Difference between revisions of "7686/No Man's Land: Severed"

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{{Log Header
 
{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2011/05/25
+
|Date of Scene=2021/09/10
|Location=Iceberg Lounge, Gotham City, NJ.
+
|Location=Iceberg Lounge
|Synopsis=(FLASHBACK) Gotham is declared a No Man's Land. The Penguin makes his move. Gotham's heroes rise up.
+
|Synopsis=Gotham is declared a No Man's Land. The Penguin makes his move. Gotham's heroes rise up.
 
|Cast of Characters=165,3200,3152,336,45,175,390,356
 
|Cast of Characters=165,3200,3152,336,45,175,390,356
|Cast of NPCs=859
+
|Tinyplot=No Man's Land
|Tinyplot=Gotham City Stories
 
|Tinyplot2=Tales from No Man's Land
 
 
|pretty=yes
 
|pretty=yes
 
}}
 
}}

Revision as of 06:11, 22 September 2021

No Man's Land: Severed
Date of Scene: 10 September 2021
Location: Iceberg Lounge
Synopsis: Gotham is declared a No Man's Land. The Penguin makes his move. Gotham's heroes rise up.
Cast of Characters: Bruce Wayne, Killian Quinn, Simon Trent, Selina Kyle, Clark Kent, Barbara Gordon, Stephanie Brown, Jason Todd
Tinyplot: No Man's Land


Bruce Wayne has posed:
    May 25, 2011

    Wednesday

    9:12 PM

    Two Weeks Since the Cataclysm

It hasn't taken Gotham's criminals very long to divide the City up into a collection of rogue fiefdoms amidst the ruins. Only a few of the once-proud buildings still stand, though the rubble is piled high enough to still give it the dark and claustrophobic feel it was always famous for. That, coupled with the murky water that seems to flood the whole town, makes for a true pit of misery and vice cut off completely from the mainland by bridges demolished by the quake.

The Iceberg Lounge - the Penguin's palace - has largely been considered neutral ground since the disaster began. The squat crime boss still has connections to the outside world and access to food and necessities that have become very hard to come by. As such, conflict between the gangs is forbidden here and it serves as something or a gaudy, decadent 'Casablanca' while outside the war rages on.

"After an all-night session," says Cat Grant, news anchor, from the television hanging over the bar that is running on what must be one of the last electrical generators in Gotham, "The final votes are being cast on the controversial 'Gotham Act' which proposes to permanently sever the disaster-stricken city from the United States and make all travel to and from the island illegal."

"Waaaaark!" the Penguin shouts over the din of conversation, concern, and trade in the Lounge. He raises the umbrella he clasps in one hand, pointing it at the ceiling and letting off a burst of automatic gunfire from the tip that sends a rain of sparks falling onto the crowd below, "They're about to announce it! Shut your mouths!"

Killian Quinn has posed:
    As it has been for a decade and likely will be for decades to come, Killian Quinn is naught but a simple bartender. That's his place tonight, behind the bar serving up drinks with a style and flair suited his surroundings.

    Of course as it always will be, he also has one ear to the ground for loose lips claiming bragging rights and the other open to lend those that need to lament this or that perceived wrong doing. His reassuring smile comes as easily as his sympathetic near pout, both believable and sincere, even when they're far from it. Information his game and lately he's been channeling more than a little of it in the direction of the 'good' left in Gotham, free of charge even.

    He hustles his way up and down the bar, serving spirits and beer, making casual conversation, putting people at ease... until the call for quiet is made. Obedient little employ that he is, Killian shuts his yap.

Simon Trent has posed:
     Simon Trent is a man in his 50's with thick black hair and a confidence about him. He's built like a brick house and holds chisled features that made him a natural on the silver screen. One look at him tells that he's got the confidence to back up a role.

     He's dressed in a flack jacket with steel knuckles over his hands as he grasps a tall glass of whisky. Looking over towards the monitor his pipe is stuck out the corner of his mouth smouldering smoke off the edge and lifting up towards the ceiling. It was the end of life as he knew it and dammit he was going to smoke if he was going to die anyway.

     He looks over towards the television set with a great deal of interest those flight goggles pulled down over his eyes to keep the light of day from blinding him, the man dressed in whatever body armor he could find to keep himself safe during the troubles.

