Bruce had never been a fan of aliens. They were an unknown. An unpredictable threat. He saw his friendship with the Kryptonian Kal-El as an exception to these rules, and the only one that he was willing to accept. So, when an alien vessel crashes in...
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Nighttime fell like a film noir curtain, bringing spies from the shadows and the dames that shun the sunlight hours. From every doorway cigarette smoke curled, arcing lazily into the black. Gotham wasn't a city of starlight or moonbeams, it was cracking tarmac under storm-cloud and thick air drenched with the promise of rain.
It was on this night that yet another party was being held at Wayne Manor. Paparazzi and reporters littered the halls, along with the powerful people that owned companies that extended from Gotham to Central City, and sometimes overseas. They were sipping delicately at their glasses of expensive red wine, gossiping about one another to fellow attendants. It was a viper's nest, for lack of a better term. Every word and movement was assessed for weakness. It was a more dangerous place than the slums, in Bruce's experienced opinion.
In the corner, away from the louder festivities, a new face had spawned. It had caused quite an upsurge of chatter. Seeing new people at these events was like spotting a giant squid wash up on land - it was a rarity. Even more odd was that no one seemed to recognise her.
Rahn, instead of engaging in idle chatter, had indulged in eating more than she'd thought possible from the rows of tables filled to the brim with plates.
It had started with creamy nettle soup, and when the bowl had been in front of her white wisps had etched themselves on the cold air, stretching out to tempt her. It had been mossy green, with islands of orange floating through the broth. A handsome fish dish had followed. The waiters had laid a silver platter in front of her on top of which sat a fleshy pink strip of salmon, garnished with dashings of green herbs that Rahn didn't know, but liked the taste of.
The flavours of this world were foreign to her, but she wasn't a weak-minded thing who couldn't adapt. She had been to many worlds, and she consumed the food all the same. Partaking in cultural rituals helped in her understanding of the natives and their way of life.
Naturally, her Trynkaden heritage gave her an unparalleled biological compatibility with many different types of matter, meaning that her species could consume a wide variety of foods that may be poisonous to some but edible to others. This made them a very efficient nomadic race. Although, if she continued to sample products of Earth's culinary arts, Rahn would be distracted from her objective for tonight's outing. That being of speaking to the host of this party - Bruce Wayne.
She knew that it was only a matter of time before he noticed that there was an extra guest at his private function, but it took a lot longer than she had expected. Perhaps it was simply the efficiency of her Trynkaden brain, but she could tell the exact amount of people in the room with a glance. She could memorise their faces just as quickly.
Finally, she sensed Bruce's eyes land on her. He was near the back, cameras flashing in his face as he greeted the Gotham elite. He tensed. She could tell by the way his suit crumpled up at his shoulders.
As politely as possible in such a situation, Bruce excused himself from the chaos and made his way towards her with a dignified strut. One that he was clearly faking. Naturally, many eyes still refused to tear away from the man which meant that even more attention was drawn towards Rahn.
