Bruce Wayne (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thingsfall) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2016-10-15 08:04 pm
thingsfall) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2016-10-15 08:04 pm
we do our time like pennies in a jar
WHO: Bruce Wayne
WHERE: The Fountain | The Inn | Fountain Park
WHEN: October 15th and the days following
OPEN TO: all
WARNINGS: to be updated as needed
STATUS: open
arrival; the fountain
He wakes to the sensation of cold and damp, and for a long, hazy moment, all Bruce can think of is Amnesty Bay. The faint light he can sense through his closed eyelids gives that thought fleeting reinforcement--is it the lighthouse?
...No. No, that was weeks ago. He left Amnesty Bay, he came and went from Central City, he forged--he hoped--new alliances. Tomorrow he goes to Detroit. Tonight... tonight he's in Gotham.
His eyes snap open and he breathes in, startled, then shaken as he gets a noseful of water. He holds his breath, nostrils smarting, lungs tight, and on instinct he lunges upward toward the light.
He doesn't so much break the surface of the water in the fountain as he does crash through it, waves smacking the concrete walls, his breath righting itself in coughs and ragged gasps for the few moments it takes him to regain control. He treads water, taking stock: trees, sky, he's in some kind of pool--no, he turns, it's a... fountain? His armor is gone, he's not in Gotham, he knows there's no place like this in Gotham, what's on his back? Where are his clothes?
He strikes out for the edge of the fountain, hauling himself up and over, water dripping from his light gray scrubs, his hair, everything, noisy as it hits the ground around his feet. He sheds the backpack, dropping it onto the fountain wall, digging through its contents.
The sound of someone approaching gets his attention. He turns at once, tense, alert, though he makes no further moves.
"Hello?"
getting settled; the inn
The close quarters already grate on his nerves, and it's only his second full day here.
Bruce closes the door to his assigned room with a very small sigh. It's nothing against everyone else here, far from it. They've all been kind, helpful, friendly if a bit wary about him, and he doesn't blame them for that last part. He's a newcomer, he'd be unsure of him too.
Part of his restlessness, sure, is that he's used to having so much more space. The lake house, the estate grounds, his business properties in both Gotham and Metropolis, all of Gotham at night. But the greater part of it is his usual solitude. It's just been him and Alfred, for a decade now, since...
Since the last time he tried to build a family led to loss and ruin.
It's been easier to work alone, fight alone, grieve alone. But he can't do it all himself. That was a hard lesson to revisit this year, and again it cost him dearly. He gets it, now, that he can't fight alone, that he can't shoulder everything. He's building a team back home, and he's got to, he's sure, become part of the community here.
It just still feels weird.
He sets out, determined to battle his ingrained instincts. He offers the people he passes on his way downstairs a friendly good morning, pausing for more conversation if they'll have it. He joins a few others at breakfast, dialing back his urge to interrogate everyone about everything.
Afterwards, he's out on the front porch, breathing in the fresh air. This place would be so peaceful if he was here by choice.
finding his bearings; fountain park
One of the basic rules of detective work is to start with the scene of the crime. Gather your evidence there. Figure out what happened. Try to make sense of it, let that tell you the story.
He can't think of anything else to try at the moment, so Bruce has returned to where he arrived, hoping maybe something will give him some clue, some idea.
At the start of his reinvestigation, he can be found inspecting the fountain and the immediate area. How was he placed there? Is there a way out? Does the fountain have any significance?
Somewhere in the middle, he climbs the tallest tree nearby. With rather a lot of speed and agility, if you happen to be around, happen to have an eye for that sort of thing. He lingers up there a while, surveying the fountain, the park, but also getting views of the village as a whole, or at least as best he can from this single tree.
There might also be a small comfort in something a bit familiar. Watching the area from on high.
Before he leaves, in the interests of being thorough, he jumps back into the water. He feels his way along the walls, he does his best to reach the floor, he breaks the surface a few times to look up at the trees and sky. Eventually he hauls himself out, the wet weight of his clothes against his body and the soft patter of water dripping from them onto the ground giving him a moment of déjà vu.
WHERE: The Fountain | The Inn | Fountain Park
WHEN: October 15th and the days following
OPEN TO: all
WARNINGS: to be updated as needed
STATUS: open
arrival; the fountain
He wakes to the sensation of cold and damp, and for a long, hazy moment, all Bruce can think of is Amnesty Bay. The faint light he can sense through his closed eyelids gives that thought fleeting reinforcement--is it the lighthouse?
...No. No, that was weeks ago. He left Amnesty Bay, he came and went from Central City, he forged--he hoped--new alliances. Tomorrow he goes to Detroit. Tonight... tonight he's in Gotham.
His eyes snap open and he breathes in, startled, then shaken as he gets a noseful of water. He holds his breath, nostrils smarting, lungs tight, and on instinct he lunges upward toward the light.
He doesn't so much break the surface of the water in the fountain as he does crash through it, waves smacking the concrete walls, his breath righting itself in coughs and ragged gasps for the few moments it takes him to regain control. He treads water, taking stock: trees, sky, he's in some kind of pool--no, he turns, it's a... fountain? His armor is gone, he's not in Gotham, he knows there's no place like this in Gotham, what's on his back? Where are his clothes?
He strikes out for the edge of the fountain, hauling himself up and over, water dripping from his light gray scrubs, his hair, everything, noisy as it hits the ground around his feet. He sheds the backpack, dropping it onto the fountain wall, digging through its contents.
