I do not own Batman. Wish I did own Christian Bale however... :)
She could not believe it. Again. It was happening again. She had sworn to herself last time that if Griffith Richmond materialized just off her elbow in that creepy way of his ever ever again, she would make like a DARE kid and just say no. But it was always just too tempting. There were few people within Meara Braden's circle of friends that she could verbally spar with, and Griffith, as slimy as he was, was extremely intelligent. It was fun to war with him. It was fun to stretch the limits of her vocabulary, and find the hidden meanings in his words. It was a game. The object of the game being for him to get her in his bed. For her, to evade his advances. They had been playing this game for a few years and she could admit that she found him amusing, at times downright entertaining. And he was never around very often, which made him easier to tolerate. But in the past few months, he had been cropping up more and more at the social events she attended, and was becoming more and more persistent. It was annoying, and she always felt guilty after she talked to him. Even though technically she had done nothing wrong. But here he was, at her boss's retirement party of all places, leaning against the bar, wearing an all-together too tight black shirt and much too much hair product.
"Hi Griffith" she said, carefully not looking in his eyes, instead focusing on the bottle of Absolut three feet in front of her face.
"Meara" he murmured breathily.
She rolled her eyes. And continued staring at the vodka.
He leaned closer to her, placing his hand carefully, decorously, on her lower back.
"Let me buy you a drink?"
She stood up then, and said affably, "You really can't keep doing this Griffith"
"He's entirely too nice for you Meara. The man, if you can even call him that, lacks backbone. Not attractive."
They were now weaving through the throng. He was not easily shaken.
"I think he's sweet" she said smiling
"You would my dear. But a woman such as yourself, an educated, classy, extremely sexy woman who is irritatingly smart to boot…well how can that" he waved his hand toward Emil who was dancing like an idiot with a fat little girl "attract you? Surely you crave a little more excitement? A little more danger?" He narrowed his eyes and smiled in a way that can only be described as leering.
"Good lord I'm only 22, you make me sound like a middle aged woman"
"Look at him!" he pointed with exasperation at her boyfriend
"I would never expect someone like you to understand this, but Emil, though he does not possess a bodybuilder's physique or Stanford graduate's mind, is NICE, a quality I just so happen to find very attractive."
"You'll give Meara. You're the kind of person who needs mental and…physical stimulation."
"Bye Griffith" She picked up a little speed, directing herself toward the dancefloor and Emil's flailing limbs
Griffith watched her disappear into the crowd, shook his head, and made an honorable retreat.
Meara Braden was sharp if she was anything. Born of a pediatrician father, and a mother was an actual rocket scientist, she had an extremely good head. But what people didn't get was why she was so beautifu. She was pretty in an unbelievable, supermodel type way. Curly dark hair, brown eyes, full lips, and pale skin. She was like a modern day Snow White. Having graduated from Princeton University with a Masters Degree in English and Journalism, she went to work immediately in her hometown. It paid very little, but the hands-on experience was fabulous and though the people she worked with were deadbeats, her boss Marty was a good man. Now however, he was retiring. A few weeks ago he called her into his office to ask her a few questions, and got out of her that he was the main reason that she had stayed with his paper as long as she had. The next thing she knew, he had called up the editor of Gotham City Times, and gotten her a job there just like that. No interview or formal resume. Marty patted her on the back fondly and said "I see great things in your future kid!" before scooting her out the door.
"Why?!" her mother cried "Why the most dangerous city in the nation?!". What her mother didn't understand, bless her, was that Meara had not pursued journalism to put it to use covering the local bake-off and Edna Morry's 100th birthday. She wanted real news. Something extraordinary to write about and possibly somewhere she could do some good. Gotham City, with it's soaring crime rates, drug use, prostitution, illegal gambling and God knows what else, fit the bill. It also had a real live superhero. Now that was interesting. I mean the guy ran around in a cape and mask. The odd thing was though, he was doing some good. Some of most dangerous criminals had recently been jailed, drug lords and maniacs and the like. How amazingly awesome would it be to interview this Batman?
So it was off to Gotham City…