"(Y/n) (L/n), age fifteen. Already so successful, how do you do it?" The reporter asked, seating herself in front of you with a pen in her right hand, and a small paper pad in the other. Shoulder length blonde hair with brown roots, pale skin that creates great contrast between the red lipstick she was wearing and the dark eyeliner and eyeshadow on her eyes. Short, but dark eyelashes that hung over light blue eyes, and the scent of sticky notes and whatever perfume she was wearing. A light blue button up blouse under a black blazer, a mid length pencil skirt that went with said black blazer. And heels with red bottoms on over skin toned tights. A reporter. She said her name was Vikki Vale.

You still weren't use to all of this, being more than just recognized. Now someone is writing articles about you? You just reached the age of fifteen not all that long ago, so you were eligible to get into the 'Little Miss. Gotham', pageant. The winner gets more than a check and a tiara, no it's a little bit more of a pride thing. Apparently. Because as soon as you win,  you're handed a sheet of paper with many different themes to choose from.

Gotham's Christmas Parade, this is apart of it. The Christmas parade itself hasn't been going on for that long. It was originally an early Gotham tradition. But as time passed, people stopped doing it. Well, for the past three years, it's been brought back up. And it's no surprise that Bruce Wayne was the one behind it's funding. And it's actually been really successful, really. Because whenever you and your brother and a Nanny go, it's nearly impossible to find a place to set chairs down.

And now you get to be on a float?

You bit down on your lower lip, black V-neck T-shirt ruffling when you moved your arm to hold it over your chest. Looking fairly visually confused. Not about the question, but about your answer.  It's not very often for someone to see you outside of a skirt or a dress. But right now, in a black T-shirt and faded jeans. Red converse, and a grey sweater. Hair tossed back into a messy ponytail, and little to almost no make-up on.

Both you and the blonde reporter sat in the main room of your house. She sat in the living room chair, light green pillow behind her head. Sitting with her back straight, and anticipation in her eyes while she waited to get some type of scoop out of you. You sat on the dark brown leather couch, next to your dad who was only here to make sure you only spoke about the topic. Nothing else.

His glasses hid his eyes at times, whenever there was a light directly in his face. Old amber eyes that glared at the woman in the living room to his left. Only when she asked something a little too far out of line, as in if you have anybody special in your life right now. Any old flames, things like that. Only for your dad to send off one of those glares. As if saying she should speed this up, and get to the real point of the meeting so it can be over now.

How do I do it? Oh, I just eat little to nothing. Wear ten pounds of makeup, pretend that I don't hate myself. Flaunt talents that I only learned months ago. Nothing to it, I'm just the fakest person you'll ever interview.

"It takes effort. It's really hard, and it's more than just visual aesthetic in terms with appearance. and I don't believe that i won because I had a frilly dress." you lightly smiled, letting out a small laugh to give your statement a more heartfelt feeling. Warm and funny. Be likable, be what people want to see.

Despite your personal thoughts Vs. your real answer, you're looking forward to being on a float at least. It's tonight, and the theme for the float you were told to go on? Fairytale.

"Have you chosen what you're going to do yet? All my sources say that you haven't told anyone yet, I spoke to the officials and they only gave no comment." She asked, smiling and scribbling down some words. Probably what you just said beforehand, and her own opinion and interpretation as to what you just said.

"No comment." You said, closing your eyes and giving off a sorry smile. Raising your right hand in a way to signal for her to stop, stopping your hand in front of your chest a little bit. Vikki only returned with a forced smile, scribbling more words on her paper. Probably that you mentioned no comment, and potential guesses.

"You're going to be on live television, I'm aware that you're use to being on television. But how do you feel about it being live?" She asked, giving you a questioning look. A single raised brown eyebrow that looked perfectly plucked and filled in. Pearly White teeth that just barely showed when she smirked afterwards, knowing she could get something really good out of your answer.

"Well- I mean it's kinda scary, really. If I mess up there's no time for it to be edited out or anything. I know sometimes, myself included, there are just some mistakes that only the people in the audience get to see. Granted, I'm going to be on a float and waving to people while smiling. Maybe some other things, but I don't think I'll be falling off stage anytime soon." You replied, shrugging your shoulders and tilting your head. wide smile displayed across your lips after words as you gave her an excited look with your eyes. As if showing that yes, you were nervous about this. But you were also excited.

"You've fallen off stage before? I hope you didn't receive any serious injuries." She joked, adding onto the lighthearted feeling in the room. It was question after question, and not a single one of them showed or told how you truly felt about all this.

there was a camera, and she told you there would be things edited out. she also said the interview would be played the day after the parade is played, so that the article can go out into the news first. She's a reporter, but this is going in the news too. Why? Because it's apart of the Gotham Christmas Parade.

