Butler Boy - Chapter 8

The tattoo blinked at me.

My eye twitched.

I took a deep breath, pulled my underwear up, and resolved to shove the issue of my new brand as far into the back of my mind as I could. On one level, I'd tried testing things out by looking over some work I was supposed to do for classes next week and it had come a lot easier to me, but... I had a tattoo on my ass now.

A nasty tattoo that looked entirely like something I could believe a Chaos God from 40K would endorse as their mark. Strange off-color tones of flesh made up most of the ‘body’ of the tattoo, while bands of metal-shaded material the color of polished brass crossed it. A few feathers and tentacles dotted the design as well, for good measure.

But the most disturbing aspects of the Brand of Tzeentch had to be the fact that the various portions of it would twitch and writhe as if the mark itself were alive in some way. Which included parts of the mark left ‘empty’ and shaded with designs of empty space dotted with stars and galaxies that would slowly shift in and out of view as well as the giant central eye held between two open maws of sharp teeth.

I hated it, in other words.  All of it. Especially the fact that it was on my goddamn ass. Did I mention that last bit yet?

It wasn't called a 'brand' for nothing, I guess.

Like fucking cattle.

So, yes, I was a little pissed off.

Even if my masterpiece-tier art was already coming easier, faster, and developing further, there was the simple fact that I wasn't going to be taking my pants off in front of anyone else without a very awkward and complicated explanation, now. Not that I actually believed I'd get that far with Astrid today or anything. I really didn't. Third base stuff wasn't even on the menu, let alone the idea of a home run. I'd been planning on first, maybe second-base shenanigans, if I was extremely lucky.

But it would have been nice to have the option, at least.

“Is this cursed with awesome or blessed with suck?” I asked myself aloud, eventually deciding on the former rather than the latter. The effect was beneficial, but creepy and possibly humiliating if anyone saw it, but it wasn't as though I could look the trope up online or something.

I mean, Buffy was a thing, so presumably the trope catalog that had started out as a fansite would eventually metamorphose into TVtropes like some sort of toxic pupal-butterfly thing.

“Arden! Get in here! I want pictures before you head out!” Mom called from the stairs, and I sighed as I gave myself a once-over in the mirror. I'd dressed up a bit in something I normally reserved for church, a blue polo and plain tan slacks with a belt that matched my shoes. It was casual-fancy, as contradictory as that might seem.

Enough to show Astrid I was taking this seriously, but not enough to look completely out of place at an informal setting like Applebees or a movie theater.

“Coming, Mom!” I replied, raising my voice to carry the distance as I habitually slipped a hand into my pocket to check for a ticket. The move was quickly becoming a nervous tic of mine, something I'd have to watch out for. I'd managed to sate the need for more gacha pulls by dipping out onto the back porch last night and tearing the remaining bronze ticket I'd had.

The result? Well... a little bit of a problem.

Hopefully no one noticed the dire wolf running around in the mountains.

But that was a concern for Future Arden, whom I pitied for screwing over like that, but he'd probably done something to deserve it. Aside from the advent of my new familiar – named Shadow – I hadn't managed to score another ticket yet.

Honestly? Kind of glad. Or at least relieved.

I needed the detox from my life getting progressively weirder and more complicated.

I came trooping down after filling my pockets with some extra date-related stuff. An extra pack of tissues, a handkerchief, a little bit of emergency cash, some hand sanitizer, a double-sided sharpie that could substitute for a pen in a clutch, a tiny flashlight... and my new and more elaborate multi-tool latched to my belt. It was the best I could currently do without a custom-built one to keep on my person at all times.

That was still a work in progress, and my time was spoken for.

Last but not least, of course, was the new satellite phone that had just come by private courier yesterday. After the initial setup, I'd stuck it in a soundproof bag that doubled as a faraday cage. Now, though, it was out and attached to my other hip in its own leather holster.

Still, unless someone else had a vault door to seal me inside, what I was carrying would give me a better than average chance.

“Okay, I'm here, get out the camera...” I sighed as I tromped down the stairs.

“Oh... my boy looks so handsome!” Mom sighed, her eyes watering. “Let me just make sure your shirt is sitting right...”

I held back my complaints as she fussed at me tearfully. Normally, I'd give her a little lip just to make my frustrations known, but this was a bigger deal for her than it was for me. I'd been on dates before, once upon a time. This was her youngest child taking one of his first steps towards independence. For a woman whose eldest child had already left the nest and her second was actively pursuing college applications, the 'baby' of the family was now showing that he wasn't one anymore.

