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
It isn't a thought she particularly obsesses over. He's grey, she's grey, and she's pretty damn sure the sky may return to being grey soon.
With her hand in her own possession again, she crosses her arms against her chest. "The people who own this town have a thing for fountain entrances. In case you were wondering, everyone else came through it."
no subject
That affable public persona he wore as a cloak over his vigilante identity is a bit second nature, after all these years; he has to stop himself saying that out loud, especially as he really does grasp what she means.
"Yes." He glances down at his scrubs. "I don't suppose the people who own this place have said anything about why the different clothing colors? Or much of anything at all?"
no subject
For someone who likes to colour code to make life easier when repairing a machine or even thinking on a transparent board, not knowing what the grey means annoys her. It's a puzzle she's eager to pull together, but she can't without all of its pieces.
"You'll learn soon enough that the people responsible for us nearly drowning don't talk. At all. They just give us random crap like that's supposed to placate us."
no subject
But there's maddeningly little information forthcoming. He can see the pattern but without context it's meaningless.
"Random crap? Like what?"
no subject
The shade's just a little different, but she can still trick herself into thinking it's her very own.
"But there's never a 'You're Welcome' note attached or explanation." As one should and would expect. Raven's still a little disappointed by it. At least the Mountain Men seemed hospitable at first, even if she's glad they all died a painful and choking death at the end, "A tip? Don't expect one. This place is shit at delivering on either of those."
no subject
He regards her for a thoughtful moment, eyes sweeping over her jacket. There's a certain measure of something--pride, maybe, or affection--in the way she talks about it, wears it.
"Did you have a jacket like that back home?"
no subject
"Yeah," she says, looking up at him. "This isn't it. I don't know why I got it, but I did. It's not as good as the real thing, but it'll do." If she could ask for anything and have it delivered to her, no questions asked, it'd be her freedom. Her leg to be permanently healed and herself out of this town, but Raven knows that such miracles weren't made for people like her.
She shrugs her shoulders and smiles, "Sometimes this place isn't all that bad." But it's clear Raven doesn't believe in that wholeheartedly.
no subject
But it's interesting. This place isn't just watching, then. If they're being chosen at random then somehow the powers that be are learning things about them. Personal things.
Or they're being chosen with purpose, studied before just as they're studied once here.
He smiles. "Even little comforts can go a long way."
no subject
She looks at him, moving just a step. "Are you going to stay here? In the inn."