Gotham

[The Regal Rper]

A blink. Then another. That was the only response Alphus could give the entity in front of him. His expression had long lost the smile it had once bore, switching to neutral once he felt the shift in their environment and found his prediction of their communicators, coming true. Now it was just a blank stare. His posture still had that interested air, his face was still neutral, but his eyes just... stared ahead, not even on Troubadour. Like he was thinking. While the advice he'd received earlier may have been blunt, it was necessary and at the same time a bit unnecessary. At least that's how he logically received it. Alphus was well aware that he and Brian had different approaches to different situations; The latter being blunt, the former being a bit more delicate. He also took into account that perhaps they weren't a complete unit, but that was to be expected right? They'd only just begun working together and neither knew the other that well, so it was to be expected. Right?


Right.


But still, Alphus found he couldn't respond. All he could do was just stare. It wasn't like him to stay silent for more than a few seconds. [COLOR= rgb(64, 224, 208)]This wasn't natural[/COLOR], he'd felt a part of himself say. Then again considering where they were, that was a given. Troubadour's statement however didn't make him feel anymore comfortable. Which was exactly the problem; prolonged silence was never a good sign, but neither were immediate replies either.  And yet he found he could do neither. He couldn't adapt, like he was used to. He just... froze. He wasn't sure where to start or even to begin, with questions.


[COLOR= rgb(64, 224, 208)]Meaningless pleasantries?[/COLOR] Was the first thing that came to mind after several seconds of numbness. Was he not being sincere enough when he'd spoken? Maybe it was his tone of voice or how he'd said it? Sure a part of that hadn't been entirely sincere, being a business owner meant you had to fake pleasantries sometimes even if it meant putting on a show for the public, but he had meant some of those words. There was no farce when he'd said he was glad to see that for once, the mood he saw Gothamites leaving in hadn't been unfriendly or so austere. 


So, what was it? What made him for lack of a better word 'choke'. Alphus moved his eyes over to Brian who was just standing there. Still aware, but unmoving. Looking at his winged companion seemed to remove the blanket of shock that had covered the younger, enough for him to begin thinking clearly again. After taking a minute then coming to the conclusion that Troubadour had something to do with Brian's static state he turned his attention back to the musician. Swallowing nothing, Alphus took his time to find his voice before he spoke again. A small part of him was disappointed he couldn't have handled this better. "[COLOR= rgb(64, 224, 208)]What do you mean: 'I have to find myself' and that 'I am lost'?[/COLOR]"  There was a shift, as he readjusted himself. "[COLOR= rgb(64, 224, 208)]Surely, you're not saying that I depend on others to find meaning[/COLOR]?" he asked with a slightly raised brow.


@Sir Les Paul @Crono

 

[ChazGhost]

Sense he had his thugs around Drake with guns pointed straight at him their smirked and began to glote. "Well well look who we got here boys, the theif turned "hero', NeoShade. According to Tom your one of those viglites who turned Bludhaven on it's head. Well in Gotham that won't be that easy. But moving on, early today a couple of my guy said they were ruffed up by a guy using his shadow. And srnse your the only shadow user or whatever in Gotham that I heard of we'll be paying you back for that." The boss said boring Drake greatly.


"So is that it or are you going to keep talking?" Drake said mockingly. One of the thugs then tryed to stomp on Drake but Drake went into his shadow and a momment later appeared behind the boss with a smirk. "Lets make this quick, I have a former friend to pay back"  Drake said before kicking the boss into his men. With the thugs momentary distracted witj catching there boss Drake turned his dhadow into a ball and started bouncing it on the floor. It kept moving faster and faster and begand bounce all around the room. One of thugs was about to shoot when the ball hit straight in the head and became as heavy as boeling ball, knocking the man out cold. Moments later the same thing happend to everyone else, except Drake. With the thugs passed out on the door Drake looted all the money he could see and left the way he came.


About a half an hour later Drake entered the his former friends pawn shop. He used his shadow to spike the cashiers foot before he could grab his gun and then had his shadow slam into his head to knock him out. He enter the back room shortly afterwards and delt with his former friend. It was a good thing that walls were thick and almost sound proof...

 

[Loony_Bin]

Freddy stood next to a tree just off the path of the north east end of Colgate Park, just down the street from GCPD headquarters. In his left hand he held a bag, in it contained about four hot dogs, most, if not all, were for Gordon. He had a backpack on his back, which contained his actual Hood, along with weapons and ammunition. He had on his Red Hood costume underneath a hoodie, which he had up with the drawstrings drawn tightly, trying his best to not look like a costumed vigilante just standing in the middle of a park. He shifted on his feet, the park didn't have many left at this time due to the cold, occasionally he'd see a couple or family walk by, going home after a day walking through the leaves. People who spotted him typically began  to walk just a bit faster, it was after about the fifth time that he realized he probably looked like some kind of a drug dealer, with the hoodie, the plastic bag at his side, along with the backpack on his back.


He cracked a very small smile at the irony of the thought.


It was at this time that he pulled out his phone, checking the time, "6:56, and none of the people I'm supposed to meet are here yet, great..." He decided at that moment he'd wait for another 40 minutes at most before leaving the park...


@Archon @ChazGhost @Sir Les Paul

 

[Archon]

James Gordon 
​

 
​

Even so close to the GCPD, the tension in Gotham's very atmosphere was suffocating. Every shadow, every dark alley, every open window, everything portrayed a sense of urgency, as if promising danger - it was the unfortunately sad truth of this city - it was a warzone, it always has been. But by now, it was the norm for the citizens who resided here. The looming threat of constant danger is all they know, what they all want to change; yet nobody dares try. Times have changed since the Caped Crusader, Bruce Wayne acted as the Shield of Gotham; but the city has remained the same, for all his efforts his legacy was nothing more than a failed attempt at changing the city for the better. From a perspective within the Law, James knew the Law for Gotham was simply not enough. Gotham was a cesspool of crime, and not just "normal" crime. These were the type of criminals that were far more bloodthirsty and ferocious than anyone has a right to be. 


The only way to deal with a rabid dog is to put it down. 


That had never been clear, if Batman and Gordon failed to save the city through working within the law then either more people needed to work independently of it, or the law needed to change. Right now, as a Lieutenant all James could do was take the second option. Working with the Red Hood, it could ruin him; it could be considered treason, it goes against the tradition of what the GCPD stands for; the Law. But the methods of past ages have been nothing but failures, change was needed. Harsher methods were a necessary evil. The Police Force needed to match the brutality of Gotham's crimewaves with equal force. The Police needed to be respected and  feared again, or this city would devour itself.


"Lookin' classy, Ron." James poked amusingly at the undercover vigilante. His appearance made him look more like the average Gothamite criminal, which was the source of the Officer's amusement.  "Those for me?" It was only a formal question, of course they were. The Lieutenant had a particular sweet spot for hotdogs - alas so many meant that whatever the Red Hood had to share, was probably going to make James' day considerably worse. Without further distraction the Officer took a seat beside the hooded vigilante, incredibly apprehensive towards the supposed "friends" they were waiting on. "So anything you can tell me about these new 'friends' of yours?"


