Revelations (are only the beginning)
(RP thread for gothams_dent and knowthenbreak)
“Do I have to go?” Dalia asked. She was staring glumly at an invitation to the opening of an exhibit at the Gotham Museum of Modern Art. Her older sister, Duela, had sent it to her. The teenager couldn’t think of a duller way to spend an evening.
“Yes,” her mother replied, at the same moment her father said, “No.”
Her parents exchanged looks. “I’m not forcing her to go with them,” Harvey practically growled.
Nadine, ever the peacekeeper, sighed. “She was invited, Harvey.”
“Oh, so that makes it okay?” Usually, he tried to at least veil his contempt. But Dalia had just turned thirteen and Harvey hardly saw reason to continue shielding her from the truth.
“Duela’s trying to be nice,” Nadine said.
Dalia knew there was a reason her parents and sister didn’t always get along. By this time, she’d also figured out that it had to do with Duela’s husband, Jonathan Crane. She didn’t know why her parents disliked him, other than the fact that he was a perpetual snob and seemed to take delight in looking down upon the Dents. It did make her wonder what he saw in Duela that differentiated her from them. Of course, Duela had been 26 when Dalia was born, and as far as Dalia could remember, she’d always possessed a more refined nature than the rest of them-more like the Cranes than her own family. Maybe, she’d thought on occasion, Duela was simply the black sheep…every family had one, didn’t they?
“…Duela’s plenty nice,” Dalia muttered. Of course, she liked it when Duela’s gestures of good will involved the mall, not the museum.
“Well, we’re supposed to be going out tonight,” Nadine reminded Harvey.
“I can stay here by myself,” Dalia said quickly.
Harvey seemed to be thinking about this-wondering what was worse: leaving a thirteen year old home alone in Gotham or letting her go with the Cranes.
“I’ll lock the doors and windows, I won’t answer the phone. I won’t even turn on the TV,” Dalia said. “Hell, I’ll shut off all the lights and sit in the dark.”
“Language,” her mother reminded quietly.
“...hell’s not language,” Dalia gave a skeptical look, feeling in an argumentative sort of mood now.
“That’s enough,” her father said sternly. “You can stay home if you really want to…just keep everything locked and don’t answer the door. And keep the phone nearby.”
“Really?” Dalia’s eyes lit up.
“Yes, really,” Harvey said, not looking at Nadine for permission or agreement.
“I suppose I’ll call Duela and let her know,” Nadine said, tone a bit defeated.
* * *
Later that evening, after her parents left and the place was locked up, Dalia wandered around the house, looking for something to do. True, she could watch whatever she wanted on TV or even get on the Internet, but what she really wanted to do was figure out the answer to what had been nagging her all day, ever since the argument over the invitation, ever since she could remember, really. Now, though, it seemed particularly urgent to find out why. Why did her parents argue in hushed tones that they thought she couldn’t hear, especially where Duela was concerned? Why were the Cranes and the Dents always at odds?
Her childhood had thus far been mostly unremarkable. Dalia had been raised by Harvey and Nadine Dent in a middle-class, almost suburban neighborhood of Gotham. Her parents were older than the parents of her private school classmates, but they were no less active in her life. Her father had once been a lawyer who’d retired after winning some big cases that helped set him for life (or so she’d been told) and her mother still occasionally practiced when a case compelled her. Their yard had a picket fence and she even had a dog. There were pieces missing, though. Dalia supposed she’d always known that. Reasons she’d been born when her parents were past middle age, reasons Duela was barely mentioned at times or received cold reception at others. Dalia wanted answers and she knew that asking Harvey and Nadine directly would only elicit more dodgy answers. Asking Duela would result in much the same. There was a small part of her that considered cornering Jonathan Crane himself and quizzing the man, but that idea left as quickly as it came.
Dalia had no idea where to start looking. It’s not like they were hiding secrets in the family safe, were they? She knew they had a safe. She’d seen it once, in the back of her parents’ closet. Well, it was as good a place to start as any. Carefully, as if avoiding invisible trip wires, Dalia entered her parents’ bedroom. She opened the walk-in closet door and went inside, pulling the light chain on. She went to her mother’s side and pushed back blouses and jackets, revealing the safe. As Dalia thought of possible combinations to the safe, she looked around, then up at the space above Nadine’s side of the closet where there were boxes stacked. There were a few shoe boxes and a couple of hatboxes. There was also something else underneath a pile of sweaters. Dalia could see the tattered edge of an older box. Curious, she took the sweaters down, revealing a banker’s box, labeled “Property of Gotham City District Attorney’s Office.”
…what was this?
Standing on her tiptoes, Dalia took down the box, a round of dust causing her to sneeze as she did so. Once it was down, she took the lid off. On top of several thick file folders was a bumper sticker-like something from a campaign. Only-it couldn’t have been…real. Either way, it momentarily took her breath away.
Staring back at her was a much younger, non-disfigured version of her father. His face was set against a red, white and blue background, with the text, “Take Back Gotham City. Harvey Dent for District Attorney.”
* * *
A couple hours later, Dalia was sitting in the middle of her parents’ walk-in closet, door open, surrounded by her mother’s files. She’d long since forgotten about being careful, or even about the fact that her parents were due home any time. All she could think about was all of the new information swimming around in her head, things her parents had kept from her all these years.
Her father had been the District Attorney of Gotham City.
Her father had been a notorious gangster in line with the mob.
Her sister was married to a psychopath.
Her mother had been committed to a sanitarium.
Everyone had known-everyone but her, all this time. She stared a bit dully at an old Gotham Times, all of the information suddenly overwhelming her.