Then the phone rang.

“I'll get it,” Dad spoke up, grumbling slightly as Mom snapped a couple of pictures. “Yes, who is-oh, it's you Steve. What's up? The TV, why? Should I get Arden?”

“Oh dear,” Mom sighed worriedly as Dad came in and yoinked the remote out of my brother's grasp.

“Hey, what's up!?” Algie asked, startled out of his vegetative state. He wasn't usually a TV kind of guy, but when he did watch, he tended to zone out. “I was-”

“Shh!” Dad cut him off, working the remote with his off hand as he cradled the phone with the other. “You said national news? Let's see... Daily Planet... Arden, come here and take the phone.”

“Roger that,” I nodded, coming up from behind my father and taking the device from his unresisting hands. “Mr. Carmichael, is that you?”

“Arden! My favorite little genius stock prodigy! Great to talk to you. Listen, I'm sorry again about the leak and that intern's been fired, believe me-” The man on the other end started.

“It's fine, sir, these things happen. The important thing is that you called us instead of the other way around once we all figured out who dropped the ball,” I replied with a shrug. “Being upfront counts for a lot.”

“That it does,” he sighed in relief. “Anyway, more pressing matters – we've got some hullabaloo around Wayne Enterprises-”

“Ah, found it!” Dad cried triumphantly.

I kept listening to Steven Carmichael as he explained, but he wasn't saying anything that the reporter on the screen wasn't.

“-to repeat, the costumed criminal known as the Escape Artist – real name Cormac Dodge – has accused billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne of secretly being the notorious Gotham City vigilante Batman!” The woman behind the desk smiled widely, as if letting us all in on the big secret, even as a mugshot of the man in question was shown behind her. Notably, it was of the man still in costume, bearing multiple large bruises and several bandaged cuts. “Dodge has presented substantial evidence to legitimize his allegations and has vowed to pursue a civil case against the Wayne scion for violation of his civil rights.”

“Whoa,” Algie spoke softly, his eyes wide, as my parents exchanged concerned looks.

“Now, to continue on this story, we have a Jacob Teller outside Wayne Manor-”

I tuned the reporter out and turned to walk away from the living room towards the quieter kitchen, not bothering to hide my chuckling over the line. “Well, that's a good one. So what's the problem, Mr. Carmichael?”

The man on the other end sighed, “Ah... I forget how young you are sometimes, Arden. Stock prices for Wayne Enterprises are... fluctuating with the news.”

I hummed. “Wait for them to go down, then buy more shares.”

“A-are you sure, Arden?” The man asked, anxiety obvious in his voice. I heard the sound of something solid being set down on wood and the tinkling noise of ice on glass.

Great, the man was already drinking at this time of day...

“I'm assuming you saw the same picture of this guy that I did on the news just now,” I replied bluntly. “His costume is a straitjacket, Mr. Carmichael – Steven – he's a nutter. A loon. This is tabloid gossip at best.”

“R-right,” Steve muttered, the noise of ice and glass colliding sounding again, closer to the receiver this time. “But I've been watching the story since it hit two hours ago, Arden. There's some pretty damning evidence being discussed.”

“Oh, there will probably be some kind of investigation,” I said. “If whatever he's calling proof is enough to convince the right people, they'll put Mr. Wayne's life under a microscope and probably run his company's finances through a fine-toothed comb, but I doubt they'll find anything. Come to think of it, you should probably wait until after the police announce they're going to look at Wayne Enterprises to buy up stock. That'll really make things drop. People always panic when cops show up at the door.”

“You do make a compelling argument... but what if this lunatic is right, Arden? The majority of your investments are in Wayne Enterprises. This could destroy you financially,” Steven pressed.

“It's about forty percent,” I replied thoughtfully, “If it bottoms out as a result of this, that will be unfortunate, but we'll still have LexCorp, Queen Industries, and Kordtech to fall back on to rebuild. Besides, I've called Wayne Enterprises right before, why do you think this one's different?”

There was a pause and the sound of ice shifting as a glass was emptied. “Right. You're right. Just another day of high-risk trading. What do you want me to liquidate to make the purchases?”

I mentally thumbed through the catalog of stocks I had going. “Sell off some of the Wayne shares. Not many... say, thirty percent of what we've got. That'll help fuel the seller's panic. Dump a few shares of the Queen stock, too. That's always a little too volatile for my taste, anyway.”

