well they call him the Prince of Gotham, anyway... (open)

[cowled]

Characters: Batman, Lina Inverse, and open to anyone else!
Location: 'Batman' will be on the Mainland, but Bruce Wayne/Devin Craig will be available on certain days on the Turtle. Because secret identities. They're a thing.
Situation: He's being the goddamned Batman that's its own situation I promise.
Warnings/Rating: Probable violence/fighting/injuries.
Notes: This log is good for 1-20th, give or take. He'll be available as Bruce Wayne earlier in the month (let's say 1-5th) and from the 12-13, and the rest of the days he'll be off Batmanning it up. Bruce will have his Batsuit from the 15-onward, but until then he'll be dressed in Ye Olde Batzorro get-up. Here.






[It's decades too late for any alien locale to cause particular unease as far as Batman's concerned. The desert landscape is harsh, yes, but it's no Apokolips. Still, there's something about it that he doesn't like.

Though truthfully, the same could be said of anywhere that isn't Gotham. It's the one place in the universe he knows with the complete and total intimacy of long familiarity. It's his home, both a prison in hard times and a refuge in the same. And it was a sign of how well Tim knew him that the simple act of bringing him back from cardiac arrest was to say tell him Gotham needs him.

These last three and a half months aren't the longest he's been away from Gotham, but they are in many ways the hardest. If he had something-- a direction, a clear goal, it'd be easier to endure. But between the secrecy of the Emperor and the clandestine nature of this place, he's come up with nothing time and again.

The architecture of Tu Vishan is seven hundred years old. The written language is as complex as any he's ever seen, though he's been working on deciphering it it's a slow, secondary project to keeping people safe.

But his family is here - as whole as it's ever been at any given time in Gotham. He's... trying with Jason, though every conversation they have feels like going ten rounds with Killer Croc, leaves him bruised and beaten in invisible ways. But Cassandra, Dick, Stephanie-- even Damian. Having them here, as much as it irritates him that they're as trapped as he is, he's... glad of their presence, as he is of Kal's and Lois' as well.

And Kon, if he has to admit it. (Though he'd rather not)

He has allies here, and he's come so far in this life as to be able to admit it without much more than a cursory grimace.

He's not happy.

But he's close, and that terrifies him.

So he shoves everything down and aside, throws himself into his work. It's what he always does when he has an excess of emotion he'd rather not dealing with. Bruce - not Bruce Wayne, but Bruce at his most human and vulnerable - ceases to exist, eclipsed by the Batman. The Landfall is a perfect opportunity, one he plans to spend largely alone.

Though, as has been said, 'no plan of operations extends with certainty beyond the first encounter with the enemy's main strength'.]

Comments

coming back from adventures with Aisha

[whatfriendsdo]

[Murphy is bone tired. It's the kind of rewarding exhaustion that comes from legwork, doing a hard job on a short clock - or venturing into the desolate wasteland of a seemingly post-apocalyptic countryside for a week. She's got mud, blood, and who knows what else smeared on her face and clothes.

But it was interesting. Not necessarily enlightening, not yet - but there's still plenty of time to explore. For now, though, she's relieved to be shoving the key into her apartment door's lock, and silently longing for a shower.]

[cowled]

[It's the rattle in the lock that alerts him to her return, and Bruce - in the middle of drawing a map of his own findings - gets up and goes to his door to open it. Murphy's isn't far from his, at least.]

I thought I heard someone out here.

[... And honestly he doesn't care about the state she's in. In fact, it probably shouldn't be so much of a... point of intrigue, if you will.]

[whatfriendsdo]

[She flashes him a grin.] Hey stranger. 'You look clean' probably isn't the best greeting but it's about the only one I can think of right now.

[cowled]

[... okay, he laughs.]

You look... adventurous. What's more important at the moment, food or cleanliness?

[whatfriendsdo]

[Murphy stands holding her key in the lock of her front door for about ten seconds before she answers.] If I could shower in hamburgers I would do it. Does that count as an answer?

[cowled]

[-- That. Sounds alarmingly like something Dick would say, except he'd say cornflakes.]

Tell you what. I can't offer you a shower made out of hamburgers, but I can quite easily tell you to go take a shower and that I'll have hamburgers ready by the time you're done.

[whatfriendsdo]

[Murphy sucks in on one cheek to keep herself from drooling at the thought.] Done.

[She rubs the corner of her eye.] Add coffee to that and I'll petition for your sainthood.

[cowled]

Didn't most saints die bloody and unnecessary deaths? I'll pass on that one, thank you. But you could sing my praises from a rooftop or two.

[He smiles at her, waves.]

Fifteen minutes, Officer, and if you're late you and I will be having words.

[whatfriendsdo]

[She throws a sarcastic salute instead of trying to come up with a response, and goes inside to dump her stuff as soon as the door is closed.

She leans back against the door, thumping her head against it gently. It's strange to come into this place expecting the feeling of home, relief, and feeling only like she's stepped in to someone else's hotel room instead.

Murphy shakes her head and goes for the shower, taking twenty minutes in glorious scalding hot water to soak every trace of ash out of her skin. So it's twenty-five minutes later that she's knocking on his door, her face pressed to the cuff of her sleeve. It's been a long time since the simple smell of clean felt so nice.]

[cowled]

[And he answers the door, wine flute in hand (though he's only drinking a non-alcoholic, sparkling strawberry juice) as he leans against the doorframe.

His smile is just the slightest bit wicked.]

I'm reasonably certain you're late.

[whatfriendsdo]

I'm reasonably certain I'll chew your hand off if you've already eaten my burger.

[It's said with all the throaty flirtatiousness of a woman in a smokey bar. She ratchets her tone back up to normalcy and slips through the space between him and the doorframe.] Seriously, I'm considering hu-fu as an alternative to starvation at this point.

[cowled]

I can think of much more interesting uses for my hands, thank you.

[Two can play that tango, Murphy.]

Lucky for you, you won't have to resort to imaginary cannibalism. Your burgers await.