Fandom Gotham: Dystopia

[Oswald_C_Cobblepot]

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GOTHAM: DYSTOPIA​

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here​

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[Oswald_C_Cobblepot]

GOTHAM: DYSTOPIA, Chapter One - A Disturbing Performance

Gotham City was in turmoil. The city officials were corrupt and ineffective. The GCPD was more of a criminal organization than anything else, based on how it functioned, save a few individuals. The citizens have lost hope. The only thing you could see on the streets, on the faces of those common, but special people was - fear. Everything that was good had left Gotham a long time ago and now, even Hope has abandoned the city, whose only savior in light of the desperation it was facing, She was. Without Hope, without good men, without salvation. That is Gotham City. That is - Hell.

Oswald Cobblepot knew Bruce Wayne from their student days. They weren't friends, to be exact, since Oswald was several years his senior, but a common tragic event created an indestructible bond between the two boys. There were so many things the two of them could've bonded over, but as fate would have it, it was their most tragic experiences, the loss of their closest family members, that provided a basis for their relationship. He liked Wayne, Oswald, mainly because he was certain that there was a big heart behind the playboy facade, something Oswald had attributed to being a psychological reaction to the turmoil in Gotham. Wayne couldn't ignore the state their once noble city was in; he wouldn't. Having said all of this, it is understandable that a reaction of both surprise and joy had taken over Oswald after having received an invitation from the young man to see the Flying Graysons' live performance on Saturday night. The Iceberg Lounge had its usual live jazz performance on Saturday, but he had been on so many of those (he had to show up in public from time to time) that he yearned for a refreshing experience. ''It seems it is my lucky day'', he commented briefly, after having send a positive reply.

Relaxed, overjoyed and with just a touch of nervous anticipation, Oswald prepared for his night out at the Circus. He picked his most elegant black suit for the occasion, not wanting do disappoint the young bonvivant, whose impeccable aesthetic taste was well known within Gotham's high society. Although a member by birthright, Oswald despised the so-called elite, those pompous and pretentious Gothamites who thought they were better solely because of the wealth they had inherited from their ancestors. To them, the common people were like working ants, necessary for survival, but essentially - expendable. He had to keep appearances, he was obliged to do so (noblesse oblige, after all), but he would have strangled the lot of them without any second thought, had he been given the opportunity to do so. Bruce Wayne was an exception.

Vladimir was waiting for him near his car, in the underground parking garage of the Lounge. The tall, chubby Russian was Oswald's only real friend. They met while Oswald was in Europe; he saved the Russian's life in a sequence of the strangest circumstances and they became friends. The 52-year old man had no family, he was basically penniless and homeless and he couldn't offer anything in return except his utmost loyalty, his life. Oswald initially declined, but seeing how his rejection would kick the man back to the abyss he had come from, he called him back and made him his right hand man. Whatever Oswald's decision may have been, whatever he might have done or said, Vladimir was always there to back him up; he was an intelligent man and a critical thinker, someone who wasn't keen on keeping his mouth shut. He often commented on Oswald's decisions, either criticizing or supporting him; he also frequently gave advice to him, something Cobblepot truly cherished. In a way, he had compensated the loss of his family in that strangely intelligent Russian man, who looked like a shaved bear (and was equally dangerous), and he would do anything to keep him safe, just as the Russian man would to for him.

''I see you are punctual as usual'', Oswald remarked with a friendly smile. They shook hands. ''Mr. Cobblepot, sir, punctuality is key in any biznis. And you are biznisman, Mr. Cobblepot. I respect that'', the Russian replied. His English was good, albeit with a strong Eastern European accent, but he had problems with articles and prepositions. It was part of his charm. But he understood every sentence, every phrase, no matter how long and complex, without being lost in translation. ''I trust I can leave the Lounge to you?'', Oswald asked, before entering the car. ''Of course. I want you to have a pleasant night, sir. The Lounge will be in good hands'', Vladimir said. ''And the big bird?'' ''Ah, yes... the Penguins are fine, sir. They are kalm tonight.''

''Let us just hope it stays that way'', Oswald said.

Although he had a chauffeur, Oswald preferred driving himself on such occasions. It seemed more humane, to him, more - normal. He feared being labeled a snob, which is why he did everything in his power to not seem superior, despite the bewilderment of his financial peers. The manifestation was to be held in the Hippodrome in Old Gotham, meaning he didn't have a long drive ahead of him. He observed the fear on the faces of the people from the warm safety of his car, the feeling of utter hopelessness on their faces as they were rushing to their homes, praying not to get mugged and/or killed on the way. Crime has become public and the GCPD did little to nothing to prevent it. Justice has become selective; if one had enough ties and green bills, it was usually efficient. On the other hand, in an opposite situation, it was virtually inexistent. It angered him, the injustice, it made him furious. But it was about to change. Soon, things would change. Gotham was on a path of redemption that will shake this crime-infested foundations on all levels, from City Hall to Crime Alley. He owed Her that much.

Oswald quickly found a parking space and made his way to the Hippodrome, passing the curiously looking people that went to the same show. It was not him per se that caused so much bewilderment, but rather him as a member of Gotham's elite. Those people weren't usually seen around ''commoners'', especially during such presentations. Giving them a gentle smile, typical for his publicly shy nature, Oswald quickly found his companion, yet another member of the untouchable caste; one was enough, but two? It was sure to cause a havoc.

''My dear Bruce, I was truly surprised by your invitation, I must say. It's been a while, hasn't it? How's life been treating you?'', he asked, shaking the man's hand firmly. Soon after, they were making their way into the Hippodrome, finding the places Bruce had reserved for them. As they were taking their seats, Oswald said: ''Would you believe I've never seen the Flying Graysons before now? It's strange, though, with their reputation and the fact that I am living in Gotham, but is is actually going to be my first time. Rather interesting, don't you think?'' The arena was almost full, with people still arriving and taking their respective seats. Some of the guests observed the two of them, you could hear the chatter spreading around the arena. It amused Oswald to see them react like that, like they were different from them all, like they weren't also human. It also depressed him to a degree.

The show was about to start. ''I've heard they do the strangest stunts, the Graysons. I just hope nothing terrible happens, these antics are always dangerous'', he said in a low voice.

ooc | sign-ups | interest check | Main RP

coding by cychotic

 

[Rusty of Shackleford]

Bruce Wayne
The Batman

Bruce was exhausted. First, he had to wrangle with the executives of his company as usual. Then, had some interviews, mainly with Vicki Vale. Not to mention that he'd been out and about last night, cleaning up the streets. He had a small scratch on his neck from where a punk got lucky with q knife, and his chest was still sore from where he was shot square in the chest with a revolver. The suit of course took all of the force, and the bullet lodged itself into the symbol on it's chest. His parents had always taken him to the circus, and the Flying Grayson's were something he always looked forward to. Even then, he felt no happiness at tge circus. Not like he used to, at least. He leaned against his hand as his limo rolled up to the circus, his chauffeur opening the door and saying, "We're here, Mr. Wayne." Bruce nodded, saying, "Yeah. Thanks."

He feigned a smile as he walked through the crowd kf the elite. He tried to avoid anyone he didn't need to talk to, keeping up the mysterious aura he gave off. The less people knew about him, the better. He shook Cobblepot's hand, saying, "It's nothing, Oswald. Truly." He sat down in his seat, nodding along with his aquaintance. "Indeed. I've heard they have never used a net foe any of their acts. Impressive, yes?" He sighed, rubbing the cut on his neck a bit. He couldn't help but feel like something bad was going to happen. His gut told him that the act would go wrong in some way. He sighed, saying, "Me too. God forbid anyone else in this city needs to become an orphan..."
Oswald_C_Cobblepot​

 

[MoonLegend101]

Richard Grayson

"Ladies and Gentlemen; children of all ages!"

As the words of the ringmaster were blasted from a megaphone to the audience of Haly's Circus, echoing all around the center ring, three individuals stood near one of the entryways of the tent, and behind one of the set up platforms that the acrobats would be using, the spotlight not yet shining on that area. The figures were that of a strong, sturdy looking man, a petite woman, and a little boy. The three figures appeared to be a little family of sorts, all three of them appearing to be waiting for their cue to come out. The boy however seemed to be a bit restless, a frown on his face as he stared towards the opening in the tent that they were standing nearby, one which a man was just exiting out of after roughly pushing past them. The man had on the clothes of an average grunt, baggy clothes and stained overalls, yet there was a hard look in his eyes as he glanced backward towards the little family of acrobats, before turning and shuffling off. Unbeknownst to them, the stranger was slipping a small knife back into a pocket of his overalls as he left, the hard, impassive look never leaving his face. The young boy had met the man's gaze beforehand, his eyes wide with what appeared to be recognition, and concern.

As the announcer continued on however, his mother, Mary Grayson, gently lay a hand on his shoulder, trying to redirect his attention back to where it needed to be as she whispered. "Come on honey, we're on." Her son shook his head slightly, pointing towards the retreating figure of the strange, rough looking man. "But that's the guy who-" Before he could finish his sentence however, the announcer indicated that it was nearly time for the family to be announced. His father, John Grayson, spoke up right then, giving further reassurance. "It'll be alright, son. You can tell us about it after the act. Now, let's get to it." Clapping his son on the back good naturedly, he then started towards the ladder that led up the towering platform, and promptly started to climb up it, his wife following soon afterwards. Letting out a sigh, and looking as if he was debating pursuing the topic further, the boy eventually turned to reluctantly follow his parents up the ladder, trying to push away all his remaining fears and worries as he did so.

"Direct your attention high above the center ring, for a dazzling display of aerial artistry! Performing death defying stunts without the aid of a net, the fearless... FLYING GRAYSONS!"

As they were announced, three silhouetted figures appeared on the platform that was overlooking the crowd. The family of acrobats waved cheerfully to the audience, the golden encrested wings on their red uniforms shining in the spotlight that was shone directly onto them. There were several trapezes hanging over the ring in a row, each one attached by thick black cords, ones which were supposed to be secure enough to hold nearly any weight without breaking, and in most cases, did so.

Once the noise in the crowded tent had died down a bit, the older man stepped forward, the bar of the first trapeze held in one hand, and was the first to promptly leap off the platform while keeping a firm hold on the trapeze bar, swinging along with it and then using its momentum to make a perfect and graceful leap to the second trapeze. The boy and his mother looked on for the first few moments, the boy's bright blue eyes sparkling with eagerness and excitement, his black curls bouncing as he watched and waited.

This was another in the long line of performances that the little family had been in together, but for every single one, young Dick Grayson found himself caught up in the thrill of the cheering and amazed crowds, and the anticipation of performing for them. It was always his favorite part of whenever the circus traveled to a new location, because it felt like a brand new experience every time, and yet something that was so comfortable and familiar to him at the same time that it felt as if there was nothing to ever worry about. It was because of these feelings that all of the worries and concerns that had been swirling around Dick's head about this particular stop in Gotham City, and the strange events that had occurred since then, to simply melt away in the flurry of lights, colors, and voices. Once the first trapeze bar had come swinging back towards the two on the platform, Dick glanced back towards his mother for a brief moment, and then with a bright grin on his face, he immediately turned, grabbed the bar with both hands, and jumped off the platform.

The wonderful sensation of the air rushing against him and everything flying past in a blur hit him once more, as he swung while gripping the bar, until suddenly he allowed his hands to slip from the bar, as he leaped away from it and in the direction of the second bar that his father was hanging from, the other one's hands suspended outwards to catch him. Dick did a midair somersault as he leaped through the air, and then reached to clasp his father's hands which were poised to grab his own. The two pairs of hands met and grabbed onto each other firmly. For a moment the boy was being held up only by his father's arms, and yet the two seemed perfectly confident and sure about the situation.