Seriously, the Queens were like the worst kind of mafia-style soap opera with their family drama.

“And then wait until after the price drop from whatever investigation is announced to buy everything back,” Steve replied, the voice of someone building surety.

“Bruce Wayne will announce some kind of response to the allegations in the next few days, no doubt,” I stated authoritatively. “You'll want to do it once the announcement is made. Whatever speech he gives is going to help solidify public support and discredit this Dodge idiot.”

“...why do you think he'll wait a few days to make the announcement?” Steve asked. “If it were me, I'd want to get out ahead of this thing. It's going to be a real mess.”

I hummed and considered my response.

Because there's no way I can tell him that Bruce is going to wait for the worst of the bruises to fade. If someone got close enough to actually figure out his ID, things likely got hectic.

I was feeling a bit sharper today, though, and part of me wondered about the brand's influence already showing itself. “Because he doesn't own a majority share in his company, yet. If he's the type of person I think he is, he'll take advantage of something like this and let prices fall to buy back shares under his control.”

“You put a lot of stock in Bruce Wayne, Arden,” Steve observed. “I've always wondered why, care to finally share?”

I looked at the clock and frowned, I'd need to leave soon...

“Do you think I'm smart, Steve?” I asked, apropos of nothing.

“W-well... I don't call you a prodigy for nothing,” he pointed out with an awkward chuckle.

I nodded, not that he could see. “If you think I'm smart, then trust me when I tell you that Bruce Wayne is a lot more intelligent than he lets on. At bare minimum he was savvy enough to leave Gotham for a few years, disappear off the face of the Earth, and show back up without any sort of explanation where he's been.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. “I, uh... don't see how that's all that smart.”

I snorted, shaking my head. “Nowadays people shove cameras in Bruce Wayne's face to ask him where he disappeared to, which resort he was staying at, why he faked his own death... everyone's forgotten that they used to do the same thing to ask him how he felt when his parents died in front of him.”

“O-oh,” Steve stated, shocked at my bluntness.

“And if those had been my parents,” I continued, the thought making me vaguely sick as I imagined the scenario, “a few years living off the grid would be a small price to pay to make everyone finally shut up about the worst day of my life.”

I paused to let that sink in.

“So yeah,” I stated, “I think he's smarter than he lets on. But I don't believe that he's running around Gotham at night dressed like a bat, Mr. Carmichael. That's just silly.”

Steve chuckled on the other end of the line. “Alright, well... you've convinced me. I'll get right on your trading instructions.”

Steve hung up and I pulled the phone away, hesitated... then decided not to say anything. Knowing Bruce like I did, it was a coin flip as to whether or not he'd tapped the lines already or figured out some way to intercept the signal. Still, it was better that he believe, for the moment, that I wasn't aware of the possibility of him listening in.

“Mom, I'm heading out!” I called into the living room, bringing one last flurry of fussing over me before I managed to escape.

…

In a cave under a three-centuries old manor house in the outer limits of Gotham City, a man leaned back in a large chair, partially-disrobed of the elaborate and technologically-advanced suit he had worn the night before. His eyes were locked on the screen of the advanced supercomputer before him, a speech-to-text program having compiled a log of the phone call that had just ended scrolling past him for fine-tuning.

“He certainly seems to be an insightful child, doesn't he, Master Wayne?” The distinguished voice of Alfred Pennyworth spoke up from behind him, a wheeled cart rolling forward with food and medicine laden upon it.

“Too insightful,” Bruce stated thoughtfully. “I have to wonder if he really is what he appears to be, Alfred.”

“Something more insidious than a problematically well-informed teenage prodigy?” The butler asked as he went about arranging. “I shudder to think of any sort of creature which could meet that criteria.”

Bruce huffed, his lips twitching, but the amusement faded in short order. “I saw things on my travels, Alfred. Things that could pretend to be children. I have to wonder if something used his disappearance to replace him. Or possess him.”

“Yet all indicators seem to point to this 'Arden Villin' having undergone no significant change during his unwilling captivity,” Alfred noted clinically. “Your comparative analysis of his speech patterns, body language, and personal conduct all fit with established habits formed prior to his disappearance. Further, did you not note that the amount of human waste removed from the bunker fit with the time period in question?”

Bruce grunted, but nodded, reaching up to cup his chin. “I'll keep the option open, but even I'll admit that it's unlikely. My current leading theory is a stress-induced meta-gene activation on top of a naturally-high intellect.”

