Microfiction: Diana And The Donald

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Diana and the Donald

Somewhere in Gotham

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Diana could hear the concern in Clark’s voice. He’d been at the Fortress of Solitude since the election, his immigration status uncertain.

“Yes,” she lied. Her mother had prepared her for missions like this in the world of Men, but they were unpleasant. “Bruce got me an invite to the Tower. POTUS thinks I’m from the Greek government. Bruce let him think I’m interested in a private,” she purred, “diplomatic negotiation.”

Clark guffawed. “It’s a good thing you can act.”

“You aren’t wrong,” she replied, allowing her disgust to leak through.

Diana and the Donald abstract images in black and white

“If you need any backup you can call — “

Bruce.” She cut him off. “Or Barry. You have to lie low. Arthur is tending to his kingdom, J’onn is deep undercover on a mission of his own, and Hal is off ensuring that the Trappist planets don’t pose a threat. And Bruce has an invite.”

That earned her another laugh, this one sour.

“How did we get here?” she asked.

She heard him shake his head in frustration and pain. “I haven’t the foggiest idea.”

When she ended the phone call, she sighed and slipped out of the soft linen tunic she wore when she was alone in her apartment. She stepped into the bath for a long, deep soak. It had been a long couple of years since the election, and the end game was close. As soon as she finished the bath, she made one more call. “Hi, Bruce? Is everything ready?”

Reassured, she hung up and got dressed. With her bracelets in place and a tiny camera with microphone disguised as a pendant necklace, she tied her golden lasso as a belt, to complete the ensemble. The truth would set them all free.

The next story in this series is Diana, Shots, and Glass. Please let me know what you think of it. 

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