Everything was fine, good, not very annoying. Until she brought up the question of what got you on this path? Reporters have everything the public has, and with some digging? She found that you've been involved with the police on more than one account. She also found that before this, you were only a street kid. But it's how she phrased it, made your face heat up. Not out of embarrassment, or humiliation, but something else.

your dad spoke up, glaring at her and jabbing his index finger in an accusing manner towards her. Scowling, he opened his mouth to talk.

"You don't have the right to ask those questions to my daughter. I want you off of the property-"
"Dad, it's fine." You stopped him, noticing his voice getting louder. Vikki dind't flinch, she only smirked. she was probably used to this kinda heat. And her victorious expression only gave your dad more fuel to his fire. Tensing up, you widened your eyes and feigned a surprised look. You really didn't wanna see him get up and start yelling at her, knowing your dad can and will. He has a bit of a short temper. And you hear it everyday, but it's never directed towards you and your brother. It's always directed to whoever is down in the basement on that day.

"No, it's not-"
"Dad, calm down. She can ask me one more question, but nothing along those lines. Is that okay Ms. Vale?" You asked politely, giving her a wide eyed look with pursed thin lips.

"Ms. Vale? Oh, you don't need to be so formal with me. I should have told you in the beginning that Vikki was fine. Well, as for my last question before I leave. Who do you hope is watching?" She asked, giving you a curious expression. no smirk, no pen in hand. She wanted to give you the respct of answering first before she wrote.

"I don't think I understand the question, can you clarify?" You asked, tilting your head to the side and pressing your index finger to your bottom lip. Remembering to make yourself look extremely likable, and not at all rude. Yes, you had a personality mentor. That's how far your dad was willing to do.

"Aside from your father and your brother. Is there anybody who you hope is watching tonight while you wear the 'Little Miss. Gotham' sash?" She asked, explaining a little bit. Your eyes softened, and your hands went to rest on your lap. Your fists weren't curled, but they weren't completely limp either.

Jason. you wondered if he would be watching tonight. He was a street kid just like you, so it's completely unlikely that he would be. And you know this. It's been six years since you've last seen him, and you wonder about him every day. Maybe if he just reads your name in the newspaper. Maybe, just maybe, if he hasn't forgotten. You don't know, you're just hoping for ridiculous things. You remember back then the two of you were usually trying as hard as you could just for food. So if he's died? For some reason, sick or starvation? You can't say you'd be too surprised. then again, this is Jason. He'd probably survive off of anger and stubbornness alone. But part of you knows that he's still here, that he's still alive. But part of you keeps doubting you'll ever see him again.

"My mom," You started, trying to remember the story you were told. The lies your dad told you. If anybody asked about your mom, this is what you say. Obviously, this woman doesn't exist. You don't even know your biological parents.

"I wasn't here for very long when she passed, but she was really nice to me. I hope that she agrees with what I'm doing and is proud of me. Proud of how far I've gotten, I know that she'd be impressed by motivation alone. Er, at least i hope so." You let off a small laugh, closing your eyes and scratching the back of your head.

"Agrees with you?" Vikki asked, picking up her pen and going back to writing down your lies.
"It's just, i know some parents don't like the idea of dressing their kid up and-"
"That was the last question, goodbye Ms. Vale." Your dad spoke, nudging you in the side. Vikki closed her eyes, let out a defeated sigh. but nodded, and left.

You went up to your room, smile dropping from your face completely.

There's five hours until the parade, you should start getting ready in a little bit. But instead, you go to your closet and take out the long black bag with the zipper on it. Hanging from the bar in there, you pulled it out and put the long dress cover on your bed. Inside the dress cover?

A little Red Riding Hood themed attire. While you let your fingers trace the zipper, you looked to your vanity desk. Knowing you'd have to deal with someone coming up here and pressing twenty different brushes to your face. that's probably the one thing you hate the most about all of this. The makeup.

As much as you wanted to mention Jason in that interview, you couldn't. You know what your dad does, but you don't know to what extent.

The only thing you know, is that you've never seen anybody from the life you used to live back six years ago. And you're not ready to ask about any of it.

One thing you didn't mention about earlier during the interview, either. Was that you're a little scared to go on with this. Going through with it, wouldn't this make you really easy to hurt? Someone who isn't fond of your dad, all it takes is one sniper to ruin his life.

But lately, with all those articles and news events that explain what the infamous Joker has been doing, you're kinda afraid to be apart of any social event that could be seen as a target to someone like that.