It had dawned on her that she had been taking this 'Bat Business'
far too serious lately.
She had been stalking the city for nights on end, staring at the screen of the infernal Batcomputer unblinking for what felt like hours, being much more Bat and much less Batgirl, so much so that she caught herself glaring at someone for daring to laugh around her.
That just wasn't right.
That was down right messed up.
As much as she respected the great brooding bastard (and she would die again before ever admitting that out loud)
, she didn't want to BE
him. Good god. She still had joy in her soul.
Hell, she still had
a SOUL, full stop. Wasn't sure Ol' Broody Boots could say that.
Suiting up, and switching out some of the gear in her pouches, she felt the slow grin creeping across her face.
She almost felt like calling Klarion, to amplify what she was planning, but she quickly shut that idea down, knowing that would turn into something she would have to clean up, involving some sort of monster, likely, instead of harmless chaos.
She sometimes forgot how different the levels of chaos they were on were.
Shaking her head, she hit the city.
It was time for Operation: Steph Was Getting Too Grump Bat, And Needs To Mess Sh*t Up.
(It's a working title, ok?)
Stop one was a bunch of thugs in an alleyway, planning on jumping an unsuspecting 'opposing gang member'. (They were like, 16. She highly doubted they were actually involved with any real gangs.)
Clearing her throat loudly from her vantage point on the roof above them, she dropped a handful of her gooparang pods in the middle of them, followed by one of the boobytrapped smoke bombs she had been hoping someone would pick up, which had been conveniently worked around.
The smoke dissipated, the group stood stuck, held in place by her green rubber cement, coated in glitter.
“Stick around, fellas, ok?”
Grinning down at her handiwork, exaggeratedly chefs kissing, she lept the alleyway, and continued on, for her next target.
Target two was gloriously, Riddler.
Sliding up to the window of his apartment, knocking on it with a knuckle, she waved enthusiastically as he jumped, startled while he was watching what she assumed was some quiz show, because of course he would be. Seeing it was the blonde Batgirl, he glowered at her, and opened his window.
“What do you want, Miss Brown? I can assure you, I've been following the terms of my parole. And I won't be inviting you in, not after the last time.”
Grinning, she sank down to sit on the windowsill, nodding casually.
“Of course not, Eddie, I understand entirely. I was in the wrong. I was trying to come to terms with my father being dead. Which he isn't, by the way. Apparently we Browns don't do dead very well. But I'm here to ask you something.”
She paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing at her, but curiosity getting the better of him, as she knew it would.
“... Go on…”
As earnestly as she could, she tilted her head, she tilted her head, and pouted, looking genuinely wounded.
“Why don't I get invited to dinners?”
There was a pause, he blinked in confusion, shaking his head slightly.
“Is it because I'm a supper hero?”
She starts breaking into a grin, watching the confusion turn to fury, as she cackles, firing her grapple before she could be pushed out of the window, dropping another glitter filled smoke bomb as she does.
“Be good, Eddie!”
She calls, swinging away.
"Everything doesn't have to be about fear. There's room in our line of work for hope, too."
She was starting to feel a lot more like herself. There was one more thing left to do. And it had been a long while since she had done anything like it. But this time it was the big time. She needed to make a pit stop first.
Swinging by the Sprang Bridge underpass, where her old friends, her old misfit crew were, she made her Batgirl presence known, holding up a hand as people looked too scatter. For the first time in a very long time, she used her vocal scrambler, before speaking.
“Relax. I'm not here for you lot, you should know that by now. I just want all the purple paint you have.”
After a moment of silence, one spoke up.
“What makes you think we have any paint, let alone purple…?”
Taking a flashlight from her belt pouches, Steph flicked it on, and pointed it directly at a still dripping set of tags, raising a brow.
“I don't have to be the world's greatest detective, Liam. Fork it over.”
Flinching internally at using his name, and seeing the flicker of surprise on his face, she shut off the flashlight, and was surprised by the amount of purple paint that was brought before her. Picking up just a paint can and a brush, she gave a salute. Turning to leave, Liam spoke again.
“Wait. How'd you know my name…?”
“Bats know everything.”
She says quickly, as if it was simple, he nods, frowning slightly.
“Of course. Makes sense. And… thanks, for keeping an eye out for us…”
Half smiling, she turned and left, heading to GCPD HQ.
Hunkering low on the roof, she waited for any officers taking a smoke break to head back indoors before her masterpiece.
She was currently the most active Bat in Gotham, after all… shouldn't the signal represent that?