Gotham

[Loony_Bin]

"Hey, my toast is perfectly fin-" Freddy was stopped by Marcel's reveal about how he knew he was the Hood, which made Freddy lower his gun in shock. It'd been years since he'd started, and he'd avoided the awkward run ins mid costume change with his aunt and brother, never been caught with his costume peeking out of his closet, was never sat down by a lover or friend and told they knew his secret, but somehow this random walked in and knew? That seemed wrong, and it bothered Freddy deeply, made his stomach turn in every which way.


He opened his mouth in attempts to deny NoOne's accusations, but once he mentioned Vance, well then he knew that there was no way to defend himself. Freddy paused, taking in a moment to just take in everything NoOne was saying. He didn't have a problem with the Bats on a whole, most of them ignored him, in some ways it made his job easier, the problem he had was with Beetle, who for some reason, had it out for him. Beetle made him anxious, made him feel trapped sometimes, unable to expand past a certain point for fear that Beetle would rain hell upon his ass using some gadget he spent his millions on. If he could knock him from his post, then he could better expand, go to upper levels of the city, REALLY begin to help the city. Plus, he had dependable men behind him! If what had happened in Bludhaven had happened in part because of the man in front of him, who was he to turn him down? Probably someone who'd been in the game for any more that a year.


Freddy didn't jump on the offer, it was to good to be true after all. He needed to know more, and he needed to benefit as much as he could from the situation, "So what do you want from me then, besides my toast and butter that is. Do you want Resources? Some kind of training in my tactics? Money?"


@Sir Les Paul

 

[Sopranos]

​

Name: Hachiman


Place: Gotham - The Maroni's Italian Restaurant


-----------


Sal Maroni Italian Restaurant was a famous spot for all the mobsters back there, it's known to be the home of the Maroni's crime family, a force that once controlled Gotham when there were no Batman and there were no Joker or Oswald Cobblepot. On the big dining room of a empty building, a place which had been rent for the Maroni's crime family for their meeting, Rafael Maroni was making an entrance to the meeting. Don Maroni himself Salvatore "Totò" Maroni II, great grand son of the Sal Maroni who had built the family in the past, was serving his prison time in Blackgate and left his younger brother Rafael "Rafa" Maroni to run the family for him. He walked in the door but the room was completely silent, there were no light. All his men were sitting there on the dining table, all 8 of his capos and soldiers. But they didn't talk or anything, they just sat in silence, with their head bent down. Rafael was scared, but before he could scent the danger... 


*CRASH*


The sound of shattered glass above Rafael as he immediately felt a frightening force of his back, his backbone was in serious pain and he soon realized he couldn't move an inch to his magnum pistol bellow the waist. Right after Rafa was lifted off the ground and slammed to the wall and as he stabilized his eyesight, he saw a man in a masked, with dark outfit and a held a sword right at his throat.


"- Rafa Maroni, the leader of Maroni mafia in Gotham, responsible for murdering, trafficking drug, weapons, people, extortion,... and many more."


The mystic swordsman spoke as he faced Rafa, with one hand held the mobboss's arm and the other held his sword.


"- Who the fuck are you ? And what did you do with my men ?" - Rafa asked out loud.


"- I'm the one who can free you from your crimes..." - Said the masked swordsman.


"- You killed them... you sick fuck..." 


Noticed that all his men were dead, Rafael was more than shock, his voice couldn't be straight anymore. And he was right, all his capos and soldiers who're sitting their were all dead. Though they seem to be unharmed, looked like they're sleeping, but all of them were beheaded. In a special fashion that left their body no visible wounds and almost unharmed. 


Hachiman didn't say much more, he observed as Rafa looked over the room and saw all his men were already dead. Devastated by the scene, the mobboss lost all his power to fight back for his own.


"- Go to hell you cocksucker, I killed all my men, kill me already..." 


Rafa answered wit hatred in his eyes. Benjamin took a deep look at the man whose life's in his hand. The Don refused to beg for his life, he faced death head on, which was a brave and respectable decision from him. 


"- Very well... You face your death bravely. I promised your body would be unharmed, and your soul would be clean..."


...


...


...


The night ended.


-----------


... Your blade draw to not only stop their evil, but also to forgive their acts and clean their souls as well... Only you can do so, my successor...


-----------


That next morning, everything happened in that restaurant got the attention of the GTPD and the news. TV and the city newspapers reported one of the most shocking criminal events in Gotham that year, "The Winter Mobster Massacre". In the Sal Maroni's Italian Restaurant, more than 10 powerful mafia figures from Maroni's crime family - one of the most powerful criminal organization in Gotham - were murdered. These ten mobsters included the family acting boss Rafael "Rafa" Maroni himself and all of his captains who protect his family profit in all Gotham. What was shocking about this case was the fact that these victims were murdered in one of the most odd yet brutal fashion. The crime scene seemed liked nothing had happened, no blood, no bullets and no sign of wounds on the victims's bodies. Moreover, they died on a peaceful position - sitting on their dining chair, facing down. But when the GTPD started to investigate, they soon realized that all 10 victims were decapitated, but the cut were so clean, so perfect that it's almost difficult to track and there were no blood too. Their heads only were attached to their body by a slight band of flesh on their neck. It was a Japanese special decapitating technique called Dakikubi, used to executed criminals and prisoners in the old days, a perfect cut to the victims head but left a slight band of flesh to attach the head to the body, so that it can be hung in front as if embraced. It's meant to respect the victim body in his last moment.


Beside from the bodies, there were nothing left to track down for the police, led the police investigation to nowhere. On the other hand. the incident rang the alarm in Gotham underworld, every others criminal organizations in Gotham raised their awareness after they witnessed how one of the powerful organization was wiped out just in one night. The event itself also marked end of the Maroni's mafia as most of it's high leaders were killed in it. Nobody knew who's behind the massacre, but they knew one thing, that it's not something from any vigilante that ever appeared in Gotham, and definitely not from the Bat family. It didn't leave any blood mark, no bones were broken and no bullets holes, but yet the method taken to the criminal was mean to be all the way. They only knew that another of Gotham's children had decided to take the situation in their own hand.


With the death of the Maroni's mafia, Benjamin finished his first plan he had for Gotham, secured his family's safety from their biggest enemy... And he did it without revealing himself.

