Cold-Blooded: A DC Universe Fanfiction (#Wattys2015)

Chapter 58: Talia: Miscalculations

Deathstroke snatched up his mask and slammed it into place over his face, while 'Snowblade'—what a name!—did something to the back of her neck, pulling up a hood which made little clicks when it locked into place, forming a deep helmet which covered her hair and obscured her face. She kicked the first of Talia's assassins on the chin as he mounted the steps, snapping the man's head back, and seized the sword from his hand as he crumpled. Deathstroke smashed the first to reach him in the face with a fist, grabbed that man's sword, and tossed it to his woman before turning his attention to the next, who had a nodachi. Now they were both armed for their favored fighting styles.

Talia watched the two interlopers spring into battle and permitted a small smile to cross her face. In Talia's memory, Yukime Kuwano was an insignificant creature, almost plain, with a face that was too narrow, a mouth that was too soft, and a meager, almost sexless body. Her only good feature was her skin, which was enviably fine.

It came as a surprise to find that memory played tricks even on her. The woman was attractive. While not particularly generous, Snowblade's figure was lean but female, her eyes large and expressive, and perhaps the most effective cosmetic of all was that she simply looked happy, quietly but radiantly happy. Why should she not be happy? She had just spent two months with the man she loved, and he wanted to marry her. She, Talia, would never have that happiness with Bruce.

This unexpected attractiveness did not explain why Ra's al Ghul was so impressed by Snowblade, and had been since the night of the Jian Wu competition. Nor did it explain how she had managed to fascinate Deathstroke, to whom Talia turned her attention next. The man was a formidable assassin, true, but too much of a lone wolf for the League, which needed team players. Well, soon enough he would have to break off fighting to tend to Snowblade, once she collapsed from the heat. Talia knew that was Yukime Kuwano's weakness, and had set up the ambush accordingly, counting on the oppressive heat and humidity of the Yucatan peninsula.

Perhaps he would abandon his fiancée, and fight on. He was capable of that. It didn't matter. Snowblade was the true threat to her, and as long as the woman was taken out, Talia would be content with the day's work.

Why could her father not see that Talia had done everything she had done not because she wanted to, but because she had no other choice? Bear Damian herself, and risk losing even a fraction of her value? Every day she already battled the effects of time with thousand dollar jars of skin cream and injections of human growth hormones. The Lazarus Pits were fountains of life, not of youth, although it did have a rejuvenating effect. After you had been immersed, however, you rapidly aged back to the state you were when you went in. Going from a glowing eighteen to a world-weary thirty something in weeks was...distressing.

Men might say a woman was never more beautiful than when she was breeding, but no one praised the aftermath of pregnancy-the sagging dugs where once there were high and firm breasts, the thickened waist, the belly left flabby and permanently marred with stretch marks. And surrogates were unreliable. They could smoke, drink, get sick, suffer miscarriages, even get killed somehow or other. It was far better that he should grow and develop in a nice clean, safe tank than be exposed to such dangers. Someday her father would see that.

However, while she woolgathered, the fight was raging on. Beside her, her father, quite unperturbed by the treachery and violence, said in conversational tones, "Ignorant and uncultured people dismiss Jian Wu as too complicated and refined to be a true martial art. They watch the seventh level formal duels and call them impractical, a dance performance rather than a fight.

"If they were paying better attention, they would realize that the poetic names for the various maneuvers actually describe violence and death. For example, 'Eagle Screams Above The Lamb'—that lamb is about to be rent apart by the bird's beak and talons. Once one has mastered a hundred seventh level maneuvers, it becomes second nature to attack and block using them, not as showpieces for virtuosity, but in earnest. See what Snowblade is doing there? That's called 'Faded Roses on the Bough'. What you do to remove dying roses is called 'Deadheading.' Simply put, you cut them off."