Confessions of a Teenaged Telepath
FANDOM: Birds of Prey TV
RATING: No language, no sex ... I'm starting to wonder if there's actually anything 'good' in this story. *grin*
DISCLAIMER: Birds of Prey borrowed from WB. Not belonging to me, just having a little play.
COMMENTS: Thanks to the Queen of Spelling and Grammar, Kelley. You rock! Written for the dogged_by_muses "Fragments of Sappho" Challenge-a-thon.
SUMMARY: Dinah confesses to her part in a sneaky plan of match making in the Clocktower...
I've been a touch telepath for seven years, or maybe a little longer, if you want to count all the years I spent thinking I was a complete nutcase who was not only delusional, but a liar and a demon in her spare time.
Just in that short period of time I saw things that no person would calmly and rationally reveal to any other person. I saw hopes, dreams, the odd fetish, demented sexual fantasies and, the most popular amongst most people, unrequited love.
And sure, some of those things could make a girl want to crawl under her bed and not bother with the world, because obviously it was so full of perverts, psychopaths and irrationally quiet teenagers. I don't know exactly why I'm not sharing a cell with Harley Quinn or huddled up under my king sized bed while Barbara tries to drag me out with reasonable explanations and promises of fresh pop-tarts.
I guess at some point I learned to deal with the stuff that I accidentally poked into my own memory banks.
I learned to deal with the constant reminder that I couldn't save everyone - that's if they wanted to be saved in the first place.
But there are times when I just can't keep my big telepathing brain and my big mouth shut. Like say - as a hypothetical - if a former student/brain child/Catwoman offspring was truly, madly, deeply in love with her former guardian/mentor/best friend.
Juice, gossip like that is meant to be spread and shared and happily rubbed into the face of a certain kick ass/always right/Catwoman offspring.
We're still talking hypothetically here.
And, hypothetically, say that you knew a certain father figure/butler/healer to super-meta-humans who was trying his very, VERY hardest to bring said guardian/mentor/best friend and the snobby/always right/Catwoman offspring together. What would you do?
Sit back and watch the fireworks?
Not really my style but the possibility of fun, humour, and ... potential heartbreak certainly had its selling points.
Not my style.
I figure I was given this certain power as a gift to be used wisely and with consideration. I mean, I didn't just have a violent and disturbing premonition at the impressionable age of ten of Barbara's pre-wheelie days and Helena's pre-bitch days because I felt like it.
Fate people, it works in mysterious ways.
Who am I to stand in the way of fate?
Anyway, still completely hypothetical here, say a beautiful/blue eyed/goddess like creature with telepathic powers decides that she could be a great assistance to the father figure/butler/healer to super-meta-humans.
Are you with me so far?
Now, assume that all of this isn't actually hypothetical and is actual Clocktower life.
It would also be correct to assume that neither of our young lovers had any idea they where being set-up and that they were completely oblivious to the fact that they have the same feelings about each other. Then add on the telepathically sought out fact that they both have no idea they have the same fears about each other.
What do you get?
Two screwed up adults, a butler who could have found himself a job on 'Perfect Match' and a 17 year old girl who, thanks to a certain Catwoman offspring, now knows waaaaay too much about bondage.
Alfred, God bless his soul, started off subtly. Obviously he didn't want to overwhelm the young dears too early in their barely there personal relationship. He sent flowers anonymously, suggested that 'Miss Barbara' and 'Miss Helena' take a night off to see the last symphony show in New Gotham, he even suggested I spend more time with Gabby and then made an extremely romantic dinner for two - unfortunately a chucklehead with a death wish decided to jump from the Arkham Bridge, there's something about a floater that really kills a superheros evening.
Oh look, a pun. Sort of. I'm sick.
He wasn't really getting anywhere though. He tried and tried but Barbara and Helena obviously had no intention of acting on any feelings or taking any risky jumps ... or any sort of movement towards each other. Not even a friendly head nod.
So, hello, the skinny, beautifully tanned, sexy touch telepath decided to step in. (That's me, by the way.)
I'm not saying it was easy. It really wasn't easy but you would be surprised at just how easy it is to put suggestive thoughts into a person's mind.
This isn't something I will ever, ever admit to if anyone questioned me. I'm talking serious denial here. Teenaged 'there was no cigarette' denial. Serious stuff.
Ok, I'll share. Harley Quinn sort of put the idea in my mind, a Meta that could hypnotize? As crazy and selfish as it was the idea was an ingenious one.