@LokiofSP @Sir Les Paul @ChazGhost

 

[Sir Les Paul]

James Gordon. The fourth, to be precise. This was the contact Fredrick Todd spoke about? His person inside the GCPD was the great-grandson of the commissioner that let the original bat run loose? A little part of Marcel was disgusted at the thought. The original Gordon was partially responsible for all of the irresponsibility of Bruce Wayne. The original Gordon was a reluctant enabler. His son and their legacy after him were far from ideal citizens, so even the prolific James Gordon didn't exactly have a strong line following him. In fact, it was part of the Gordon line that Marcel and Drake brought down in Bludhaven. A pair of cousins working inside and outside their rotten little precinct to keep a club and all of its criminal activities afloat. 'Til the Shadows of Bludhaven brought it crashing down, of course. Yes, Marcel was a little disgusted. In his eyes, Gordon wasn't significantly better than Ramirez. He broke rules and protocol throughout his career and was applauded for it. But, at the same time, Marcel found some slight comfort in this. The entire Gordon line was questionable and arguably a little unhinged. The Shadows needed an in and James Gordon the Fourth might just be the perfect, albeit ironic, entryway.


"Shadows to the left, Drake," Marcel whispered to his companion from their perch above the two. Both of them sat in a closed window using the shadows Drake could summon as a cover to keep them out of sight. 


Meanwhile, Marcel used his teleportation to silently shift from their perch to a fire escape on the right hand side of the street. Given the quantum nature of his ability, there wasn't an ounce of friction made. His ability itself would remain secret to all but Drake - a key factor in his personal portrayal. Prior to this, Marcel had explained to Drake that the less anyone knew about them, the better. While Drake controlled shadows, the extent of his control was unknown to all but Drake and Marcel due to his sight of the records. Marcel was still a ghost; only Drake knew about his teleportation or absurd ability to shift disguises. These secrets were assets he wanted to keep. "Not before I interrupt," Marcel said, breaking his silence. He then hopped over the two-story high fire escape, grabbing onto it once last time before he fell to slow his descent. He hit the ground without making much ruckus due to the dampened force and his bodily positioning. One could tell he had some form of training.


"Ron," Marcel said mockingly, "rarely says anything nice about his friends." Marcel introduced himself as one of the 'friends' Freddy had told James about while simultaneously showing some amount of humor. Not the best nor was it precisely ha ha funny; more along the lines of a mild joke told at some school reunion. Of course, the fact that a man just made a two story leap onto the ground with apparent ease in addition to doing it without alerting the streets around them put his minute humor at a bout of odd timing. Around this time, he expected Drake to show up out of some inky blackness, so he waited. He had the same face as he did in Freddy's apartment; just some random passerby from the street earlier that morning. He felt it would be disadvantageous to ditch the face since it was the only thing Freddy knew him by. In regards to clothing, though, Marcel was wearing a slightly different outfit. Leather blazer over a button down with faded jeans. It was literally just a handful of stolen articles of clothing picked up a few hours ago in some second-hand thrift store that came out to be decent. He didn't look quite as thug as Ron, but he certainly seemed like someone who would buy a dimebag. Good enough.


@ChazGhost @LokiofSP @Archon

 

[Crono]

Brian wasn't a big fan of being told that they needed to work on their approach, even if he wasn't wrong. The two worked in different ways, and if they'd really needed to then only one of them would have actually approached Troubadour while the other waited somewhere in the vicinity out of sight. But they hadn't done that, so it wasn't exactly a surprise in the end that they weren't a unified front, especially since they'd only just met. Brian simply rolled his eyes at the all knowing attitude the guy was giving off, immortal and magically based beings always seemed to do so. He resented talk of destiny or fate, and fought against it, yet here was this man saying in a way that this was supposed to happen by knowing that it would. Then he was using the guitar again and before Brian could spout a word he felt the atmosphere change a little, followed by another flick of strings and suddenly Brian was no longer standing.


Brian started to clamber back to his feet angrily, "You sonuva--" His voice cut off the moment he realized that something was wrong, or more like nothing was right. For once in a very long time did he not want a drink, did he not want to block out the rest of the world. There was a distinct lack of...well anything, his senses were all sorts of confused at what was going on. And then he saw his body standing in front of him, and for a moment he pondered if he was dead. When Troubadour seemed to split into two Brian almost expected a fight, until the man started speaking. The visions presented themselves to him through the eyes of the man who was doing this, one by one. Brian saw just about every emotion in the spectrum through the quickened cracks of the immortals lifetime, then it stopped and the mans eyes were his own once again. His voice was one of disbelief or confusion, "Why show me this?"


Troubadour had an agenda, and the upper hand, because if Brian had to guess they were intangible and even if he swung nothing would happen. Except maybe getting left in this plane of existence, the immortal was his only sure ticket out of here afterall. Brian moved to walk around Alphus, stare him dead in the face and resist the urge to try and prod him in eyeball, instead he kept moving in a circle eyeing his own body as well as Troubadours. "The last thing I want is to be in some immortal guys head." Though it was hardly that, it had been more of a cracked window into his life.


@The Regal Rper @Sir Les Paul

 

[Sir Les Paul]

"You misunderstand, Brian," he replied. Just a moment ago, Troubadour told them that he did not know their names, yet there he was spouting it off - with a particular emphasis on it. It was odd and contradictory, but given that Brian had just seen much of the life of the immortal unfold, something as trivial as his name likely wasn't a concern. Ultimately, it wouldn't matter much anyway; his next response would explain it: "Just as you can read my soul, I can read yours here. You see, I only see slight glimpses of what could happen. Honestly, it's quite bothersome. Imagine randomly receiving visions of specific events that could or could not happen - or even might happen with some small change. I believe you would hate it. Inconsistent, unreliable, no real use in combat or life, no real control over it either... but, it's what I have to work with. The point is, I didn't know you or your friend there, so I took the shortcut and read your soul. It doesn't tell me your entire life history, but it does give me an idea of the type of person you are. But, like I said, in this astral plane, such does not come without a cost. You saw my life unfold some, I'm sure. Without training, it was probably absolutely random, maybe horrifying, maybe dull. Anyway, enough of that; aside from probably being irritated I would so quickly invade your privacy, you likely don't care about anything I just said. Eh, you might agree that the visions are annoying. You're a hard man to predict in some ways."


"I'll answer your question once I'm done with your friend so I don't have to repeat myself," he told him, "and don't worry, unless you look me in the eyes, you won't have to worry about seeing reading my soul again."


"You're an interesting soul, Brian. You have a great capacity for good, but there is evil inside of you... not from that huge scar on your soul, either. I saw what happened at Alcatraz; that left scars on the world. You have something deeper than that. I couldn't figure out if it was resentment, insecurity or genuine disdain... but it leaves to ask: why do you hate your father, Brian?" Troubadour asked him in a very direct manner. This was only hit harder by his explanation of what he saw inside of Brian. Some annoying balance of good an evil and a scar that almost anyone with a case file could figure out the metaphor for. This was a little more personal.

Meanwhile...
​

"You would be right," Troubadour replied to Alphus, "I don't mean you rely on others."