Selina Kyle has posed:
    Selina Kyle is a woman who's grown accustomed to a certain level of comfort in her life; and that comfort is in rapidly diminishing supply. One could ask why, then, Selina didn't get out of Gotham when she had the chance! She's been asking herself that endlessly for about a week now. She didn't have any special goal in mind - not yet anyway - she just... couldn't.

    She hasn't seen the Bat since then either. That's concerning in a variety of ways. Though it does give her some room to operate.

Ironically, the Iceberg lounge may now be the safest - and most comfortable! - place in Gotham for her sort right now. Though Selina Kyle doesn't have the kind of reputation that would keep her safe here. The Catwoman, however... does! So it is that she finds herself in full costume once again, sat in a chair with her legs put up on a dining table, one bent enough to put her heel on the edge, with which to push herself and gently rock the chair back and forth on its hind legs.

She was watching the television intently when the gunfire went off, prompting her to cover her ears.

"Ahem." She gently clears her throat, lowers her hands, and 'kindly' calls out, "Oswald? No one can hear anything if their ears are ringing, okay~?" She THINKS she can still get away with talking like that. She's a fairly... popular figure. But tensions HAVE been running pretty high lately.

Clark Kent has posed:
Mild mannered reporter Clark Kent is currently in Washington in the press pit, waiting for the word.

"They're never going to do it. I can't think of how many ways it's unconstitutional, Smallville." Lois Lane snaps, not realizing she's on camera. "Not that this current jackass thinks of it as much but something to wipe his corn-fed ass with. What is it about you flyover state people and-Clark, shut up, that's the press secretary! Hey! Hey get back here you coward! I know where you LIVE!"

Clark probably should've told her, but Lois's career is bullet proof and 'flyover people' got to him a little.

Barbara Gordon has posed:
    Pain medication was a part of Babs' daily routine now. Ever since the Joker shot her, severed her spine, she was confined to a wheel chair. Bitterness had set in and for a while there she simply laid in bed with a cloud of despair hanging over her.

    The idea that she could still help was what finally got her out of bed. Thanks to Bruce. Oracle was born. Sitting in her wheel chair in front of the large array of computer monitors - one of them tracking the news about cutting Gotham off from the USA - but one dedicated to a specially designed and built drone. Batgirl may be no more, but her drone could still fire a taser when it needed to. It let her keep an eye on things.

    Right now it was hovering about the roof stealthily of the Penguin's place. This vote could go either way and she's expecting the worst if the USA cuts them off. Instant gang war. "How is it looking Bruce?," she asks over comms. Her idol and mentor is away trying to make sure this separation from the main land doesn't happen.

    More pain, she grabs her class of water and pops another pain killer. The groan that escapes her is followed by quick breathes as she adjusts her posture in the chair. It's still so new to her, she may never get used to it. Of all the time for Gotham to fall apart completely; it had to be when she couldn't be out there helping on the streets.

Stephanie Brown has posed:
The house was in better shape than several others on the block. That didn't mean it didn't have damage, but it was a little higher in elevation, the water surge not quite making it to the small Brown home.

The flicker of the candles illuminates the room. They had a few flashlights, but Crystal Brown wanted to save the batteries for emergencies until the power was restored. She walks in from the kitchen, carrying a tray with two plates each containing a sandwich. "The jelly will stay good whether it's refrigerated or not," she tells her ten year old daughter, Stephanie. "So it looks like PB and Js for us for now," she says as she gives Stephanie the plate, and a bottle of water.

The girl sits on the floor between the couch and coffee table. "Are you going to have to go back to the hospital tonight?" Stephanie asks. Crystal Brown does her best to not let her frustration show. "Yes, I am. I'll see who I can get to watch you before I go," she promises.

"And Dad?" Stephanie asks.

"I don't know, Stephanie. I haven't heard any word of what state Blackgate is in," she says. "Let's turn on the radio, maybe we'll hear some more news." She turns the power on the small battery powered radio. Coverage of the Gotham Act squawking out of the small device.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
In that same Washington press pit, Bruce Wayne stands with his arms folded across his chest. The countless questions from the journalists break against him like waves on a rock, his brow furrowed as he fixates intently on the screen and the decision. Miles away, Gotham needs its protector ... but no, he's needed here. This is where the fight must be fought.