 

[Bone2pick]

4830 Legion Lane  


Gravel crunched under low profile tires as the pearl white Audi rolled to a stop.  A moment later the purr of the sedan's high performance engine went silent.  Historic buildings, cloaked in the shadows of upper Gotham, stood indomitably around them.  They had drove to an old (and often forgotten) ward of the city.  Orville and Leslie Riddle exited the car and approached the property.


"Isn't she beautiful?"
 


Leslie remarked as he pocketed his sunglasses.  Orville buttoned up his double-breasted jacket and peered up at the rows of dusty bricks leading up to the building's roof.  It was midday, but the autumn wind still had bite.  


"She's primordial... What year was it built?"


"Construction started in 1868, right after the war.  The army commissioned it."


Orville paced in front of the three roller doors—each one big enough to accommodate a small delivery truck—facing the street.  He shoved his palm against one of the heavy-duty steel panels of the door; he was pleased to discover he couldn't budge it.


"How many square feet?"


"Counting the loft and basement, 16,411."  


 Orville swiped a hand across a nearby faded brick and smiled at the red masonry powder that clung to his fingers.  He clapped his hands clean before facing his partner.


"The neighborhood is objectionable, but for our purposes that's a benefit.  I'm sure it helped keep the sticker price down too?"


Leslie grinned and nodded.


"I practically stole this old place.  It had been collecting dust on the market for years."  He pulled a bulky set of keys from his pants pocket and tossed them to Orville.  "Ready to take the tour?" 


Orville, with a twinkle in his eye, took a minute to appreciate the antique key set.  Then the pair walked around to the building's entrance.  When the largest key clicked into its matching lock from a bygone era, the metal door drifted open under its own weight. Orville finally laid eyes on what would soon be his lair.


"Well done Leslie, well done.  We're going to do tremendous things here."





[OOC: Gentleman Ghost and the Phantoms acquire a lair.]

 

[Crono]

Brian's smirk lowered into somewhat of a scowl when Tim Drake spoke on what he was meant to be helping Alphus with, specifically those that inhabited the city. "Why do I feel like I just got roped into helping clean up a mess?" The man let out a deep sigh as he relaxed back into the chair, admittedly he had basic knowledge of what went on in Gotham these days. The ex-league member had kept well enough away from any and all of it, though that didn't mean he didn't hear the whispers or have the occasional run-in but those were few and far between not to mention over the years Gotham had indeed changed. He'd perked up a little bit when Alphus mentioned the cellar, though the thought of being led by the help to a dark basement wasn't exactly high on his list, especially if the woman from earlier was a part of that. But he made a note of interest that the Dorn mansion had what he assumed was a fully stocked and untouched room of booze down below. "I'll get back to you on that." He told Alphus so that he didn't hold the younger man up.



@Sir Les Paul @The Regal Rper

 

[ChazGhost]

Currently on the adventures of Drake Swift, NeoShade...


After saveing a stranger from some thugs and giving him some advice on gambling Drake decide to go visit a friend of his, a black market dealer he used to deal with. Drake walked down the side walk for awhile before he entered what seemed to be a old pon shop. The inside wasn't much to see, there was a few odd things there but mainly there wasn't anything intersting there. Well unless you knew how to ask for them.


"Hey is Tommy in?" Drake asked a man working at the counter.


"He's not here" the cashier bluntly said as he started reaching under the counter.


"Tommy it's Drake. I came to visit... and stop your guy before he does somthing stupid." Drake shouted at the door to the back.


"I've told you a a thousand time Drake, It's Tom... Rick let pasted, he's a friend of mine." A man shoutted from the back. The cashier sighed and unlocked the door for Drake. Drake smirked as he opened the door and walked past the cashier. In the back room sitting at a semi nice desk was Tom, a man in his late twentys but already balding. "Been awhile Drake, I haven't seen ya sense I moved to Gotham... So what brings ya here? And don't say to visit, we both know that would be a straight lie." Tom said lining back in his chair.


"You heard about the shadows of Bludhaven? Well I one of them and we are beganing our moves onto Gotham. But I like so I wanted to give you a warnning, to pick up shop and move to a diffrent place before things get messy in this town... More then usual of course." Drake said pulling up to the desk and sitting down.


Tom thought about that for a second before saying "I wouldn't belive ya if your power wasn't out right controling shadows... Look I have one more sale set up. Help me do it and I'll pack up and go. I'll even give you a fair cut. How about it? I can't leave the biss without deliver on my last order."...

 

[Sir Les Paul]

"You know, Freddy," Marcel replied in a more relaxed tone, "I feel like plenty of people have wanted you for something, but no one has really respected you."

Marcel sat the overly dry toast back down on the platter before continuing.

"They want your tactics, your resources, your connections, maybe even your image - I've seen what the Red Hood can do. It's impressive. I tried to do the same in Bludhaven and never seemed to grasp it. It was these efforts to be like you that give meaning to the phrase respect. They have no idea what it takes. Hell, I have no idea what it takes. I don't know if it's a god-given trait or some philosophical bullshit, but whatever it is, it demands respect," Marcel told him. His eyes conveyed the straightforward message he was relaying to Freddy despite not even being his own. Something in his words held an incredible weight; something like an envy combined with a reluctant truth.


"You ask me what I want from you, but that's not what I said. I said I needed you. I need you because I respect what it is that you can do that I can not. If I wanted connections, I'd spend months making them. If I wanted resources, I'd find them. If I wanted your tactics, I'd slowly and methodically piece together what you do from your various lives. And, we both know that if I wanted money, you're not precisely the man to come to for it. I need Fredrick Todd to join the Shadows; not some asset of his donated to our cause," Marcel continued to explain. His words were frankly considerably different than those Terry told him. While his request was similar and he had a comparable motivation, something between ever line he muttered made his view of Fredrick far more human than Terry ever did. He wasn't just a name or an image to be controlled. Not anymore.

"If you want some idea of the first step I have in mind, look to the Commissioner of this City. I'm sure you know as well as I do that Ramirez is a dirty politician more than he is a cop; and, he wasn't even a good one when he wore a badge. Back in Bludhaven, I took down an entire precinct. Whether we like it or not, we need good cops to dish out justice. I have no qualms putting a bullet in the head of some mugger, but when the sworn guardians of a city are taking drug money instead of handing out parking tickets, they are just as much part of the problem," Marcel finally told Freddy, changing the direction of the conversation. He wasn't just praising Freddy anymore. He was giving him plans. Building trust. Taking the first step.