“Then it would appear that we are at least the beneficiaries of some good fortune in that regard,” Alfred commented dryly as he touched up the ointment and bandages littering the younger man's body.

“How so?” Bruce asked, leaning forward to allow the butler better access.

“More than simply being 'heroically-inclined,' as the boy termed it in that seventh-year paper he wrote regarding Superman, he respects you,” Alfred paused, meaningfully. “Specifically. Enough to implicitly reveal his capabilities – at least some of them – to you.”

Bruce was silent as he digested that.

“More than respect, even, I would say that is a remarkable show of trust,” Alfred added pointedly. “Whatever his powers and whatever he knows, Master Wayne, perhaps you should take heart in the fact that what he has seen of you inspires such faith.”

A sensor began blinking and Bruce frowned before tapping at the keyboard to cue up the footage being relayed. On the screen now was an older child – or a younger teen – who was digging through one of the long-term storage areas of the manor above them. Specifically, a dust-covered room in the cellar that housed a secondary access point for the Batcave.

“Are you sure we can't trade this intelligent young man in Colorado for the gremlin you picked up off the streets?” Alfred asked, the ghost of a plaintive whine in his voice as he watched the girl loot through family heirlooms with callous disregard for their importance.

“Alfred,” Bruce stated, the word carrying both tolerant amusement as well as a hint of chastisement. “It's in a child's nature to explore a new environment, and Anita hasn't done any permanent damage, yet. If and when that happens, I'll set some boundaries.”

“And when Ms. Jean finds her way down here, sir?” Alfred asked.

“She was the one to discover my identity for Dodge,” Bruce replied, shaking his head at the complications of the last few days. “Should that happen, it won't fundamentally change anything. That talk about boundaries will simply have another dimension to it.”

“And the public at large?” Alfred pressed. “What will they be told regarding your intentions towards the girl? Some will see it as a further indictment of your double life.”

Bruce snorted and smiled. “Putting aside his disturbingly accurate read on the situation, Arden Villin has the right of it. I don't actually have to do any work discrediting Cormac Dodge, he's done all of that himself. The story we'll present is that you and I came across Anita committing a crime while inspecting one of the company's properties in the city and, instead of turning her in to the police, offered to shelter her from reprisal by the man who'd trained her to be a criminal.”

“Thus portraying Dodge as a lunatic fabricating an absurd story in a fit of attempted vengeance towards a figure who is otherwise too wealthy to touch,” Alfred surmised.

“And giving me ample cause to take the girl in long-term,” Bruce nodded. “To give her a better life, away from the poverty and madman that plagued her life up to this point.”

“And the Batman, sir? What will he do?” Alfred asked.

“Well, clearly Bruce Wayne doesn't have connections to Batman, so he can't simply call him up,” Bruce chuckled. “But I'll host a gala and publicly invite the vigilante to make an appearance if he'd like me to double the charitable contribution to the charity of the evening... the orphan's fund, I think.”

“A noble and very topical cause, considering Ms. Jean's appearance in your life,” Alfred lauded, then hesitated. “Shall I assume that we're going with 'Plan B' for covering your identity, sir?”

The younger man turned towards his butler and nodded. “Unless you're uncomfortable with it?”

Alfred pursed his lips, then nodded. “As long as I am not required to swing from the ceiling like some sort of carnival acrobat, I'm sure I'll manage. My days of such things are very much over, Master Bruce.”

Now Bruce laughed outright and nodded. “I'll be sure to make a note. You'll also have to put up with Anita publicly thanking you for taking down Dodge as part of the cover story.”

“If she can do so in the Queen's English, I'll cooperate,” Alfred replied dryly, “but that Cockney Twang of hers, as you Americans say, simply must go. I'll handle the elocution lessons myself, if I must.”

Suddenly, an alarm rang out through the cave and Bruce sighed slightly as he muted it. Alfred hummed smugly and turned as the elevator from the supply room dropped down. Bruce could have overridden it, but this was as good a point as any to sit down with his new ward and have that talk.

“I've already contacted social services regarding Anita's case,” Bruce spoke up as he readied himself, reaching for a shirt to put on. “They're looking things over and should call soon.”

“Very good, sir,” Alfred nodded. “I'll schedule that gala you mentioned for next week. It's short notice, but I imagine several people will clear their schedules given your current media presences. Hopefully the bruises will have faded by then.”

