someone's mouth said, "paint them all red"

[caballero]

Who: Bruce Wayne "Tom" and you?
What: Some new stuff and some old stuff; there are a couple of thread starters but otherwise it's totally open.
Where: Various places - default starter is Bonetown, but if you'd like to bump into Kermit elsewhere, ping me to wrangle an idea, the world is our oyster.
Notes: I want your CR and I want your revenge. Tho I apologize ahead of time - Bruce is not really proactive socially so if you want to hurl your character at him you might have to be the one to poke him with a stick. Also his permissions post has been updated, so if you haven't interacted with him before it's worth a read. I'M SORRY THIS CHARACTER IS SO DIFFICULT.
Warnings: TBA.

Bonetown, despite all political hardships and polarized status compared to other cantons - hell, much of the city - has managed to carry on relatively securely. Bruce appreciates the population of paranoid hermits, nonpowered nonEarthlings, and scientists and alchemists working to fail-safe their material, locked in a bubble free of interference. The salves and bandages he can pick up near his flat, made from all natural products originating from planets he's heard of and ones he hasn't, fill his medicine cabinet to overflowing; sometimes these old mothers look at him over the rims of their glasses and inspect the bruises on his hands with something like skeptical judgment, and he doesn't begrudge them that. He doesn't look like a hippie and never will, feelings deep in his heart aside.

Today's a mystery tea day. He can't pronounce what he got (yet), but the donut in the accompanying bag is laughably mundane (rainbow jimmies). The riverbank that overlooks the three-way split is good for the view, and also scoping out chaos at the arena across the way. He'll sit there for a while, then melt back into the crowds.

Comments

● Alan

[caballero]

Despite every gag in the book, Bruce has never been incredulous of lawyers. He's always liked them; call it a character flaw. But a man can only get so many of them brutally killed before he gets gunshy and - well, maybe by now, they're a necessary evil. But not because of the lawyers. That mentality goes a long way to explain why he's scrying out ones with notorious attitude problems: he understands combative personalities. They're less likely to get hurt. (But just as likely to get shot? He tries not to think about it.)

Bruce shows up at an office in Spit Hearth and doesn't have an appointment, but he's polite and soft-spoken, which to some people might balance out the fact that his body language gives off an air of 'wild animal behaving in a tranquil manner temporarily' as he waits and checks his CiD.

[alan_shore]

How fortunate for Bruce, then, that Alan takes pains to fulfill nearly all expectations--flattering and otherwise--one typically harbors of a lawyer (and with glibness and arrogance to spare). He emerges from his office, exchanging a few parting words with a client, in an exquisitely tailored suit lent a bit of flash by a scarlet tie. There's a deliberation in his movements, a responsiveness that rises almost to the level of intimacy as he touches the woman's elbow and inclines his head toward her.

Having seen her off, Alan turns to the man loitering on the premises. "Now then," he says, affably brisk, as if this is the continuation of some prior conversation. "Can I help you, or are you simply here to luxuriate in the atmosphere of disrepute?"

[caballero]

"We'll see if you can," he says - the timing is right for engaging in banter, but his tone is mild, carrying only the implication of it, though he doesn't seem unkind; his CiD goes back in his pocket and he extends his hand. "Tom."

It's easy to fake it. His real personality might be in turns infuriating, cold and awkward, Bruce can pretend to be a normal person with startling accuracy. What constitutes normal in Baedal, however, is anyone's guess - his act is only a half-transparent filter, today. A thin shade of honesty, somewhere in there.

[alan_shore]

"Tom," Alan repeats, a hint of a drawl to the word. He gazes levelly at the other man--if he's skeptical of the introduction, this immediate promotion to a first-name basis, it's not readily apparent.

He does, however, hesitate a moment--one solid moment, counted off by some internal metronome--before taking the proffered hand. "Alan Shore." He has a lawyer's soft hands but a firm shake. "My office is right this way, Tom, but for future reference--and as you yourself may have observed--this is not a deli counter. You don't walk in, tear off a number, and ask for a third-pound of corned beef when the time comes. This a law firm, and those wishing to avail themselves of my expertise typically make appointments." All this is said in conversational tones (indeed, there are residents of Baedal--Alan employs one of them--who are largely ignorant of the workings of a law firm), with perhaps a note of reproach.

[caballero]

Either Tom here is too off in space to catch the mild chastisement, or he doesn't care; Alan's inviting him into his office anyway - is he just curious about what Tom could possibly be here for, or desperate for work? - so maybe he's got some sandwiches hidden behind his desk after all. (Probably not.)

"I appreciate you seeing me anyway," mannerly, despite narrative flippancy. His hands are calloused, but at least for today, not obviously bruised. "There's not many lawyers on your cohort." Your, not our, even though he doesn't expect that impression to last - even without the fact that he's going to run nearly head first into Kalinda just outside the door here, he doesn't keep it much of a secret. The faint implication that he's seeking the reputation of trouble-makers, versus deception, is what he's after here.