@LokiofSP (This is where you may even want to confer with @Archon some due to his Gordon character whom is a cop in Gotham)





Tim watched the large screen in the entertainment room of the Durn manor. The entire room had been somewhat converted into a large workstation for him; there were two other entertainment rooms in the building, this one just happened to have the most technology in it. Originally equipped with three televisions, two massive computers and a virtual reality simulation chamber, it was the best suited for Tim. It was obviously now secured from the rest of the building under lock and key for Tim. It didn't necessarily have the same connections to the Bat network that his tablet did, but this type of work space was far more efficient at certain tasks.


The one he was focused on now was simple. Monitoring of a new person of interest... a potential threat. It was difficult to tell. He rode in from time-to-time, but his intentions changed with the wind. The only things that ever stayed the same were his music... and his name:

The Troubadour 
​

♪♪ Out in the West Texas town of El Paso
​

I fell in love with a Mexican girl
​

Night time would find me in Rosa's cantina
​

Music would play and Feleena would whirl
​

 
​

Blacker than night where the eyes of Feleena
​

Wicked and evil while casting a spell
​

My love was deep for this Mexican maiden
​

I was in love, but in vain I could tell
​

 
​

One night a wild young cowboy came in
​

Wild as the West Texas wind
​

https://twitter.com/musicnotes?ref_src=twsrc^google|twcamp^serp|twgr^authorDashing and daring, a drink he was sharing
​

With wicked Feleena, the girl that I loved ♪♪
​

 
​

The auburn-haired gentlemen played his guitar among three dozen or so people in a small park North of West Chelsea Hill near the Gotham river. It was vintage music. Beyond vintage, really. Well over a hundred years old; it was surprising anyone even knew of it, yet alone someone just in his twenties played it with proficiency. Of course, his cool, deep voice made the melody sound just a little darker than the original by Marty Robbins so many years ago and the sound of his steel string guitar was considerably different than the classical style. Still, despite being slightly altered, the tone stayed true to the vintage Western music. The people around him seemed to love it. Of course, it was mostly a few younger children that would have loved just about anything and some parents that found him charming. The oddity was the nature of the song; it was an old Western that spoke of heartbreak and gunslinging... yet these Gotham parents held no objection.

Meanwhile, Tim watched knowing why. His music and words were... persuasive to say the least. The Troubadour, really a nameless musician, was rarely a force that ever conflicted with the League nor was he one that Waller or Tim likely wanted to cross. Still, it was almost a necessity to figure out what he wanted. He never seemed to visit anywhere without a purpose. "Alphus," Tim said, the first words he had said to his protege since that night, "Go round up Brian. Tell him that I have a task for you two." His comm specifically didn't speak to Brian. He sent Alphus instead. Tim needed a little time to prepare before he sent them. He wasn't sure if Brian was familiar with The Troubadour or not, but he would need to be.


@The Regal Rper @Crono (Crono, you can PM me if you want some info on this individual.) 






It was midnight, but Hachiman - the blade - did not care. The very soul of the sword felt a force come into town. Something mystic. Something, much like itself, that had roots in the arcane. Not just any force, either. No, there was plenty magic afoot in Gotham that the blade couldn't sense. What it felt was enough to startle the blade. It was something that in the grand scheme of things was far above a soul bound to a blade. As if demanding to be wielding for its own protection, the blade itself screamed out to Benjamin. It was the first time he had held it that it cried out in pain since his duel with his master and then it required another blade of equal quality clashing against its steel. This was felt from across the city. This was entirely new.

Every magical entity on any respectable level was made aware that something entered the city. Even just those sensitive to the occult could feel it. This included the old Spirit of Craddock. The difference is Craddock knew what this force was. It was the Troubadour. An entity he had encountered in the past. At one point, he was a young man from Arizona that was elevated to a spiritual level beyond the shell of flesh he wore. The exact origins of his apotheosis were unknown, although some type of Native American Shamanism was speculated. No Shaman alive, however, had the power of the Troubadour. The wandering musician had resurrected the dead and manipulated souls themselves the last time Craddock saw him - and that was decades ago. He held no alliance, was completely unpredictable and was likely one of the last people Craddock wanted to know was around...



@Sopranos @Bone2pick





"Oh, Luke..." Ivy mused.

She was toying with an enormous pod beneath the luminescent glow of their underground shelter. Just what she was doing wasn't exactly clear. The gentle caress of her hand over the dark crimson petals of her dormant plant seemed to have no purpose other than comfort. Whether it was for her plant or her own sake was never clear. This was one of her many projects, however. The two used abandoned, underground tunnels from a collapsed portion of Gotham. It was destroyed decades ago by the Joker, but with time and the sheer strength of plants, she was able to move most of the rubble and break it down until she could reinforce the halls once more. From that point, she used her newest creation: a luminescent algae that created enough light to feed other plants. Nearby, she also had tanks full of mutated krill that consumed rapid amounts of oxygen, allowing all of her plants to feed off their carbon dioxide. Her entire underground lair was self-sustaining as long as the heat source above and water were constant. It was a marvel of bio-engineering in and of itself, but considering Ivy was supposed to be a Nurse Practitioner during the day, her night time botany never bode well.

"She is doing lovely, isn't she?" Ivy asked, waiting for her Thorn to appear. She had him tend to most of the plants during the day and do what he wanted at night. What more could someone his age ask for, right? Gotham was far more alive at night. Tonight, however, she asked him to be there for her.


@AceofRoses 

 

[The Regal Rper]

"Yes, Sir" Alphus responded. Pushing a button underneath his desk, Alphus watched as the terminal he'd been using shut off its projector, collapse into part of the desk and then shift and reform into a normal santos mahogany bureau. Rising from his seat, Alphus exited his room and made his way towards the parlor not too far away from his father's cellar. He'd asked Wilfred to make sure Brian was around that general area in case, Sir Tim had called for them both. It'd only take about a minute or two for him to reach them.


It wasn't long before Alphus descended one of the flights of bifurcated stairs and made his way towards the parlor ahead. When he reached the large pistachio doors, Alphus knocked once, waited a second, then entered. Wilfred greeted the young master with a smile.