Bruce turned as the elevator door opened, already moving towards it with a wry smile to find the dark-haired girl grinning at him shyly.  “Hello, AJ. It seems like you’ve found your way down here faster than I thought you would.”

Anita Jean smiled cautiously up at him. “Wotcher, sir. I haven’t made a pig’s ear of it, ‘ave I?”

Bruce shook his head and put a hand on her shoulder. “No, but we do need to discuss a few things.”

…

“So... what movie are we seeing?” Astrid asked, leaning in to me and smiling.

“I was thinking Anaconda,” I replied with a small grin.

The girl at my side snorted. “You know I actually like horror movies, so don't think I'm going to cuddle up next to you like some girly-girl.”

“Perish the thought,” I replied dryly. “I just want to go see a movie about a giant snake eating people.”

“Well that's okay then,” she nodded imperiously. “But we need to take a few pictures. Mom only let me out of the house on the condition that I snag a few. It was either that or let her drive me to Applebees.”

“Same,” I nodded, sighing as I pulled the disposable camera from my back pocket. Astrid mimicked me, pulling one from her purse with a giggle. “I hope I'm not being too much of a guy here, but... I didn't take you for a purse kind of girl.”

“Hmm... little bit of a guy thing to say, yeah,” Astrid snorted, “but, yeah, you're right. I'm not. I actually hate purses. Normally.”

She blushed slightly.

“But,” she continued, “I just had so many things I wanted to take with me in case something happened, or I spilled something on myself, or – well, you get it.”

“I do,” I shrugged. “It's why I wear jeans with extra-large pockets. And nowadays I have to add holsters on my hips for extra stuff.”

“I was going to ask about that,” Astrid commented, tilting her head to look at my belt. “Is that really a cell phone? My parents have been talking about getting one, but they don't know how much they'd use it.”

Ah, sweet summer children. Who are adults and older than me.

“It's a stockholder thing,” I sighed, “I got sent it by the head of a company that wants to stay in touch.”

“You don't sound happy about it,” she observed.

“It's... not a huge deal,” I grimaced, “I just don't like the idea of being constantly in contact with anyone who wants to reach me, all day every day.”

I had enough of that for a lifetime, but...

“Then just tell him you'll keep it at home and not take it with you to, like school or stuff,” Astrid giggled. “I can't imagine that even high school teachers would be happy if their classes got interrupted by a phone ringing.”

“I'll have to remember to put it on silent,” I grumbled. “But it's a good idea, to keep it on me, I mean. If I get into another situation like with the Baxters.”

Astrid grimaced, her mood dipping a bit. “I don't know if you'd be able to use it down in a basement like that, aren't they supposed to be really glitchy out in the woods or caves or stuff? But, yeah... if it did work, that would have solved things right away.”

“I'll have to see what kind of reception this gets,” I agreed. “I know that the LexTel phones don't work out in the country, but this is a Starphone, from Star Labs, and they're supposed to work anywhere.”

Astrid hummed thoughtfully, agreeing with the skepticism in my voice. “Anyway, let's talk about something else... ah, I've got nothing.”

I chuckled and, despite her blush, Astrid giggled. “Let's see... what do you want to do when you grow up? College and a job and stuff?”

She blinked as we walked along, dinner still sitting heavy in our stomachs and the movie almost an hour away. “Huh... well, I don't really know, but if I had to say something... I'd like to work with animals, I guess. I mean, if astronaut isn't on the table or anything.”

“You could be an astronaut if you wanted to,” I told her, then rolled over her disbelieving snort. “No, really. Do you want to be an astronaut?”

Astrid blushed and looked up, into the sky. “I'd... really like to, yeah. Just... it's hard to see myself getting there, you know?”

“Well, make a plan and stick to it,” I replied with a shrug. “Staying in scouts and earning your eagle is a good way to demonstrate that you're willing to go the distance. Then, let's see... you should probably decide if you want to go military or science.”

“Military or science?” Astrid asked, frowning. “What – oh! You mean whether I want to be on the crew as flight personnel or a specialist.”

I snapped my fingers. “You already know this stuff and I'm just running my mouth, aren't I?”

“No – well, I mean, kind of,” Astrid ducked her head with a sly grin. “I have looked into it, don't get me wrong. It's just... it looks really hard.”

“I'll pretend to be mature for a moment and reply that most things worth doing are hard,” I sighed. “I'm getting into shape, for instance. Already talked to my brother and I'm going to join him on morning runs and stuff.”