As Dick was hanging there however, an unusually strange feeling began to planf itself in the pit of his stomach, something which made this particular time feel different than the other times they had done this move. He swore that something just felt strange and a bit wrong about the sensation that came from hanging from his father's trapeze, almost as if something was unbalanced. He didn't have much time at all to really process this however, before his father swung him back towards the platform he had started on. Dick lightly and gracefully grabbed onto the first trapeze, swinging onto it by his heels, and then once having catapulted himself towards the platform, he did another flip in the middle of the air, before landing right on the platform beside his mother again.

The young acrobat was breathing fairly heavily, but his face was practically aglow from adrenaline and delight. Stray thoughts were beginning to circulate about what exactly had felt slightly off about that run, but for now they were too scattered and fleeting to quite make sense of. He soon couldn't help letting out a soundless little giggle when his mother gave him a light kiss on the top of his head, her expression very proud, before taking her own turn on the trapezes in order to join her husband. Dick watched with a warm and anticipant smile on his face, his mood having been cheered significantly by this loving gesture, as his parents swung towards each other, looking forward to when he would be able to join his parents once again on the trapezes. They were going to perform a few more complicated moves, and then he would join their routine once more.

Dick didn't know what that strange feeling he had gotten back there exactly had been, but in any case, it didn't seem big enough to really worry about anyway. He just wanted to focus on the moment, this moment, and not anything else that would distract him from it. Everything was going just fine, and as it usually did anyway, so why spoil it now with a bunch of worries? All of those could surely wait until after the act. The boy's more carefree approach to his attitude began to work, as he brightened up once more, and rather just focused on the cheering crowds below, something which always made him happy to hear, and his parents, who had always been his stability and comfort in these situations. The two graceful, athletic figures had been swinging from trapeze to trapeze, sometimes by their heels, and now as Dick's father was once more hanging from the second trapeze, his mother made an impressive leap to grab hands with him, and they did.

Dick drew in a breath, waiting for what they'd do next, knowing what was about to come and looking forward to seeing it anyway. He always loved watching his parents perform together, even without him. Besides, his father always told him that once he was older and more experienced, he could perform beside them for the whole act. Dick glanced towards his father in particular for a moment as his eyes took in the silhouettes of his parents holding on to each other, the trapeze keeping them held up above the ring down below. For a moment, the older man's eyes made contact with his son's own. Dick didn't even have to notice any changes in his father's facial expression to know that they had, as it was the same expression full of dependability and love, and just knowing that added to the warmth and reassurance of always having his parents nearby.

After a moment however, in one terrible, fateful moment, Dick noticed something else about the silhouettes of his parents, balancing on that second trapeze. They were definitely out of balance now, and there was even a slightly noticeable tilt to one side. That just wasn't right. Beginning to frown, Dick began to look up at the trapeze that the two were performing on, way high up to the wires and cords that were securing it, and suddenly his heart froze in his chest. That feeling of warmth, familiarity, and security, was abruptly blown out like a candle flame in the wind, leaving nothing but cold, frightening darkness.

One of the thick black cords that was holding up the trapeze bar was not secure. There was clearly a deep gouge that had been cut into it, and the fraying cord was becoming thinner and thinner, and more unsteady. At this point... the cord was almost nearly separated, only a few thin wires holding it together and keeping it from breaking. They couldn't hold that much weight. In that moment, panic filled the young boy's heart as he realized what was happening, and that there was something that he had to do. His parents were out there in a middle of the ring, hanging from that trapeze! His mother was still holding hands with his father as they performed feats, while even hanging upside down from the trapeze, completely confident and sure of each other as they performed together. The frail fibers holding the cord together were rapidly snapping two by two, giving the acrobats no time to react to what was about to happen.

In that moment, Dick realized with a icy cold panic in his chest, that it might be too late. There wasn't enough time to warn them. Dashing a quick step forward, the boy out a distressed cry, screaming at his parents in a desperate attempt to warn them. "Mom! Dad!" He cried this out at the very moment that the cord holding the trapeze began to snap. In that moment, Dick desperately searched to meet his parents' gazes one more time, breathing more heavily from more stress than he ever had before during one of their acts. There was nothing on his mind except panic, and the terrifying coldness of uncertainty and dread. This just couldn't happen, it couldn't happen! In his mind, there was some part of him that already knew it was too late and that there was no way to avoid what was going to happen but refused with all of his being to accept that, and the rest of him was simply in shock.

For one split second, he caught his father's gaze again after calling for him. The two made eye contact for the briefest of moments, his father seeming unaware of the situation at first, but once he saw the look on his son's face, he began to realize as well. Time almost seemed to slow down during this time, and yet it also went by much too fast. Dick tore his gaze away from both his mother and father, his father still holding his mother hanging over the ring with their hands, and quickly whipped his head to look back up towards the breaking rope above. Even though small noises could barely be heard in the midst of all the raucous sounds that were being emitted from down below, he knew, just knew, that he could clearly hear the last sound snap! of the rope that might as well have been an explosive bang that had popped in his ears.

In that moment, it was all too late. Dick watched in complete horror, his breath catching in his throat and his blue eyes wide, as the cut black cord dangled lifelessly, ominously, in the air above him, as well as two graceful silhouettes plummetting through the air. Both of his parents hadn't been able to get off the trapeze in time before it had broken. It was only moments later that a horrified gasp and several screams erupted from the audience. The boy immediately scrambled to the edge of the platform, shaking his head rapidly in denial and breathing much more shakily as one last panicked cry was ripped from his throat. "No!" Dick's whole body shuddered as he heard the horrid sound of something hitting the ground below, far, far below.

The young boy limply dropped to his knees, peering to look over the edge towards the flat ground that lay below him. What he saw far down below caused his body to convulse with a horrified gasp, and his eyes to quickly brim over with tears afterwards. Great waves of despair, pain, and grief hit him all at once as his young mind began to process, and his eyes took in the sight down in the ring. It had all happened too fast, too quickly to comprehend, and much too fast to do anything about. And now, in that one moment... his parents were gone. At first, it didn't seem real to Dick. As he looked downwards towards the ring, the thought kept racing through his head that he should go down there to help his parents, save them somehow, and make sure they were still breathing. They couldn't be gone. They couldn't leave him just like that, without any warning or goodbyes, they just couldn't!

But at the same time, he knew, knew all too well how it had been said that the fall to the ground below was practically impossible to survive. It just didn't seem real to him that they could possibly be... gone, just like that. They had never had any accidents before during one of their performances, ever. This couldn't have been an accident. Everything was just so wrong, so turned upside down, that it was too much for the young boy. He felt hot tears well up in his eyes in an abundance and blur his vision, obscuring everything else around him, except the image that he had seen of both of his parents lying lifeless on the ground beneath him. That image was one that would remain engrained in his mind as long as he lived, only ever to be blurred and obscured by the sands of time.

For a few minutes Dick remained huddled on the platform, his small body shaking with silent sobs, and his overwhelmed mind struggling to fully comprehend. It was just too much, to try to think about what all this meant, and how he would ever be able to continue on without his parents by his side. How could he ever? He already was yearning to be reassured by one of his mother's sweet, affectionate kisses, and the sturdy and unfailing reassurance of his father's presence, always making sure that his son knew how proud he was of him. To forever continue on without them... seemed impossible.

Eventually however, even though his mind and heart were still in a wretched, grieving state of disbelief, Dick had to pull himself off of the platform, and make his way down to the ring below. The boy did so gradually at first, as if every movement took a great effort, his eyes halfway closed and his head hanging, silent tears still trickling down his cheeks. He began to head down towards the ring, his insides curling with pain and dread at the thought of having to see his father and mother down there closer, to beg them to wake up and be okay again, only for there to be most likely no response. Not only that, but he also dreaded having to face all of the people as well, and having talk to any of them like this, about any of this. But worst of all, he feared whatever would happen to him afterwards. Everything seemed uncertain now, and completely out of his control. It was all just so completely... wrong, and yet there was nothing he could do about it. He didn't know what he could do.

What was going to happen to him now?​

 

[Oswald_C_Cobblepot]

GOTHAM: DYSTOPIA, Chapter One - A Disturbing Performance

''You're speaking of the child, right?'', Oswald replied with a sigh. He read somewhere that the child's name was Richard Grayson; he might have even seen him on a photograph somewhere, but the child was quite an abstract figure to him. He was aware of his existence, but that was about it. Still, Oswald felt a chill pass through his spine with electric rapidness as Bruce spoke his last remark. The two of them, they were both orphans and both of them knew more than well the burden of that state. Why would you say that, Bruce? You lost them earlier than me... why would such a thought even cross your mind?, Oswald wondered, getting a sudden precognition of tragedy whose origin he could not define.

At that very moment, he felt quite alone. The crowd disappeared, even Bruce Wayne disappeared. He was alone, a child once more, under the spotlight of Haley's Circus. He lost his brother, Simon, when they were seven, and his parents during his university days. He was in Europe at the time. His mother never coped with the inevitable death of his twin; he got the best care, he was supposed to outlive at leas them, but a sudden complication, a strange neurological malfunction and Simon was no more. Although left with both parents, Oswald felt more and more isolated as the time passed. His mother distanced herself from him soon after the tragic event, and after some time - she distanced herself from everyone. Her psyche never recovered and she soon had a nervous breakdown that left her incapable of leading a normal life; it was then that his father decided to ship him off to Europe, both to have the time to care for her and to spare Oswald the horrid existence he was sure to have had otherwise. During his fourth year, his mother died; a simple heart failure, his father wrote. Oswald wanted to come back immediately, he had the time on his hands, but his father insisted he continued his studies and waited for the summer holidays. Why? Oswald did not know then why his father had insisted on such a decision, but the answer came rather quickly. A second letter came not even a week later - his father had committed suicide, hanging himself in his study. One's never ready to lose your family and despite the fact that he was practically a formed man by the time he had lost his brother and his parents, Oswald was desperate. For the first time, he realized the gravity of his brother's death, the depth of the loss and the emptiness that he managed to ignore for so long. Although he never had a proper relationship with his parents, they were at least there - and he was not alone. Now he was. He was a small little boy, alone in a circus, under the bright spotlight that shone on him, telling him that the cruel world was ready to chew him up into pieces and destroy him completely.

He never blamed them, his parents; his mother had lost a son and his father was a tired man whose life goal became the care for his wife and he understood the shallowness his father felt when she'd passed. He did not blame them. He could not. But he was alone, for the first time in his life - truly alone. And it felt terrible; it was a terrible feeling, something incomprehensible and indescribable to someone who had not felt it. If it were not for the studies, something he chose to focus his mind on, he would have probably gone down the same path. He managed to get through, but the scars of those losses never faded. They were just hidden behind a facade, a black suit, a white shirt, a small Penguin with his umbrella in his hand, alone in a circus. The whole world against him. At leas he didn't forget his umbrella.

The sound of people clapping their hands and cheering the circus master brought him back to reality. He was probably ''gone'' just a second, based on the exact same expression on Wayne's face, but it was a second that meant a lifetime to him. He was in pain, the kind of pain he had not felt in a while, triggered by a mere phrase uttered by a man who had gone through the same ordeal not so long ago. He smiled to his companion and started clapping himself, returning completely to the reality that was tonight's performance. The facade was there again and the tragedy was well hidden.

Soon, the famous Flying Graysons arrived and they started to deliver the promised spectacle. There were three of them - the father, the mother and the child. Dressed in shiny costumes, they truly were amazing. While preferring true art over the miraculous possibilities of the human physique, Oswald could not but admire the marvel of that family. What they performed in front of him, in front of the whole crowd, was absolutely unbelievable. It was a combination of elegance, bravery and the art that is, as Oswald realized with astonishment, the human body. He was like a child watching his favorite movie hero, his moth formed in an exited smiles, his eyes trapped in an enchanted glare. He soon forgot about his tragedy, going with the flow of one successful act after the other. He was relaxed, or at least without a worry, as the excitement he was feeling could hardly be described as calmness.