"Right this very second, I am reading through his soul. I had to take him to a whole different plane because of how complex he is. I don't need to do that for you, although I could potentially see more if I did. Just by looking in your eyes, I know that you are... like a larvae. You have not matured. You have enough fuel and ambition to become something greater, but you simply haven't yet. I have seen countless souls... yours has everything it needs to become more, but it lacks that first spark. Which I find odd because it appears you have went through tragedy and loss. You have changed, haven't you? Maybe I should look into your soul, too..."

Troubadour was almost depreciating Alphus. Something about his tone made it feel like he was speaking to him like a child. And, oddly enough, it didn't feel at all like it was because he was an immortal. It felt more like the early days with Tim; it felt like the type of disappointment someone would never admit, but one knew was still there. What was even more odd was that this man actually was an immortal and was talking about these abstract ideas like souls, sparks, ambition, and meant it all. This was real. This wasn't science, deduction or paperwork. This was entirely outside of anything Alphus had ever been prepared for. 


"Maybe the problem is what I mean by real... you may mean what you say, but how can you mean anything if you don't know yourself? Everyone changes constantly, but at our core, we are who we are and it takes immense force to change that. Love, loss, something. If I ask who you are, could you tell me more than your name? Your family?" he finally asked, somewhat rewording what he meant and in a way it shed more light on his intent. There was a clear and almost appreciable effort to clarify his somewhat cryptic wordplay.


@Crono @The Regal Rper

 

[Loony_Bin]

Freddy turned around to face Gordon, as the Lieutenant sat down, Freddy gave him the bag, but still didn't sit down, opting to instead lean on the tree, "Here you go, I couldn't remember how you liked 'em, so I just put everything on it. Ketchup, mustard, onions, relish, the whole nine yards..." Though Freddy wasn't typically the one to have a friendly relationship, Gordon was different. Although he wasn't about to go out  of his way to make time to spend time with the man casually, he respected Gordon, and the fact of the matter was that working with Freddy wasn't easy, nor was it something that would be looked at well, so the least he could do in return was make sure when he and Gordon did meet, the Lieutenant was somewhat comfortable. As an added bonus though, the more comfortable a person was, the more likely they were to give somebody more information, something that was always good to have.


"So anything you can tell me about these new 'friends' of yours?"


Freddy shrugged at this question, "Wel-"


"Ron,"[COLOR= rgb(152, 157, 160)] [/COLOR]Marcel said mockingly, "rarely says anything nice about his friends."


Freddy turned to look at Marcel, "Well speak of the devil. This is NoOne, and he's one of the 'friends' I spoke of earlier. From what we've talked about, we all have similar views regarding Ramirez, and well, to put it simply, we're gonna take him out." Fredrick said this simply, to some his bluntness might be off putting, especially given how he spoke of it as if it was just something to do, as boring and dull as showering or picking up the news, "So that's why I called this meeting, we need info on where Ramirez is going to be, when he's going to be there, and how protected he's going to be. Simply put, we need to know when he's at his most vulnerable."


  @Archon @Sir Les Paul @ChazGhost

 

[The Regal Rper]

Twice. A second time where the immortal had managed to find his target and make the mark. And a second time where Alphus found himself uncontrollably freeze at what had been said.


Being spoken to in somewhat belittling mannerism wasn't appreciated. That was certain. It brought back memories. Memories he'd long moved past and felt he no longer needed to waste time and energy on. Training and diligent learning had seen to that. The tone and the way it had been spoken however, told Alphus this wasn't mockery, this was scrutiny. Observation. That alone seemed to make him question himself yet again. Something he hadn't done in what felt like many, many years. The very suggestion that he hadn't changed, that he hadn't grown up in these past three almost to four years- that he was still that ignorant child that was oblivious to everything, yet curious of everything, wanted to know more but was willing to sit back and let everyone else handle everything it... it was almost insulting.


And it showed. For a fraction of a second, Alphus' shoulders clearly tensed and to a common passer it would look like he'd just received a sudden shock, but to the immortal it was a clear sign that that metal wall Alphus had constructed around himself was finally beginning to weaken. It was the first sign he'd actually shown at all, that something had actually gotten through to him on a personal level. Which in all honesty- even surprised Alphus, himself.


In many ways Alphus found he didn't like that. He found he didn't like it at all. Sadly it only proved Troubadour's point. Of course he had changed. Of course he had grown. Of course he had a spark. Of course he knew who he was, what he wanted. What he'd do after he'd achieved it.  Of course he did... Right? he found himself asking. But since this was in his own head, there was no response quick enough that he found he could have made to his own question that would have been even remotely appealing.


Alphus sat there for a full minute. Saying absolutely nothing. That single tone brought back so many memories, that last question made him feel things that he felt had no place being here and was not but a immense waste of his mental capacity. He needed a distraction. Something to lead him astray, so his eyes settled on Brian's unmoving form.  [COLOR= rgb(64, 224, 208)]Just what was he going through in there? Wherever they were. Was he having better luck?[/COLOR] Better yet, Troubadour said Brian was more complex than he, did that mean he was lacking? If so, how? What was Troubadour trying to imply in that question?

"If I ask who you are, could you tell me more than your name? Your family?"
​

 
​

Almost 30 seconds had went by and Alphus still hadn't given the musician an answer. The question weighed on his mind like an anvil weighed on a wagon as time ticked on and that half mark came to a full round minute. Finally Alphus turned his visage back to the immortal and just studied the being for a minute as if trying to see if this was some sort of test. If this really was 'real'. When he was done. He sighed lightly and leaned back into the bench, giving the guitarist the best answer he could form.


"[COLOR= rgb(64, 224, 208)]I... do not know if I could, even with all the patience you've given me[/COLOR]." He said almost morosely. "[COLOR= rgb(64, 224, 208)]It's never been something I allow myself to dwell on much when there is work to be done-- that has to be done, [/COLOR][COLOR= rgb(64, 224, 208)]if I am to be truthful, and I doubt it will be for a while[/COLOR]." Then his tone withdrew into slight severity. "[COLOR= rgb(64, 224, 208)]My name however, I can assure you is no longer Durn, but Bartimuer. That is something I am sure of. And as far as I am aware, my current existence is based on fixing errors, and assuring proper justice is served when it is due. What more can I tell you?[/COLOR]"


@Sir Les Paul @Crono

 

[ChazGhost]

I Wonder how I should make my entrance.... Poping out of my shadow is good but not cool or surpsing as I want... Maybe if I had it on a tree branch I can jump out of it and stick a nice landing... No thats a little to... Were did NoOne go... And he already down there... Well better late then never... Drake thought to himself in his hiding spot until he noticed Marcel was already down there talking to there new friends. Drake then sighed and decide to go with his first idea. He went into his shadow and moved to infront of everyone and popped out of it. 


"Hello gentlemen. Drake Swift at your service or NeoShade as prefer to be called during this kind of work." Drake said giving a gentlemenly bow. Drake decide to give his real name for two reasons. One it shiws he trust them and inturn they might trust him back. Second he doesn't really care if he's know to be NeoShade or not and really doesn't try to hide it.


@Sir Les Paul @LokiofSP @Archon

 

[Bone2pick]

Recycling 


The armored front doors of the transport clapped shut when a pair of Tyger Security guards climbed out.  Posted along the front and rear of their vehicle were two squad cars of the city's finest - Gotham City Police Department.  As the guards circled behind their transport the regular sounds of the district's morning bustle was there to greet them.  They had arrived eleven minutes ahead of schedule.  


