by the time you hear this i will have already spiralled up

[caballero]

Who: Bruce Wayne ~Tom~ and your character.
What: Daily life, some mundane, some not.
Where: Various places about the city.
When: Presently, though days vary.
Notes: This is kind of a pseudo-narrative whose primary purpose is background noise for what Bruce has been up to, but I decided I also wanted CR, so I'm leaving it open. >_> I think the easiest places to run into him would be around town (he's usually in Bonetown, when he's visible) or at the Vault, though if you have an idea for a specific scene please ping me. I WANT ALL THE THINGS.
Warnings: Mentions of violence, sexuality, assault.

Work at the power plant is profitable, but not particularly stimulating; he's far more interested in the government contracts and the way the wind power mill plays a role around the powers that be. He drifts through halls that he has clearance for, trades wires and bits of metal and runs electricity through strange alien glass. At night he goes home with great books filled with half-lost languages that tell only scattered tales of the city's conception and ends up with more questions than answers - but the questions, at least, progress.

He takes yet another alias (merely Tom pretending, merely, merely..) and signs up with men with haunted and vicious eyes who beat each other half to death one night away, bare-knuckled, desperate - the clientele is half burn-out half ex-con, and on the sidewalks as dawn creeps in, they hold ice packs to their faces and tell him stories, grinning viciously and spitting blood. He doesn't look like it, but he takes notes.

The Vault is ... he say nice, when asked, sometimes interesting, and maybe it is - maybe it would be more, if he did anything there that he was supposed to. He pays the cover charge and watches his friend, sometimes he walks her (or one of the waitresses) home. The day after he knocks out a particularly aggressive patron, his cover gets comped. He starts signing himself into the red rooms the visit after. Somehow, it's easier than warming up to the girl with short ice-blue cropped hair and dark skin that flirts with his peripheral vision and pretends to pretend not to notice his attention.

At three in the morning in Gidd, he sits on a rooftop and watches members of the Militia beat a man into a coma, the both of them wholly helpless, he on his distant perch and that man soft-boned and innocent below. He doesn't make a decision that night - he already had - but he does make a schedule.

Comments

[deadredbird.livejournal.com]

The dog, for what it's worth, merely smiles up with tongue lolling at Bruce the same way it's been smiling at everyone else, and wags its tail. Perhaps, granted, a little more frantically than usual, but it doesn't even get up. Apparently it's waiting for something. That something (after Bruce has gone into the cafe) turns out to be the train, which it disappears into with considerate promptness.

On his end, Jason glances up from the paper, registers Bruce's presence the way anybody might, and looks back down. 'Giant snake corralled by twelve-year old in burlap sack.' Has he has gotten the wrong paper? No, it's just Baedal. That pastry looked good. Bruce would never wear flannel. Well, it is a solid color... ugh. Turning the page with a bit more force than necessary, he focuses on an article about the upcoming elections (unless he were undercover as someone with a 9-to-5) — okay, fine, he'll just. Close up his newspapers and go home.

... he'll buy a pastry first.

[caballero]

The barista is chiding with him about his drink - half coffee, half cocoa, and she's inflicting whipped cream and red and green sprinkles on him - she asks him if he hates Christmas; he says no, they just don't celebrate it where he's from, they all sit very quietly at home and think about making quilts.

(It's not quippy, it's soft-spoken and a little awkward, but it's still funny in a 'What the hell are you even talking about you weirdo' sort of way.)

He's keenly aware of the other man, though he doesn't seem like it; he barely seems to register him aside from the usual politeness of personal space in a public establishment. When he finally turns away, it necessitates passing Jason, and he meets his eyes for a moment, distantly polite as he tolerates his relentlessly festive drink. There's a flicker of - don't I know you? - but then it's gone, because no, he doesn't. He looks vaguely familiar because he stared at him once across a courtyard, but the memory isn't significant enough to have stuck with him.

[deadredbird.livejournal.com]

The only reason he keeps fussing with the idea, Jason realizes as soon as he's closer to this guy, is because it's so damn unlikely. Which is sad and says so much about him. He doesn't need to analyze and note down all the ways in which this guy doesn't look like Bruce — it's obvious and therefore safe. How many times has he seen Bruce since...? Well, there was the one from that other earth. Then there was that one who didn't know him, in the City. Then Christmas. That's why he's doing this.

It lets him just about forget the whole thing by the time he's out the door. The pastry really is pretty good.