“Do I have to go?” Dalia asked. She was staring glumly at an invitation to the opening of an exhibit at the Gotham Museum of Modern Art. Her older sister, Duela, had sent it to her. The teenager couldn’t think of a duller way to spend an evening.
“Yes,” her mother replied, at the same moment her father said, “No.”
Her parents exchanged looks. “I’m not forcing her to go with them,” Harvey practically growled.
Nadine, ever the peacekeeper, sighed. “She was invited, Harvey.”
“Oh, so that makes it okay?” Usually, he tried to at least veil his contempt. But Dalia had just turned thirteen and Harvey hardly saw reason to continue shielding her from the truth.
“Duela’s trying to be nice,” Nadine said.
Dalia knew there was a reason her parents and sister didn’t always get along. By this time, she’d also figured out that it had to do with Duela’s husband, Jonathan Crane. She didn’t know why her parents disliked him, other than the fact that he was a perpetual snob and seemed to take delight in looking down upon the Dents. It did make her wonder what he saw in Duela that differentiated her from them. Of course, Duela had been 26 when Dalia was born, and as far as Dalia could remember, she’d always possessed a more refined nature than the rest of them-more like the Cranes than her own family. Maybe, she’d thought on occasion, Duela was simply the black sheep…every family had one, didn’t they?
“…Duela’s plenty nice,” Dalia muttered. Of course, she liked it when Duela’s gestures of good will involved the mall, not the museum.
“Well, we’re supposed to be going out tonight,” Nadine reminded Harvey.
“I can stay here by myself,” Dalia said quickly.
Harvey seemed to be thinking about this-wondering what was worse: leaving a thirteen year old home alone in Gotham or letting her go with the Cranes.
“I’ll lock the doors and windows, I won’t answer the phone. I won’t even turn on the TV,” Dalia said. “Hell, I’ll shut off all the lights and sit in the dark.”
“Language,” her mother reminded quietly.
“...hell’s not language,” Dalia gave a skeptical look, feeling in an argumentative sort of mood now.
“That’s enough,” her father said sternly. “You can stay home if you really want to…just keep everything locked and don’t answer the door. And keep the phone nearby.”
“Really?” Dalia’s eyes lit up.
“Yes, really,” Harvey said, not looking at Nadine for permission or agreement.
“I suppose I’ll call Duela and let her know,” Nadine said, tone a bit defeated.
* * *
Later that evening, after her parents left and the place was locked up, Dalia wandered around the house, looking for something to do. True, she could watch whatever she wanted on TV or even get on the Internet, but what she really wanted to do was figure out the answer to what had been nagging her all day, ever since the argument over the invitation, ever since she could remember, really. Now, though, it seemed particularly urgent to find out why. Why did her parents argue in hushed tones that they thought she couldn’t hear, especially where Duela was concerned? Why were the Cranes and the Dents always at odds?
Her childhood had thus far been mostly unremarkable. Dalia had been raised by Harvey and Nadine Dent in a middle-class, almost suburban neighborhood of Gotham. Her parents were older than the parents of her private school classmates, but they were no less active in her life. Her father had once been a lawyer who’d retired after winning some big cases that helped set him for life (or so she’d been told) and her mother still occasionally practiced when a case compelled her. Their yard had a picket fence and she even had a dog. There were pieces missing, though. Dalia supposed she’d always known that. Reasons she’d been born when her parents were past middle age, reasons Duela was barely mentioned at times or received cold reception at others. Dalia wanted answers and she knew that asking Harvey and Nadine directly would only elicit more dodgy answers. Asking Duela would result in much the same. There was a small part of her that considered cornering Jonathan Crane himself and quizzing the man, but that idea left as quickly as it came.
Dalia had no idea where to start looking. It’s not like they were hiding secrets in the family safe, were they? She knew they had a safe. She’d seen it once, in the back of her parents’ closet. Well, it was as good a place to start as any. Carefully, as if avoiding invisible trip wires, Dalia entered her parents’ bedroom. She opened the walk-in closet door and went inside, pulling the light chain on. She went to her mother’s side and pushed back blouses and jackets, revealing the safe. As Dalia thought of possible combinations to the safe, she looked around, then up at the space above Nadine’s side of the closet where there were boxes stacked. There were a few shoe boxes and a couple of hatboxes. There was also something else underneath a pile of sweaters. Dalia could see the tattered edge of an older box. Curious, she took the sweaters down, revealing a banker’s box, labeled “Property of Gotham City District Attorney’s Office.”
…what was this?
Standing on her tiptoes, Dalia took down the box, a round of dust causing her to sneeze as she did so. Once it was down, she took the lid off. On top of several thick file folders was a bumper sticker-like something from a campaign. Only-it couldn’t have been…real. Either way, it momentarily took her breath away.
Staring back at her was a much younger, non-disfigured version of her father. His face was set against a red, white and blue background, with the text, “Take Back Gotham City. Harvey Dent for District Attorney.”
* * *
A couple hours later, Dalia was sitting in the middle of her parents’ walk-in closet, door open, surrounded by her mother’s files. She’d long since forgotten about being careful, or even about the fact that her parents were due home any time. All she could think about was all of the new information swimming around in her head, things her parents had kept from her all these years.
Her father had been the District Attorney of Gotham City.
Her father had been a notorious gangster in line with the mob.
Her sister was married to a psychopath.
Her mother had been committed to a sanitarium.
Everyone had known-everyone but her, all this time. She stared a bit dully at an old Gotham Times, all of the information suddenly overwhelming her.