After an obligatory wave to the onlooking GCPD the supervising guard negotiated the digital hold lock.  To his right, the second guard knelt beside the transport's rear bumper and pulled a folding cart free that was stashed underneath.  He had the cart ready and waiting by the time the transport's hold door slid open along its track.  
 
Secured inside the hold was a chest swaddled in ocean blue silk.  At the supervisor's order both guards fished out sealed plastic bags from their vest pockets, and then carefully tore the bags open to reveal fresh handling gloves.  All precautions were to be taken to protect the artifacts.  The chest—carved from whalebone and jacketed in sharkskin—was a treasure itself, but its contents were even more precious.  It encased ten coins.  Ten gold, ancient, and legendary coins from Earth's only sunken civilization - Atlantis.


The Atlantean treasures were originally unveiled at the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History, but a deal was reached to move the coins here—the Gotham Museum of Antiquities.  A party, in honor of the city's extraordinary exhibit, was scheduled at the museum this Friday evening.  It was an exciting time for Gotham's history lovers.


Together the guards scooped the chest and its silk wrappings out of the hold and lowered it like a newborn babe onto the waiting cart.  Then the supervisor, by speaking into his headpiece, informed the museum's staff the delivery was on its way.  That's when everyone noticed the growing roar of a massive diesel engine.



From an adjacent backstreet a recycling truck lumbered into the museum's loading bay lot.  It was a giant pale monstrosity, identical to every other waste vehicle that pulled rounds around Gotham.  But this truck was off its route, and clearly so, because the museum's recycling bins weren't located at this end of the building.  The Tyger Security supervisor, intolerant of out of the ordinary events, began barking into his headpiece to the museum's staff.  Meanwhile a GCPD officer jumped out of his cruiser to shout at the truck to exit the lot.  That's when the supervising guard collapsed.


At the time it was unexplainable, the man just lurched and keeled over as if he'd been smashed in the face.  But there was no one there to blame.  There was no evidence to get answers from near his unconscious body.  During those moments of confusion blood leaked from his broken nose and mixed in with puddles from last night's rain.  Eventually another police officer (from the rear patrol car) darted out of his cruiser to aid the bloodied supervisor, but he too was mysteriously struck down.  Could an invisible enemy be among them? Things took a worse turn when the recycling truck groaned, shifted into gear, and then barreled towards the front squad car.   


There was no stopping twenty three tons of angry machine.  The lone standing GCPD officer was forced to leap out of the truck's way to save himself, only to watch in horror as it pinned his cruiser between itself and the loading bay wall.  As the officer fumbled for his firearm an unnoticed yellow taxi raced into the lot from the backstreet.  Doors from the intruding vehicle swung open and masked armed men deployed.  Two of the phantoms wielded machine pistols, and they sprayed their weapons at anyone who dared stand their ground.  A third phantom brandished a wicked long rifle—a drum fed AK47—and he perched himself over the hood of the taxi.  


The buzz of automatic rifle fire might as well have been victory horns for the villains.  What little resistance remained had lost their appetite for battle.  The poor second guard had been the final victim of Gentleman Ghost, his throat badly bruised from a brutal cane choke.  Finally the mastermind appeared—grinning madly and gnashing his teeth—in front of the cart keeping the Atlantean chest.  After a devilish laugh he snatched up the treasure and then handed it off to one of his crew.  The phantoms then piled into their taxi and sped off while their boss dissolved into the morning air.


Later, when the detectives sifted through the crime scene, they found a message written inside the hopper of the recycling truck: I WILL GIVE THEM NIGHTMARES.


[[OOC: GG & the Phantoms steal twenty plus million dollars worth of Atlantean coins]]

 

[Crono]

With his back to the other man Brian's palms clenched into fists as Troubadour revealed that he'd seen into Brian's past, then prodded him about being irritated about his privacy and he was damn right. One thing that Brian was aware of was how curious the man had been when it came to the two of them, his interest was confusing, not to mention he loved to hear himself talk. Still talking right? Yup, still talking. Though he had caught the part about not looking into the immortals eyes so that he wouldn't get the flashes again, which meant he might be able to keep the man out of his own head with that same tip. But it wasn't until the final question that came about mentioning his father that he acted on his emotions and instinct, an image of his fathers face flashed in his mind causing his teeth to grind.


"Good to know!" Came a shout, and closing his eyes he turned quickly to his right with his left arm arcing wide. While a moment ago he'd suspected they wouldn't be able to make physical contact it hadn't stopped him from putting everything he had into the punch, both physically and emotionally because in the off chance he was wrong he wanted it to hurt. The attempt was both precise and sloppy at the same time, muscle memory helped but nothing can prevent deterioration of one's body over time with no attempts to prevent it. Though when Brian's body kept lurching forwards through the space where he'd gauged the immortals... well his second form to be standing Brian started to stumble and finally opened his eyes as the man landed on all fours. A quick frustrated growl escaped him having phased through and fallen even if he'd expected it, "You were just inside my head so shouldn't you know!? You just have me all figured out don't you?" The man pushed himself up to stand.


"You immortals are all the same, because you have endless years of experience you feel that you can justify just about anything you do. Like the kid you killed the last time you were  here in Gotham. That somehow you are in the right because you can see the big picture, spanning over decades. But just like us lowly mortals have knack for not seeing the big picture you immortals seem to have a problem seeing the small picture." With that he straightened his back and turned to face Troubadours form, but closing his eyes before he'd gotten anywhere close to looking at the other mans face. 


@Sir Les Paul @The Regal Rper

 

[Sir Les Paul]

"I can feel them," he said, returning to his cryptic tone.


"Your desires," he explained, now bridging his mystery into an odd twilight of eerie.


"You want to know the answer to everything I asked," he continued on, "and just hearing the question was enough to make you realize just how little you know. That is a beautiful moment. It is the moment the world becomes bigger and our dreams have a chance to become greater. Do not let that feeling escape you; let it drive you to ask more. Ask it over and over a thousand times even if you feel like each time you do, you only know less... because one day, you will fill that void." Troubadour smiled. It was an authentic smile. Something about it made it feel like it was the same innocent smile a child of absolute purity would reward a sight that delighted them. It was a sight that washed away the dark, eerie feeling that held the atmosphere just a moment ago. It was the moment that the real benevolence of Troubadour shined through.


"I don't want to give you answers; you have to find them yourself. What I want to give you is a piece of advice... for just a moment, you felt like you needed to answer me. Like this conversation was a bubble sheet in some class. The reality is that you don't owe me anything, friend, but you still want those answers. Do not answer them for me; answer them for yourself. Ask them for yourself. Be your own ambition, friend, and I am sure you will find that spark," he told him it a speech arguably more motivating than anything that Tim have ever given him; and, Tim had helped him psychologically cope with his family and newfound responsibility. 

 
​

Meanwhile...
​

"You have no idea how long I have lived," Troubadour replied first. He then quickly added, "and I doubt you care, but honestly, I don't care that you don't. If I was the man I was before I became... this... I would be in my sixties. My title was handed down, but not my memories or personality. Someday, I will find an heir, and I will die. That is the course of nature - that is what I work to maintain. I do dislike to argue, but you bring up several good points. I take the lives of some, sure, but I do so to protect even more. Not just human lives, either. I protect nature. I have prevented spills in the ocean, pollution in the sky and sometimes unneeded death."