@Crono @Sir Les Paul

 

[Crono]

Brian had taken a stroll of the immediate area of the large mansion after Tim and Alphus had disappeared, but not before he'd gone into the cellar and grabbed....well he wasn't sure exactly what he grabbed. But he knew it tasted sweet and harsh, and guessed it was some sort of vintage, he hadn't really looked at his options and instead just popped the first bottle he spotted. That being said he assumed that by it's taste it was some sort of bourbon, and half of the bottle was already gone by the time he heard Wilfred greet Alphus across the room. The winged man had been looking over one of the portraits on the wall before turning to look at the other two with a flushed smile on his face and holding up the bottle a little, "You know...your dad has some decent stuff down there, it's a crime to keep it all hidden away really."  


@The Regal Rper

 

[The Regal Rper]

A smile was all Brian received at the remark. It was really the only thing Alphus thought would be the best response at the mention of his father. "Thank you, Mr.--" he cleared his throat and tried again. "Thank you, Brian. I'm glad you're enjoying the wine." He replied, his solid facade switching for pleasant sincerity. "I'd be glad to ask Wilfred to bring you down here again, or if you wish you could ask him or any of the others yourself when we return. That is if it is alright with you?" He asked, his eyes turning to the elder.


"I'd be delighted. Young Brian is an absolute delight and if he ever needs to visit the cellar, all he need do is ask." Wilfred replied with a waggish smile. "Now then, Young Master", he said as he moved towards the exit. "I must be off, the Missus called not long after your departure from the kitchen. She has informed me, she will in fact be home by tomorrow morning and I have other duties to attend to. If you will excuse me", with a bow and formal nod in Brian's direction Wilfred was off.


Alphus turned his attention back to Brian only after, Wilfred was gone. "Well, Brian. We should be going, Sir Tim has called us and if you'll follow me I'll lead you to our destination."


@Crono

 

[Crono]

Brian knew why he'd asked Alphus to stop with the Mr. Brian, but if he was going to be honest...hearing the young man leave off the formality made it even more awkward. At this realization Brian's face had scrunched a little just before he took another swig from the bottle. "You're a bit of a hoot there yourself Wilfred." He'd told the butler before the older mans departure, lost on the irony in his choice of words. Then he'd followed after Alphus with a small grunt in regards to Tim calling them, "Of course he did." Though because he was buzzed and in that midway euphoric stage he was in a much better mood currently, that and he felt less like a corralled animal after the earlier deceptions. 


"If it really bothers you then keep the formality." He spoke as he followed Alphus through the large home, eventually entering the entertainment room where Tim was currently stationed. Brian looked over the electronic displays with a small amused head shake, "You rich guys and your toys." He let out a small belch followed by some indigestion causing a momentary flinch before it passed. "So what or who are we watching today?" He asked while strolling up to one of the monitors eyeing up the musician. "I hate western music." He noted with a smack of his tongue, crossing his arms over his chest bottle still in hand. 


@The Regal Rper @Sir Les Paul

 

[Sir Les Paul]

"We call him the Troubadour," Tim replied to Brian. He ignored the rest of the banter between Alphus and Brian and waited for Wilfred to leave. "If he had a name, it's long gone. We have recorded activity from him as far back as four decades and we have similar accounts of beings like him dating back to the eighteenth century and possibly beyond," Tim continued on, almost lecturing them. He was somewhat like a history instructor with his dull, monotonous tone. "If I had to gauge him, he would be Alpha-level, but he tends not to make himself a problem," Tim explained to them with a little more energy in his voice.


"To give you the long end of it, he is an incredibly powerful magical being. Fate once called him one of the strongest Shaman's he'd ever encountered and claimed the Earth itself was his source of power. He seems to be immortal, invulnerable to magic and I've seen him dust off a hit from Solomon Grundy personally," Tim continued his explanation, now fleshing out just what he could do. "He never shows up without a damn good reason, so if he's here, we need to know why. Troubadour isn't intrinsically a threat. What brings him here may potentially be. Last time he was in Gotham, he was here to eliminate a young boy from Syria that acted as a magical conduit from another universe. Even Bruce ceded to his proposal that simply eliminating the threat was the safest route, but trust me, there was a lot of destruction before they reached that point - mostly caused by us," Tim told them. These events would have occurred during Alphus' youth and Brian likely had heard of these exact events, but in different context. Often, when political figures or even members of the League tried to denounce Batman, they brought up his unneeded conflict with Troubadour and how his decision to defend a single, dangerous child resulted in millions of dollars of damage to Gotham only for him to admit defeat later. Adding even more fuel to the same argument, a similar conduit once destroyed a small town in South Dakota of consisting of roughly sixty-three thousand inhabitants with at least six thousand casualties; proving that eliminating the conduits was a sound decision. Brian may not have been able to easily piece the story together, but there was a firm chance he could remember vague familiarity in it. 


"All I want is for you two to engage him peacefully and find out what brings him to Gotham," Tim instructed them, "It shouldn't be dangerous, but there is no knowing why he is here. Magic is outside of my understanding."


@Crono @The Regal Rper

 

[Loony_Bin]

Freddy sighed as he listened to Marcel's final words on Ramirez, pinching the bridge of his nose and nodding his head, "Alright, okay, I see what you're getting at. Okay look, I've been looking at Ramirez for awhile now, but it's not as easy to get to him as you'd think, I was planning something for awhile but well, recent events stopped me from acting. But if what you're saying is genuine, and if you and your associates are as good as Bludhaven thinks you are, then I'll give you ONE chance. Fuck this up, do something I don't like, I'm out, got it? Good. Now listen, I have a contact in the GCPD, if there's only one good cop in there, it's him. I'll arrange a meeting with him for tonight and we can see what we gather about where Ramirez is going to be, when he's going to be there, and when he's going to be vulnerable. From there we can take a step back, look at our resources, and plan a course to take him out. Now get outta my kitchen, I'm hungry and you've used the good butter on your toast..."


@Sir Les Paul

 

[Sir Les Paul]

"Ramirez is a pawn," Marcel replied.


