(no subject)
It doesn't matter what Black Mask is. Male, female, neither. Black Mask is still Black Mask, seemingly unaffected by the Garden's magic; the blackened skull is still there, the deceptively sharp suit is still present, clear of blood splatter, for once. Finding Black Mask as a woman doesn't add any humour to the situation, doesn't make any of it easier to deal with. Nothing could.
Stephanie's been purposely looking for her ghost. It's late at night and her cowl is pulled down over her face, and she's had enough of dealing with other people's ghosts. She wants her own, and she knows what's coming, just like in the Labyrinth. She wants to be alone; needs to be alone, to ensure that nobody is hurt in the crossfire. No matter whether she has her costume on or not, she feels like Stephanie around Black Mask. Not Batgirl, and not even Spoiler. The symbol on her chest does nothing to make her feel protected, like the Bat's lost all its power.
When she finds him - her - Black Mask is sat on a rock, generator at her feet, power drill in one hand. She presses down on the trigger; it isn't turned on. Stephanie, she's seen things before. Hallucinations of herself, of Tim. This is close enough to those incidents, she convinces herself, and isn't anything she can't banish. She steps closer, slowly, carefully, waiting for Black Mask to strike, though she never does.
“Hello, my little darling,” Black Mask says, and Stephanie would sooner hear the sound of the power drill whirling, coming her way. “Hasn't it been such a long time? I've missed you, my dear. Have you missed me?”
Stephanie laughs. It's horrible, inappropriate laughter, and it catches in her throat, but it's better than remaining silent.
“Like a hole in the head.”
“Mm! That's what I always liked about you. You always had an answer for everything! Well, except for when you were unconscious, but I can hardly hold that against you; you were worn out, even if I know you got off on the pain. But that's alright. There was still plenty of fun to be had!”
Her hands curl into fists, and then the drill very slowly comes into life. Stephanie looks at it for as long as she can, and then turns her head, sharply. There are still pins holding her bones together; she doesn't need another reminder.
“You're not-” She pauses, looking back at Black Mask. She can't expect her voice to carry when she's looking away. “You're not really here. And, seriously, you shouldn't even feel flattered that I'm hallucinating you, ‘cause this is like the third time I've seen someone who wasn't here, and it wasn't you either of the first times! I saw myself before I saw you.”
“You did. Indeed you did,” Black Mask says, delighted. “But that's the best part, darling. Oh, I know so much more about you than I did before. What was it you said to the Batman on your deathbed? I have a little girl? Really, sweetheart, I didn't know you had a daughter. Tell me, what scoundrel did that to you? I'm jealous, truly.”
Stephanie tenses. That's the thing with wearing a costume, with getting your name out there. When you stand for something, criminals want to make their mark by turning you into a target, and they always, always go after loved ones first. They're on the wrong side of the law for a reason. She lifts a hand, moving to take a batarang, but stops herself. She's better now. She's stronger and she's faster, and she could take Black Mask down, but she won't. She spent hours chained up with him, and when she had the gun in her hand, she couldn't bring herself to pull the trigger.
Morals have been the downfall of superheroes all across the universes.
Instead, she does nothing. She doesn't speak, and she doesn't make a move. All Stephanie can do is think about the people back home that would be at risk, the people in the Garden Black Mask would love to get to, and then reminds herself that it's an apparition. A product of her subconscious mind. Everyone will be fine, she'll be fine, Canada will be fine, and-
“Do you know the funniest thing, sweetheart?” Black Mask is still talking. Stephanie barely manages to tune back in. “You think about me each and every night, don't you? I probably don't even remember you! Just another scalpel-notch on the headboard.”
Stephanie hardly even blinks. Black Mask has said far worse things to her, and all she can do now is turn and walk away. She won't fight. Black Mask won't go after anyone, because Black Mask isn't there, and so she turns her back. A batarang's found its way between her fingers, and she runs her gloved fingertips across the sharp edges of the wings. Black Mask laughs, says something more, but the sound of the power drill whirling drowns it out, cutting through Stephanie. She winces, tells herself over and over again not to go back to that place, and tosses the batarang over her shoulder.
