Not a single word was spoken about what had happened to Eleanor. When her parents had finished their ritual, their eyes not at all deceiving of their excitement upon discovering that they were the cause of the storm that had set the neighbouring mansion's shrubbery aflame, allowed a passing boy to get an epileptic seizure, and, without their knowledge; had allowed a darkened soul to have a touch of their daughter.

"Who were you trying to summon?" Eleanor had questioned her mother as soon as they finished, knowing her mother would be more reluctant to answer than her father.

"Not quite sure. Found this specific ritual in an old book. But clearly all its good for is setting fire to trees and freaking children out. Also, it kind of made our house the epicenter. Never again are we going to use that old thing," her mother had said, rather dismissively.

Fear enticed within Eleanor, but she didn't dare voice her thoughts. Even when in the presence of Damian the following day had she not voiced anything; not even about the lightning that was on the news. She was afraid that if the topic was brought up, then she would evidentially spill about her happenings. But another dreadful day passed wherein her thoughts were mixed between the dark spot on her spine and that later the night, she would be in the presence of none other than Slade Wilson.

She couldn't decide which was worse.

But as she was getting ready in her most formalist suit, her door suddenly opened and a white cloak was tugged in. She held the quality cloth between her fingers, before finally replacing her black one with the, most probably only temporarily, white one. It was clear her parents want to send a good vibe.

The meeting was in a small apartment above a clinic in Crime Alley, which was ironic. They were going to plan Batman's death in the same alley Batman was born in; having had his parents die there. They arrived in a limousine, totally in contrast with the alley's exterior. Two thugs lead the three white figures up towards the apartment. There they found Deathstroke, sitting very comfortably behind a desk with his feet on top of the table. His voice sounded from beneath his mask.

"Ah, the Court of Owls. I have always wondered how long it would take for you to contact me," he said, his fingers entwined together on the desk.

"We had not had an established contact or a reason before this. As you have probably heard, we have lost our Talon to the Bat Family. We require another general," her father said strictly, standing slightly ahead of the two females; not that Wilson would be able to tell the difference. The voice of the user changes when spoken through the owl mask, and the capes hid their gender defying figures.

"And you want me to do it, huh? Tell me, what do you have to offer me which I cannot require for myself?" Wilson countered, his voice menacing.

"Many things, Deathstroke. As you are aware, the Court of Owls is made up of the rich and famous. A great deal can be brought to your bank account. Also, it does not seem you enjoy working out of an old apartment. We can give you a new base of operations within the Court, and aid in your own... missions. But our primary objective you might be interested in, seeing as you yourself have had quite the trouble with the Bat Family as before," Wilson paused at this before clenching his fingers tighter together.

"Continue," he ordered.

"We know who the Batman is, as well as his newest brat," her father spat but the confidence behind his words were enticing.

"I already know this, and it seems I know even a great deal more. Nightwing, Red Robin, Black Bat, Batgirl... I have more connections than you would ever know," Wilson said with a grumble.

"Yet here you are, operating with street thugs and out of a sad excuse of a base. Even though you know a great deal, you could not do anything with your information. You have been defeated by the Family on many occasions, each time without having backup on your side. But if you side with us, we can give you an immortal army, tactical advantage and the opportunity of ambush. The Family does not know that the Court of Owls has been revived, and thus would never expect it. If we plan it right, we can take them all down with a single swoop," the way Wilson hesitated suggested that he was seriously considering it. It was a big offer, and one he would most definitely take.

"The kid... he was the direct cause of your previous Court's destruction, correct?" her father nodded at this. "Well, he was the one who took away my army of Manbats. Also," Wilson rose his hand up to pull off the mask that clothed his face, revealing his scarred face and missing optic. "That kid took away my eye. If we're going to do this, we get the kid first," no one could disagree at that.

"Are we in business?"

"Yes... but only on a few terms. I cannot ever hope to work alongside a mask," the hesitation was only for a second before they could see her father raise his hand up. Following his lead, his wife and daughter took off of their masks; now not a single mask up in the room. Wilson seemed to smirk at this. "Slade Wilson," he said, removing his legs from the table and folding his hands together across the table, his posture demeaning. Of course, the Griffins had already known who he was, having had deep connections even in his ranks.