And it was just at that moment, at that exact same moment when every trace of worry had already evaporated from his person, that Melpomene, that menacing Muse of tragedy, entered the scene. As habit would have it, Melpomene was one of those visitors that always came not just unannounced, but also when you least expect her, when you were absolutely certain that she not just wouldn't, but also couldn't come. It all started with what seemed to be one small mistake after another, but it was, to Oswald at least, soon obvious that the circumstances of their errors were far more than just a series of unfortunate events. Oswald noticed the latent horror on the child's face, the expression of that same precognition he had felt after Bruce's remark. He blinked once. Twice. Thrice. And the tragedy had taken over.

The Graysons were - dead.

It was a moment of complete silence. Shock reigned for a few moments, before the crowd started screaming in anguish, certainly not accustomed to the bloody pool beneath the two adult performers. Some people just screamed, some stood up and some started running away; the whole scene had just one adequate description - utter chaos. Giving Bruce a quick look, Oswald stood up and rapidly rushed towards the stage, calling the medics and the police while running. He pushed aside the people and the fright, thinking only of one thing. Of the little child, of little Richard Grayson. His parents were dead. That chapter was closed. Someone had to think of the child. Someone had to prevent another tragedy occurring. He rushed past the bodies, the pool of blood that had captured the two deceased parents into its crimson reflection, and soon reached the devastated child. Their eyes met. Another pair of tragedies. Another pair of hollows. ''Don't worry... everything will be alright. I know what you're feeling... I went through the same. My name is Oswald. Help is on its way'', he said to Dick, smiling gently.

ooc | sign-ups | interest check | Main RP

coding by cychotic

 

[Scatterbrain]

Jack Crane

Jack and his partner, Lew Stevens were driving around near 78th Street on a routine patrol when a call came in over the radio. "All available units we have a reports of a Code 1 at the Hippodrome. Two casualties, one male and one female, both believed to be in critical condition. All units, please respond." Jack grabbed the microphone from the cruiser's radio.
"Unit 360, copy." Turning a knob on the console, the sirens blared into life. Jack put his foot down hard on the accelerator and sped towards the Hippodrome.

Several minutes later...

Aside from an ambulance, Jack and Lew appeared to be the first on scene.
"Unit 360 on scene, dispatch."
"10-4, 360."
He looked over at the Hippodrome and could see a large group of people had gathered outside, probably having fled the building for their own perceived safety. "Shit" Jack said to himself. He knew that the group would only be a fraction of the people who were actually in attendance and that they would need to get statements from each and everyone of them. This was going to be a very long night.
Jack turned to his partner. "Lew, make sure nobody leaves." Jack grumbled. "I'm going to head inside." Lew nodded his head in response and the two exited the vehicle. As Lew attempted to secure the area outside, Jack made his way inside the Hippodrome.

 

[Hammy]

(The following is a collab between myself and LoneSniper87 )

In Gotham, there was no such thing as a quiet night.

Harvey Bullock had been in the office most of the day, something that was perfectly fine with him. There had been a couple cold robberies and an arson that he and Jim had been called out to, but those were a dime a dozen in Gotham. It was a good day as far as Harvey was concerned, but he had a feeling in his gut that something. A feeling that was confirmed before midnight.

The first death that day came at ten after eleven. Just before Harvey was slated to get off for the night, of course. According to the operators, the past five minutes had been nothing but non-stop calls from the traveling circus that had just come to town. Someone was definitely dead, and that was all anyone could understand from the histrionic patrons and employees. Pictures of fire eating gone horribly wrong and elephants trampling their unfortunate handlers swirled through his mind, but Harvey doubted that it would be nearly that interesting.

He gave a brisk walk from his desk to Jim, who'd been caught up in- whatever it was the nutty bastard did between calls.

"Hey, Jim!" he called. "Sounds like the circus had a hell of an accident, we gotta go!"

Nothing was adding up, this crime wave didn't make any sense. A few robberies that went cold within an hour, and arson that burned all the evidence, unsurprisingly, and now this new case that jolted him from his thoughts. "Yeah?" He turned back to look at his partner. Nodding, he got up and went over to him. "What happened?"

Harvey shrugged at the question, not stopping as he headed towards the door out.

"Couldn't tell you exactly, too much screaming into the phone. And Crane's already on the scene, but I doubt he'd know anymore than we do at this point," he said, turning on his heel to walk backwards while still looking at Jim. "'Besides, it's our job to say what happened, isn't it?"

Jim nodded, glancing around as he walked. "Yeah, but saying it that way makes us sound like we make it up. We just put the facts in order." He responded, spotting the car and heading to the passenger side. "What could you make out?"

Harvey resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Maybe that's what Jim did, but it sure wasn't what most of the department preferred to do.

Harvey came up to the driver's side as he spoke again, "Well, it was a fall, that's my understanding anyway, and it was fatal. Probably someone shirked maintenance somewhere. Not like mobile freak shows are known for their safety concerns."

Jim popped open the door and sat inside. "I dunno, they have been going for years, Harv." He responded, not really trying to speculate on it. "Let's just see what the others have to say and what we can find, right? Shouldn't be too hard. After all, it's a circus, somebody has to have seen something."

*****​

Their arrival at the circus was quiet, no different from any other unusual happenings in the city. Officers closer to the area had already cordoned off the scene and ushered curious onlookers away. All they were left with were direct witnesses and the scene itself. It wasn't pretty, but it wasn't exceptional either.

Harvey was no expert on gymnastics equipment, but, as he meandered through the scene, it seemed obvious what had happened. A safety cord had frayed over time, and, eventually, it had taken too much and snapped. Or maybe there was more to it. Foul play could just as easily have been part of it, but what did that matter? Either way, two people were dead now, necks broken, never to perform again.

Jim didn't seem to agree, as usual, and Harvey knew better than to try to talk him to out of looking too deeply into these things. Instead, Harvey allowed his eyes to keep wandering back to a poster that proudly declared "The Flying Graysons in 'Flight of Death'".

"That's some brutal irony," he murmured under his breath.

Jim barely hummed in response, a sort of 'hmm' from him as he looked around the ground. He looked up to see the faulty trapeze, dangling from one cord. "Hey, if the cord had just frayed over time, wouldn't the second cord look close to fraying? Or possibly have broken?" He asked, walking around it, careful to step over the bodies. "Hmm..." He pauses, looking down at the two deceased.

"This feels way too set up to have just happened naturally..." He thought aloud.

Harvey grunted at Jim's words. He wasn't surprised, just a little disappointed and even impressed at his ability to pursue these kinds of things beyond any reasonable call of duty.

"Could be for all we know," he replied unsolicited. "But we won't find out much just looking at it. Hey, Jack!" he called. "Who're our witnesses?"

 

[MoonLegend101]

Richard Grayson

After the horrific accident, chaos reigned. It was clear that there was going to be no peace or quiet, and most certainly not much time for what happened to truly sink in. As the fallen acrobats' limp bodies lay on the ground, trickles of red beginning pool around them, soon the shadow of a small silhouette appeared over them, and the skewered reflection of the young boy showed murkily in the dark red pools. At first the child simply stood over the still, motionless figures of his parents, his shoulders hunched and his solemn face expressing nothing but of melancholy and torment, completely unaware of all the screams and rushing people that were now crowding the tent with panic. Everything seemed to simply fade out of the forefront, leaving only him, his parents, and the shining spotlight. He didn't want to hear any of the other people's reactions to this extremely startling and disturbing event anyway. It seemed impossible that any of these people could truly understand what had happened to them- and to him.

Until now Dick had been doing his best to hold himself together until he had reached his parents' bodies. Tears still stained his face, but they were not pouring down his cheeks as they had been only minutes earlier. His body was still shuddering every now and then though, from internal grieving that he could not hold himself back from expressing. As soon as Dick lay his eyes on the bodies of his parents, he quietly drew in a sharp breath, his expression on the verge of crumpling, but he kept it steady. His hands trembled, and it suddenly felt as if his legs were giving out underneath him; they simply would not hold him up anymore. The young orphan gently sank to his knees so that he could be in closer proximity to his parents, remaining quiet for a few moments. When he eventually spoke, his voice was very soft, as if it was meant for two certain people rather than anyone else, though it was also trembly. "Mom... Dad."

He fell silent a moment, lowering his head and staring downwards, before slowly reaching with his hand, and taking his mother's own. He gently clasped her hand with his much smaller one, a shiver running down his spine upon feeling how it wasn't as reassuringly warm as it usually was, and was instead turning cold. Dick's expression became a pleading, vulnerable one as he squeezed his eyes shut, his voice lowering to a faint whisper. "Please..." He shook his head, tears beginning to sting at his eyes again as his emotions built up inside him. He was pleading, begging to something that no one could control, and yet... he couldn't help doing so. For his entire life, his parents had been his whole world. They had homeschooled him, taught him about the world, introduced him to acrobatics, and been there for him during every performance, at practically every moment. Aside from the circus, they were all he knew. Now that they were gone, there was hardly any way of knowing what he was going to do now, or what was going to happen to him.

Dick tried to control the tears that were beginning to slide down his cheek again by roughly sniffling, though this did nothing to quell the emotions churning inside him. He soon spoke up again, still quietly, but more passionately than before as he clutched the hand that he held in his own and made one final, desperate plea. "I'm not ready." The Graysons had always known that their was a great risk with performing their act. They had known, and yet they had done it anyway. Dick had known that there had always been a risk of falling, but he had done his best to overcome that fear of falling from great heights, when it came to himself. His parents had always helped him overcome it, and gave him confidence, always reassuring him of their safety as well. While sometimes he had thought about and privately feared what might happen if one of his parents ever fell, despite their reassurances, but to lose both in one fatal swoop... it seemed unreal, and completely unfair. He was anything but ready to lose them already. After having these words, the grief stricken boy could not hold his emotions in any longer, as he crumpled into a nearly huddled over sitting position, his face twisting with various emotions that flowed freely within him, the dominant emotion above them all being pain. "I wasn't ready to lose you!" Dick said this in a hoarse, hushed voice, restraining sobs which caused the words to stick in his throat before he could say them. The boy remained in his huddled sitting position after saying this, his arm wrapped around his knees, and his face buried in his arms. He kept a gentle hold of his mother's hand in one of his own, planning to continue to cradle it in his own until they came to take the bodies away.

...They really were gone. They would be gone forever, and there was nothing he could do about it. The reality of it was truly starting to sink in, and Dick knew nothing of what to feel except fear, loss, and a terrible loneliness. He had never felt so alone before. The circusgoers might as well not have even been there to him, and the ring, the entire tent empty and abandoned. It felt as if there was nothing but darkness around him, darkness that was cold, suffocating, and unknown, with his parents being the only light and stability that was there, in the center of the ring. But now they were gone, the light snuffed out as they lay there lifeless, so that he was left to whatever would be waiting for him in the darkness that he felt would most certainly be the amassed crowd once he had to face it, and the people that would decide what was going to happen to him now. It probably wouldn't do much good to cling to that fading light for much longer, but he kept doing so, not able to bring himself to move away yet as he huddled over his parents, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to work through all the emotions of grief and loss that were bombarding him all at once, without any luck or idea of how to even begin to do so. He was completely lost, and alone.

Suddenly however, something soon pulled the boy out of his mournful, hopeless thoughts, which was the sound of approaching footsteps. Dick gave a small start, but hesitated to turn around and immediately face whoever was coming. He quickly let go of his mother's hand that he had clasped in his own as soon as the footsteps grew nearer however and gently lowered it back to the ground, almost as if ashamed for someone else to see such grieving and vulnerability, or at least someone that was a total stranger. Just before he stood up and turned around, Dick leaned over his parents one last time, and with one small, trembling hand, he gently slid each of their eyes shut with his fingers, his bottom lip trembling as he did, but nevertheless he kept himself as steady and strong as he could while doing so. "Goodbye..." He uttered this in the quietest of whispers, the word nearly catching in his throat as he said it, but he whispered so anyway. They deserved to be in peace, wherever they were now. He could only hope that they were.

