close up she smirked. Right on time. With a leap she somersaulted over the edge of the building, landing two-footed on the hunched back of the manager and sending him face forward into the closed door. She flipped backwards, landing easily behind him as he fumbled in a daze, and with a roundhouse she sent him flying, knocking him out. Without missing a beat she lifted his keys from where they had fallen onto the alley floor and waltzed into the store proper.

"Come to mommy," she told the jewelry around her, lifting her bottom onto the nearest case and twirling around until she was on the other side. Unlocking the case easily, she reached in and pulled out the glitziest thing she could find, promptly holding the long diamond earrings up to her face to admire them in one of the mirrors that lined the case tops. "Me-ow." Pulling her slim backpack off of her back she began to fill the bag with all the jewelry she could stuff into it. After all, the Falcones could afford to give back.

[Dick Grayson]

Nightwing was no hero. He had no intention of patrolling the streets for a burglar. Cat, dog, or otherwise. That didn’t change that he was on Falcone turf to check up on a weapons shipment that was scheduled to go through. It was, after all, money in Dick Grayson’s pocket not to involve the police. So, he took matters into his own hands. He peered down at the street below to watch for the caravan when he caught site of a figure vaulting off the side of a building. How many people were going to steal his gig? He growled under his breath as curiosity, once more, got the better of him.

He didn’t see her landing point. Just the jump itself and in similar fashion, Nightwing followed without so much as a word or a sound. His mind raced to try and figure out just what this person could be doing jumping around like that in mob turf. It wasn’t until he found that initial jump site that he looked down over the ledge to see alley entrance to a jewelry store and, what he assumed to be the manager, unconscious. The time on his watch beeped. The shipment was coming and now Nightwing would have to make a choice. Go back about his business or investigate this further. His fists clenched at the idea of options. He didn’t have these before and he certainly didn’t want them now. It left a chance for him to fight amongst his egos. He had to make a choice between Nightwing’s agenda or Dick Grayson’s duty to protect and serve. His brow furrowed beneath the mask as he debated it and found that the instinct to stop a crime in progress won over the slaughter of the incoming mobsters that were bringing weapons into the city. The other masked freaks could take care of the caravan. They could take care of the burglar too…

“Damn it,” he swore under his breath and beneath the hood before he too plummeted from the side of the building to land in a crouch that favored his right to take the impact.

He rose to his feet easily and looked down at the poor bastard that was just closing up shop. He worked for a dirty business. He had it coming and, so, Nightwing didn’t afford the man much pity. He checked the man’s pulse before stalking towards the door and slowly opening it. What he saw inside, sadly, seemed to be somewhat average since he’d taken to his work at night. Another broad in a mask. Wonderful. His brow arched beneath the mask. “Hrm. I thought it was birds that had a fetish for shiny things,” he said with a smirk while he was poised on the balls of his feet. There was more Dick Grayson in that comment than he would have liked.

[Selina Kyle]

She was a little surprised at being caught. No, understatement, she was downright shocked at being caught. It's not that she was so experienced at this gig that she thought she couldn't possibly found out. Rather, she had just built up this new career of hers so much in her head that she had forgot to include the fact that she would occasionally have to fight her way out instead of sneaking around proudly purring about her snag. Not that she wasn't prepared. Ted had been training her for just such an occasion, and if she could kick his heavy, cheating ass, she had a pretty good chance against just about anyone. Even this guy... who was this guy?

The initial surprise at being interrupted passing, she instead turned her attention to the person who had done the interrupting. Her eyes quickly scanned him, taking stock of him in a perfunctory sweep. Tall and solid, he didn't look particularly beefy but she would be a fool to underestimate him seeing as she preyed on underestimation herself. Dressed in a hoodie and a leather jacket he would look just like any other guy in the neighborhood if not for the mask he wore over his eyes and nose. Fellow criminal, she wondered? Or something else? The most important mystery seemed to be whether or not he was packing heat. She didn't have any cover surrounded by glass counters, so she would have to play along until she knew more about the situation.

Her expression shifted from surprised, caught in the headlights look to a slowly amused smirk, and she stood up from her rummaging position to her full height. "Oh?" she asked innocently though her eyes sparkled with devil may care mischief. "Well," she qualified, leaning her elbows onto the glass counter in front of her as she pushed a large platinum diamond ring onto her index finger. She set her chin on her freshly bejeweled hand and eyed her critic lazily, her smirk refreshing. "I have many fetishes," she confessed.

"What's yours?" she asked then, eying him carefully (masking another sweep for any possibly concealed weapons). "If I had to guess," she said, lifting her head and clasping her hands in front of her in a show of enthusiasm for the game. "I'd say anonymity," she pulled out of thin air, gaze landing on his mask, "with a side of sadism," she eyed his billy club. She then grinned and added, "Possibly kleptophilia, but that may be wishful thinking." She leaned further against the counter, watching him curiously (and cautiously). "Am I right?"