"Walter Griffin," her father introduced himself, his expression stoic.

"Miranda Griffin," her mother followed his example.

"Eleanor Griffin," the teenager said herself, her fists clenching slightly. Wilson seemed to regard the two parents for a second before finally setting his eye sights on Eleanor. The eye contact was menacing, and Eleanor felt that she would break if it continued any longer. Luckily, he averted his vision.

"I would have never thought the Griffins would rule the Court," he commented.

"We were chosen because of our actions after the massacre," Walter explained. Wilson cast his glance back to Eleanor before back down at her mask where the large scratch laid.

"What happened?" he questioned. Eleanor would've answered, but her father had decided otherwise. He would not dare let the disappointment speak up in such an important time, yet, he did not want a member of the Griffins seem weak.

"It was formed in the Court's undoing. A scar, made by the traitor Talon himself," Wilson's eyes narrowed at this.

"What saved you?" he asked her directly, and Walter seemed to have noticed this. He sends his daughter a glare.

"Reflexes," she answered in the expressionless manner she was taught.

"Who's?"

"My own," Wilson smirked at this and sat back.

"Can you fight?" he questioned, and the two parents seemed confused at this.

"The members of the Court-," her father intervened, but Wilson cut the man off with a terrifying glare.

"Did I address you?" his voice boomed, and Walter took a step back at this in fright. Wilson looked back to Eleanor, his posture still tense.

"No," she answered, her eyes fixed on the demeaning man.

"Well, you will," at this, Miranda protested loudly.

"My daughter-!"

"Will become my lieutenant. You can't expect a general to be without a lieutenant, can you?" everyone was shocked at his words, especially the young teenager. Walter send a glare at his daughter as if to say 'don't you dare mess this up'. "But we will sort that out later. First order of business, let's discuss payment,"

"You and that girl seemed to have grown very close very quickly," Tim commented as he blocked one of Damian's elbow strikes. Quickly shifting, he delivered a mighty punch to Damian's open gut. He slid back a little.

"You do strike harder than the rest of us," Damian growled slightly to himself before sliding towards Tim's left side. Whilst Tim got ready to defend his left side, Damian grabbed a hold of Tim's shoulder and swung himself around, delivering a kick to Tim's right side. Damian back flipped off of the detective, successfully landing in a crouch position. Tim groaned as he held onto his right side.

"No, but seriously, I was under the impression you didn't want to make friends," Tim said as Damian charged, preparing to destroy the young assassin's foundation. He repositioned himself into a lunge, striking his leg out to attack at Damian's legs. The young assassin quickly jumped into a single tour, his straight body twisting above Tim's head until he landed in a guarded position, his right side ready for offense. He quickly sends an iron open palm to Tim's spin, immediately disabling any form he wanted to acquire. The older boy fell face first into the cool ground of the Batcave, his muscles tense and shocked.

"Well, not everything can be foreseen. Besides, Eleanor is... different," Damian said, returning himself to a calming and relaxed posture.

"Well, she's got a little of that gothic slash emo slash punk look going on there. I wouldn't think you'd get involved with someone like that," Tim said before groaning as he pushed up his body, his spine painfully twisting.

"She is just misunderstood. She's actually very smart," Damian said, holding out his hand towards Tim. He stared at it for a second before allowing himself to be pulled up.

"Well, I'm happy you got a friend, little man," Tim smiled, causing Damian to send a glare his way.

"Tim," came the address and the two turned to see Grayson enter, already in his Nightwing persona. "Ready to go?" Tim nodded and quickly placed on his mask, as did Grayson. After grabbing their motorcycles, the two headed out for their part of the patrolling schedule. Damian didn't know whether or not to be glad that he had an off night, or whether he really wanted some action.

A quiet 'moo' broke him out of his trance as he stared to another side of the Batcave, a large open space where his pets usually had their morning tea. They are luxurious pets, Robin had once told his father. Bat-Cow was mooing at Pennyworth, Damian's cat, who was chewing on something that he kept within his paws. From Damian's distance, he could not see what it was. His dog, Titus, was nowhere to be seen. Damian quickly headed over to where his distressed cow stood and was horrified by what bloody creature Pennyworth had dragged in for him this time.

It was an owl.