After doing this, and taking a deep breath, Dick stood up, wiped at his tears, and then stepped away from the bodies so that anyone that was coming take them away or look at them could do so. He then turned to face whoever was coming to talk to him. The man who he looked up to see was not exactly the kind of person that he had expected to see. It was an elegantly dressed man who appeared to be about middle aged, who appeared to be very well to do. As their eyes met, the boy's gaze was an inquisitive and slightly confused one, wondering why this of all people was one that came to talk to or console him. He couldn't manage to hide the pain in his eyes either from this man, as at the moment it was just too much to hide or conceal from anyone. Nevertheless, he listened to what the man had to say. He listened somewhat halfheartedly at first, but still heard the words, since despite feeling as if he just wanted to be left alone, he really did need to hear another voice at the moment. Dick's eyes widened however, and a new, tiny flicker of light began to show in them, when the man who called himself Oswald told him that he had been been through the same sort of thing. "You did?" The boy's exterior was still very subdued and withdrawn, but there was a certain hint of curiosity and even hope in his tone of voice now, hope that someone else really could understand what he was going through. At first it had seemed impossible, but... if there really was someone out there that understood what it was like having watched one's parents die right in front their very eyes without having been able to do a thing, then maybe... maybe it would be possible to get through all of these feelings after all, or at the very least start trying to.

After having fallen thoughtfully silent for a time, looking back up towards Oswald after having stared downwards for a time, Dick somberly spoke up with a question in a quiet and somewhat shy way, but very sincerely nevertheless, sounding as if he really needed to know. "How do you ever deal with it all- with all this pain? Knowing that..." The boy couldn't help but trail off for a moment after saying this, his gaze lowering again as he briefly rubbed at his eyes again. "... that they're never coming back." He almost sounded as if he was still trying to fully comprehend and take in these words even as he said them. He let the words hang in the air for a time, fervently hoping that his questions could be answered by this kind, empathetic stranger. Even so, he soon couldn't help but let his thoughts wander, as it felt like so many of them were whirling around like an unstoppable hurricane inside his head. As he stewed with all of these thoughts, eventually it felt like they were almost boiling over, until he had to let some of them out and express them.

"This all just feels... so wrong. This shouldn't have happened." Emotion began to seep into his voice once more as he spoke, but he still kept his tone of voice somewhat subdued rather than bothering to raise it. He kept his voice rather level otherwise, aside from the sadness and confusion that was apparent in it. He also felt slightly frustrated deep inside, since even though Oswald would probably just assume he was speaking out of grief, he truly meant what he had said. Something did feel wrong about what happened, like it hadn't been just an unfortunate accident. Something about it... just gave him that gut feeling, one that he felt that he had to try to explain. "We've never had any accidents like this before. But that... rope-" As Dick spoke in mention of the rope, the fateful cord that must not have been checked as well as the other rigging, suddenly the image of seeing it right before it had snapped flashed through his mind. He remembered the glimpse he had gotten of the rope, all of the wires and fibers holding together having been loosened and cut into by... something that hadn't looked like it had been natural. The young acrobat let out an audible gasp as he remembered it, his eyes widening in realization.

"That rope had a cut in it! I saw it, right before it snapped." At this point he was more speaking his thoughts aloud than talking to the other man, but he did want the other one to know about it. Dick shook his head rather decidedly with a slight bounce of his black curls, knowing now that his feeling about something being off must have been true, and that it simply had to be. "It couldn't have just been an accident..." The boy said this as if trying to reaffirm it to himself, his mind scrambling to figure out the situation, and who possibly could have done this if it really hadn't been an accident... suddenly, a chill ran down his spine. A rough, threatening voice that he recalled hearing rang out clearly in his mind.

"Insurance, Haly. Can't run a business without a little extra insurance. You know, to avoid any... accidents, that may occur."

It was that man, the man that had threatened Mr. Haly in the circus trailer earlier that day. It had to be! There was something that was much too coincidental about hearing a man threaten the owner of the circus that very morning about potential 'accidents'... and seeing that same man exiting the tent that very night, now that he remembered. Dick was starting to feel more distressed by the minute by this realization, and by the thought that someone was actually responsible for his parents' deaths. However, the urge to make sure that the law knew about this situation seemed much more urgent than anything else at the moment.

Dick refocused on the man that had called himself Oswald, reaching up to rest his hand on other one's arm for a moment in order to get his full attention. His voice was quite urgent as he spoke, looking up into the man's eyes with a pleading, sincere expression. "Please, tell the police, or whoever you called that this wasn't because of an accident. And..." Suddenly remembering himself, Dick stepped back, feeling a little embarrassed about having invaded a stranger's personal space, quickly avoiding eye contact afterwards, partly out of shyness, but also because of the dark, angry feelings that were beginning to enter his mind and his expression, feelings he mostly wanted kept to himself. The young boy wrapped his arms around himself, his pained gaze beginning to darken as he muttered words in a much more serious tone than he had used even earlier. "... That I think I know who was responsible."​

​

​

 

[Scatterbrain]

Jack Crane

Jack was just finishing up interviewing one of the circus hands when he heard a familiar voice from behind him. He turned around to see Bullock Hammy and Gordon LoneSniper87 . He raised his hand in acknowledgement before turning back to the circus hand. "Thanks. We'll be in touch if we have anymore questions." Jack stated. "Anything I can do to help. The Graysons were good people." The circus hand remarked, before walking off to join his colleagues.

Jack finished jotting things down in his notebook and then proceeded over to where Harvey and Gordon were. Harvey was one of the few cops that Jack actually got along with on the force. When they were partners they were as thick as thieves, spending most of their free time together even both volunteering down at the Police Youth Building. Whilst Harvey preferred the more sedate activities on offer such as the pinball machines, Jack had managed to convince him a few times to spar with him in the ring. In recent years however, as close as they used to be, the two rarely saw each other out of the station and Jack had noticed that Harvey's visits to the youth centre had become a lot less frequent.

Gordon on the other hand, Jack couldn't stand. He saw him as nothing more than a pretentious prick. Gordon only joined the force a short while ago and he already thought he has the right to tell everyone how they should be doing their jobs! If Jack ever met him in the ring, he'd make sure the sonuvabitch left in an ambulance.

"Hey, Bull. They still got you shackled with Gordon, eh?" Jack quipped, a smirk crossing his face. He gestured over to where Dick MoonLegend101 and Oswald Oswald_C_Cobblepot were standing. "The boy's name is Richard Grayson. According to witnesses, he was participating in the act when the incident occurred. The poor kid saw the whole thing." Jack lamented. "The guy in the suit is none other than Oswald Cobblepot. He was in the audience when it happened. He immediately rushed to the kid's aid and hasn't left his side since."

 

[Oswald_C_Cobblepot]

GOTHAM: DYSTOPIA, Chapter One - A Disturbing Performance

It was truly difficult, observing the child go through such an ordeal. While the seconds slowed down in his mind, the thoughts just rushed with some divine speed; it was hardly possible to distinguish one thought from another. Why was this child chosen to suffer the tragedy he'd witnessed? What was it about Gotham that just have birth to such misery? Was it the accumulated filth of the City's vile history? Was it the stench of the current corruption? Not twenty years ago, Bruce Wayne went through a similar tragedy, his parents gunned down in front of his eyes. The parents of young Tommy Elliot, also disappeared in a series of tragic events. He was spared from the unnaturalness, but he had faced loss more times than them. They lost their loved ones only once. He had to endure the abysmal feeling on three occasions. He hated Her for that, he hated the City he so loved because she inflicted so much pain. Why couldn't it have ended there, in that filthy alley, or on that wretched road, or in his father's study? Why did this child, this child that obviously did nothing wrong, he was too young for that, why did he have to suffer? Why is his future going to be molded by a past tragedy that should have never happened? Oswald understood Richard's confusion, the whirlwind of emotions that was destroying his psyche. That is why he was there. That is why he hugged the boy in that one moment when their two tragedies became a common thread.

''I did. I lost a brother. My mother died of mental illness and my father subsequently hung himself. I was about your age when I lost Simon'', Oswald replied bluntly. His manner of speaking to people was always this direct. Maybe he should have been more tactical with the boy, maybe he should have been more of a father figure to the boy, but he thought it better that the boy knew the reality he was in. The pain would never go away, the torment was determined to last infinitely, but the sooner he realized that - the better. He smiled, gently, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder. He didn't have kids. He never had the experience of dealing with them. This was the best he knew and he hope the boy would feel his effort, its sincerity.

Not a moment passed, although it seemed like an eternity, before the boy posed his next question. It was a deep question. It was his effort at coping with the pain, of trying to comprehend what had happened. Oswald did not know how the boy perceived the whole situation, whether it was something abstract for him or whether he fully comprehended the consequences. He was smart, that was certain. Perceptive. Something emanated from his eyes, a strength Oswald had not expected. ''Young lad...'', he commenced, letting out an ironic laugh before continuing, ''... sadly, you never do. The pain, it never goes away. It fades from time to time, but it always comes back. That kind of pain is like... life... it doesn't make much sense, you just get used to it.'' He observed the boy for a few moments. ''Believe me, the only important thing is to never forget where the pain's coming from. Once you reach that moment, you'll cope'', he added. He wasn't sure whether the young boy would understand his words, they might have been too abstract, but he was sure he would understand their essence.

He heard the police in the background. The medics also. Good, they're here. He hear an officer talking to people, giving him a nod of acknowledgement, while still focusing on the child. He started to talk. A more stern voice came from the boy, something between panic and anger, whose origins could be traced to a feeling of injustice. He listened to his words, to each sentence carefully threaded, attributing the tragedy not to a series of unfortunate events, but rather a very specific set of events with a very specific cause. Certainly, the child could have been deluded, subconsciously presenting a fantastic solution as to ease his pain, but a suspicion within Oswald, a certain hunch, the same hunch he had when he read about the Elliots' deaths, urged him to at least consider the validity of the child's arguments. He looked into his eyes, seeing nothing but sincerity. He wasn't lying, that much was clear; the only question was whether his fantasy was so rock solid that even he believed it to be true.

''You're saying someone sabotaged the act? You're saying your parents were murdered?'', Oswald asked, quietly. He did not want anyone to hear it, not before he evaluated it completely. The boy seemed convinced. And his arguments were solid. It would seem quite improbable for his parents to have just died, doing the act they were completely accustomed to doing. Certainly, even expert surgeons made errors, even expert marksmen missed from time to time, but you could not belittle the validity of a sound argument based on a habitual induction. ''Listen, boy, I'd be careful to whom I am disclosing such information. You know that the police is... problematic, to say the least. There are honest men, you can trust detectives Gordon and Bullock, but you cannot trust the men around them. Mark that'', he said, warning the child with a serious voice, looking deeply and directly into his eyes. ''I might be able to help you. I know the detectives and I have a lot of... resources... myself. I can help you... would you entrust... uncle Oswald... with that information? Who killed your parents? I will find him and bring him to justice!'', he said, again with a low voice. He was not joking. Both because he wanted filthy bastard to pay for the horror he'd caused this poor child and because he wanted the child to trust him, to speak to him before anyone else arrives. He flinched a little while waiting for the answer - the 'uncle Oswald' bit, although reassuring, sounded quite unnatural to him.

(...)