He then stood up and lifted his hands to tug on his collar, adjusting his jacket as he did. It was a short, double-breasted style, fairly popular in the six-button arrangement, and looked like it came right off the rack in some punk outlet store with its faux leather trim and intentionally stitched shoulders. Still, it passed as high casual. "Take out pawn and they will be replaced. We don't need the first Hispanic Commissioner to be made into a martyr," Marcel added before he turned to the door and began to approach it. He stopped, almost as if to add something, but he decided against it to simply open the door and leave the apartment. Marcel couldn't quickly create a witty reply that told Freddy his toast sucked that preserved his tact. So, with that last line, Marcel was gone. No contact information. No plan to meet. Just knowledge that Freddy was to arrange a meeting that night.


A few moments later, Marcel was on the streets again, long gone from the small apartment Freddy called home. He pulled a phone out of his pocket. It was trimmed in rubber and bulkier than most handsets out. There was a reason for it. It was military-grade equipment Marcel lifted off  BPD S.W.A.T. during their raid on 23rd precinct. Much like the one he had given Drake, the device was capable of sending encrypted messages masked as standard MMS. Drake received one fake text while secretly receiving the real message and vice versa. It was a far safer method of communication than anything they had before.





9:43 AM No1: We may have gotten a new partner. Ill be meeting him again tonight. Ur coming this time. How is your business? Do u need help? 





@LokiofSP @ChazGhost

 

[The Regal Rper]

"Understood." Was all Alphus said, once Tim had finished speaking. While the name Troubadour was vaguely familiar, aside from the information they'd just been provided Alphus couldn't recall too much. One or two incidents, yes. He vaguely recalled his father and mother once discussing about some incident of some sort and how this put a dent on some of there plans, but at the time he hadn't really been paying attention to their conversation. 


After a few seconds of thought, Alphus turned his gaze to the monitors. "I don't believe we'll need to 'suite up' for this, so I suppose we should leave immediately. Where exactly can we find him, Sir?" 


@Sir Les Paul @Crono

 

[Bone2pick]

Unrighteous Symphony


Triangled halogen work lamps cast a harsh pool of light into the center of the room. A smattering of folding chairs were arranged under the lights but only two men were seated.  The marina where the sit-down was being held was still under construction.  Tarps jostled over empty door frames courtesy of a row of open windows facing the ocean; the breeze carried the scent of the Atlantic with it.  Along with the smells of the sea in the room were the aromas of fresh drywall and spackling.  


Shadowy figures lurked near the edge of the light.  At the ocean side of the room half a dozen brutes in cargo pants and bulky jackets stood guard.  They were soldiers of The Thousand Eyes, a world-renowned criminal cartel who had recently taken root in Gotham.  And back in the rear of the unfinished room were four fellows outfitted in exquisite suits.  All of their faces were cloaked by rubber ghost masks—each one uniquely horrible in its appearance.  


"I presume you're the boss of this crew?"


The question came from Eli Murr, one of the seated men.  He had put on a pair of sunglasses despite the sun having set hours ago; the work lamps were overpowering.  His bushy Lebanese eyebrows furrowed when the masked man across from him shook his head.


"No, I'm merely his mortal hand.  But he's here with us now, listening."


Eli's eyes darted around in response and then his prominent lips sagged into a frown.  


"Well, ask him to come and join us.  It's impolite to haunt business meetings."


"I'm rarely polite."


The unseen voice could make a corpse shudder.  The guards at the front of the room stirred and scanned for the other-worldly speaker, but he was beyond their vision.  Eli rolled his shoulders to release tension—the reply had sounded as if it came from just over his left shoulder.  A single bead of sweat traced down his brow.


"And here I was told you were a gentleman?"


Ever so slowly the villain conjured into visibility beside his lieutenant.  Both of his gnarled hands strangled the top of his spectral cane while he stood over his seated company.


"Don't get fooled by my family name Mr. Murr—there's nothing gentle about me." 


The ghost lowered his bloodless rotting face into Eli's space and grinned wildly under his glowing monocle.


"But at least I look the part..."


Eli leaned away from the ghost and wiped his forehead dry with his fingers.  He nodded quickly and then cleared his throat,


"I heard all about the bank job, excellent work.  It's why I accepted your invitation to a sit-down"


The bent ghoul hissed with satisfaction through his yellowed teeth before pulling out of Eli's face.  Then he danced back to stand next to his lieutenant.  


"That was merely the first note of what will be my unrighteous symphony."


By the time he had finished his sentence the ghost had vanished again.  Eli was forced to continue speaking as if he was communing with The Almighty.


"I don't doubt that.  You've got the right gifts and a loyal crew.  But you must need our help for something?"


"Help?  Mr. Murr, do I look like I need anyone's help?"


The question couldn't have landed at a more absurd time—the Gentleman Ghost remained invisible. The only thing Eli could think to look into was the grim mask of the leering phantom across from him.


"I suppose not.  But then, what do you want from me?"


"I'm in the market for a fence—someone with connections and buyers outside the city."


Eli finally smiled and snapped his fingers.    


"Then you've come to the right guy.  Our organization has first-rate global connections, likely more than anyone else in Gotham."


The fresh smile died on Eli's lips as the villain shifted back into view right behind him.  Once again the guards at the front of the room grunted and pawed at their weapons.  The trouble was, none of them were confident their firearms would be effective if things took a bad turn.  Gentleman Ghost laid an icy hand down on Eli's shoulder and then cackled when the man recoiled.


"So I've heard.  And if that's true Eli, then you and I can make a fortune together."


[[OOC: Gentleman Ghost and the Phantoms establish a relationship with The Thousand Eyes cartel]]

 

[Loony_Bin]

Freddy let a breath out after Marcel left, he then proceeded to take out bread from the fridge and put two pieces into the toaster, throwing out Marcel's leftovers afterwards. He walked over to his computer then, opening it and sending a message as the Red Hood to his contact, James Gordon. No, not the one that helped Batman all those years ago, not the one who used to await the Caped Crusader and whatever ten year old boy he'd managed to fit into a pair of tights that week on a roof, this one was the fourth one. Freddy couldn't recall when it was they'd first met, but despite how Gordon felt about his methods, they both respected each other.


The message Freddy sent wasn't long, wasn't overly complicated, it simply said:


I need to talk to you, meet me at seven tonight, north-east end of Colgate Park. I'm bringing some friends along with me.


