May 15
Mood: Bored
Music: "Smack That"- Akon
What would you do if you found out your mom's a superhero? And not just a superhero, but a billionaire heiress on top of that? I know what you're thinking – 'cool! Go and live in her mansion, and bask in the coolness of having a superhero mom!' – but there are things you don't know, things that you don't understand. I've never met my mom. She doesn't even know she has a daughter.
Now, I can see your confused expression. How does my mom not know she has a daughter? Because my mother never told her. I'll wait for you to figure that one out. Got it now? Right – I have two mothers. I was conceived via artificial insemination. My mother never told my mom that it worked, because shortly after the procedure was done they broke up rather spectacularly. See, apparently both of them were superheroes back in the day. My mother quit the business when they were trying to have me, but mom couldn't give it up. A heated discussion on the subject rapidly became an argument, mom stormed out and they haven't spoken since.
Do you get now why I'm not rushing off to see her? I've never met her. She doesn't know I exist. And she walked out on my mother. All in all, that's not a great list of reasons for me to find her. And yet, here I am, on this stinking train to Gotham City. The city where she lives, and the city where she does her superhero thing. I'm not looking for her, though – I'm going because I'm 18 now, and I found myself a good job in Gotham. I know how dangerous it is - goddess knows, my mother's told me – but I'm smart. I can take care of myself. Given who my parents are, I should certainly know what I'm doing.
Sounds like the "dining car" (notice the sarcastic quote marks?) is open, so I think I'll wander down and see what doesn't have bugs in it and looks even remotely edible. Catch you shortly.
The Gotham news is all about Mom today, as it turns out. Apparently her family's added a wing to the library, or a library to a wing, or something. I don't know how rich people do it – I'd be bored stiff if I had to show up at all these things and cut ribbons and smile for the camera. She photographs well, though! I think I got more of my mother's looks than hers. Not that mother's ugly, by any stretch of the imagination, but I think anyone would look plain next to this woman.
So, where was I? Oh, right, the job – I snagged an internship at Gotham's largest newspaper. It's a huge opportunity, and it'll hopefully leapfrog me into the journalism program at GCU. I've heard interesting things about my new co-workers, but if I keep my head down and do my job, hopefully none of it will affect me too much.
Is mother happy about where I'm going? In a word, no. I think she's halfway convinced I'm going to hunt down mom and never come back to her, and halfway convinced I'll be bumped off by the Joker or Hush or some other freak who doesn't even have a name yet. But she did what she's done since I was about ten – sat down, talked it through with me, and let me make my own decision. She's pretty cool that way. And then, the next day, she gave me a present that's currently at the bottom of my suitcase – a taser. She's pretty cool that way, too.
I-
Sorry about that. Brief interruption – why is it that every asshole in the world interprets a woman sitting by herself as a sign that he needs to go over and talk to her? I'm wearing my iPod, writing in my journal and staring out the window – what part of that says "I'm horny and alone, please come and hit on me?" Sleazy little bugger, too – track suit, gold chains, either thinks he's a rapper or that he's a pimp. Or, for all I know, he is a pimp – this is the train to Gotham, after all.
Anyway, I've lost my train of thought now. So let's move onto a new ramble, shall we? Let's talk about where I'll be staying. The paper was good enough to find me a little apartment right in the middle of downtown Gotham. I checked online, and it looks like it's in a relatively decent area. Which means that it's not an active war zone, just a DMZ. I'm glad they had something for me, anyway – it would have been tough to find one on my own. If-
For crying out loud – some people just don't take a hint, do they? He's left the car now, so I'm hoping that's the last time I'll get interrupted.
I think my biggest challenge is going to be figuring out the subway. There's about a dozen lines through the city, and the map is this confusing blur of red and blue and green and purple and a bunch of other colours. I'll likely end up on the wrong one a couple of times – I should probably leave early for work on Monday.