As the boy answered, Oswald hear an officer arriving. A rather stereotypical example of a GCPD officer, the middle-aged man who looked like an old rat came to them. ''Remember. James Gordon and Harvey Bullock. Only them'', he said with a low voice. ''Officer. I am Oswald Cobblepot. I am a witness to this horrid affair and I came to help the child until you arrived. Bruce Wayne is with me, he should be here soon'', Oswald greeted the rat-like man. Soon after, Gordon and Bullock arrived. The officer was named Jack. The child was named Richard Grayson; he only then noticed that he never asked the boy for his name. He was a tad ashamed. Oswald greeted the detectives with a handshake. He was a benefactor for the GCPD and although he couldn't call himself a friend of them, he had much respect for the two detectives and their former conversations were always pleasant. ''Detectives, I am pleased to see you. This is... such a horrid affair. I've been with young Richard ever since. Does anyone know... anything?'', he asked the detectives.

ooc | sign-ups | interest check | Main RP

coding by cychotic

 

[Neon Valkyrie]

Harper Row

Harper was breathing heavily, sweat plummeting from her brow to the floor, a few feet below. She could feel her pulse in her temples, in her neck, racing, but steady. Her hands were dangling over her head, fingers gently grazing the old, worn floor boards. Outside, the sound of a caravan of emergency vehicles was fading into the distance. Her body curled upward, leading with her hands as she reached upward, reached toward the bar that held her knees. Her ribs, her back, her sides, everything burned. Her fingers brushed her knees, curled over them for a few seconds, and she fell back again. She kept picturing him, the man she'd been introduced to. He was tall, pale, with dark, slicked back hair shaved short on the sides. His suit was midnight blue, white shirt, and a patterned tie. He had smiled, asked about her qualifications, asked about her experience. He'd laughed.

Her whole body hurt. She curled upward again, grunting, clenching her jaw. She reached her knees again and fell back. 'This isn't some kind of charity apprenticeship.' She grunted again, her fingers slipping over her knees again, and again, and again.

"Just tell me ..." Cullen sounded somewhere between irritated and worried, his face obscured by a thrift-store comic book. Harper just glared at him, upside down from her perspective. She pressed her palms to the floor, slipping her knees out from the bar, standing on her hands for a moment before her feet found the floor. She snatched her towel from the counter, wiping the torrent of sweat from her forehead, from her shoulders, and threw herself down on the couch next to her brother, a deep frown cut into her features.

"They said no. Not enough experience, not enough education. Didn't even look at my personal references." Harper had begun wringing the towel in her lap, only realizing when sweat started to drip onto her leggings. She threw it on the floor with another short grunt and pulled the tie out of her hair, letting the damp brown locks fall around her shoulders. "And YES, I had my references, and my portfolio, and-" Cullen dropped his comic, his face sour as he peered across at her. "Look, I'm not the one who didn't hire you, so lay off ..."

Both siblings glared at one another for a moment. Harper snatched the comic from Cullen's hands without a word and dropped it on the table. She still didn't look happy, but she grabbed his hand and clenched it a few times. "Sorry."

"Look, you had a shitty day at the hands of a bully, I get it, why don't we go get a pizza? Hey ... We can watch The Punisher again." Cullen poked her in the arm, offering a wide grin. His hand was already on his phone. Harper's frown turned into a pout as a smile slowly pulled at the corner of her lips. Cullen knew how to cheer her up, or at least disarm her; Pizza and violence. Harper pulled into more modest clothing and the two struck out into the night.

The pizzaria wasn't far. Two blocks. The night air brought cool relief from the ache in her muscles. Cullen was already vaping when they got out the front doors. Harper smirked, called him a hipster, they both laughed. She managed to convince him that her spirits could only be lifted by a Hawaiian pizza, and the two ventured back out into the night with prize in hand. Cullen started vaping again.

"You know, you could try again ... just keep applying until you convince them."
Harper sighed, kicking an empty coke can across the pavement. What good would that do? "They'll just keep saying the same thing. I need to talk to someone higher up, make them listen ..."
Cullen chuckled. "You COULD go right to the top ... Cobblepot does own and operate one of the swankiest clubs in town." Cullen knew about all the hot-spots in Gotham. He had pages and pages of plans for their respective twenty-first birthdays. "Has an office right upstairs."
"Oh yeah, and how do YOU know that, Cullen Row, super spy?"
Cullen sneered at her. "Oh yeah, of course, I call my secret contact 'The Huffington Post.'"
Harper was stunned to silence, the parts and components of her mind turning as she considered how that fact might work in her favour. She'd read a little about him. An Orphan, a genius, a businessman almost without parallel ... almost. Glancing down at her ratty joggers and hoodie, Harper scoffed.
"Yeah, right ... I'll just stroll into an upscale club, prance upstairs, and drop off a resume."
Cullen punched her lightly in the arm. "Sounds like a plan to me."
Harper paused, casting an incredulous leer after her younger brother as he stepped up to their front door and pulled it open. He knew she couldn't think of anything to say ... after all ... it DID kind of sound like a plan, didn't it. The disbelief drained from her face, replaced with hesitant wonder, her lips puckered, her brow drawn tight. "... don't be a jackass ... how would I even get inside?"

Cullen just wiggled his eyebrows.

Harper scowled, but followed inside.

 

[ManyFaces]

Harvey usually worked close with the Gotham City Police Department so he had access to some of the information the GCPD knew. And this seemed like it was more then some everyday accident given it's location. So he'd already known that there was an accident before he'd arrived outside the Halys Circus.
By the reports two adults had fallen to their death during performance. It didn't sound like an accident and despite his position he wanted to offer his assistance to the GCPD.
Upon hurrying down from his office he was spoken to by the intern at the desk "Goin out on some business?" She enquired in a flat tone.
"Yes, I need to see if I can help with something. If anyone needs me tell them to leave a message." And with that he was already out the door and at his car.

The ride wasn't much of a hassle though there was of course the occasional traffic snare. But he'd wait patiently and get to the circus, flipping his coin on the way in thought.
By the time he actually found a place to park he figured everything might already be handled.
In fact once he finally got to there he already saw a few police cars parked outside the tent. "I hope I can do something to help." He sighed, as he entered the tent. Able to see the crime scene even from a distance.

Hammy Scatterbrain (Uh tagged GCPD but uh kinda open for interaction.)

 

[LoneSniper87]

Gordon had been looking at the scene currently crouched over the bodies before rising and turning back to Oswald. "Nothing concrete. Rope snapped, appears to be cut. My guess is sabotage but it's just that. A guess." He walked over and went to the two, crouching low to speak with the boy. "Hey. My name is Jim Gordon, I'm a detective, and I'm going to help sort this all out, ok? Do you know anything to help us?" He asked, keeping a semi-warm smile as he addressed them, leaving his hands at his sides. "I understand if you don't want to talk right now, you've been through alot." He reassured, making sure the kid knew he wasn't being pressured.

 

[Hammy]

Harvey gave a huff of acknowledgement at Crane's little jab. Jim could be obnoxious and pretentious, sure, but someone had to look out for him. Make sure he didn't get himself killed running into something he wasn't prepared for.

He allowed himself to be ushered along towards the witnesses, but hung back where Jim went forward. He eyeballed Cobblepot in particular. Whether he'd stayed with the kid or not, and despite the concern he was showing, Harvey got a bad vibe from him. He wasn't sure if he wanted Grayson near him at all, but that wasn't up to him.

Harvey glance back as he heard one Harvey Dent approaching, offering his help. Harvey rolled his eyes. That was exactly what they needed right that moment, lawyer crap.

"Hey, Dent," he muttered under his breath. "Definitely gonna need some legal mumbo-jumbo, wherever this goes."

 

[MoonLegend101]

Richard Grayson

Dick was the kind of person that usually didn't mind being hugged, and instead appreciated it, even though he still had to maintain his dignity and so usually acted as if he didn't like it that much. This time however, he simply sank into the embrace that Oswald gave him, more glad than he could properly express at the moment to have it. He closed his eyes and hugged back, the strained pinches that had showed on his face to indicate that he was barely holding his emotions together beginning to ease up a little and fade. With how alone he had felt at the moment, having someone that understood and was reaching out to him in such a way was a great comfort, and helped start to ease some of that aching emptiness left inside of him.

Dick listened carefully as the man spoke, and explained his own tragedy that was what caused the two to have that in common. His eyes widened slightly as the other one spoke of the rather gruesome situation of his past, but it was more out of empathy than horror. He had heard enough in his young life to understand such things without being confused or traumatized upon hearing them, and after witnessing what he has just witnessed, such disturbing things felt as if they couldn't truly faze him much more anyway. He didn't have many words to express how terrible that situation was, and at the moment he didn't know if he could properly articulate them anyway, so he just hugged Oswald a little tighter and more warmly, as a subtle gesture to show that he was sorry such a thing happened to him as well, and that he understood all too well now. It sounded as if they had both lost their entire families, taken from them much too soon. "I'm sorry." Dick eventually murmured this quietly, hugging the man just a little bit tighter, before stepping back out of the embrace.

It was terrible, all of the tragedies that had happened to others, all the horrible, painful things that could occur in their lives... and now, he supposed in some weird, ironic way, it was his turn to know what it was like. He knew he had to do his best to keep himself together, and holding in all that he was feeling as best he could was the only way he knew how to do that. That was the only thing that he really knew that he could control at the moment, and was all he could do. Yet it was still difficult not to get wrapped back up in the utter pain and sorrow that was still much too fresh, and too much to think about without his heart aching once more, until it felt as if it was nearly about to burst. He had no idea how to really cope with any of the emotions that he was dealing with at the moment, and only put on a barely even viable semblence of control. Every time the last image of his parents that he would ever see entered his mind, his breathing became quicker and his peaked face more strained.

Still, the young boy did his best to push back all of the raw emotions that were churning inside of him, and instead took a deep, calming breath to steady himself, and then tried hard to focus on Oswald as the other one put a hand on his shoulder, and then spoke to him in response to his question. He listened closely, his heart sinking a little bit as the other one confirmed the little thought that had already been in the back of his mind- that the pain would never fully go away. In the back of his mind he may have expected this, but since he desperately hadn't wanted it to be so, with the more childish and vulnerable side of him wanting there to be another answer, any other answer... but of course there wasn't. How could there be? He couldn't ever imagine really being that okay with his parents being gone, or ever stopping missing them.

Dick listened very intently to all of Oswald's words as the other one continued, taking in all that he said, and considering it. In a way, he could understand what the other one was saying. Even if it didn't feel like it now, all of these feelings were something that he would have to get used to, as much as he didn't want to. After a moment, Dick slowly nodded in response to the older man's words, his expression remaining solemn, and yet a little intuitive contemplation still shone through. "... I understand." He took a short pause for a moment, before continuing on. "I'll... I'll try." He really would do his best to cope, even though it did seem like a very difficult thing to achieve. He would just have to, somehow, even though right now he was too overwhelmed to fully figure out how. After saying this, the boy quietly added something else in a murmur, as at least there was one thing he could be certain of no matter what. "I won't forget." He would never, ever forget what caused all of this pain.

Dick could tell that when he had tried to voice his suspicions about what had really caused the accident, Oswald must be at least slightly skeptical or was just cautious, judging by the way he had lowered his voice and questioned him again to confirm if that was really what he thought. The young boy nodded without even a hint of hesitation, his expression still quite distressed because of what he had realized. He looked pleadingly up at the other one, fervently hoping that he would be believed, or at least be taken seriously enough to be considered. He knew that it probably did seem like he was imagining things, or was just crazy somehow, but what he had heard and seen was just too much to be ignored or left alone. He didn't want the cause of his parents' death to have been intentional, it hurt to even think that was the case, but it was just too coincidental. He knew what he had seen. And there was even the slightest possible chance that a man was responsible for what happened to his parents... he couldn't be allowed to escape punishment. Dick wouldn't let that happen, he just couldn't.

The boy waited apprehensively for the man's response, but was a bit taken aback by how serious it was. In his panic, he hadn't even considered the fact that a lot of the police officers in Gotham would be corrupted or dishonest. "Is it really that bad here?" He couldn't help but quietly ask this slightly incredulously, feeling dread in the pit of his stomach over the fact that it probably really was that bad indeed. He wasn't a native to the city; he had barely ever been here before, so the warning about what it was like was very wisely given. The only thing Dick had heard about Gotham before he came was horror stories that the other circus hands would tell about it. Even though his parents hadn't wanted him to, Dick would always eagerly listen in to the stories of horrific murders, violent crime wars plaguing the whole city, violent vigilantes seeking their own justice, and whatever else had haunted Gotham's past, which had almost seemed too ridiculous and exaggerated at the time to be true. Now none of those stories seemed as far fetched as they had seemed at the time, and he almost regretted ever hearing them, now that he was actually in the place that really did seem like a horror show, from what he had experienced of it so far.