-RH


He logged out of the account and walked back to the kitchen, finishing putting together his sandwich by adding some turkey, lettuce, and of course, butter. He chewed on the sandwich for a few moments before it finally hit him.


"Crap, how is NoOne supposed to find the meeting place?"


@Archon

 

[Crono]

"Another immortal?" Brian's arms released and he scratched at his scruffy chin whilst eyeing Troubadour on the screen. Seemed like he learned about another immortal every so many years, of course the first to come to mind was his father Carter Hall. Well if there was one thing that could kill a buzz for him it was thinking of his father. Though immortality seemed to always have different circumstances and quirks. 


Brian did recall something about a big mess with Batman as a main part but if he was honest that wasn't uncommon, not that he ever paid too much attention. "So what he's some sort of harbinger of doom or death?" The man rolled his eyes, "Magic just gives me a headache, but if all we're doing is having a chat then it's all fine." Brian gave Tim a quick pat on the shoulder. "Consider the matter handled. We just tell him to kindly fuck right off, right?" A smirk spread on his face as he started walking out of the room, only kinda sorta half joking. Once outside he spread his wings for a quick stretch while he waited for Alphus to come out with the location of Mr....what was his name again?  


@The Regal Rper @Sir Les Paul

 

[ChazGhost]

"Sounds fun but you know I don't go in without details. It could get me killed." Drake said to Tom.


"Its simple, a small time horse races gambling house is is about a mile up the road disguised as regular flower shop. In the back is were they do the gambling and then further back is the boss room were a rare miss print Jimmy Carson base ball card is hidden in a desk. You just bring it back here and I'll give a thousand bucks as your share for the deal. Sounds good right?" Tom said writing down the street address and name of the building on a piece of paper. 


"Sounds simple enough. I'll be back soon" Drake taking the piece of paper and walking out of the room. Once Drake left the room Tom quickly picked up his cellphone and called the gambling den to warning them about Drake and to get rid of him.


A few mintues later Drake made to the outside of the flower shop hiding the gambling den. He headed down alley next to the building when he got the message from Marcel. He paused to send a message back saying "Cool. I'll come this time just send the time and location to me. And I'm just doing a small favor for a old friend of my. I should be fine." Then after sending it he went into his shadow and went on top of the roof. From there he looked around to look for any entrances into the building. He found a small hatch then he quickly went into and ended up in the attic. He began walking around it before he heard the sound of crunching and the floor fell from under him.


"Ok we need to prepare for that little shadow using moron to get here and once he tries coming in the front door we open fire" The boss of the gambling den said to about four others holding handguns.


"Ya boss we'll..." a grunt  said before the ceiling and Drake fell onto him. The thugs and Drake looked at each surprised for a second in silence.


"So you wouldn't haven to have a base ball card would you?" Drake asked as the thugs pointed there guns at him.


@Sir Les Paul

 

[The Regal Rper]

The engine of  Iron Hull, a cadet and blue grey cruiser of 27 feet length overall, hummed noisily through the waters of Gotham for several minutes before coming to slow and steady hum as Alphus reduced the power to their propellers and simply allowed the waters and speed they'd been going to guide them forward. There was a second of uninterrupted silence as Alphus slowly guided the boat towards a harbor, where one or two other boats had docked as well. After a few seconds passed, the young man began peering through the slightly murky atmosphere with squinted blue eyes, Alphus found the figure he'd been searching for. He pulled a flashlight out from below a compartment within the helm and left Brian behind as he moved up the bow and stopped on top of the upper deck, flashlight in hand. Light flickered once, in four quick paced consecutive intervals, before Alphus stopped and waited for almost a minute. He only moved towards the docks once his strange actions had been copied by the figure waiting for them at the docks.


Iron Hull came to a gentle stop at Dixon Dock, Alphus exited only after the boat had been moored. He and Brian both left the cockpit, and accompanied the bushy bearded brunette that bear-hugged the young business owner, the moment his feet touched wooden planks. The awkward smile was hard to miss on Alphus' face, but it passed soon enough when he began introducing the man he had signaled earlier, as Capt. Dixy, a former friend of his mother's back in Alphus' youth. However it wasn't reminiscing that the ship owner had come to talk about. He was here to maintain an eye over the Iron Hull till Alphus and Brian returned. After all it had been a gift from the captain himself on his 16th birthday. 


The captain parted ways once they'd made it close enough to Grand St. where a taxi carried the two the rest of the way to the park where Troubadour was located. With a tap on the shoulder and subtle nod, Alphus directed Brian's attention towards the auburn-redhead sitting among an audience of light posts, accompanied by the gentle strumming of guitar strings.


@Crono @Sir Les Paul

 

[Crono]

The boat ride had been a bit of a surprise, he'd expected to fly there while Alphus had driven. But when Alphus mentioned going by water Brian decided to tag along, he did enjoy the water even if he stayed away from it. Swimming with wings was more awkward than you'd think. So the man had taken this little cruising time to power nap in the small hull below whilst Alphus cruised along Gotham bay towards their target. When the engine died down and they'd neared the docks Brian woke and stuck his head back topside to see they'd arrived. After a slightly awkward interaction between Alphus and his friend who was to watch the boat while they were gone, followed by a taxi ride, they were in the park.


 Brian felt the tap from Alphus and saw the nod towards Troubadour but Brian's eagle eyes had already zeroed in on their mark from afar. "How do you want to approach this? What are your instincts telling you?" He'd asked before the two moved in. Fact was that he knew nothing of Alphus other than what Tim had blabbed on about, and Brian had blocked out half of that conversation if he was honest. Even so that didn't account for how Alphus reacted to situations, how he handled them, what he relied on, and what he was capable of. There's only so much information someone can attempt to give verbally, one has to see it and understand it to really get a feel for it. And for now that was what Brian was doing, getting a feel for Alphus because if they were to be working together in any sort of capacity he needed to know how Alphus ticked. Finding out what he was made of would likely come at a later date.


That being said if this had been a fight Brian would have already charged headlong in, probably. But this was probably as minor assignment as you can get which made it not only boring but a good time to judge Alphus a little. The younger man was of little words, and sometimes Brian found it a little....creepy, or off-putting. "I suspect he won't be happy to have us breaking up his little one man concert." 