The look on his face was in total contrast to his physical form with Alphus. Troubadour was visibly angry. His nostrils flared, his dark eyes had the beady look one might expect from a pissed off twenty-something-year-old. Even his tone made it seem like he just wanted to strangle Brian as much as he wanted to punch Troubadour. "I want to say something like maybe I do miss the small picture, but you know what? I asked. I admitted that I didn't understand. Some things, even my eyes I miss when I look into anothers'; some things, I have to ask. I am human, I am flawed, you just refuse to acknowledge that," he explained, and as he did, it became more and more evident why he was angry. Brian had just assumed he was like everyone else dubbed an 'immortal'; in a way, Brian allowed his prejudice to blind him. 


Brian and his swing missed Troubadour, but this realm was his. He shifted like mist, appearing instantly in front of Brian and grabbing him by the hair of his head. As he did, Brian could feel all of his visceral feelings and the burning pain of his scalp. Once more, Troubadour wrenched Brian's neck back and locked eyes with him. Before, every memory he saw was random. They felt hollow and were short. This time, it was as if Brian was reliving the memory through the life of Troubadour. He was flung back to a whole different time. It was decades ago, specifically, a few years after Troubadour became, well, the Troubadour. In this moment, Brian felt what he felt. He felt all of the world around him. The plants in the hot dirt, the sun bearing down, the scorpions behind rocks, the lizards behind others, the hawk flying in the air - he felt all the life around him as if they were part of him. What he felt even more unnatural was an urge. An urge that became a voice. The voice to protect. While it wouldn't be easy to determine from the landscape, they were in Mexico; far South of the border. Troubadour existed there, too; not just the United States. Unlike some, his presence wasn't bound by borders. 


In the little shanty town, Troubadour could feel all of the life, but one life in particular he saw like a beacon. Like a fire lit on a dull night; it outshone all the stars that were their own souls around it. Once he neared the village, the flashes started. He saw a little Mexican girl crying out. It seemed like shouts of pain, and in a way it was. Her arm had turned into a black husk, specifically, like the outer shell of an insect. It was large and heavy, so much that it lodged her in place and sunk her into her dirt home. Moreover, an abundance of locust-like beetles crawled out from burrows in her arm, but even more grotesquely, some crawled back in, carrying chunks of flesh. Flesh from her family. From her friends. This girl was the carrier of a curse; her father had enraged a Spirit. "I couldn't help her," Troubadour said as Brian was forced to see the horrific flash of this girl being sustained by same torturous insects that destroyed her village, "I tried and tried and tried and pleaded with the one that cursed her, but he refused. Her father was a thief... and a murderer. For nothing more than a gold candle holder, he killed two Catholic priests and buried their bodies on the land this spirit called home. He tainted that land, and I couldn't fix it." 


He may have explained it to Brian, but it seemed harsh. That anyone would curse this small girl to that. But, the reality was that myths and legends weren't far off. Native Americans had sacred lands and myths far worse than this, some far more tortuous, none what anyone would call fair. It was hardly exclusive to the Americas, either; anyone that knew mythology from the Greeks or Norse was well aware of how harsh punishments often were. How uncaring the world was. How lessons had to be learned. Troubadour was powerless to help her, but nature itself demanded the protection of these people. Troubadour was there to allow a compromise. The rage could be quelled by the death of that young girl, and Troubadour was the hand that did it. What Brian was about to learn was that this 'immortal' took no pride in it. Brian felt every reluctant regret and ounce of hesitation that Troubadour felt as he lulled the girl to sleep, then ripped out her soul alongside its curse. The girl died in her sleep. Sure, a peaceful death, but Troubadour actively killed her. He saw her sinful father cry over her, but more so, he saw her innocent mother with a shattered heart. He saw her older brother question why their God would let such a thing happen when it had nothing to do with God at all. Troubadour saw it all and Brian had to feel it.


The reality of what the Troubadour did was finally setting in... as he felt the heartbreak that this man, at the time a young man, did. Brian felt like a monster. A murderer. Like he was a sinner that needed punished. Like he was a dog that needed caged. Brian was scarred by the atrocities of war, but now he had felt what it was like to have a truly human heart shattered for the sake of a thousand others. One girl, one life, for a thousand villagers in one little shanty town in Mexico. The sins of her father sealed her fate. He felt powerless. He was angry. At the spirit, at the father and at himself for not being able to do enough. Brian felt all of this because it is what Troubadour felt. 


Then he let go. Troubadour released Brian's hair, let his head fall back down and let them both come back to the moment in the astral plane. "Maybe you're right," Troubadour replied, his voice exasperated. It was easy to tell this memory took a toll on him as well. "Maybe I don't see the small picture, Brian," he continued on, "but have you ever considered that's for a reason? Maybe it hurts. Maybe I don't find it as easy to took at those I saved. Maybe that one life I took hurt more than the handful I saved."


@Crono @The Regal Rper

 

[Sopranos]

Name: Benjamin Pearson
​

---------
​

- ... Successor... Awake...


The voice of Hachiman spoke again, he appeared again Benjamin noticed his surrounding in this realm, where there were shadows standing around him, surround all his way. Benjamin raised his blade as the shadows charged at him. Benjamin swung his blade at his enemy and cut them off, with each time he did the shadow disappeared but another came to replace. Soon he realized he couldn't take them out all at once alone, from the swords, he swung it down and there're 3 clones came out and aided him. They danced around the attacks of the shadows, slayed them down one by one until the shadows were destroyed all at once... But Benjamin knew that it's not over yet.


- You must prepare yourself... - Hachiman said


- Why, master Hachiman ? - Benjamin asked


- There is great evils coming directly to you successor...


Suddenly, all the shadows he defeated came back and merged themselves together, joined and became an giant shadow. It tried to reached his enormous hand to grab Benjamin as he raised his sword to cut it off. The giant shadow got angry, he took at deep breath and then breathed out a dark energy beam toward the swordsman. Benjamin got out of the way, though he still felt the heat and the darkness of it.


- You won't be able to defeat this evil all by yourselves... 


- Then what can I do ? - Benjamin asked


- Prepare yourselves, work with others. As this may proves to be your biggest opponent you've ever faced.


As the god Hachiman finished his words, the shadow demon gave out a huge roar. He charged at Benjamin with an inhuman speed, it's almost impossible for him to evade this attack. The shadow demon's only inches away from consumed Benjamin to darkness.


...


...


...


Benjamin woke up from his dream... Another dream from the god Hachiman, to warn him about the incoming danger. Benjamin tried to stabilize his breath, he felt uncomfortable, he felt pressure, sweats cover his body, he felt danger. He looked at the sword of Hachiman, it's shaking, the sword sensed it too. Something's about to put Gotham in danger. But what could it be ? It couldn't be crimes from mortals, no, this was bigger. Mystical maybe. Benjamin couldn't know for sure.


He went to take a shower, with his heavy mind full of doubts and thoughts, trying to track back everything he knew that could become a possible threat to his city. He wondered what could be so large that the god Hachiman himself would warned him about, it's something maybe even his blade can cut through...