When she's far enough away, Stephanie dares to glance back on her shoulder. There's nobody there, and the rock is empty. No Black Mask, no power drill, no generator. Stephanie frowns, rubbing the side of her head with the heel of palm, putting it behind her. It wasn't bad. Not by Black Mask's standards. It's just one more ghost she's taken down, one more thing to put behind her.
Stephanie's been purposely looking for her ghost. It's late at night and her cowl is pulled down over her face, and she's had enough of dealing with other people's ghosts. She wants her own, and she knows what's coming, just like in the Labyrinth. She wants to be alone; needs to be alone, to ensure that nobody is hurt in the crossfire. No matter whether she has her costume on or not, she feels like Stephanie around Black Mask. Not Batgirl, and not even Spoiler. The symbol on her chest does nothing to make her feel protected, like the Bat's lost all its power.
When she finds him - her - Black Mask is sat on a rock, generator at her feet, power drill in one hand. She presses down on the trigger; it isn't turned on. Stephanie, she's seen things before. Hallucinations of herself, of Tim. This is close enough to those incidents, she convinces herself, and isn't anything she can't banish. She steps closer, slowly, carefully, waiting for Black Mask to strike, though she never does.
“Hello, my little darling,” Black Mask says, and Stephanie would sooner hear the sound of the power drill whirling, coming her way. “Hasn't it been such a long time? I've missed you, my dear. Have you missed me?”
Stephanie laughs. It's horrible, inappropriate laughter, and it catches in her throat, but it's better than remaining silent.
“Like a hole in the head.”
“Mm! That's what I always liked about you. You always had an answer for everything! Well, except for when you were unconscious, but I can hardly hold that against you; you were worn out, even if I know you got off on the pain. But that's alright. There was still plenty of fun to be had!”
Her hands curl into fists, and then the drill very slowly comes into life. Stephanie looks at it for as long as she can, and then turns her head, sharply. There are still pins holding her bones together; she doesn't need another reminder.
“You're not-” She pauses, looking back at Black Mask. She can't expect her voice to carry when she's looking away. “You're not really here. And, seriously, you shouldn't even feel flattered that I'm hallucinating you, ‘cause this is like the third time I've seen someone who wasn't here, and it wasn't you either of the first times! I saw myself before I saw you.”
“You did. Indeed you did,” Black Mask says, delighted. “But that's the best part, darling. Oh, I know so much more about you than I did before. What was it you said to the Batman on your deathbed? I have a little girl? Really, sweetheart, I didn't know you had a daughter. Tell me, what scoundrel did that to you? I'm jealous, truly.”
Stephanie tenses. That's the thing with wearing a costume, with getting your name out there. When you stand for something, criminals want to make their mark by turning you into a target, and they always, always go after loved ones first. They're on the wrong side of the law for a reason. She lifts a hand, moving to take a batarang, but stops herself. She's better now. She's stronger and she's faster, and she could take Black Mask down, but she won't. She spent hours chained up with him, and when she had the gun in her hand, she couldn't bring herself to pull the trigger.
Morals have been the downfall of superheroes all across the universes.
Instead, she does nothing. She doesn't speak, and she doesn't make a move. All Stephanie can do is think about the people back home that would be at risk, the people in the Garden Black Mask would love to get to, and then reminds herself that it's an apparition. A product of her subconscious mind. Everyone will be fine, she'll be fine, Canada will be fine, and-
“Do you know the funniest thing, sweetheart?” Black Mask is still talking. Stephanie barely manages to tune back in. “You think about me each and every night, don't you? I probably don't even remember you! Just another scalpel-notch on the headboard.”
Stephanie hardly even blinks. Black Mask has said far worse things to her, and all she can do now is turn and walk away. She won't fight. Black Mask won't go after anyone, because Black Mask isn't there, and so she turns her back. A batarang's found its way between her fingers, and she runs her gloved fingertips across the sharp edges of the wings. Black Mask laughs, says something more, but the sound of the power drill whirling drowns it out, cutting through Stephanie. She winces, tells herself over and over again not to go back to that place, and tosses the batarang over her shoulder.
When she's far enough away, Stephanie dares to glance back on her shoulder. There's nobody there, and the rock is empty. No Black Mask, no power drill, no generator. Stephanie frowns, rubbing the side of her head with the heel of palm, putting it behind her. It wasn't bad. Not by Black Mask's standards. It's just one more ghost she's taken down, one more thing to put behind her.