@The Regal Rper @Sir Les Paul

 

[Sir Les Paul]

While Alphus was still answering Brian, Troubadour played his melody with a fair amount of jubilee to the people surrounding him. Music was an odd thing, if one thought about it. Vibrations of sound in the air at different frequencies, yet it could create art comparable or even superior to the masterful strokes of a painter. The difference inherently is that music was there one moment, then gone the next. Like a river, it was always changing; each strum a different sound. One could go deeper with the analogy; just as one could never touch the same water twice, the same air would never carry the same sound twice. At that point, however, the comparison became convoluted. That is what made music such an odd thought. The techniques of masters were complex and often convoluted when novices and amateurs could strum and pick from their heart and convey some amazing meaning. But, music wasn't what the two were really there for, was it?


With almost perfect timing, Troubadour looked to his crowd and muted his strings. The tune he was playing came to an abrupt end, and at the same time, the atmosphere that surrounded him changed. Maybe it was the power of music, maybe it was more, but the shift even from the distance Alphus and Brian were at was noticeable. "Now, I told you that I would have friends coming, they're here," the gentlemen said, just barely audible to the two, "I don't believe they would like to talk in front of a group, so I suppose this is the end of the show." It was odd again. He was like a shepherd to sheep, but there existed a key difference. It wasn't mind control of any kind; Brian had seen that before. These people were willing. Which was even more odd given the general rudeness Gothamites were known for. Of course, it was a little odd in general that he somehow knew the two were there and dispersed the crowd for them, but seeing his persuasive power over them was likely just as daunting. More so was that the previously mesmerized crowd followed his instruction; at least twenty people were part of his audience and they politely disassembled in just a minute or so, clearing the way to him.


As they did, the gentlemen known as Troubadour began to play an altered, but oddly familiar tune. The gentle strums of his guitar were slow and soft, enough to still be inviting. Not so much to Alphus, but more so to Brian. It was an old song. Immensely old, but it was such a classic that it was still played...

♪♪ Whiskey river, take my mind
​

Don't let her memory torture me
​

Whiskey river, don't run dry
​

You're all I've got, take care of me
​

 
​

I'm drowning in a whiskey river
​

Bathin' my memory in mind in the wetness of its soul
​

Feeling the amber current flowing from my mind
​

And leaving a heart you left so cold ♪♪
​

 
​

@Crono @The Regal Rper

 

[The Regal Rper]

To Brian's question, Alphus didn't respond. He heard it, yes, and meant no disrespect by not responding to it but assessing their situation first was key to understanding one's environment. This was an important moment- at least that was how it felt and if he wanted to prove to Brian (and Sir Tim by extension) that he could handle tougher situations than this in the future, he needed to make sure he could show them what he was capable of. So, Alphus remained silent as they crossed the crosswalk into the park's threshold, studying as much as he could as they leisurely moved forward. He only offered a response to Brian's final statement by gaining an amused smile at the comment.


A second later, his eyes focused on the crowd that had surrounded the mysterious musician. [COLOR= rgb(64, 224, 208)]Very well over eighteen, possibly twenty people[/COLOR] Alphus considered, once he'd counted. Nothing strange or irregular about that. Gotham had tons of street performers on its streets as far as he could recall, but no single performer had an audience that was this...peaceful. Most of the time an audience never stayed that long, some stayed for a few seconds, others a minute or two, others even conversing quietly throughout the performance, and considering this was Gotham Alphus expected some of this from some of these compatriots. Yet not a single one, seemed to even dare interrupt the pleasant atmosphere that Alphus could feel even from their distance.


The sudden cut of music wasn't lost on him either. Troubadour was a powerful entity after all, it didn't strike Alphus as odd that he was aware of their presence or even arrival so it wasn't much of a shock when the music suddenly died. What did slightly surprise him though were the Gothamites and their descent departure. As far as he knew, most (if not many) would be quite upset over having such pleasant tunes suddenly jerked away from them like that, in a warm atmosphere like this? He was a little surprised someone hadn't already started yelling for the music to be continued. None of that seemed to matter to these people though, they all just seemed so at ease and even thankful as they scattered. Alphus remained strictly silent as he watched the first three or four people begin to leave once a few seconds of silence had sailed by. It made him wonder if there was a chance that magic might be imbued in the song that their skilled musician had been playing.


It was a thought, not really something to probe at. This was just a meeting after all. Nothing more, nothing less. They were here to settle things peacefully and in a civilized manner. Something Alphus planned to do as he watched person after person begin to file away and reduce the audience in number, he noticed one or two children that had been a part of the crowd, now left with the brightest of smiles he rarely found the chance of seeing these days. For some strange reason, it made him rest his guard only slightly just as the sound of soft strumming and another song filled the air.


The park was empty now, save just him, Brian, and the patient musician before them. At least three minutes had passed since their arrival, and as far as Alphus could tell things would go smoothly if he approached it right. Taking a step forward, offering a genuine smile Alphus spoke, being mindful o the song that played.


"[COLOR= rgb(64, 224, 208)]It's been a long time since I've seen someone attract a crowd like this. Especially someone who could end a performance without somehow starting a brawl[/COLOR]" Another step forward. "[COLOR= rgb(64, 224, 208)]Gotham while full of talented people of all kinds, rarely gets someone who can capture its citizens attention so well as you did, I have to say it makes me feel[/COLOR]" a second of pause, "[COLOR= rgb(64, 224, 208)]good[/COLOR]." He said, his smile widening.  And as he'd said those words, Alphus had moved slowly closer towards the musician all the time.  "[COLOR= rgb(64, 224, 208)]I'm glad we could make it, Sir, I'm sure you may already know why we are here[/COLOR]?" with the question asked, Alphus took a seat by a nearby bench just adjacent to their host.


@Sir Les Paul @Crono

 

[Crono]

Brian let out a sigh when Alphus had proceeded to stay quiet rather than converse. It hadn't taken long for the pair to get made, with Troubadour dispersing his audience in such a quiet and simple manner that didn't feel right. Brian wasn't too surprised, if the guy was immortal he was going to know his stuff. Not to mention he'd been to Gotham and met Batman in the past, and here stood two men apart from the rest and one with wings. They weren't very subtle, not that they had tried or needed to be. What was surprising was the fact that he was stopping and greeting them, rather than ignoring their presence, and ridding them of the civilians.