He just hoped that he wouldn't have to stay in this place long- since surely he'd still be able to stay with the circus somehow, wouldn't he? The thought of possibly being forced to stay in Gotham, the city that had already claimed his parents' lives in the one stop they had made, and was in a state of chaos and practical ruin from what he had heard, was terrifying. Nevertheless, no matter what happened, he did appreciate being told of this information and warned, even if it was a bit scary to think that even most of the police couldn't be trusted. Dick kept the names of the detectives that Oswald said could be trusted in mind, running them over and over in his mind in an attempt to memorize them. Gordon and Bullock, Gordon and Bullock... He didn't want to forget the two men that were actually trustworthy, if he went by what this man said. He didn't see any reason yet not to trust him however, since he seemed kind, and like he genuinely wanted to help. Besides, he was the one who lived in Gotham, and probably knew it well. Dick had absolutely no experience, and so didn't have that much to rely on when it came to knowing what the city was truly like.

The boy looked back up towards Oswald as the other one looked into his eyes, meeting the searching gaze without any hesitance, and with only a silent plea for help and explanation clearly showing in his eyes, aside from the deep pain that had been there for a while now. His heart gave a tiny leap as the man said that he might be able to help, which were certainly very welcome words at the moment. It was a great relief that Oswald seemed willing to help him, and to listen. The man calling himself his 'uncle' wasn't completely necessary to convince him and instead sounded a little bit forced, but any attempt whatsoever at comfort in such a way was still deeply appreciated at a time like this. Dick only hesitated a moment before responding, not taking too long to decide whether or not he should tell him. This man seemed genuine, and like it would be alright to trust him. Besides, one way or another, someone had to know about the suspicious things he had seen; he couldn't just keep his mouth shut about it.

After taking a moment to consider all he had seen, and how exactly he could explain it, he took another steadying breath, and then spoke. "There was this guy, and he threatened Mr. Haly to give him and his gang... protection money, or something bad would happen. I heard it when I was playing outside the trailer earlier today." Dick's tone of voice started to become increasingly emotional as he spoke, even though he still kept it matched to Oswald's own hushed and lowered voice. "Mr. Haly said no and kicked him out, but... but then tonight I saw him again right before our act, leaving the tent from where all the guys were working on the ropes and pulleys." The boy lowered his head as his lower lip trembled, and a terribly sickening feeling began to rise up in his chest, until it was almost suffocating. "I could tell he didn't belong there, and I tried to warn them right before we went on, but..."

Dick had to stop himself mid sentence due to the emotions churning inside him anew becoming too much, quickly blinking back a few fresh tears due to all the pain and anger he was feeling. This time however, the anger was not directed towards what had happened or even who had caused it, but rather... himself. If he had warned his parents, or one of the other circus hands right after he had seen the man, this all might not have happened- he could have prevented this terrible tragedy. Forcing his thoughts back on track however, Dick pushed aside the guilt that was rapidly starting to build up inside him, and forced himself to turn his attention towards enclosing a few more details about what he knew. "I heard him say his name was Zucco, when he left the first time. Tony Zucco." He muttered the name of the potential murderer of his parents darkly, fixing his gaze intently on the ground as his bright blue eyes, reddened from tears, began to slightly narrow.

He soon shook his head slightly, speaking up again and snapping himself out of whatever painful thoughts he had been immersed in. He spoke a bit more sullenly, but still quite fervently, still not knowing whether he would be believed or not. "I know... that it could have just been an accident. But after all I heard... and saw..." He soon raised his head to look back up at Oswald, sincerity and determination shining in his eyes. "... If that guy really did do it, then he can't just get away with it. He can't!" After a moment Dick was able to compose himself even after speaking so passionately, his frustration about not being able to do anything and yet also wanting justice so badly beginning to show through. When he spoke again, his tone of voice was much more vulnerable and pleading as he looked up into the older man's eyes, his expression still radiating emotions of many different kinds. "Please don't let him."

Just then, after making this final plea, Dick became aware of footsteps coming their way, and someone approaching them. He turned his head to look, and saw that it was a police officer. The boy regarded the man with both cautiousness and curiosity, since he didn't know who exactly he was. He could surmise that this was not one of the detectives that he could supposedly trust however, judging by the way that Oswald whispered to him and then looked at the man right as he came up to them. Dick remained quiet at first as his older companion introduced himself, listening with interest to hear the other one's full name. Apparently his last name was Cobblepot, which still did not sound familiar, but was a good thing to know in any case. The other name that Mr. Cobblepot mentioned, Bruce Wayne, did sound slightly familiar, but only barely so. He must have heard it somewhere.

Dick didn't exactly feel up to properly conversing or really saying that much at the moment, so he simply murmured a quiet but polite "hello" to the officer, assuming that he wouldn't really need to formally introduce himself yet. He still had too much to think about and sort through before properly conversing. He was beginning to become consumed by his own thoughts, which were scattered to the wind and always rapidly flipping from one subject to the next. It wasn't too long before he was abruptly pulled out of all of these thoughts however when two other officers came over, this time detectives. He again looked them over, and simply watched as Mr. Cobblepot greeted them as well. He listened as one of the detectives said he guessed what happened might have been sabotage, which only served to help solidify the boy's previous thoughts. He suspected that these two detectives were the ones that he had been told that he could trust, and this guess was confirmed as one of them crouched down to his height level in order to talk to him and tell him his name.

Dick looked up at Detective Gordon, his expression slightly wary and inquisitive at first, but the way the other one spoke was fairly reassuring. He remained silent for a moment, but after taking a breath and briefly closing his eyes, he opened them and then shook his head in response. When he spoke up, he did so fairly calmly, even though emptiness and melancholy were starting to weigh down his every word. "No, it- it's okay." The young boy took a short pause before speaking again, his eyes darting to glance at the other officer that was there. He then looked back at Gordon, speaking a little quieter so that only the other one could hear him, since they were close enough to each other to have a more private conversation. "I think I do know something." Despite saying this in a near whisper, he said it steadily, without a bit of hesitance once having decided to do so.

Dick could only hope that whatever happened next, the person that had done this to his parents, and to him, would be pinned as responsible for this crime so that he could be brought to justice... even though it was his fault that hadn't happened before it was too late.​

​

 

[Oswald_C_Cobblepot]

GOTHAM: DYSTOPIA, Chapter One - A Disturbing Performance

The child was sorry. Why? It wasn't his fault. Or, was it - compassion? The boy felt his pain. And that is why he was sorry.

Oswald was not used to compassion. Being a loner his whole life, he was accustomed to an occasional pat on the shoulder, a courteous kind word and that was it. Never a true emotion, never true compassion. He smiled to the boy, trying to reassure him that everything would be alright in the end. He did not know it would, he had no way of knowing, but he thought it was the right thing to do. Maybe, just maybe, if someone had been there for him, if someone had said the right words when the time was right, maybe he would have turned out a different man than he was today.

After his brief monologue, the boy asked whether Gotham was really that bad. Oswald smirked, a reflection of self-irony and the horrid realization that not only was Gotham "that bad", it was much worse. The child, on the other hand, was not from around here so his ignorance was understandable. Wherever you may have come from, you could never fully comprehend the horror that was Gotham without actually living there. All those stories and descriptions were mere fables compared to the real, gut-sickening existence that one had to endure there. The only thing between Gotham and the deepest, darkest abyss imaginable was a bright facade of urban development, social elitism and Machiavellian politics, all of them hiding the real wretched life of the once noble city. The city that his father and grandfather helped create. ''You know, you can consider yourself lucky, lad. You're not a Gothamite. You will never truly understand the horror of everyday existence'', Oswald replied. ''Gotham is... well, yes, it is that bad. Even worse than that, I'd wager. I don't know where you were born, but the police here... they're as bad as the lot they're chasing after. You have a couple of exceptions, some beacons hidden deep within the almost cosmic, Lovecraftian darkness that has taken over the city ages ago, but that's not much to go on, is it?'', he continued. He looked at the boy once more, smiling after a brief, but serious expression. ''Don't let that demoralize you. There are some of us fighting for the town. Hopefully, you'll meet those detectives that are among the noteworthy exceptions'', he finished up. It was a sincere reply, although not without the internal bitterness Oswald felt because of the factual sincerity he'd expressed in front of the boy.

It was also the prologue to the boy's story, his account of what had happened some moments ago. As the boy was fighting to form his sentences, struggling to separate fact from emotion, Oswald observed his expressions and reactions, while listening to the somewhat fantastic detective story. Oswald was good at reading people and although he had no experience with children, he knew enough to know that they weren't exactly the most reliable liars. A child did not have the manipulative maturity to successfully and convincingly lie; there was always something that would give them up. Dick's persona did not exhibit such a sign, which meant that he was either telling the truth or believing his fantasy to be real. As for Oswald, based on all the facts and the child's emotional state, both solutions could have been correct, but an almost nonexistent atom of reason weighed in favor of it being the truth. It might have been only a conspiracy theory, but nothing was exaggerated about the tale and all the facts seemed plausible enough. But, it was not until the boy revealed the key fact that Oswald started believing him completely. That fact was - Tony Zucco.

Tony Zucco was a small-time street thug, a bully that prayed on the weak and unprotected. Oswald knew him only by name; Vladimir mentioned him causing some trouble for one of the Penguin Organization's gentlemen once, but that was a minor obstacle taken care of by the ever so efficient Russian. Haly was certainly unprotected and, as a man of entertainment, certainly weaker than the ever so boasting bully trying to earn some respect and money. The child could not have known that name. He was not a Gothamite and even Gothamites had no clue as to who Tony Zucco was. And the name was not that common for the boy to have been able to conjure from his imagination. Him knowing Tony Zucco was an important fact, one that left a strong impression and gave his story the necessary background to be taken seriously. Suppressing his rage, Oswald smiled to the boy, thanking him for his honesty. ''I believe you, lad. Thank you for trusting me. And do not worry for a moment there, Tony Zucco will face the judgment he deserves'', Oswald finished with a firm voice. He put his hands on the boys shoulders, giving a faint smile and then a firm nod, reassuring the boy that his problem would be taken care of and that justice would take care of his parents' murderer. As the GCPD approached, Oswald uttered one last remark to the boy, one last personal reply that needed to be said: "Remember what I said, be careful to whom you disclose what you know. Don't forget their names. Also, I do think it would be unwise to tell them about our little conversation so I trust you will do the right thing.'' And the GCPD was there.

(...)

While listening to the detectives interrogating Richard, Oswald could not stop thinking about Zucco. The boy was smart, he knew what to say and how to say it. Oswald stood there as backup, reaffirming some of the facts the boy mentioned in his answers. But his participation was more mechanical than anything else, just a presence, a shell whose soul had wandered off somewhere distant, concerned with the more pressing matter of administering proper justice. There were several associates he could call, but one of them seemed to be the best fit. Roman Sionis. Sionis was a ruthless, sadistic maniac, but an efficient, loyal and obedient man. Initially just a thug, he rose through the ranks of the Penguin Organization, becoming an elite assassin in a very short period of time. Oswald needed Zucco to talk, he needed a confession. Afterwards, Sionis was free to do as he wished. Yes, Sionis is the best pick. He's the only one who can give the boy a proper retribution. After deciding on his pick, Oswald decided to leave. Not that his presence was needed, but he decided to stick around to see what would happen to Richard and to see how much the boy would tell to the police. ''I am truly sorry for interrupting your inquiry, detective, but I shall take my leave. I needn't be a bother to you all and I have some business to attend to. If there's anything I can do to help, you know how and where to reach me. I'll make myself available as soon as possible'', he said, shaking hands with Gordon, Bullock and Crane, although the latter was still a complete enigma to him. He then looked at Richard, smiling and crouching down to him. ''I must go now, Richard. But don't worry, you are in good hands. Remember what I told you and you will make it through this tragedy. You will become stronger and you will endure this'', he said. ''Oh, and listen... I am sure the nice detectives are going to take care of you with the utmost care, but if you ever need anything, help, money, a place to stay... anything really... my name is known around town. Please, do not, I implore you, hesitate to call me'', he continued taking out a card from his internal pocket, ''... This here, this is my card. The Iceberg Lounge. You can always come visit or give me a ring. That is where I... perform. If I am not there at the moment, just ask for Vladimir, he will take care of you until I arrive. Stay strong and don't worry, I am certain things will work out just fine.'' He shook the boys hand and gave him a brief hug, before greeting the officers once more as he was leaving. While on his way, he crossed paths with Harvey Dent, Gotham's D.A., who'd just arrived at the scene. ''Oh, mister Harvey Dent. My name is Oswald Cobblepot, I don't believe we've had the pleasure'', he said, shaking the man's hand. ''What a tragedy... truly. I was there with the boy until the GCPD arrived. I have to leave now, but if you need anything from me, you know where to find me. I am truly sorry, but I trust we'll have the opportunity to continue this chat. Goodbye, Mr. Dent'', Oswald said and rushed off.

