caballero ∞ until one day it did (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
caballero) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
multiversallogs2012-02-20 03:52 pm
caballero) wrote in multiversallogs2012-02-20 03:52 pm
Entry tags:
men murdered themselves into this democracy
Who:Bruce WayneTom and Kalinda Sharma.
What: An interrupted mugging. And more.
Where: Syriac Well, near Stoneshell.
When: Tonightish.
Warnings: Violence.
The roads linking Stoneshell to civilization have become familiar to Bruce of late, in particular a twenty-four-hour coffee shop whose courtyard is constantly overgrown with grass and ivy, laced in fairy lights. It's quaint, hovering between rural and classic, though he doesn't often stay for very long; the people who frequent and operate it are polite, good, and if he stays still for any extended amount of time they start trying to engage him in conversation and, well. He's walking down the street into Syriac Well, now, gauging the temperature of whatever it is the barista made him. (Salted something? He always lets them pick.) It's innocently near-deserted at this hour, in an already sleepy corner of town. And then - something.
Most people would have missed it: a seemingly-average looking man hopping up on the sidewalk to pace a young woman, arm around her shoulder. They turn into a side-alley, her coat covers any body language cues that might be sent out. On the surface it looks fine, but Bruce couldn't not notice the way she flinched when she was first touched, the way the man's outside arm and shoulder twisted forward out of view, like he was holding something against her.
Maybe it's nothing.
Bruce sets his coffee cup down on top of a metal trash can near the entrance to the alley, almost an afterthought, as he walks over, following the would-be couple.
At first no one notices him; they're halfway down the alley (that lets out on the other side to another sedate, equally empty street) and he's got her up against a wall, wooden cross held to her throat. Her face is twisted in horror, red eyes half-shut, trying to struggle away. Bruce's expression doesn't change, but something like a wry, disgusted smile twists in him as he steps forward; what bold timing.
Most people would have missed it: a seemingly-average looking man hopping up on the sidewalk to pace a young woman, arm around her shoulder. They turn into a side-alley, her coat covers any body language cues that might be sent out. On the surface it looks fine, but Bruce couldn't not notice the way she flinched when she was first touched, the way the man's outside arm and shoulder twisted forward out of view, like he was holding something against her.
Maybe it's nothing.
Bruce sets his coffee cup down on top of a metal trash can near the entrance to the alley, almost an afterthought, as he walks over, following the would-be couple.
At first no one notices him; they're halfway down the alley (that lets out on the other side to another sedate, equally empty street) and he's got her up against a wall, wooden cross held to her throat. Her face is twisted in horror, red eyes half-shut, trying to struggle away. Bruce's expression doesn't change, but something like a wry, disgusted smile twists in him as he steps forward; what bold timing.