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

[rhinemaid]

Beneath the surface of the river, Ilde can usually expect not to be interrupted by anything outside of it; there are a lot of reasons why she spends so much time down there, but this is indeed a compelling one, all things considered. There are always exceptions to a rule, however, and she darts sideways when the stranger hits the water to avoid a collision - it's an unceremonious thing not helped by the unpleasant taste his presence in the water leaves in his mouth. Literally, not figuratively; she's not sure what that is, but she doesn't like it.

He might've tried climbing out on his own, if it weren't for the fact that Ilde has him by the throat when she surfaces to see where the hell that came from.

[deadredbird.livejournal.com]

After the second time he left someone hunched over and vomiting against a wall while the would-be mugging victim disappears into the distance, he spends as little walking around time in Bonetown as possible — sooner or later, he's going to punch someone with connections. Later would be better. It's where he eventually comes back, though, and it's just barely dawn when he stops for coffee at a tiny, cramped cafe where the barista scowls but not, he thinks, because anyone is pressing them for money. That's not always obvious, but they seem like a fairly small operation, and they don't seem unduly stressed. It's unlikely, in his opinion, that the Broad Arrow would have a stake.

There's a dog sitting out in front of the main window, happy to do absolutely nothing other than appear in need of a bath. Jason pats it on the head on the way in, buys their largest size, black, and fills it with sugar. He buys a couple newspapers too and sits at a table by the window to read.

[thenormalsquint]

Angela is a nice girl. Not a good girl, but a nice girl, and nice girls don't do the Vault. But then again, Angela does everything nice girls don't plus more so her being in the Vault again means that today is probably just whatever goes for Tuesday here. At least she stays out of That Room, the one that requires her signature for entrance. For the moment anyway. Curiosity will sooner or later get the best of her.

The bar gets most of Angela's attention as she waits to see if Hasi is working today, both to catch up and to see if Hasi wants to go out after she's done. With an easy smile and a charming word, she warms the bartender up into giving her the good rum with her cocktail. Let's see if the bartender charges her the bottom-shelf price.

[mightyfallen]

Jack isn't up at this hour on purpose, not lately. His party days may not be far behind him, but they are behind him, or at least swept under the run with the rest of his vices. He has morning meetings, places to be and things to do in far too few hours to be awake right now. Too bad that's not in the cards tonight.

If it's the Militia's rounds that wake him, it isn't until they're near finished, and he isn't thinking clearly enough to be aware of it, not consciously. He simply finds himself sitting up in bed, awake, alert, every nerve in his body on edge – and he tells himself it's nothing, because it's always nothing. Inhale, exhale, inhale, hold the breath in his lungs until it burns just to remind himself how to feel, and he's up. He checks the locks, then the windows, just– just because. He doesn't analyze it; he does it, and when that doesn't settle him, he grabs a bottle and a cigarette and heads to the terrace.

A squeaky hinge harbingers his arrival, followed by a quick flash of the match, then the slow glow of his cigarette as he takes a drag before stepping out away from the door. It's fucking freezing out here, by the way. (...Granted, it would help if he'd remembered to put on a shirt.)