 

[The Regal Rper]

Remaining silent, Alphus took in all those words. To a large extent, he was appreciative to the immortal. In a way he'd shown light on something that Alphus himself had been neglecting to even acknowledge existed; the thing he'd been lacking. So in many ways the young adult, was grateful. At the same time he found himself finding difficulty fully understanding everything. He understood what Troubadour was saying.  He didn't need to treat everything like it was some sort of test, waiting to be answered. As the immortal had stated: "Be your own ambition and I am sure you will find that spark."


How exactly Alphus intended to do that though, would have to come later. Right now, he'd need time to process all of this. And right now, wasn't exactly the time to be doing that. He glanced over at Brian to see if he was back, but still his winged companion remained as still as a statue. Alphus decided to turn his attention elsewhere after waiting a second or two, to see if anything would happen.


The changed atmosphere was well noted. It did its job in relieving some of the weight that had began to grow on Alphus' shoulders since he'd began doubting himself. Taking in a deep breathe, Alphus closed his eyes, held that breath then exhaled. He turned his attention back to Troubadour and straightened his slacking posture, crossing a leg over another as he moved an inch forward in his seat. "[COLOR= rgb(64, 224, 208)]Thank you, for your words...Sir. I assure you, when everything has been settled I will take my time to ponder everything you've said. But, if you wouldn't mind I'd prefer we move on from this topic onto something else. Like for example, why you are here. I mean no disrespect, but I don't feel you are simply here to talk about Mr--[/COLOR]" he paused. "[COLOR= rgb(64, 224, 208)]Brian and I. Your advice is appreciated, but the matter remains that you haven't told us yet why you are here. There must be more to it than talking to us. Otherwise, I have a feeling you would have taken a different approach in having us meet. Unless, I'm wrong and simply not reading things correctly[/COLOR]?"


@Sir Les Paul @Crono

 

[Crono]

It wasn't until Brian caught the tone of Troubadour's voice that he realized his words were having an effect. The man's body tensed up as Troubadour grabbed him by the hair and forced them to lock eyes. There was no retaliation as he froze in the tensed position, his mind was elsewhere now. The images and scenes played out like he was there, because for everything he felt he was there. These actions and decisions were his yet he had no control, he felt the need to protect, the very essence of the earth below...and it frightened him. 


There was a sort of horror in taking a life, but to take that of a child was painfully shattering. And that's what Brian was doing in this vision, it wasn't Troubadour it was him. Tears slowly made their way down the man's cheeks, though his spirit form was frozen into place.  Then it was over and Brian's intangible form was released and it took everything he had not to drop. He was exhausted mentally, and even though he was himself again he could still feel that pain. "Y-yeah well," It took a moment to find his voice as he started to recover, "if you ask me you need that small picture and the pain that comes with it is there to keep you grounded." He wiped at his cheeks briefly with his arm sleeve, confused at how this plane of existence even worked. It's supposed to hurt for a reason, right?" A part of him even didn't believe what he was saying after what he'd just experienced. 


"My hate is mine for a reason, and maybe that's why you couldn't figure it out as you mind raped me." A smirk crossed his face as he straightened his back and got his breath back, "D-didn't even buy me a drink first." He shrugged his shoulders gently, "Maybe I'm just an enigma."


@Sir Les Paul @The Regal Rper

 

[Sir Les Paul]

"I am not here for either of you in particular," Troubadour replied to Alphus, affirming his beliefs. "In fact, if you think about it, you came to me - not the other way around. I knew you would be here, sure, but I didn't move an inch towards to. Ask yourself... did I orchestrate this? Or, was it a self-fulfilling prophecy?" Troubadour continued on. He let out a chuckle before simply shaking his head. "It's somewhat funny to think about. Almost everyone says that same thing, but honestly, I'm just as much a passenger on this voyage as you are. I was just gifted a telescope by the Captain," he added, giving a fairly effective metaphor as to his position in this. Alphus seemed to think that he went out of his way to make this encounter happen when in fact all he did was sit still.


"I do suppose you're right about Brian," Troubadour said, "it's about time I bring him back."

Meanwhile...
​

"You may be right," Troubadour replied to Brian, "but it is because I did not understand that I asked. As for a drink, maybe next time I'm in Gotham." There was definitely still a sternness to his tone, but he seemed to grit through it when he reciprocated Brian's joke.


"Before I do bring you back, there is one other thing. Not about you, but about your friend. His very soul has been touched by forces beyond me and probably beyond your comprehension. Call if fate, if you would. Not the stuff you here about in legends, myths or my songs. I literally mean fate itself. It is a mark I have not seen in Gotham since Dick Grayson. I don't know what it will mean, but I do know that those with it often lead an extraordinary life... or die early in it. Either way, they don't just impact others: they impact the world. Oh... and another thing. There is another in this city that has been touched. I do not know who he is, but I do know this: things become dangerous when fates collide. Do with this information what you will; nothing if you don't honestly care. I have found that outright telling someone makes them develop a Messiah complex... but you have a good eye. For a man with wings, you're pretty grounded."


After his speech, Troubadour burst into the same mist he did when he grabbed Brian by the hair, however this time, his body was simply gone. A moment later, the azure world around Brian faded to black only for him to reawaken in his body, still standing. He had missed the previous conversation between Alphus and Troubadour, but he did in fact have his own. He also returned to the feeling of mortality; his urges, his withdrawals and the sensations that came with it all. The time the two spent apart may have seemed like a short eternity, but it ultimately was just four dainty minutes.


"I believe I should explain why I'm here," he told them both, "since that is why you came." He addressed both of them once more, no longer just speaking to Alphus. "In this city is a foreign, mystical object. Not just any object. A relatively powerful one. A weapon. It is a bound soul. Moreover, I have felt it as it has already spilled blood into the ground. It seems to grow stronger, too, as it sheds this blood. There are many threats in this City that seem to go unnoticed, but such is the nature of man. This is against nature itself. There is another object in this city, but I am familiar with it. It contains the soul of James Craddock, or as the papers know him: the Gentlemen Ghost. His cycle of reincarnation, however, follows a natural pattern. One that I allow to remind those whom would fight criminals what justice really is. This new threat is one I am not familiar with and have not yet judged. So, I am here to do just that, and if does not pass my judgement, I will destroy it. If it does, I may inclined to give you report over it before I leave... either way, I am simply waiting for the next time the weapon is either used in such a way that I can feel the magic that flows through it... or the next time it takes life. Whichever comes first," he explained to both of them in a succinct answer. It was what they came for, but likely not what either of them had considered. 


The irony of the Gentlemen Ghost and this encounter with Brian... was that centuries ago, James Craddock was unjustly killed by Nighthawk, a reincarnation of Khufu... just like Carter Hall, his father. Brian was not the next reincarnation, no, but his legacy was directly bound to Craddock.


@The Regal Rper @Crono

 

[Crono]

Brian's eyes narrowed as Troubadour spoke about Alphus's soul, fate, Grayson, and some unknown person who'd been touched as well. But before he could attempt to go further with that conversation Troubadour's form misted away, and the man felt himself suddenly pulled back into his own body. Once back his body un-tensed, muscles feeling sore from being that way for a while. This was followed by feeling the things that being on the astral plane had taken away, it was all so sudden he couldn't prevent the groan that escaped him as he cracked his neck and stretched his shoulders and arms. Brian needed a drink.


