The Party starts

Meanwhile, Wayne Manor was running at full speed. Alfred led a small army of hired people to support him. While he delegated the servants, Bruce was in his study. It was too dangerous for him to work in the cave now. Too many strangers walking around the property right now. It would be conspicuous if the landlord disappeared at once. And he was also able to access all the data of the cave from his study. But it didn't help him. Even one evening after the little excursion to the docks he had no inspiration for the **** of Joker. He had returned immediately after the little trip and had been sitting in the cave until early in the morning. While listening to the police radio at the same time, he rather frustrated tried to investigate further details. The city was relatively quiet. The police reported a double homicide in an alleyway of a few junkies.

Sitting at his chair in front of the master computer of the Batcave, Bruce Wayne looked over a copy of the autopsy report from the S. S. Ceres crew that drifted into Gotham harbour last night. Not one thing about it made any sense, not one. For one, the bodies were completely drained of blood, so much so that their flesh was practically flaking off their bones like paper. But what was strange was there were no puncher wounds of any kind to be found on their remains, not even the slightest mark of a syringe. It was almost like their blood simply… disappeared. Even stranger was the position the bodies were found; three were still playing cards on deck, another was found cleaning, even the captain was still at the wheel. Dropping the file onto the desk, Bruce pulled open another. This one of the double homicide in the alley way just south of the narrows. They too were completely drained of blood, but their bodies were still fresh, and they possessed wounds on their necks consistent with an animal attack, but strangely no splatter was found on the ground or walls, and despite being armed both victims showed no sign of a fight apart from a single bullet missing in the chamber of one of their pistols.

“It’s the same M.O… but the methods are different and the two died on the opposite side of the city.” Dropping the file next to the other, Bruce leaned back in his seat. “Even though they’re slightly different, the coincidence is too hard to ignore.” For now, he didn’t have any leads, not until something new happened. He hated that, waiting for a crime to occur just to solve them both. It just meant more victims he couldn’t save. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Bruce stood up and straightened his suit, it was time he got ready for the opening of the manor’s party, and Bruce Wayne was required for attendance.

*

Stepping out of the grandfather clock of his study and locking the secret panel that lead to the Batcave, Bruce straightened his tie and stepped out into the banquet hall of his mansion. Soft music played in the background by troupe of violinists with a cello, additional help serve champagne and finger food on silver plates while Alfred navigated their actions from the background. Gotham’s elite were in full attendance; the wealthy, the profitable, the well off… And the opportunistic. At one end Bruce could see Roman Sionis with two women at his sides pretending to laugh when he told a bad joke, one made at the expense of the now deceased Joker. On the other he could make out Vicki Vale with a small tape recorder in her hand trying to ask questions to Commissioner Gordon who was invited with his wife as guests, Barbara was trying all her best to pull Jim away from the inquisitive woman, so she could get at the punch bowl. Near the fireplace, he could make out Professor Hugo Strange, sitting with some of the older guests and trading stories from previous work from the asylum and hospital. Other notable families were also in attendance, but Bruce found that one couple he invited hadn’t shown up. Patrick Holt and his fiancé Vivian, both ran a notable contracting company that he had hoped to set up a new project for city restructuring. He knew Patrick was overseas, but he had hoped that Vivian would have shown up for an unofficial meeting.

Plucking a glass of Champaign off the plate of one of the waiters moving about the hall, Bruce took a sip and moved about. Shaking hands with some of his guests and wishing them well and to enjoy the party when he noticed a large crowd at the far corner of the hall, moving his way over he heard everyone enraptured and laughing lightly to a tale being spoken by a young man in what sounded like a Romanian accent.

“…Can you just picture the look on the doctor’s face when his patient asked for a pet cat to eat his pet birds? Who ate his pet spiders whom ate his pet flies? Its no wonder the mad can’t have pets anymore.”

A gentle laugh came off the crowd until one of the ladies noticed Bruce and pulled him closer to meet the newcomer. “Bruce, there’s someone you absolutely MUST meet, uhm… what was your name again?” With an inviting smile and a curtseyed bow, the well-dressed gentleman stood back tall and poised, his one hand behind his back while the other made a flourished gesture with his fingers. “Ah, the owner of the estate, my name is Varcolac, Count Bolg Varcolac.” Giving the Count a look over, Bruce stood before a man that seemed in his early thirties, tall and thin, he wore an elegant green suit that looked over a hundred years old yet well kept. Appearing almost Victorian in style with frilled cuffs, cumber bun and a matching frilled scarf. A dried white rose poked out of his breast pocket along with a small silk handkerchief that matched the light green silk accents of his cloths.

Shaking Bruce’s hand, the young man seemed distracted, his eyes focusing more on what was around Bruce Wayne before focusing back on the billionaire’s face. “I’ve just recently arrived in Gotham in the hopes of acquiring some local property, I was told that the party held at your estate would lead to some PROSPEROUS ventures.” Taken back slightly Bruce smiled to keep up a show for the crowd around him. “I’m curious, I didn’t write an invitation for…” Waving his hands defensively with a roguish smile, the Count made a simple flick of his fingers and produced a card with gold trim. “My apologies, I met with the young lady Miss… Holt was it? I met with her yesterday during a… Meeting and she gave me her invitation.” Taking the card from his hand, Bruce looked it over, immediately recognizing Vivian’s name on the front. “Well then, I hope you enjoy the party and welcome to Gotham.” Stepping away, Bruce remained in the grasp of the woman that pulled him into the crowd, chatting with him over the latest gossip. Giving the man a slight bow as he walked away, the Count returned to entertaining the crowd he was surrounded with.

*

Dracula smirked back at the owner of the estate, the handsome idiot continued to banter with the rich locals after his introduction. Quite a few of the more notable guests at the party seemed to have a darker reputation about them he noticed, even though they didn’t speak of such things openly, the ghosts haunting their presence certainly did. The elderly man sitting by the fire with the other intellectuals had three ghosts hovering over his head, bound in straight jackets and screaming silently down at the bespectacled man with the chin curtain beard. The boorish man at the far end of the party wringing the coat of a waiter that hesitated in filling his drink practically had a storm swirling around him, dozens of ghosts flitted and circled him, becoming even more agitated after he shoved the waiter away. Men, women… Even the ghosts of children haunted the Sionis fellow, but what caught Dracula’s attention was the owner of the Wayne estate himself.

He too had ghosts haunt his presence, but unlike the others whose spirits cried and screamed and demanded from their hosts, the pair that floated near Mr. Wayne kept their attention on HIM! A man and woman of middle age, they kept their hands on his shoulders almost defensively, eyeing the vampire fearfully. Curious, he looked around the banquette hall and noticed the panting that hung above the fireplace, framing the picture of a young boy standing between his parents in the same stance as the ghosts that floated over Bruce Wayne. “Even in **** you watch over your son, admirable… But an empty endeavour.” He whispered, too low to be heard by the people around him. “I KNOW he is the one I seek, and mark my words, I WILL end him, and when you see why… You’ll BEG me to do it.”

“What was that?” Asked the woman who had been trying to talk with him the entire time. “Hmm? My apologies M’lady, I was distracted, please continue…”