Daddy Deadest
Savant steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around his waist, humming under his breath as he makes his way to his room. Since being assigned to live in this squalid little section of Gotham, he and Creote have learned to keep their showers to five minutes or less, otherwise water starts to seep out around the molding. He decides that he is going to have it out with Oracle about these living conditions, if he hasn't already. Time is a bit unclear at the moment; he hasn't taken his medication just yet. But even the wretched state of their domicile can't annoy him for very long.
It had been a busy night for him and Creote, and an exhilarating one. Jussub's people are getting smarter, there is no doubt about that. The substantial drug deal that they'd caught wind of had turned out to be an ambush. The bullet holes in Savant's cape are testament to how close he'd come to needing another trip to the hospital, if not the services of an undertaker. Savant smiles to himself as he dresses. His cape will need mending, but Jussub is down another seven men. It is a continuing disappointment that the man hires such so close-lipped minions, but never mind. It is only a matter of time until they find a soft one.
The tall blond pads out of his room barefoot, heading for the phone in the living room. He'd missed last week's call, as last Saturday had been similarly hectic and he has the fading bruises to prove it. Savant is sure his mother hasn't noticed. Given her condition, he doubts that she would have had much to say if he had called, but still...he knows that he forgot to call and that is irksome. It will not happen again.
Their sofa sags in the middle and Savant suspects that its peculiar pungency is due to the previous owner having owned a large, poorly-trained dog. It is surprisingly comfortable for all of that. Savant stretches out indolently, head propped up on the arm of the sofa as he dials a number from the short list that Creote has taped near the phone's charger. Fulfillment of filial duties, he decides, then sparring. He is looking forward to paying Jussub's people back and needs to take the edge off of that eagerness so that he can think.
As always, the line on the other end of his call is picked up on the first ring. The promptness makes him smile a bit.
"Gentle Hands Assisted Living Center. How may I direct your call?"
Savant flicks a lock of damp hair out of his eyes, then studies his bruised knuckles in faint surprise. Had they already gotten their own from those men, or were those from another patrol? He'll ask Creote later.
"Viviana Durlin's room, if you would be so kind." There is a pause on the other end of the line, but no faint click to let him know he is being rerouted. Savant cocks his head slightly. "Hello?"
"May I ask who's calling?"
"Her son. Brian." He says the name with slight reluctance, but it is necessary.
"I'm...sorry, Mr. Durlin, but she passed away last week."
Savant sits up and sighs. "No, I believe you must be mistaken. I wish to speak to Viviana Durlin." He speaks the name clearly and slowly, holding on to a rictus smile, though he can't say why.
"I'm terribly sorry..."
"Don't be sorry, girl. Just let me talk to her."
"She died on the seventh, Mr. Durlin. Her husband handled all of the arrangements." Silence stretches out over the wires. "I'm very..."
Savant cuts the connection before she can finish. He tosses the phone over his shoulder and surges to his feet.
"Creote!"
It had been a busy night for him and Creote, and an exhilarating one. Jussub's people are getting smarter, there is no doubt about that. The substantial drug deal that they'd caught wind of had turned out to be an ambush. The bullet holes in Savant's cape are testament to how close he'd come to needing another trip to the hospital, if not the services of an undertaker. Savant smiles to himself as he dresses. His cape will need mending, but Jussub is down another seven men. It is a continuing disappointment that the man hires such so close-lipped minions, but never mind. It is only a matter of time until they find a soft one.
The tall blond pads out of his room barefoot, heading for the phone in the living room. He'd missed last week's call, as last Saturday had been similarly hectic and he has the fading bruises to prove it. Savant is sure his mother hasn't noticed. Given her condition, he doubts that she would have had much to say if he had called, but still...he knows that he forgot to call and that is irksome. It will not happen again.
Their sofa sags in the middle and Savant suspects that its peculiar pungency is due to the previous owner having owned a large, poorly-trained dog. It is surprisingly comfortable for all of that. Savant stretches out indolently, head propped up on the arm of the sofa as he dials a number from the short list that Creote has taped near the phone's charger. Fulfillment of filial duties, he decides, then sparring. He is looking forward to paying Jussub's people back and needs to take the edge off of that eagerness so that he can think.
As always, the line on the other end of his call is picked up on the first ring. The promptness makes him smile a bit.
"Gentle Hands Assisted Living Center. How may I direct your call?"
Savant flicks a lock of damp hair out of his eyes, then studies his bruised knuckles in faint surprise. Had they already gotten their own from those men, or were those from another patrol? He'll ask Creote later.
"Viviana Durlin's room, if you would be so kind." There is a pause on the other end of the line, but no faint click to let him know he is being rerouted. Savant cocks his head slightly. "Hello?"
"May I ask who's calling?"
"Her son. Brian." He says the name with slight reluctance, but it is necessary.
"I'm...sorry, Mr. Durlin, but she passed away last week."
Savant sits up and sighs. "No, I believe you must be mistaken. I wish to speak to Viviana Durlin." He speaks the name clearly and slowly, holding on to a rictus smile, though he can't say why.
"I'm terribly sorry..."
"Don't be sorry, girl. Just let me talk to her."
"She died on the seventh, Mr. Durlin. Her husband handled all of the arrangements." Silence stretches out over the wires. "I'm very..."
Savant cuts the connection before she can finish. He tosses the phone over his shoulder and surges to his feet.
"Creote!"