SWAN SONG / damian wayne

THIRTY-TWO, BALLROOMS

"I CANNOT STRESS how proud of you I am," he whispered in her ear, one of his arms snaking around her waist.

Odile casted a glance back, giving him a cheeky grin. "I just can't believe this is all real," she admitted, glancing around the ballroom. They'd managed a fairly large crowd tonight, and more people were in the gallery next doors, observing the paintings. Her own creations were among them. People had already approached her, interested in buying them.

There would be an auction, of course, at the end of the night. They'd worked it out in the end: half the proceeds to the artists, half the proceeds to the Wayne Foundation. Except her own paintings.

She didn't need the money. It was much better off for charity.

The entire family had come tonight, at least the ones who were in Gotham. Half of them had already retreated to corners where they wouldn't be bothered, being the antisocial asses they were, but they'd all showed up to support her anyways.

And in a way, she was the star of the show tonight. The other artists were here too—she'd gotten them all custom-made outfits to go along with the occasion, and were now gathered in an awkward group in one corner.

Odile frowned. "I should go talk to them."

"I think it'll be better to direct them to the gallery. People will be more interested in talking to them about their art there," Damian suggested, resting his chin on her shoulder. "You're needed here."

"Really, I'm not."

"You're the reason why any of this has happened."

"Fine." Odile grunted. Damian released his grip on her, letting her head over to the artists. As per his suggestion, she led them all over to the gallery.

She tilted her head at her own piece in the corner. Gotham. Pastelic. Similar to the one she'd had in her bedroom in the Wayne Manor. It formed a startling contrast to one of Adelaide Knox's creations besides it. Dark. Gritty. An upwards glance from one of the streets of the East End.

A small crowd had gathered around it. People dressed in splendour and covered in jewellery, gaping at the underbelly of the city that they tried so hard to ignore.

Adelaide's steps stopped besides Odile.

She turned to glance at the woman, offering an encouraging smile. "Go talk to them about it."

"I don't belong here," Adelaide whispered.

"They're gathered around your painting because they're interested. This night isn't about them, it's about you. It's about all of you. Show them the city you're familiar with. That's why we're here tonight." She laid her hand on Adelaide's arm. "Go."

With one last frantic glance at her, Adelaide started heading towards the crowd's direction. Odile watched with no small satisfaction as the crowd immediately parted ways, recognising Adelaide was one of the artists. And as Adelaide began gesturing to the painting and explaining, the crowd rapt with attention.

The rich of Gotham City weren't all evil, selfish and cruel. But their ignorance was just as responsible for what half the city suffered on a daily basis. Slowly, their eyes would be opened. And if just a few of them were willing to make a contribution, try to make a change...

Maybe this city would end up better after all.

"Look at you, all grown up." Dick approached her from behind, his voice filled with mirth. "Bruce is ecstatic, by the way."

"I wouldn't be here if not for all the kindness and guidance you've all shown me across the years," Odile said earnestly, turning around to face him. "Thank you, Dick. Truly."