Master of the Hunt, Part XIV

All parts linked here.

1215 hours, a nondescript hotel suite

The microwave dinged, and a pretty young woman retrieved the chicken soup from therein, adding salt and pepper to taste. She might have been drop dead gorgeous, with a little effort. Her hair was a mess of golden and platinum curls, cascading down around her shoulders. Her face was petite and smeared with the remnants of lazily removed makeup. Her figure was nice, but completely obscured by the overlarge hoodie and sweatpants she was wearing.

When she was pleased with the soup she called, “Honey, soup’s ready!”

A young man with an average build poked his head in.

“He’s still not awake. Leave him?”

She shrugged.

“We could just eat in there.”

He returned the shrug and grabbed the bowl of soup, taking it to the other room, and she followed him with three bowls and three spoons.

She set the bowls on the coffee table and sat on the couch, beside the head of a prone figure – Huntmaster. The young man flipped on the television and began serving the soup.

The young woman began running her hands through Huntmaster’s hair.

“Ivy sure did a number on him…”

“I’ll say she did. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her being so brutal before.”

“Since you’re in Gotham so very often.”

“I grew up here.”

“I forget that you were trained by the greatest mercenary in the world.”

“Somehow the armour doesn’t remind you…”

The young man set two bowls of soup on her side of the table and, sitting down in an armchair, set one in his own lap, digging in immediately.

The smell brought Huntmaster around, slowly. He reached up to rub his eyes, and the young woman dropped her spoon back in her bowl and smacked his hand away.

“Don’t want to do that, sugar. You’ll make it worse.”

Huntmaster forced his eyes open.

“What…? Who?”

“We’re the people who saved you from Gotham’s worst, sweetheart,” she said, helping him to sit up. “I’m Belle Arisa, also known as the Bombshell Blonde, and that over there is Drake Orson, also known as Sync.”

I took the liberty of dissembling, cleaning, and reassembling your guns,” Drake interjected,” As well as some basic maintenance on your armour. I don’t know where you got it, but that suit is beautiful.”

“Thanks… Where am I?”

“An unmarked hotel in Gotham. No trace. We brought you in through the window.”

Huntmaster looked up at Belle incredulously.

“Why?”

“Nightwing requested that we keep you on the down low.”

“Ah… Why can’t I feel my face?”

“Ivy messed you up good. Fortunately we came prepared for her, so we were able to get medicine on you quickly enough to counteract the effects, but it’ll be numb for another hour or two.”

Huntmaster nodded.

She twisted such that she was coyly sitting on her own leg, lifting a spoonful of broth to Huntmaster’s lips.

“Eat.”

After he swallowed the spoonful, Belle handed the bowl and he obediently got to work on it.