It got me thinking. If a Meta could hypnotize someone into doing something then why couldn't a telepath suggest that someone do something. Implant ideas, thoughts, and feelings - I suppose - but I didn't need to put any of those anywhere. I wouldn't dare.
So I tried it. On a cat.
Have you ever seen a fierce, distrustful alley cat roll onto its back and let you pet its stomach? I have. I suppose Helena might have as well - with her mother being Catwoman and all.
It was easy at first, I could get Gabby to scratch her nose with just a thought. Alfred suggested we have pot roast one night without me even having to verbally ask him. Barbara remembered that I wanted the new Justin Tim ... er ... 50 Cent CD for my birthday, even though I only told her I wanted it once a long, long time ago.
It could have been a bizarre run of flukes. I didn't really want to believe that so I just decided that I could do it.
It worked, ok.
My first try I got Helena to touch Barbara's shoulder one time. Just a tiny little touch. The problem I had with Helena's mind was all the clutter. She was so full of hate, anger, and longing - not to mention all that neat bondage information. It was almost as though she was constantly thinking about something, or correcting something, or feeling bad about some other thing. It was confusing and hard to get to the 'front' of her mind.
I had to be so careful not to get caught. The threat that Helena could suddenly look up and realise that I was in her head sent my adrenaline levels through the roof.
The second time I tired I focused my attention on Barbara. Her mind was a perfect array of organized information, sort of like a computer, a telepath's dream mind. It was much easier to work my way to the front of her mind and I barely touched anything while I was in there.
That's to say, I didn't really pick up on anything - no worrying, no guilt, no nothing really. Which I suppose is scary in a 'I'm a focused genius' kind of way.
Unfortunately that woman, THAT WOMAN!!! So damn controlling, I suggested and I pushed and I prodded but she wouldn't even scratch her nose when I told her it was itchy.
This was about the time that Alfred noticed I was prodding in places I shouldn't have been prodding. Damn father figure/butler/healer to super-meta-humans, why did he have to be so observant?
I was kind of hoping he wouldn't notice and he'd get the credit ... I didn't mind giving him the credit - I'm such a bad liar.
He sat me down, we talked about privacy, he asked me what I thought I was doing, poking around people's private brains.
I asked him what he thought he was doing when he went poking around 'Miss Barbara's' underwear drawer looking for her personal planner so he could have anonymous gifts sent to her during her work commitments.
One sneaky rat deserves the other. Or so my foster mother used to say.
We were a perfect sneaky rat team. Alfred on the outside, me on the inside.
It took us months. You'd think we'd be able to get in, get out, and then all would be well. Helena and Barbara would have lots of little babies and name them all Dinah Jr as a tribute to the woman who bought them together.
Adults. Nothing, and I mean nothing, is ever simple.
We chipped at the Prison of Barbara's brain and buried the evidence under our bed linens. It was hard TEAM work, or so I thought.
Would you believe?! One afternoon, after a rather intense make-ou...um, science make-up session with Gabby, I came home to find them canoodling on the couch!!! CANOODLING, I tell you.
There was a lot of touching - and I didn't cause any of it, such a disappointment.
I couldn't believe it. Alfred had beat me to the punch, there would be little Alfred Jr's running around the Clocktower and just one barely there Dinah Jr in the corner ... maybe not even that, they'd probably make it a middle name, Alfred Dinah Jr or something. Poor kid.
Adults having sex isn't gross right? Parents, grand-parents and Alfred having sex is gross. Helena and Barbara having sex ... ok, kinda hot.
Trying to get adults to admit they're having hot sex ... totally embarrassing.
I don't wish it on anyone.
Except maybe Alfred.
Hello, Mr Alfred, Perfect Match called Tom Cruise can't make it. Sneaky rat butler.
I know what you're thinking. Hot, sexy, beautifully tanned, flawless Dinah was beaten out by the butler. Don't feel bad, he's been around forever, of course he'd have his victories ahead of me.
My adoring public and fans, do not despair. He'll probably be dead within the next hundred years or so. Our time will come.
And how'd he do it?
I dunno. I have no clue. I'm clueless.
I tried asking. I even tried snooping. Would you believe that a strong enough person can actually build a mental block. Kinda like that guy in Village of the Damned, with those freaky baby aliens.
The only answer I got ... "Miss Dinah, does the honey go to the bee or does the bee go to the honey?"
It's gotta be an old person thing. Maybe I'll figure it out when I turn one thousand.
~ ~ ~