The sound of someone approaching gets his attention. He turns at once, tense, alert, though he makes no further moves.
"Hello?"
getting settled; the inn
The close quarters already grate on his nerves, and it's only his second full day here.
Bruce closes the door to his assigned room with a very small sigh. It's nothing against everyone else here, far from it. They've all been kind, helpful, friendly if a bit wary about him, and he doesn't blame them for that last part. He's a newcomer, he'd be unsure of him too.
Part of his restlessness, sure, is that he's used to having so much more space. The lake house, the estate grounds, his business properties in both Gotham and Metropolis, all of Gotham at night. But the greater part of it is his usual solitude. It's just been him and Alfred, for a decade now, since...
Since the last time he tried to build a family led to loss and ruin.
It's been easier to work alone, fight alone, grieve alone. But he can't do it all himself. That was a hard lesson to revisit this year, and again it cost him dearly. He gets it, now, that he can't fight alone, that he can't shoulder everything. He's building a team back home, and he's got to, he's sure, become part of the community here.
It just still feels weird.
He sets out, determined to battle his ingrained instincts. He offers the people he passes on his way downstairs a friendly good morning, pausing for more conversation if they'll have it. He joins a few others at breakfast, dialing back his urge to interrogate everyone about everything.
Afterwards, he's out on the front porch, breathing in the fresh air. This place would be so peaceful if he was here by choice.
finding his bearings; fountain park
One of the basic rules of detective work is to start with the scene of the crime. Gather your evidence there. Figure out what happened. Try to make sense of it, let that tell you the story.
He can't think of anything else to try at the moment, so Bruce has returned to where he arrived, hoping maybe something will give him some clue, some idea.
At the start of his reinvestigation, he can be found inspecting the fountain and the immediate area. How was he placed there? Is there a way out? Does the fountain have any significance?
Somewhere in the middle, he climbs the tallest tree nearby. With rather a lot of speed and agility, if you happen to be around, happen to have an eye for that sort of thing. He lingers up there a while, surveying the fountain, the park, but also getting views of the village as a whole, or at least as best he can from this single tree.
There might also be a small comfort in something a bit familiar. Watching the area from on high.
Before he leaves, in the interests of being thorough, he jumps back into the water. He feels his way along the walls, he does his best to reach the floor, he breaks the surface a few times to look up at the trees and sky. Eventually he hauls himself out, the wet weight of his clothes against his body and the soft patter of water dripping from them onto the ground giving him a moment of déjà vu.
no subject
His smile shifts, softening into more genuinely friendly and less yes-I-realize-I'm-probably-an-idiot. "I'd appreciate both, actually." The towels and the briefing.
"I'm Bruce."
no subject
Besides, it might be frustrating, but at least it doesn't leave you shivering and fighting off a potential cold.
no subject
Bruce catches up to her in a couple of quick strides, careful not to get too close--he's still dripping a bit. He'll hopefully shed enough water from his clothes by the time they reach the inn so as not to rudely track water, and the mud he's sure he's creating on the soles of his shoes, all over the establishment. It's just inconsiderate. Not a good look for the new guy.
"Well." He glances down at her, with a fleeting smile. "Since I've exhausted all the options the fountain has to offer, I just might take you up on that."
no subject
"Here," she invites, opening the inn door as she arrives. "I can show you to one of the rooms. Then you can ask all the questions your heart desires."
no subject
"Careful. My heart can hold a lot of desires when it comes to questions."
no subject
"I half think the lack of technology in this place is enough to make anyone go mad enough to take a fountain dip."
no subject
"How long have you been here?"
no subject
"Are your things nearby?" she asks firmly. "You ought to get into something dry before you freeze."
no subject
His smile takes on a faintly sheepish cast. "I'm just through there, actually," he replies, gesturing. "Would it be best if I changed and met you downstairs?"
no subject
"Take your time," she encourages. "I don't think we're going anywhere."
no subject
It's maybe fifteen minutes later that he comes down the stairs, in a fresh set of gray scrubs, thankfully dry. His hair is still a bit damp, toweled through and then smoothed down.
"Thank you for waiting. Where were we?"
no subject
no subject
"I don't suppose you've been given any idea why we're here? What they want with us?"
no subject
"I arrived here in a full well, just like you. Only, when I hauled myself out alongside at least a dozen others, we were immediately caught in a rather wicked windstorm. Stranger, still? There was an air siren, as if to warn us."
no subject
If there's a pattern here he can't grasp it either. He wishes he could. He wishes he could just investigate it all, find the reason, find the appropriate people to punch in the face, and get them all out.
The only thing for it is to collect more information.
"A siren. When the group arrived. Do you think it was a warning? Could it have been an announcement, signaling you were here?"
no subject
"Well, here," she admits, gesturing to the space around them. "It was like it was nudging us to discover the inn."
no subject
Hm. That feels significant. He can't yet know how, he knows so little.
"Has there been another windstorm? Or another instance of the siren going off?"
no subject
"Frustrated yet? If you're not, give it time, it'll come."
no subject
"Do you know where siren horn itself is located?" When you can't get answers, maybe you fall back to potentially bad ideas.
no subject
"If you do manage to find it, you might have to show me a few tricks," she says, breathing out to calm her frustrations from boiling over and bringing her back to that point of intense, itching, awful uselessness.