“Oh, that's so cool!” Astrid grinned, then paused, suddenly hesitant. “Do you... would you mind if I joined in? Getting in shape sounds great, but it's so boring doing it by yourself.”

No lie, my stomach did a little flip at the suggestion.

“Sure,” I nodded, making sure to clear my throat so my voice didn't crack. “I'll have to check with Algie, but he shouldn't have a problem with it as long as we can keep up.”

Well, he won't have a problem with it, no. He'll just give me grief that my new girlfriend wants to spend time with me. But that's what siblings do and not her problem.

“But if you're really interested in animals and space... you might think about getting a doctorate in biology with some kind of focus in that area,” I circled back to our earlier topic. “It might not be with actual animals all that often, but it's a good spot for the two things to cross over.”

“You're not going to let this drop, are you?” Astrid asked, snorting in faux-exasperation. “Okay, what do you want to do when you grow up? Turnabout is fair play!”

I chuckled and nodded. “Well... I was thinking about programming, honestly. As my practical choice, at least. There are a bunch of weird old programming languages like cobol that a lot of banks use.”

“That's not practical,” Astrid snickered. “That's boring, no offense Arden. Just... it sounds...”

“Oh, it's incredibly boring,” I agreed readily with a smirk. “Like, soul-crushing. Most people who go into this stuff jump ship after only five years because they can't stand doing the work anymore.”

“Why would you want to do that?!” Astrid asked, appalled and horrified.

“Six figure salary,” I replied instantly, making her blink. “This is the programming language that banks and other places that deal with money use and they're always trying to find more people to help keep their systems running. If you're smart about it, you don't just get out of the field after five years, you retire.”

That had been the plan, originally. Smart stock investments, get a job doing tedious coding for five years, build up a store of wealth that will last for the rest of my life, and then buy some land in Wyoming where fucking aliens won't invade, Lex Luthor won't stomp through in a battle-suit, and one of the insane super-gangs won't start a war outside my front door.

Newsflash, being powerless in a world of supers was disheartening and miserable when you weren't used to it.

“Okay, if I'm going to be an astronaut then you can't be a super-nerd trying to retire in five years,” Astrid shook her head. “If you could do anything, what would you want to do?”

“Superhero,” I replied instantly.

Astrid blinked, “Huh. You're the kind of guy that's either all on or all off, aren't you?”

I shrugged, my cheeks heating a little. “I find moderation difficult.”

She giggled, hugging my arm. “Okay, I'm a future astronaut and you're a future superhero.”

“Deal,” I nodded, surprising her again with how seriously I agreed to her proposition. “No backing out.”

Astrid snorted and nodded. “I feel like I should be the one telling you that. Seriously, how do you even become a superhero?”

Part of me, admittedly, wanted to tell her about my powers. That was the puppy love talking, and probably my teenage hormones. I knew Astrid fairly well and thought that she would probably take things well enough, but it definitely wasn't a first date kind of conversation. That was the kind of thing you talked about right before rings came out. Or, at the very least, a few months into a relationship.

“I'll get back to you when I figure that out, I guess,” I grinned at her confidently.

She stared at me for a moment, then smiled and leaned in to press her lips to mine, pulling back after just a quick peck.

I stiffened in surprise, my cheeks feeling hot as Astrid skipped away with a giggle. “We should start heading back to the theater!”

The movie was... well, it was a silly b-grade horror schlock flick, just like I remembered. The date was the more enjoyable part of things, especially when a few of the jump scares that I barely remembered made Astrid and I hold each other's hands tightly.

Well, that... and the short break of normalcy was about to end.

A bronze ticket for my first kiss.

A silver ticket for a successful first date.

And a gold ticket for being on Batman's radar, which probably answered the question of whether or not he'd tapped my phone lines yet.

Gacha Pull mentioned off-screen this chapter:

72. Dire Wolf (1.5 Rarity, 3.28% odds)

-Common Familiar-

A large vicious prehistoric wolf the size of a man, they are very strong with tough and sharp teeth and claws, they are also big enough to be used as a mount. By default, they are female and can reproduce.

~~~

The further adventures of Arden Villin!

Join him as he makes his way on his first date with his new girlfriend!

And stuff! Stuff is great!

Oh, and there's some Batman things too. Cause Batman gonna Batman.

Hope everyone enjoys this one... though this one is going to go on the buffer set for when this story gets a full thread. So no roll-over chapter just yet. Next up is more Mind Games this weekend! Thank you again for all your support!