Kryptonite and Scooter Ankles ||J. Kent ||

Part 17:

A/N: *screams ruthlessly into the void*

No one:

Me: *slams out crappily written and prolly confusing chapters because I'm so gosh dang tired and want this to just end so I can do other things with my life*

Also me: *has every intention of starting a Dami fic that's most likely gonna be longer than this one* oOp

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GOTHAM; EARLIER THAT WEEK, AROUND 1:05am:

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There was a handful — no, better yet, a whole list — of things Selina would rather be doing on a Sunday night instead of lurking around empty apartments for Batman. Just who did he think she was, anyway? His own personal errand girl to go snooping around the hidden underworld at his beck and call?

Finding Shandra Mouey's apartment hadn't been easy. Of course, after tailing her and Fikkleg, and gathering as much as she could on the two with the help of Oracle, she was able to successfully track her down to a quiet neighbourhood resting on the border of the slums. It made sense that Shandra would be camped out there, the more Selina thought about it; the least of the shmackalakin drug activity happened at least thirty blocks from there. Close enough to do the deed, far enough to get away with it. Something about that didn't sit right with her. Almost like the pattern was too smart a move to be played in this city.

Selina wrinked her nose, and cursed organized crime.

That was exactly what the others in the rogues gallery were doing right now. Probably blowing up another oil rig just for sport. She shrugged it off, supposing she'd just find out on the morning news anyway.

Shandra's apartment was empty at first, leaving to evidence of life until Selina ventured into the kitchen, careful not to disturb even the slightest fold in the carpet. She could navigate without night vision, having trained her eyes to shift with the moonlight in any situation. She liked to consider it her superpower.

The bowl of fresh fruit on the countertop was evidence enough, if the fully stocked fridge wasn't already. Selina slunk to the garbage underneath the sink, and peeked into its contents with the help of her phone light. Someone had been there, and probably still was, by the fresh banana peal laying on top of the near full bin. She snapped the light off, and closed the cabinet door.

How very interesting.

There came a soft purr, and a black bulge melted from the shadows, avoiding moonbeams on dancing little paws as it sauntered over on silent feet.

The cat slunk around her ankles, chirping softly, and stood with hairs on end, nose pointed to the next room. Selina crouched down to stroke Isis calm, before placing the cat on her shoulders, and venturing into the living room; it was dark, void of moonlight from the closed drapes. Selina switched to night vision, and the room was a perfect layout in front of her:

Old victorian couches, shelves and side tables carved from haunted wood, warped and knotted under the resin. The coffee table, lavishly displayed in the center of the room, was littered with open folders and planners filled to the last margin with words, printed and scrawled. She fingered through a few papers, running her tongue along her teeth as she went, a reminder to leave as little evidence as she could manage. It would be a shame if Shandra noticed one measly paper just half an inch out of place.

Isis came and rubbed along her legs, purring to get her attention. Selina dropped her interest in the papers, and let the cat lead her to one of the old bookcases.

"What is it?" She wondered. It could very well be a handful of things. A hidden camera for one, but surely Isis would have warned her before entering. Perhaps she had just seen Mouey put something important near it. Selina ran her fingers along the wood, accounting for every bump, every intent. These shelves must be family oriented, else they wouldn't be in a home this close to the Narrows; as a woman who had broken into just about every building in the city, Selina knew which houses were supposed to have good furniture.