A lot of people were still in front of the circus, most of them in complete shock or crying. As he exited the tent, alone and determined, Oswald had to face a group of bewildered, somewhat frightened looks by the bystanders, although he was not sure whether it was the tragedy that caused those looks, or, once more, him being who he was. Ignoring everything and everyone, he quickly paced to his car, taking the shortcut through the smaller streets.

After arriving at the Lounge, he was greeted by Vladimir. ''Sir, are you alright? I heard what happened'', the Russian quickly demanded, jumping to greet his friend. ''Yes, Vladimir, thank you. I am fine. A bloody mess, that's what it was. And it wasn't an accident. That fucker, Tony Zucco, that disgusting little cockroach did it. He wanted money, probably for 'protection'. A BOY LOST HIS DAMNED PARENTS, VLADIMIR!'', Oswald shouted in fury, hitting the table with his fists. ''Toni Zuko... I remember him. I beat him up nicely last time. What do you want to do now, boss?'', Vladimir asked. The Russian knew Oswald's family history and the losses he had to endure. He know how his friend felt and he knew that look on his face, that firm determination. Oswald was breathing heavily. His heart was racing as he was imagining the self-satisfied grin on Zucco's face after sabotaging the act, leaving a child without the protection and love of his parents. No, he could not get over that, he could not be calm, not until Zucco got what he deserved. ''If a boy, Richard Grayson, ever calls or comes looking for me, don't hinder him. Let him through. If I am not there, you take care of him until I come'', Oswald told his friend, who nodded his big head. ''Now, get me Sionis on the line'', Oswald continued. ''Sionis, sir? Are you sure?'', Vladimir asked, somewhat surprised by Oswald's choice. He knew the implications of hiring Sionis. Zucco was a dead man walking. ''Now, Vladimir!'', Cobblepot replied.

Although much could be said about the Penguin Organization, Oswald himself was not a man of violence. He preferred to take care of things differently, with more style. But, sending a homicidal maniac to take care of this man meant only one thing - Zucco fucked up big time. The phone ran. Sionis answered. Oswald's voice was, of course, digitally altered. ''Sionis, it's Penguin. Tony Zucco. Get him to confess on tape. I want a clear and sincere confession, nothing coerced. Persuade... him. Take as long as you need. After you get the confession, do whatever you want with him. Now, Sionis. This is of the utmost importance. You will get the money after I see the tape'', Oswald said and hung up.

He sighed.

ooc | sign-ups | interest check | Main RP

coding by cychotic

 

[Hammy]

It was another late night in the office for Roman Sionis.

He’d rearranged his map for what must have been the tenth time, trying to work out the absolute most efficient locations for industrial transport. He needed a train station and a harbor, but there were options. Some might call for bulldozing and relocation, but that wouldn’t be difficult to arrange.

Roman poured himself another glass of red wine, and crossed off the harbor location. Definitely put it further to the north. Departing ships would have better access to more major ports.

It was then that his cell phone started to vibrate. Someone potentially important, perfect. Roman took the phone out of his pocket and tapped before putting it to his ear.

“Sionis speaking,” he mumbled, though, there was no need. Whoever it was was already well into his first sentence

Well, he knew who it was, the important thing anyway. One Penguin, emperor of the city. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d called up asking for favors.

Roman let him speak, giving only the occasional “mhm” and sipping his wine all the while. He stood up after a moment, pacing across his office. If he had the choice, Roman wouldn’t give Penguin the time of day, but that wasn’t possible. Not yet. Roman wasn’t some heavy-handed thug; he could play the social game and move in for the kill when it made sense. That meant allowing Penguin to listen to the sound of his own voice, and pretending to care personally.

Personally, Roman was more concerned that his windows overlooking the city needed polishing.

By the time Penguin hung up, Roman had barely said a word. That was just fine. Roman wouldn’t want to say anything regrettable, after all, or risk his standing with the city’s current ruler. Penguin paid him, sure, but Roman’s interest wasn’t in that money. He would have done the job pro bono just to earn himself more favor and trust. He was very interested to see who really ran the city, and where his weak spots lay.

Tony Zucco. The name sounded familiar, but Roman couldn’t place it. It wasn’t his job to. That was for his trusted bloodhounds to take care of.

On that thought, Roman tapped out a brisk text to one of those very hounds. Scouting out a low-life was easy; anyone could do that. The real work started in extracting Penguin’s little confession. That was Roman’s specialty.

Roman tipped his head back to down the rest of his wine. At least he’d have something stimulating to do sooner than later.

*****​

It took a few hours, but Roman finally had Zucco exactly where he needed to be.

Roman stood in his sterile basement chamber, standing over a counter that bore eerie resemblance to a surgeon’s tool tray. Nothing but polished metal, simple white drawers, and all manner of sharp and compressing tools sitting atop.

Roman himself was wearing a mask and thin, black gloves, his suit jacket gone and his sleeves rolled up. The mask was wooden, a memento from his father after the unfortunate fate of his parents and old manor. Roman had always hated the mask, the masks that his mother and father wore, figuratively and literally. He understood the irony of wearing it himself, but it was simply too perfect for intimidation and anonymity purposes.

Behind Roman was a heavy, metal frame, with Tony Zucco held to it by similar leather cuffs. A bag was still over his head, necessary while Roman prepared. At Roman’s order, his shoes had been removed. It was amazing how such a simple gesture could have almost as much effect as stripping someone naked. Zucco was exposed and completely at Roman’s mercy, while Roman was socially and psychologically invulnerable.

Now that Roman was finally ready, he tore the bag off of Zucco’s head and discarded it on the side of his counter. He didn’t speak, merely allowed Zucco to drink in his surroundings for as long as he needed to. By the time he uttered a single word, Roman could see the tension in Zucco’s shoulders and chest.

“Black Mask,” he breathed at last.

Roman could practically see the wheels turning in Zucco’s head, rusty as they were. He was already afraid and subordinate. Weak-willed, and only capable of bullying those with even weaker wills. Everything Roman could have asked for.

“Aren’t you astute,” he jeered. “You and I have some business to attend to. From my understanding, you’ve been sticking your nose where it just doesn’t belong.”

“I- I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, man.”

“Keep lying to me and I’ll take a needle to that mouth.”

Zucco visibly tensed at the threat, even as he tried to keep up his poker face. Often just the threat of violence was enough, if only the subject was convinced that that threat was real.

“All I need is for you to tell me what you did exactly, and this can all be over.”

“I ain’t telling you jackshit,” Zucco spat back, defiant despite his anxiety. “‘cause there ain’t nothing to tell.”

Roman clicked his tongue. Belligerence was never charming. “I guess we’re doing this the hard way then.”

They liked to say that torture was no good because it influenced the tortured to say what the torturer wanted to hear, not the truth. Roman said that “they” were too caught up in some sense of higher morality to see the utility in that. Getting people to say what you wanted when you wanted them to was a valuable skill. Especially if you could do it quickly.

Drugs, pain, and a perceived threat of pain had proved a potent combination for getting confessions. Roman had the first two at his fingertips, and Zucco was definitely buying the last, if the movement of his eyes across Roman’s tool trays were to be believed.

Roman only needed one thing from the tray, though; the syringe. He picked one up, and opened one of his drawers, taking out a tiny vial of midazolam. All the while, he made sure that Zucco had a clear view of what he was doing. It didn’t matter much which drug he picked out of those he had available. What mattered most was what his subject believed.

He turned around and approached Zucco, taking in how he flinched as Roman pressed the needle into his arm and took his time pressing the drug in.

“Just a mild narcotic. Don’t think too hard about it.”

Zucco immediately thought very hard about it, his eyes going wide and he body trembling. Good, good.

Roman placed the used syringe in an empty tray, and left Zucco to start absorbing the drug as he tried and failed not to panic.


He came to a stack of cages, some with scorpions, spiders, various wasps. Roman half-regretted setting Zucco up away from the bugs, but to do so would have leaned too much on him having a phobia that he may or may not have ended up having. Kept at a distance, any one of the creatures had far more shock value.

Roman picked up a pair of padded tweezers and opened the top door on one of the topmost cages. He plucked out the resident with a practiced ease, a large wasp with copper and blue coloration. Its wings had been altered to prevent any escape attempts that might lead to the poor creature being crushed. The perfect candidate for extracting information.

He strolled back to Zucco, holding the wasp where it could be seen.

“This is a tarantula hawk. Just a wasp. Pretty, isn’t she?” he asked, pushed the insect just out of reach of Zucco’s face. “Normally, she’ll use that stinger to paralyze a tarantula, then lay her egg on it, still alive, so the young can feed when it hatches.”

Zucco swallowed hard, eyes darting back and forth.

“But I can’t guarantee that the wasps will eat you alive, so we’ll settle for the sting.”

In a show of gentle cruelty, Roman lowered the wasp down slowly to the same place where he’d made an injection before.

“Fortunately for me, the pain won’t last very long, and unfortunately for you, it’s one of the most painful stings known to man.”

Roman didn’t have to see the wasp sting to know she had. The scream that ripped from Zucco’s throat told him as much. Screaming, sobbing, body convulsing, pain seemed to be the only thing he knew at that moment. Even the frame shook a bit as Zucco fought against the venom.

The screaming and shaking didn’t stop, not even as Roman took the wasp away and put her back in her box.

He was sweating, breathing hard, rasping almost, but the pain was visibly subsiding. Zucco could only shiver, eyes bulging.

“Now, you can give me a few words about what you did-” Roman flared one hand towards his trays. “-or we can move on to more potent methods.”

The fear in Zucco’s eyes was palpable. The idea that something, or even many things, in Roman’s arsenal could be even worse than the wasp. It was bullshit, but the idea was planted and that was enough.

“No, no, no! I’ll talk, just- just keep the hell away from me.”

“Who knew, you’re not as stupid as you look. Now then-” Roman drawled as he picked up a digital voice recorder and held it towards Zucco’s mouth. “-why don’t you tell me about what you did at the circus? Try to keep that shake out of your voice.”

It took a while to get through the confession. Zucco went on about intimidating some bigwig in the circus, then cutting a rope and doing some other small damages. Roman didn’t always know what he was talking about, but it was clear that this is what Penguin wanted. That was more than enough.

Roman flicked the recorder off once he deemed Zucco’s confession enough.

“Was that so hard?” Roman asked, his voice taking on a sickly sweet quality.

Zucco shook his head, but remained silent. Muted by fear and pain, most likely, broken down. Good. He was less likely to make noise, and cause the next process to be more difficult than it needed to be.

“Can’t say I enjoyed our time together, but you’re not as annoying as the tax vultures.” He placed the DVR back down on the counter, and picked up a small, but wicked sharp scalpel. His final tool of the night. “You won’t feel a thing.”