"Have you ever gotten into a fight before?" Wilson questioned his newest pupil, who stood before him in sweats, a tank, and bandages around her fists.

"Only if you count the incident with Talon," Eleanor answered with a stoic expression, and at this Wilson chuckled deeply.

"Kid, don't do that. It ain't fun training a puppet," she sighed in annoyance but nodded anyway. "Good, now let's see your punches. Hit me here," he said, pointing at his scarred and bare chest. Eleanor hesitated for a while before finally stepping over. She readied what she thought was a good stance, and delivered one of the weakest blows Wilson has ever felt.

"What, seriously? That's it? You may got reflexes kid, but you ain't got no punch. We're going to have to change that," he headed away and brought back a punching bag, hooking it to the ceiling. They were in one of the newest part of the Court, the dojo. He signaled her over and she made her way to the punching bag. "First, let's see that stance," she assumed one. "Terrible," he immediately commented.

"I'm not a fighter," she replied.

"Not yet, but believe me, I can see the potential. You've got that strange fire in your eyes that can drive a person mad. You need a way to channel it," Wilson said, crossing his massive arms across his chest.

"Tell me why you are doing this?" she questioned, relaxing her posture and staring up at him. He hesitated for a second.

"My father was a CIA agent, and he always gave me the exact same looks as your parents gave you. They think we're disappointments, useless in everything we do. When I was sixteen, I snuck into the army so that I could prove myself to my father. I came back to realize that he became a villain and that I was even more of a disappointment. One of my sons followed me to the dark side, but I allowed him to die. My other son, as well as my daughter, are both against me by being a part of the Teen Titans. They most certainly hate me," he halted in his speech and turned towards the young female. "Why do they hate you as much as they do?" she was taken back a little before answering calmly.

"Because I'm different. I never could be the perfect noble they wanted me to be. They wanted me to sit up straight, drink tea with my pinkie sticking out and play the best crescendo on the violin. But I wanted to skateboard through the street with my hood over my head, mud under my feet and heavy metal blasting into my ears. Sure, my parents eventually eased up a little with how they raised me and allowed me to do what the hell I wanted to. They gave up on me, but the only real thing they wanted to have control over was my involvement in the Court. And they hate me because I embarrassed them in front of the Court," he chuckled deeply at this.

"How'd you do that kid?" he question.

"By not killing a four-year-old boy for them," she said seriously, and Wilson seemed to stop at this with a frown.

"I see," was all he said before he signaled to the punching bag again. She made a stance and he went around, adjusting her figure as he gave tips. "It's all really about taking down a more powerful enemy," he explained.

"Like Batman?" she questioned, her stance beginning to ache.

"He's only human. I mean someone like Killer Croc," he shrugged.

"Isn't he on our side?" Eleanor questioned.

"Croc? Nah. That thing's insane, can't choose a side," he commented as he checked her stance overall. "Good, now strike," she delivered a punch and the bag moved only slightly. "Better," he shrugged. She groaned.

"I'm the last person in the world you'd be able to get to fight," she said with a frown.

"Are you underestimating my skills?" she seemed to just stare at him in a strange way before turning back to the punching bag. She assumed the stance he had corrected and began punching in a sequential order. Every now and then Wilson gave her another correction, but overall, she was a quick learner. As she punched, her tank accidentally crawled up at her backside as some shirts do. Wilson would've just ignored it for not the fact that something interesting showed through.

"What's on your back?" Eleanor immediately stopped her punching and stood straight, shifting her head towards him. Her eyes looked deadly.

"I don't know," she said in a low, menacing voice. Wilson hesitated for a second, peering at her back.

"Show me," he ordered. She turned around and lifted her tank, just enough for him to see her black patch of skin. Heading over, he removed a glove and carefully felt at the texture. "How'd you get this?" he asked, retracting his hands. She pulled her shirt down and turned to him.

"My parents. Most nights they have these crazy rituals to summon one thing or the next, and a few days ago they summoned that freak storm," Wilson nodded in remembrance. "Well, one of the bolts attacked my back and... this just appeared. I don't know what it is," Wilson seemed to just stare at it in interest.

"Well, I'll tell you what, I'll help you figure it out," she frowned at her new mentor.

"Why?"

"Because it's intriguing,"