● Ava

[caballero]

For a while, Bruce had considered just asking Seoraj to let this woman come pick up her item at the forge - he doesn't think the younger man would have objected (...seeing as he practically lets Bruce walk all over him otherwise), but something in between curiosity and a detached sense of responsibility makes him decide to do it himself. He's still not sure how he feels about the gods, but he hasn't done enough research to just snub them outright. Might as well go and see what happens.

Which is why he's waiting in a coffee shop, plunked down in a seat and obviously expecting someone to join him, shadowbox set on the table in front of him next to a tin kettle, mug in his hands.

[obscuredvision]

At the appointed time, a woman walks into the coffee shop, pausing to give her eyes a moment to adjust to the slightly lower light inside, and to scan the seating area. She's dressed to the nines, but not expensively so; this is someone who puts care into her appearance rather than using it as some display of status or wealth. Chocolate brown pencil skirt, a flowy jacket a couple shades darker, and a hot pink shirt beneath. Made-up, not a hair out of place, and she'd be tiny if it weren't for those tall heels she walks confidently in.

Her face lights up as she spots the shadowbox on the table, and she strides over, offering a hand when she's within polite distance. "Hello. I'm Ava, and I believe that's my Heineken bottle, courtesy of the gods."

[caballero]

When it's clear he's been spotted, Bruce rises from his seat, polite, and shakes the extended hand when Ava's in range. "Hey," he greets, soft-spoken and with a fleeting half-smile. (He doesn't seem insincere, just like that.) "I'm Tom. I hope you found your way over easy enough- uh," slightly awkward, then, and he makes a slight gesture like she's free to sit, if she likes. "Can I buy you a coffee to apologize for taking so long?"

[obscuredvision]

Her smile warms a bit, in that kind, it's-all-right way some people have when presented with someone a bit uncomfortable or awkward. "You don't have to apologize for anything, Tom," she insists as she takes the offered seat, "but I would never turn down a cup of coffee or a bit of company." Deftly handled, neither assigning blame nor turning down a kind offer. She's gotten good at maneuvering around things that might offend a perfect stranger--it kind of comes with the must-tell-you-my-prophetic-vision territory, sometimes.

"I'm just glad to have this back, if this is what the gods have decided I needed to have. Thank you for posting it to the network."

[caballero]

Being himself, Bruce's first impulse is to hand the thing over and leave, but if he went through all the trouble to meet her, he might as well sit still for a bit. (And fuck knows he could use some human contact beyond the lunacy he surrounds himself with.)

He sits after she does, and she's free to ping the waitress for whatever she likes, of course. "No problem," he says. "I'm just glad someone recognized it. I would have never picked mine out without a nametag." Which is a lie, but normal people don't obsessively have their associates belongings committed to memory in photographic detail.

● Sol

[caballero]

The cobblestone streets of inner Sangwine are only halfway acceptable for riding, and so Bruce isn't torturing his horse with his weight and the pain in the ass of being directed via ropes attached to its face - the life of a horse is awkward, here and there - instead letting her trail behind him, reins over his shoulder. His hands are in his pockets and he'd probably blend right in if not for his clothes, piecemeal of modern-day Earth and bits from Baedal itself, versus the rural formality of the canton. He's just passing through, having worn out the animal coming up from the south in the fields, but then - a familiar face. One he's seen over the network, but.

Still.

The stop-look he gives Sol is probably obvious, even for a man who (in his friend's words) has to schedule his facial expressions.

[behindfirelight]

So that's a little weird.

Bruce is not, actually, a familiar face or name, which when you think about it is kind of funny in that 'oh...' sort of way; in the process of lighting a cigarette as he walks away from the school fence, he pauses, considering, before he lifts a hand in an amiable sort of a way. Maybe they share a cohort, or he recognizes him through Hellsing - there are a lot of possibilities. He could've just been mistaken for Erik Lehnsherr: The Body Mod Years.

“Morning.”

[caballero]

It's clear without having to sound out any dumbass questions that Sol doesn't recognize him - Bruce didn't expect him to after a cursory network investigation when he first arrived, but he also didn't expect to be this irked by it in person. For a moment he just looks at the other man, the critical familiarity plain for a heartbeat before it settles back into his default blankness. He makes a monosyllabic noise that passes for a greeting in return, and then just... keeps walking, because what the fuck is he going to say, otherwise. Best to just move along.

[behindfirelight]

“That bad, huh?” Revising his theory even now to include the possibility that he's dated this guy's sister; bone structure, colouring, height, all of these things factor in as he briefly but efficiently takes a stroll down memory lane to see if anyone jumps out at him.

(No, no, definitely an only child, met her brothers, maybe, no, maybe--)

He's not pressing it too hard, but-- he's curious, and he's got a bit of time to kill this morning, and if he's honest he is interested to know if it is him that this man is recognizing. His face is not necessarily a unique one, he already knows that, which means there's no guarantee...

...but it could be interesting.