*****​

Roman was preparing for bed when he called Penguin back. He stared out from his window over the streets of Gotham as the phone rang, and rang, and…

The line clicked on and Roman spoke, “Job’s done. Tony Zucco won’t be causing anyone any more problems, and the evidence has been left in the usual place. I expect my compensation soon.

Before anyone could reply, Roman tapped to hang up and turned to head into his bedroom. Being up in the wee hours of the night wasn’t something Roman made a habit of, and it wouldn’t be long before the sun rose. There were things to be done the following day, and Roman was more than done for the night.

 

[Neon Valkyrie]

Dr. Pamela Lillian Isley​

Lillian breathed a long, slow breath. The large, electron microscope in front of her hummed with a light pulse. It was calming. Picking up the small, digital recorder from the workstation, she turned it over in her hands before flicking it on, setting it to record. Her mouth went dry suddenly, as it often did in these kinds of situations. Licking her supple, pink lips, she issued a final, slow breath and began.

"Lab notes, Doctor Pamela Lillian Isley. Subject cells are Arabidopsis Thaliana, and skin cells donated by Subject A. Testing formula B181, this will be the first round of tests with the new chemical additive ..." Lillian paused, biting at her lip for a few seconds before pausing the recording. For a moment she'd considered adding a personal note, but it was best to keep such things to herself. If the formula worked, everything would be a matter of record.

Slipping the recorder into the pocket of her lab coat, Lillian's hands were trembling as she picked up the syringe. She set it down again, shaking out her hands, issuing a short laugh at her own jitters. Taking the implement up again, she carefully applied a drop to the mixture of cells and delicately slid the slide onto the microscope's stage.

She settled back into the chair, adjusting her glasses, checking her watch. This batch had been promising in all the simulations, but she'd gotten overly excited about a potential success before, and been disappointed. Finally her eyes flittered to the screen. The proteins hadn't changed. Nothing was happening. She bit at her lip, it was starting to show signs of all the biting, puffy and lightly chapped. Maybe she was just being impatient. She checked her watch again. Ten seconds. A lifetime in ten seconds. She heaved a sigh, planting her hands on her knees and turning away from the monitor ... at least she hadn't gotten her hopes up.

Pushing herself up, she strode across the lab to her desk. She took a long sip of her luke-warm latte, squeezing at the back of her neck with her free hand. Maybe she needed to go back to the formula, re-evaluate the irradiation of the isotope. Pulling her glasses off, she pinched at the bridge of her nose. Why was it so hard to think. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She slid it out and thumbed at the screen. It was Dr. Woodrue. She felt a rush of blood as she began chewing at her lip. Was it eight already? She'd completely lost track of time.

Pressing her hand to her forehead, she scanned the lab desperately for her purse, for her things. That's when she saw it. Saw the screen. Saw the cells.

Bonds were forming, linkages between her donated skin cells and the plant's proteins. Her phone slid from her hand as she rushed over, slipping her glasses back on, squinting at the screen to examine the fine detail. No signs of cellular deterioration, no rejection ... the plant cells were actually revivifying the detached skin cells, bonding in a way she'd never anticipated. A giggle escaped from her throat. Her shoes clattered at the floor as she skittered excitedly back over to her phone and scooped it up.

Frantically dialing, she cut Dr. Woodrue off as he answered. "It works Jason! B181 works!"

 

[Oswald_C_Cobblepot]

GOTHAM: DYSTOPIA, Chapter Two - A Series of Unfortunate Encounters

As he was waking up, Oswald Cobblepot was mulling over the possibility of last night's string of horrible events being a nightmare. The vividness of all the scenes along with the strong imprint they left in his memory proved him wrong, but it all seemed overly surreal to be true. It was not long, though, before Oswald realized his optimistic hopes of a young boy being spared such a monstrous fate were nothing more than a tear lost in the rain. With a stern expression on his face, Cobblepot left the bed and did his usual morning toilette. Although he did not mention anything specifically, Oswald knew Vladimir had arranged for his day to be free of obligations, aware of the effects of last night's tragedy. The businessman was still prone to doubting his unmistakable memory, but life would have it otherwise. It was a truly cruel game.

The Iceberg Lounge was closed until 8:00 p.m., which meant that Oswald Cobblepot had the whole, gigantic nightclub for himself. Breakfast was served at precisely 9:00 a.m., just like every morning. A piece of pastry, this time a croissant with marmalade, and a cup of fresh orange juice, followed by a cup of warm coffee and the occasional cigarette; Cobblepot was not a smoker, but sometimes, his body yearned for a touch of nicotine after a good cup of coffee. This was a habit known only to his staff; the public would never see this habit of his.

Vladimir showed up right after breakfast, bringing today's paper. He had the unusual habit of constantly looking like a Prohibition-era mobster, with his fancy suits, striped shirts and colorful ties. All that was missing was a small mustache, but the Russians face was so roughened up by the years spent in inhumane winters that it was impossible for him to look elegant with facial hair; he'd always end up looking like that maniac Rasputin. ''Good morning, Vladimir. How are you? You've eaten I presume?'', Oswald asked, the presence of his friend lifting his spirits a little. ''I am fine, sir, thank you. And yes, I have eaten'', the Russian replied, taking a seat beside his employer. He was searching for something in his pocket. ''That's a shame. The food was excellent. Fancy a drink or a cigarette?'', Oswald continued. ''No... sir... thank you'', he continued, still searching for that special something; ''Ah! Yes! Found it!'', he proclaimed finally before presenting Oswald with a tape recorder. A menacing smile escaped Oswald's face before turning into a serious expression. He turned the recorder on.

Sionis was... efficient. His voice could be heard, a somewhat sadistic pleasure emanating from the sound of his vocal chords as he was torturing his victim. Tony Zucco was afraid, the disgusting critter was actually sensing what was about to happen to him. At that point, Zucco would have sold his own mother or child for a fucking dime just to avoid the inevitable. Slowly tightening the grip with a persuasive form of psychological Torment, Sionis finally ''encouraged'' Zucco to talk. Although visibly scared and stressed out, the gangster seemed to be telling the truth; there was no point in him hiding his work at that point. It seemed, from his perspective, that the truth was the only way of saving his life. Oswald smirked. The poor sap had no clue.

After a meticulous confession, Zucco seemed more at ease. His breathing was deeper, but more relaxed, as if a great burden just left his persona. Sionis was restrained with the recorder turned on, but a morbid satisfaction could have been heard in his voice. A few moments later - the recorder was turned off. What gruesome ordeal Zucco went through before he ultimately died and faced justice, Oswald neither knew, nor wished to know. Not because he did not have the stomach for it, he had probably seen far worse scenes, rather because he just did not care; Sionis was an efficient pawn and he seemed to regard his work as a form of art. In that aspect, if he did not want to exhibit his work, it was his decision; Oswald was not a man to interfere with the creative process.

''Did you listen to it earlier?'', he asked Vladimir. ''Yes. When I picked it up. Wanted to check if the job was done properly'', he replied. ''Good. Send Sionis his payment. Make it $300,000 this time. I'm feeling generous today'', Oswald smiled, finishing his breakfast. ''Make three copies of this tape. One for the archive, along with the original. Send the other to the GCPD, either Gordon or Bullock, and the third to the D.A.'s office. Address it to Harvey Dent'', he said and paused. ''Oh, and make an extra copy for the press, just for kicks. I think miss Vale will appreciate the effort'', he added, after thinking it over. ''Understood, sir'', Vladimir replied.

The Russian man would return later, but he wanted to finish his tasks first. He was like that - finish your business first and then use the remaining free time as you please. Oswald like that. He grabbed the Gotham Gazette Vladimir had brought. The death of the Graysons was, of course, the main story. He sighed once more, thinking of the child. Whatever happened to him afterwards? He would need to talk to Gordon to see about that. But later, now was a time for relaxation. Mornings were like that and it was, usually, the only part of the day when Oswald had some time for himself and his thoughts.

Little did he know that life would have it otherwise today and the series of unfortunate encounters would commence soon...

ooc | sign-ups | interest check | Main RP

coding by cychotic

 

[Neon Valkyrie]

Harper Row​

Harper sat, peering straight ahead, her stomach flip-flopping. There was no escape now, her tormentor had returned, steaming hot implements in hand. He stalked toward her, raising the cruel tool toward her head as she recoiled from him, her hands raised. A gentle slap caught her on the back of her wrist as Cullen pulled back, glaring down at her for the two hours of torment this process had turned into. He hadn't even finished her hair yet.

"Fuck Cullen, I'm going to talk to the man about a job, not prom!"
"Look, I'd never tell you how to put a computer back together, stop telling me how to fabulous."
"How do you even know how to do this?"
"... It may surprise you to learn," Cullen started, twirling sectioned locks of hair around the barrel curler. "But Youtube can also teach you life skills."
She could feal him doing that 'teasing' thing with her hair again, and she tried to swat at his hand. How was messing it up supposed to help? When would he be finished? Couldn't she just have a nice, simply ponytail? Finally Cullen spun the office chair around and crouched down to perch at shoulder-level, staring with Harper into the mirror.

She was stunned.

She'd never really bothered with makeup. It never served a purpose in her life, but right now, staring into the mirror, she was a little jealous of her little brother. She looked like one of those instagram models, her hair pulled back in carefully arranged layers, pinned back, and cascading down from the back of her head in a shower of loose curls. She smiled, her face twinging lightly as her eyes welled up. Cullen grimaced, whirling around to snatch up the nearest absorbent material and wrap it around his index finger.

"Don't you even ..." He dabbed lightly at the corners of her eyes while she tried to breathe. Once her tears were wrangled, she pushed herself up and threw her arms around Cullen, holding him tightly.

"Thanks little brother ..." She was careful to keep her face away from him. He'd sprayed her with some sticky, weird stuff that was supposed to keep everything in place, but cautioned her against touching it none-the-less. Pushing her off, he pointed to her bedroom.

"Now go get changed, you're going to be late."
Harper scoffed, screwing up her face at him. "How am I going to be late, he doesn't even know I'm coming."

A rare Taxi ride later ...
Harper was sitting in a diner across the street, poking at the remains of a breakfast plate when she saw the sleek black car pull up to the curb across the street. Finishing the last of her lukewarm coffee, she paid her bill and raced outside. Cobblepot and his companion had already gone inside, the town car pulling off down the street as Harper came to the crosswalk. Offering the finger to a cab as she jumped the crosswalk signal by a few seconds, the dashed across the street to the front of the club.

Peering down at the door handle, this entire, ridiculous situation suddenly became all too real. All moisture vanished from her mouth, and her fingers began to tingle. Taking a moment to rub her hands, she issued a few short breaths before finally reaching for the handle. Offering a soft tug, she found it locked. That was fine, she told herself, Cullen had thought of that. Clutching her messenger bag against her side, she strode to the side of the club, down the alleyway to the back of the building. Dumpsters and compost containers had been positioned close to the corner for access, and just beyond them Harper could see the entrance to the kitchen. The door had been propped open with a brick, smoke still rising from a Folgers can that had clearly been in the alley for years.

It was hard to sneak in heels, but she did her best to approach the door silently. Taking a deep breath, she pulled it open, almost screaming as she came face to face with a man in white chef's clothing. He looked just as surprised. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry I'm late ..." He looked confused now, crossing his arms as he gave her a quick and suspicious once-over. "I'm the new waitress ... Kimberley ..." Her delivery was a little awkward, but after a moment the man shrugged and moved to one side, waving her past as he took a cigarette from his pocket.

Offering a nervous smile, Harper ducked inside.

The kitchen was relatively quiet, with most of the cooks chatting in a circle, sipping at coffees. She slipped past with ease, making her way to the front of house. The club was ... well, nothing short of amazing. She felt for a moment like a Disney princess, but quickly resolved to ignore the ice-palace motif and instead focus on her task. Moving upstairs quietly, she had reached the top of the building and turned down a hallway when a rather short man spotted her and strolled over. She smiled nervously, but it was hard to tell how he felt about her presence there.

"Excuse me, Hi, I'm looking for Mr. Cobblepot ..."