Well, I'm rambling more than usual now – I guess that means I should quit scribbling in this notebook for now. Maybe someday I can file this as my first story, yeah? Anyway, this is the Gotham Tribune's newest reporter, Jessie Montoya, signing off.
May 16 (barely)
Mood: Coming down from an adrenaline rush
Music: The thumping of my damn heart
Welcome to Gotham, Miss Montoya! What a couple of hours.
So, I get off the train yesterday and the pimp in the track suit follows me. All the way down to the subway, he follows me. Being the idiot that I am, my taser's still in the bottom of my suitcase, so I pick a crowded subway car and hope he'll get scared off by the crowd. For a while, I actually think it worked – the train pulls away, and I swear I see him standing on the platform. Then I get off – at the wrong damn stop, of course - and he steps out of the car behind mine with this shit-eating grin on his face.
I know how to defend myself, but this guy has a couple hundred pounds on me, so I figure a strategic withdrawal might be in order. I'm glad to be wearing trainers, since said withdrawal requires running up a flight of stairs. I'm on the second last step when I look up and he's right in front of me! Impossible, but there he is. He reaches out for me and I swing my bag at him. He doesn't even flinch. Then, before I can blink he's behind me and pinning my arms behind my back. I cry out – he really wrenched them, and it hurt like hell – and next thing I know I'm on the ground.
"Yell again," he whispers, and his voice does this freaky echo thing. "Nobody's gonna help you, bitch – this is Gotham City." Suddenly his weight is ripped away from me and I hear a meaty thud as his solid frame connects with the brick wall on my right. I lay there, head down, listening to the sounds of the struggle between my attacker and whoever the new arrival is, offering a silent plea that they're here to save me rather than to claim me as their own. The battle is surprisingly short, and then there's a gentle tap on my shoulder. "I'm sorry it took me so long," a soft feminine voice whispers. I risk a glance upwards – and my jaw drops. My first night in the city, and I've met Catwoman! What are the odds of that? She smiles. "What's your name, honey?"
"J-Jessie," I stammer as she helps me to my feet. I'd seen pictures of her, of course, but she's so much hotter in person...
"Where were you trying to get to, Jessie?"
I show her the address, and she nods. "You weren't too far off. Come on, I'll take you."
"But what about him?"
"He's not going anywhere. And in about fifteen minutes his associates – the one he stole those fake superpowers from – will be here to retrieve them."
"Oh. So he's not really-"
"Nope. He's just a garden variety bad guy who ate a bunch of...radioactive spinach." I pick up my suitcase and we walk in silence for a couple of minutes before she turns to me again. "Where are you from, Jessie?"
"Uh, Keystone City."
"What brings you to Gotham in the middle of the night?"
"I got an internship at the Gotham Tribune."
"Really? Good for you! That's a hell of a paper."
Out of nowhere, I start to laugh. She looks quizzically at me. "I'm sorry," I manage. "This is just so surreal! I've been here for less than an hour, and I'm being escorted to my apartment by Catwoman, while we chat about my new job! It's just not really the arrival I'd anticipated," I wipe my eyes. "I'm sorry."
She chuckles, her voice low and smoky. "Not at all – I can see how it'd be a little odd. Listen, though," she turns more serious. "Be careful on the subway here. Keystone's trams are fairly safe, but this subway is dangerous. I'd keep something on you for protection."
"I've got a taser my mom gave me – it's in my bag, though."
"That's good. Keep it with you – on you – at all times, okay?"
"Promise."
"Here we are," she announces with a flourish. "Do you have your keys?"
"Yep," I nod. "Thank you so much – for everything."
"You're welcome," she smiles. "Let's hope you never need my help again, okay?"
"Got it," I smile back, and she's gone. Just like that, vanished into the night. I take the rickety elevator to the fourth floor and find my apartment, the door of which opens the third time I put a shoulder into it. And that, dear journal, is where the story ends. Jessie tired, Jessie going to sleep.
Being a reporter here is going to be so much fun...
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