"Bad," he murmurs into the sub-vocal mic he wears, responding to Oracle, "Congressman Thane was a dead-end. Even Barlowe is voting yes, and his mother still lives in Park Row. I've got a meeting with the President in the morning but if the vote swings that way ... "

Meanwhile, back in Gotham:

"A thousand apologies, my felicitous feline," the Penguin answers with a broad and crooked grin, doffing his top hat and offering a little bow, "But sometimes stern words are not enough to win the attention of such a pugnacious and cacophonous crowd, don't you agree?"

On the screen, the footage cuts from Cat Grant's newsroom to the United States House of Representatives. There's a great deal of contention on the floor, and far from the staid and stolid proceedings typical of C-SPAN there is a great amount of shouting, jostling, and even what looks like the makings of a violent confrontation. The Speaker stands, frowning down at the card in his hand.

"The votes have been tallied. In regard to the Gotham Act to declare Gotham City and its surrounds from the boundary of the Gotham River to be no longer part of these United States, the votes are: 216 against, and ... ... "

There is a long pause, the Speaker takes a deep breath.

" ... 218 for, with one abstention."

A roar of approval mixed with disapproval rushes through the crowd as anarchy threatens to break out.

"The bill is passed and will be sent to the Senate for concurrence."

Shouting. Anger. Hysteria.

Killian Quinn has posed:
    Another thing Killian's good at besides listening and learning, is keeping a poker face. The news may rock him to his core, but nothing of that shows on the outside save maybe a slight crease in his brow.

    A quick scan of the room to see what's happening where, who might be landing on which side of what and where the first of the violence might start is followed by him serving up a few of the drinks ordered before the announcement with a, "This one's on me, aye?" Maybe smooth and soothe a few of the nerves closest to him anyway, keep him of any immediate tussles.

    It's not without worry that he notices Bruce's presence out there, on the other side of it. This is all going to suck really soon and really hard.

Simon Trent has posed:
     Simon takes the glass and brings it up to his mouth. He brings the contents up to his mouth and downs them in silent thought about the scenario he now finds himself trapped in. There's a low pause in his motion as he sets the glass down adjusting the straps on his armor with the same hand that holds his smoking pipe from the corner of his mouth so he may drink.

     (Wel, you wanted to be a hero didn't you?) A voice only he can hear echoes in his head, the voice of the Gray Ghost who sets across the table from him. Simon looks down towards the ashtray for a long moment before he sets the cup back down into place. "Never like this.". (It's the end of the road as we knew it, and a new opportunity, it's time to make a difference Trent.)

     With a grimace he shoves the pipe back into the corner of his mouth adjusting his steel knuckles on each hand. The man came strapped for a fight even if he was hoping there would be a celebration.

Jason Todd has posed:
It's been two weeks since Jason ditched the group home in the midst of the chaos. Nobody had come looking, he wasn't shocked, his mom was dead his dad was in lockup and nobody else gave a fuck, so he was on his own. Or well, he and some of the other group home kids were on their own together, watching each other's backs and stealing whatever they could find to survive.

Even new as he was to this life Jason's little crew knew better than to steal from the Penguin, but the Iceberg lounge provided other opportunities, lookout work, a place to sell junk they stole and tonight a bit of legitimate work, well if nobody cares too much about youth labour laws. Tonight Jason and his friends were given carts and told to clean tables and stay out of the way, and if they did a good job they'd have first pick of the leftovers. Not bad for a night's work, plus it gave them the chance to get the dirt on what's happening in No Man's Land, which had become their home since the cataclysm.

Having just brought his cart to the kitchen, Jason rolls it back empty out onto the floor, glancing around for a moment before he leans against the wall for a bit of an impromptu break, downing a swallow from a near empty liquor bottle he'd 'forgotten' to dispose of on his return to the kitchen.

Selina Kyle has posed:
    Catwoman gives a wry grin at the Penguin's gentlemanly response, leaning her chair back precariously. Say what you want abou the killers and lunatics in this city, some of them have their charm.

    "Induibitably~" Catwoman purrs playfully in response. She's not sure she follows that logic to the same conclusion Oswald came to, but why start and argument when you can charm them instead?

    That said, Catwoman falls silent as the Speaker rises, her brow slowly knitting with concern.

    *CLUNK* The moment the tally is given there's a sharp back of the front legs of Catwoman's seat slamming into the floor as she quickly drops forward into a proper sitting position, one arm on the table clenching her fist as she stares, wide eyed, mouth agape at the screen. In a very soft, very un-Catwoman voice, she can only weakly sputter "... W-what?"

