It has been a while, hasn't it? Well--I fear this is not Batman-y in nature, but it does hark back to a great movie, a great villain, and in my opinion, a great pairing.

On that note, I own nothing...and enjoy!

"…the divine diva, Miss Tanya!" He'd gotten the girl's name from Kitty, as the mousette was too distracted with the noises from the saloon to pay him any mind.

He instantly began clapping, completely sure of the girl's success, despite having only heard her voice once. It had been enough. In all his days as a manager, producer, and director, he knew from quality—and he'd never before found quality of this level. So she was a mouse.

No one was perfect.

So she was terrified.

He could turn that trembling from fear to delight.

He had less faith in Kitty, but…well, she'd always turned herself out properly, and he would be appalled and astonished if she couldn't do the same for his diva.

He soon noticed that he was the only one clapping and let out a low growl, narrowing his eyes at his patrons. Imbeciles, cretins, lunatics, the lot of them. His plans and his diva were wasted on them. If only he hadn't needed so much hard labor…

Then again, they were easy to keep in line, and there were no geniuses among them to usurp him.

The other cats soon took notice of their boss' displeasure and began clapping rather sarcastically, or at least unconvincingly.


They knew not what they were in for.

He almost wished he could take it back, take back his announcement, keep Miss Tanya as a performer only for those who could truly appreciate her incredible voice.

But it was out.

He felt a little quiver of anticipation rake down his spine as he took his place in the wings, the musician bleating out a drum roll of introduction for her. Would she appear? Would she sing? Had it merely been a glorious dream?

No. He was not a fanciful cat. She was real.

Her shadow appeared on the curtain and his breath caught in his throat—oh, if only she were that size…if only she were a cat… He smiled to hear the astonished hush that fell over the crowd—yes, she was perfection. As she approached the slit in the curtains, they exploded into jeers and insults, and he scowled; her beauty was not diminished to him.

Perhaps it was best that she was a mouse.

He felt for his little diva, trapped out there on an unfriendly stage. If only he had found her in New York! She would've been in front of audiences that could appreciate her talent, audiences that would raise her higher and higher. She deserved to sing for royalty, both the nouveau riche and the old families, to be heard by ears that would recognize what she was.

And instead she had to make due with his motley crew of morons. It was so wretchedly unfair…

But perhaps…yes, perhaps. If Green River became what his dreams had in store for it…perhaps she would ascend.

His eyes fell upon her once more, as she began to sing in a whisper, clearly terrified. 'Never falter, my diva…you can do this…don't doubt this…'

He saw her turn to Kitty in the opposite wing, the white-haired feline making a 'go-on' gesture. He watched his little diva knot up all her courage, closing her eyes tightly—oh, to know what she was calling on! And then…

Pureness. Beauty. A voice like snow—like fire—like the endless night sky when the stars are crying out.

As she hit her highest note flawlessly, his heart pounded painfully. He lifted a paw to it for the second time, trying to squash the little ember of adoration that flared up again in his breast.

He failed, but what of it.

A silence fell—they were astonished. Good. She deserved awe.

For one moment, he could imagine that they were not here—that they were somewhere else, somewhere more deserving of her genius.

And then she spread her arms, and a raucous piano tune started, and that perfect voice wove into the song of a common country girl.

He smiled grimly, trying not to catch the bawdy, flirtatious dancing she was trotting out. She was worth so much more, so, so much more…

But that smile…

He sighed. She was happy.

Perhaps that would be enough for now.