On the full realization that he was back the older man turned to look at Alphus, "The next time something takes your soul out of your body and and has its way with it. Remind me not to do a damn thing to help.." His tone was annoyed, sarcastic, though this hadn't exactly been an attack or anything and he didn't blame Alphus for following orders. Then Troubadour finally giving them the answer they wanted about why he was here. Brian took a quick glance back at Alphus during Troubadour's words, remembering what the immortal had just told him about Alphus's own soul. Brian really needed a drink.


"So we've got another immortal running around Gotham? Plus some soul bound weapon?" Brian ran his hand through his short hair with a sigh. Tim didn't tell him he'd be dealing with all of this when the older man put him back to work. "At least you aren't here to kill a kid this time." He remarked, even through what Troubadour had forcibly shown him and made him feel. "Cause I'm no Batman, so you would have to go through me first." Brian spoke more casually, he wasn't specifically trying to threaten the immortal but let the other man know where he stood in that regard.


@The Regal Rper @Sir Les Paul

 

[The Regal Rper]

To the first statement Brian made, Alphus only smiled lightly. To the last relating to Troubadour and some long departed child, Alphus decided not to say a word. Once Brian was done, the youngest of the three decided to turn the topic back on to the matter at hand before the atmosphere changed...again. Somehow, he got the feeling whoever this mystery child was it would be unwise to allow the topic to continue in that course.


Clearing his throat loudly, Alphus returned his attention to the immortal. "[COLOR= rgb(64, 224, 208)]I see, we will await your report then. As for this, Gentlemen Ghost, what can you tell us about him[/COLOR]?" The manner in which the question was phrased though, hinted at caution. "[COLOR= rgb(64, 224, 208)]Or to clarify how is it, that he has returned? If memory serves me right, his actions ceased a long time ago during a fight against the JSA and[/COLOR]..." a brief pause passed as Alphus' eyes flickered over to Brian wondering if he had anything to input on this. In his time as an apprentice, Alphus had taken it upon himself to learn as much as he could about the core members of the League. Gaining small bits; minor pieces of information whenever he could, when he hadn't been busy training.  As far as he could tell from those bits of newsfeed, articles, and various newspapers apparently the ghost and Brian's father had some sort of discord between them. At least, that's what he'd had taken to as a fact.


"[COLOR= rgb(64, 224, 208)]And, it would be best if we knew what he was capable of before going after him[/COLOR]." Alphus finished after a second of silent thought had went by.


@Crono @Sir Les Paul

 

[Sir Les Paul]

Troubadour stopped for a moment. He pondered if the Gentlemen Ghost could be considered immortal. He was already dead. Of all things, this was the single abstract concept that made him stop and thing. His eyes ran along the neck of his guitar before he grasped it again. His nimble fingers wrapped around it in an awkward silence; his fretting hand formed a simple G chord while his strumming hand sat on the body of his guitar. His eyes seemed to gloss over in his daze as his eyes lazily slid down the neck of his instrument, eyeing each polished fret, the bronze-wound strings, the dark wood with gentle, organic grooves. 
 

...
​

"You couldn't stop me if you tried," he muttered, breaking the silence--and his trance. It was odd, to say the least, but his phrasing after that was even more so. Something became otherworldly about him and his response was solely to Brian saying that he would have to go through him first. He then added, "No one ever does..."


After his minor mumbling, he turned distinctively to Alphus and made eye contact. Looking in his eyes was almost like looking into a whole new sky; something about it had some incredible depth, yet so far away it felt like empty space. His strumming hand finally brushed along his strings, creating a soft, light tone and a quick switch to the A chord as he strummed back up added to it. "The Gentlemen Ghost has been around for... longer than I have, actually. Figure it out yourself," he told him in a relatively cold response to his question. His eyes then faded off in the distance between them as he said, "It is time for you to go now... I have done you too many favors... any more, and I will upset the balance." His explanation and tone were about as mystified as one could get, but in his current, nigh-hypnotic state, neither of them were getting much more out of him.


@Crono @The Regal Rper

 

[Crono]

Brian simply looked Troubadour straight in the eyes, "Never said I'd be able to stop you." There was a simple shrug of his shoulders, Brian was many things but he wasn't a moron. Being told something and witnessing it are the tall tale differences in what makes Brian understand something. After what just went on he suspected Troubadour was Alpha classed just as Tim had said, sure he could be taken down but not in many ways and not by many people. And Brian knew a fair few amount of powered individuals. Nope, Brian knew his chances would never be much if it came to it, but that didn't stop him from making the remark. He'd try, fail, and likely lose his life in the process. For Brian a kid is a kid.


At the immortals request that they leave Brian turned to leave in the direction they'd come from, they'd done what they were sent here to do and he wasn't going to hang around any longer than necessary. Though he wasn't going to tell Alphus what to do, if the younger man wanted to pester further he could go right ahead. Brian wasn't the kids boss, that was Tim's job as far as he was concerned. 


And yet somehow Brian was leaving with more questions than he'd come into this with.


@The Regal Rper @Sir Les Paul

 

[The Regal Rper]

 "[COLOR= rgb(64, 224, 208)]Of course[/COLOR]",[COLOR= rgb(64, 224, 208)] [/COLOR]Alphus responded to Troubadour's final statement only after a moment's pause. "[COLOR= rgb(64, 224, 208)]Thank you[/COLOR]." He  sincerely stated as he rose from his seat. "[COLOR= rgb(64, 224, 208)]For everything[/COLOR]", he added, moving away from his bench and back towards the concrete sidewalk. Without another word, Alphus followed beside Brian and proceeded to exit the park. Not once looking back from their first and possibly final meeting spot with the immortal. He would question Brian, on what exactly that last comment he'd made had been about later. Because from the looks of it, that statement about that child had struck a nerve or in the Troubadour's case, a chord.


Information on the Gentleman Ghost would come up later, right now, Alphus just wanted to go home and just think. Think and relax. Didn't take long for him to see the park's gates. Took at least a minute or two before Alphus waited for a taxi to come by. He wasn't sure if Tim could hear him now, now that everything was over and the atmosphere was back to normal but he certainly didn't feel like he'd be giving in a report tonight. Not after everything he'd just been told about learning to find himself. Something that he still didn't think he knew how to do. The familiar color palette of yellow and black caught his light blue eyes as a taxi pulled up. Alphus simply instructed the driver they'd be heading to Dixon Docks..


Tonight certainly, had been a long one.


@Crono @Sir Les Paul

 

[Bone2pick]

Secrets


Beautiful weather usually has a short lifespan in Gotham, and tonight proved no exception.  The pleasant breeze from earlier was gone.  In its place was a damp, goose-pimpling wind, and overhead a sea of swirling clouds had blew in to snuff out the full moon. By the time Orville finally killed the lights inside his suit store the first rumble of thunder sounded.  He made sure to grab an umbrella and heavy coat before he left.   