[caballero]

Bruce is not good at having friends, he's even worse at reconciling losing them; that this is not a real loss and just something strange (something that everyone else has gone through, it was bound to be his turn sooner or later, and this is harder than Penelope for numerous reasons) just irritates him. "Sorry," he says, lamely, not a real apology. "You look like the sheriff in Mafaton."

Not even Bruce's horse is buying that one, but he's trying to edge out of here anyway.

@Spit Hearth, outside Alan Shore's office

[betterthansubpoenas]

Kalinda is never late. She always arrives at work precisely when she means to, even if that's not when she otherwise tends to show up. She's definitely not hungover; don't let the sunglasses fool you. See? She doesn't even wince when she lifts them to perch them atop her head before she makes to enter the building.

There's someone on their way out, however, and it's a face she recognises. "Tom," it's part question, and part greeting. "Hey." She adjusts the sit of the green duffel bag's strap on her right shoulder in a way that's meant to look absent, but is actually deliberate.

[caballero]

"Hey, Kalinda." Bruce greets her with a relaxed nod and one of his rusted half-smiles; he looks less almost-beat-up than when she last saw him, dressed to more or less fit in with society. Something about seeing him in the daylight is strange, like catching a nocturnal animal out of its element. But only a little.

"I hope you're not skirting a DUI."

He's not a comedian. This is why.

[betterthansubpoenas]

It's a bit like dark alleys are their natural habitat. Kalinda rolls her eyes as if he's just caught her indiscretion. "Yeah. I had a few too many and jacked a cab." She doesn't smirk as she says it, though she still gives some sense that they're both in on the joke. What she doesn't do is indicate that she actually works here.

"What about you?"

[caballero]

"I clocked somebody in a bar fight and they're suing." No he didn't, no they're not. Bruce shrugs slightly, indicating inside. "Guy in there won't take my case though, so I guess I'm screwed. I hope you have better luck."

Everyone in this conversation is full of lies, but they're also aware of it; that makes it okay. (Or interesting, at least.)

"Are you in a hurry?" It doesn't sound like a pickup line. Quite.

[betterthansubpoenas]

An outside observer might find it absurd the way the two of them lie to each other's faces, knowing the other knows that they're lying. For Kalinda, it's some test that he's passing with flying colours.

She doesn't make any show of checking her watch, or seem to really take a moment to consider before she shakes her head. "No." Her brows lift as she turns it back on him. "Are you?"

● good people making good decisions

[serjeant]

Inviting Tom to kick the piss out of him after he's spent a day over irons in the forge always seems like a much better idea beforehand than it does afterwards, soaking the ache out of his muscles in slowly cooling water - on the other hand, there are worse ways to end a day than sunk in the end of the long tin bath he keeps out behind the house with halfway decent company in the other end, under the slightly bemused eye of the horse that is not actually his but lives here because he has more land than is available in Bonetown.

(He can't even spell exhibitionist, Bruce, he is just a simple mountain boy.)

“Here a minute,” he says, raising one hand lazily from the side of the tub-- “What's a baseball when it's at home?”

[caballero]

(He'll spell it for him, for the amount of cajoling it took to get Bruce in this thing.)

"Baseball is a game," he says, already sitting forward to attempt to yank a coil of tension out of his shoulder - Bruce's therapeutic manipulations always look just as painful as his hand-to-hand combat. "People on Earth pretend it's more interesting than it is out of no alternative to tradition. You get a stick and hit a ball with it and go run in a circle before people get the ball back to the starting point. A baseball bat is the stick, made out of solid wood, a bit like a katana, lopsided. Most people can crack someone's head open with one on a decent swing."

America's national sport, ladies and gentleman. He reaches past Seoraj's shoulder to stretch, uncharacteristically (by virtue of acclimation) unconcerned with personal space.

[serjeant]

(No one is looking at you but Seoraj and the horse, Bruce, and the horse doesn't care.)

There's some speculative gesturing on Seoraj's part to go with this explanation - estimating size and shape in an amiably absent sort of a way, the physical equivalent of thinking out loud - and after a moment of thoughtful silence: “I can think of worse ways to spend an hour than watching a pretty woman swing a bat.” It is, for example, very easy for someone as physical as he is to envision the kind of motion involved, and-- well, he has a very particular sort of a weakness.

It's just there's something about a woman who might put her heel on his throat. Who can say.

[caballero]

"I figure chances are about even I'll get hit," he speculates, but doesn't sound too fussed about it. In terms of heels on throats, he and Seoraj share a certain fondness - even if Bruce is likely to choke someone every so often, himself. (.. There'd be a narrative clarification for context, here, but look.)

"And I suppose you've just been working." Sure, and nobody creeps on the network in private. Bruce leans back in the water again, feeling returning to the upper part of his shoulder.

[serjeant]

“I can't complain if business and pleasure run side by side,” Seoraj says, peaceably, to the guy he knows periodically actually borrows his CiD in addition to just being prone to obsessively stalking everything the cohort ever says. He is not fooled. (Laidback as hell, but not fooled; it's just he doesn't mind, see.) “That woman's mind is frightening.”

It's funny how much that sounds like 'and it gives me a boner'.