And yet the musician started up once again with the music, and with that he and Alphus stepped closer. Brian stopping a foot or so further away than Alphus had with his arms crossed, letting the younger address Troubadour first. The older man looked rather annoyed or bored, though that was just typical for him, and while he felt he understood the importance of this mission that didn't stop him from wanting to get to the point and get it over with. He'd also not expected Alphus to actually like the immortal, and after Alphus asked his question Brian bluntly added on. "Why exactly are you in Gotham? And can you leave, preferably now rather than later." Brian paused for a moment, "I could say please if that helps." Fact was that if this Troubadour already assumed why they were there, and it did look that way, then there was no point in beating around the bush in Brian's eyes.


@Sir Les Paul @The Regal Rper

 

[Archon]

James Gordon 
​

 
​

"Look, I don't care what Ramirez says, this city is being swallowed by chaos! all around us corruption and crime runs rampant and the GCPD do not have anything "under control"! Things are worse than they've been in years, Vigilantes are running riot, these new "Shadows of Bludhaven" don't paint a good image of our efficiency and do I need to talk about the Jokerz?! These guys should have been put out of business years ago but our Commissioner is doing nothing about it! He needs to be replaced, soon." With a massively irritated sigh the Lieutenant collapsed onto his desk, receiving some frightful looks from the other Officers nearby. His dislike for the Commissioner was very well known, but the fact of the matter was he couldn't be fired because the officers in the building were more loyal to him than Ramirez. Collapsing his face into his hands, Gordon let out a heavy breath which had elements of a growl mixed in; he was getting impatient, watching the city grow deeper into a pit whilst he was powerless to stop it whilst Ramirez was in-charge.


Just then, his phone let out a rumbling vibration; it was a message, from Ron Howards.... The ironic timing of the message was not lost on him, "Somethings come up, I'm going to need to head-out early today, Harry, could I ask you to cover for me? I'll take your next shift." The Officer, Harry Stringer, gave an enthusiastic nod. "Taking time off isn't like you James, sure. I owe you this one for free. For last month." 


"Thanks buddy." Gordon gave a grateful nod, patting his friend on the back before donning a large raincoat and a particularly oversized fedora. With casual pace, the Lieutenant left the GCPD Headquarters, taking multiple trips around random blocks and streets. His eyes always scanning the rooftops and windows for signs of any pursuers; this was his daily routine, it paid to be careful. Whipping out his phone, he decided it was safe to send a message without prying, curious eyes scrutinising his actions. 


'I'll meet you there, you're buying though.'


@LokiofSP

 

[Sir Les Paul]

"One of you," he said, "beats around the bush while the other flies straight as a bullet." He was obviously contrasting their different approaches to him. As he did, he gently muted his strings, cutting off the final chorus of his song. It was also that moment both Alphus and Brian would be subjected to the odd sensations in the air around him. It was almost thicker. Denser. Like wetless water, and the sound from his guitar was all that flowed through it freely. Once it came to an abrupt end, the stillness and weight around them became more evident. It wasn't some incredible shift, but it was noticeable. As with most things that these two had already seen from Troubadour, it wasn't off-putting or malicious, just there in some mystifying way. "You really should work on that," he criticized them, "a unified front is always a stronger one." Any other person in the world that would have pointed out their very first flaw as partners without even introducing themselves would have came off rude. Even Tim. This gentlemen, however, spoke as if his only intent was to help.


"I knew you would be here, yes," he then answered the comment Alphus made about him knowing why they were there, "but, before we move on, there are words you need to hear." His phrasing was odd. While he acknowledged that he knew they could come, he also alluded to this conversation already amounting to more than Tim said it would. More than Tim thought it would. "First, let us rid ourselves of unwanted ears," he said and as he did so, simply ran his thumb over the top E string of his guitar. The two could almost feel the specific frequency of the string as its vibration shot out from the guitar and slowly through the odd field they were in. In the following moment, a slight buzz from their communicators to Tim was heard before silence. "I do not know your names, to be honest. Names get lost in translation," he told them, "but they aren't necessary."


In the next moment, Troubadour split the two up, but not in a way either of them expected. A quick strum of all his open strings shot out a powerful blast, but not at Alphus. At Brian. To Alphus, all he heard was open strings. Brian, however, was boldly knocked on his ass. Well, in a way. Troubadour did not physically harm Brian, but instead, ripped his soul from his body. The world around him was now an ambient shade of blue. It had no warmth, yet no cold. Events around them slowed considerably. Oddest of all, Brian didn't feel his body nor his urges. He didn't feel his body yearning for the slow burn of alcohol or the bruises from the old fights. He didn't feel the light breeze through his wings. In this moment, Troubadour and Alphus seemed partially frozen in time as they spoke while Brian was now on the ground in a transparent, almost aquatic version of himself while Troubadour literally stepped out of his body to meet him. "While I give your friend a life lesson, pal, I'll speak to you here. Waste less of your precious time. This is one of many Astral Planes, but I brought you here for more than a chat," he told him. Then it became clear. Once Troubadour began speaking, Brian could see his life - the life of an immortal - begin to unfold. It was haphazard and random. Reading a soul took skill, otherwise it was just a random amalgamation of events. Regardless, Brian could see some of what the Troubadour had seen...

...the souls of the damned consuming others to sustain themselves...
​

 
​

...violent fathers beating their wives and children to death, only to create horrors that sought vengeance...
​

 
​

...the broken mirrors that only showed shattered souls...
​

 
​

...the black wolf that represented the evil in man's heart being fed and fattened...
​

 
​

...he saw countless hours of sitting on a purple bed sheet practicing song after song...
​

 
​

...he saw the melody deep inside the heart of Troubadour and how it was warm without touch...
​

 
​

...he saw the very soul of another human being, if only in small parts.
​

 
​

Meanwhile, Troubadour was still discussing things with Alphus. "While he does lack some delightful tact, friend, he is one thing: real. While every word you wasted on me was pleasant, they were fake. Meaningless pleasantries are not real communication," he explained to Alphus. It was odd for him to still be criticizing him, especially given the intrinsic difference in his approach to Alphus as he did Brian, "but I have seen enough to know. You may do well and learn from your mentors, but you have to be true. You have to find yourself... and it appears to me that you're still lost. Maybe even more so than your friend there," he added.


@The Regal Rper @Crono