The neon glow of downtown Gotham painted the sidewalk in front of O.L. Fields.  Orville knew every shade and shadow that touched this part of the city.  He was more at home here than his apartment building.  He knew the names of the police officers who liked to park up the block and sip coffee from the corner cafe.  He even knew the street's specific scent, which was precisely what tipped him off when he first stepped outside.  The air carried a different smell tonight—a familiar perfume.   


Bastet, the enchanting mystic who had gifted Orville his magic monocle, strolled out from underneath a neighboring awning and into the light.  She wore a powder blue overcoat above a pair of slim black pants, and a smile played at her plum lips. 


"Do you have a moment?"  


He couldn't help but flash a toothy grin before speaking. 


"I'll make one for you."
 


She winked before she moved closer and pulled her hands out of her coat pockets.  Orville followed her finger as she pointed past him to a circle of automobiles parked around a fountain at the end of the street.


"I'm parked over there. Walk with me."  


They couldn't have taken more than three steps before the rain started.  But hardly a raindrop had fallen on the pair before Orville snapped his umbrella into position.  Bastet was forced to huddle close to his chest, but that didn't seem to bother her.


"I can't say I was surprised to hear about the museum." 


There was silence for a few steps after that.  Orville caught his left hand tracing the impression of the monocle tucked inside his breast pocket.  He moved the hand over and pretended to adjust his tie.


"Were you disappointed?" 


"No, we all have our roles to play.  I understood what yours would be before I ever brought you the foci."  


They paused at an intersection before skipping across to the other side.  Bastet's boot toe clipped the curb and she stumbled, but Orville caught her at the elbow.  She curled closer into his body as they strolled on.  


"So what's your plan Orville—become the world's most wanted criminal?"


He shook his head and then peeked down into her searching eyes.   


"The world's too big a target, my sights are fixed squarely on this city."


She looked away, but not before he saw her smile die.  


"If you ask me, that's a mistake.  A ghost shouldn't look to grow roots."


Her tone of voice had taken an about-face.  Orville was reminded that his company, as captivating as she was, was at minimum ten years his senior.  The couple's journey ended when they finally arrived at her rose red coupe. Orville opened her car door and then leaned close.  Her perfume was intoxicating.


"I'm not going anywhere."  


She sighed and tightened her lips but she didn't break eye contact. Rain continued to kiss against their umbrella while Bastet collected her thoughts.


"Then consider who will inevitably come looking for you.  You're starting fires because you believe you can't be burned, but you can.  Everyone can." 


She reach out and laid a hand over his breast pocket.  It stayed there for a few heartbeats before it pulled back.  When it did one of her fingernails scraped against a link of the monocle's silver chain.


"Why do you care what happens to me?"


She recoiled a little as if insulted.


"I have my reasons, but for now I'd like to keep them secret."


Bastet turned and slipped into her waiting car.  He kept the door open so he could call down to her. 


"Let me guess, you don't think I'm ready for the answer?"


She laughed and shook her head.


"No, I just enjoy keeping secrets."


After goodbye waves were traded the coupe's door was finally closed and Bastet drove off into the soggy night.  Orville, with his toothy grin back in place, started the trip back to his own car.  He didn't get far before he whispered over his shoulder.


"Me too." 

 

[Crono]

It was a short and quiet taxi ride, one where Brian spent his time staring out the window. But as the taxi started to slow he finally spoke, "He had his reasons for splitting us up. Probably took me into that...spirit world so that I wouldn't be a problem." And fair enough, he wasn't wrong in that regard. Brian glanced at Alphus as the Taxi stopped and the pair got out, moving around from the passenger side to the driver side he stood close-by waiting as the younger man paid the driver. His gaze however was looking towards the docks where he could see the large man from before near the boat, though his mind was still turning away. "He read my soul, my life like a children's book that, and in return I got to witness pieces of his." The man was trying not to get irritated, it wasn't working, but he was at least trying to keep it hidden. Moments later he heard the taxi leave, and turned to see what Alphus was doing.


Yet every time he looked at the younger man he thought about what Troubadour had said about his soul being touched by fate, that he'd live an extraordinary life or die young. Brian wanted to say something about it but he'd been warned that being told didn't always have the best of outcomes. "But what did he speak to you about?" It was hard to tell how much Alphus would divulge, if he was the type to tell Brian everything or have second thoughts just as Brian was.


@The Regal Rper

 

[Archon]

James Gordon
​

 
​

Suddenly everything seemed to reveal itself, the acclaimed Shadows of Bludhaven, in the flesh - or whatever they had - were the intricate piece of the puzzle Freddy had so delicately crafted... No, that wasn't right. James didn't know Freddy well, but he knew him enough to know that employing vigilantes was outside of both his interest list and skill set... Although the real surprise was that simple fact meant he wasn't the one calling the shots, this 'NoOne' was the puppet-master of this meeting, and from his reputation in Bludhaven, he was a wildcard, a potential threat. Gordon knew that if it came down to it, the GCPD could handle the Red Hood though he had no fear of such an event ever occurring. Freddy may be a bit of a brute, but his goals were true. The same could hardly be said for a mysteriously unknown self-righteous hero, James didn't believe for a moment that this new figure on the scene was acting out of the goodness in his heart for the best-interests of Gotham, He had an ulterior motive, the lieutenant's instincts were screaming something sinister; but for now, he'd play along. He did want Ramirez dethroned after all, if it meant working with the devil for the greater good, then so be it.


"So, you mean to tell me you brought me here for... Information on Ramirez, the Commissioner of the GCPD? You'll understand when I say I have my reservations." Sure, they all knew Ramirez was a corrupt dog who was as much a figure in the underworld and black market as much as Gotham and the GCPD, but even so Gordon wasn't about to sell him out so quickly, the man was still his boss and commanded a great deal of both power and influence. Exactly the type of man you don't want on your tail. With a brief huff, James narrowed his eyes at 'NoOne' ever so slightly, something felt off about him. The longer he thought on it, the more his... bad feeling about this crept further up his conscience. James was a revolutionary, at heart. The GCPD needed reform, the Laws of Gotham needed reform, a stronger arm was needed against the increased quantity and severity of the cities crime wave. Yet doubt lingered in the back of his mind, was working with unknown vigilantes who were clearly dangerous and selfish still working for the "greater good"? Was it still revolution, or was it treason? Trying not to cross that line was the hardest battle Gordon has ever fought, one he still fights - with Ramirez gone, perhaps the fight would be over.


Steering away from his own internal thoughts, Gordon turned his attention back on the reality of the here and now. Though the sight wasn't so peculiar, the disguises the group wore were hardly blended. Freddy and NoOne looked quite the part, James was perhaps dressed too casually, with standard dark jeans, a designer hoodie, and cap. He would have dressed more appropriately if he knew this was a Secret-Vigilante meeting; he'd originally assumed Freddie had a target he wanted his Crew to hit and after their work was done, the GCPD came in to clean up. How wrong he was... Now he was dealing with a potential act of treason on his part, with the aid of a shadow-moving pawn, in NoOne's appeared sidekick, 'NeoShade' and the untrustworthy figure himself.. And of course, "Ron", if they didn't have a sensitive audience, James had quite the rant prepared for his dear acquaintance Ron, what was he thinking going along with this?


@LokiofSP@ChazGhost@Sir Les Paul