Stephanie Brown has posed:
Stephanie Brown eats her sandwich, focusing on the food more than on the radio. The voices of the arguing Congressmen can be heard in the background, the reporter there in the gallery above the House floor as he relays what is happening.

The girl looks up at Crystal Brown. "Mommy, what is going on on the radio?"

Crystal slides over on the couch to sit behind her daughter, a leg on each side as she leans down to hug the girl where she sits on the floor. "The government is... is figuring out what to do after the tidal wave, sweetie," she says.

"Mommy, that hurts," Stephanie says, alerting Crystal to just how tight she's hugging her daughter. "Sorry Stephanie," she says.

Crystal's eyes go towards the hallway and the bathroom. Towards her stash that is nearly out. And the hospital is keeping such a close eye on their drug supply now.

Clark Kent has posed:
Clark sort of?

Bruce, if he's paying attention, has probably seen that face on Clark before. Usually seconds before ripping something ten times his size apart. Nearly unanimous. When has the congress EVER been this united? It boggles the mind. It makes no sense.

Clark looks at Lois, who looks back at them. They have a brief moment of abject terror.

Meanwhile, at the Iceburg Lounge, the Condiment King.

Secretly Jimmy Olsen in disguise, looking to get on the spot reactions, of course. You can tell because his condiments are 'garlic aioli' and 'siraccha'.

Rubs his chin. "Can somebody catch me up?" He pauses. "Catch up, get it. What's does that mean? Is there just...no more law?"

Barbara Gordon has posed:
    Silent alarm from the library. It's an auspicious evening, of course crime doesn't stop. She swings her drone around and starts flying across the buildings quickly. Power is scarce in the city and she's well aware how much she's using. But, if it saves lives... certainly better this way; she can alert the police when things start going wild. Though, in the current state of the city the police are struggling just to keep their heads above the water too.

    The library, where she works. Well, worked. She hasn't been there in a while now. They told her she still has a job waiting for her. She appreciates that greatly. The front door has been broken in to. Her drone quietly enters the building to see three men wearing ski masks making their way quietly toward the offices at the back.

    A bright light from her drone shines over them, blinding any who try to look at it. Followed by a loud disorienting horn and the gravelly garbled words: "Disperse! The city is in Curfew! Return to those who need you." Babs leans back from the mic and places her hands on the duel joysticks. Now she waits to see just how confident these three are.

    "I can't believe they'd really vote yes on the Gotham Act," she says quietly in to Bruce's ear. He's travelled before but it always feels like the city is naked without him.

    For Babs, unable to don her Batgirl suit, even more so. As the votes are read her eyes swivel over to the other monitor.. "No..," she says in a whisper over the comms. Her right hand balls in to a fist and she thumps it against the arm of her wheelchair.

    Another alarm.. a bank. It's like they were just waiting to see if the vote would go one way or the other. And then another, at a museum. "Damn it," she says to herself. Too many things at once, "One thing at a time." She taps on her keyboard rapidly, injecting a dispatch order to three patrol cars to head to the bank.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"Well!" the Penguin exclaims, rising up from his table on a dais that overlooks the whole club, "A momentous and historical day! One for the books, no doubt, and not a Bat-Man in sight to rain on our parade! Mister Finch, if you'd be so kind ... "

A silvery, retro-style microphone lets out a small feedback ring as it is handed up to the Penguin. Now when he speaks, his voice booms throughout the club for all to hear.

"With the nitwits on the Hill making the obvious and, dare I say, cowardly choice it behoves me to spread a little sunshine into your lives. The Gotham City you knew may be dead, with the final nail in its coffin lid to be delivered by the hoary halfwits of the Senate in short order but rising from the ashes is a new and free society. One in which you can all live independently and without fear of dark shadows falling on you from on high, wicked eyes in the dark, or fascistic rule! I call it ... "

On cue, a number of banners unfurl throughout the club. They open noisily, the fabric rolling towards the ground. Upon each is an art-deco style image of Gotham's skyline, dominating the northern hemisphere of a stylized globe. Above it all stands a cartoon of the Penguin, cigarette stick in his mouth and a broad grin on his face. The words 'PENGUINOPOLIS' dominate the banner.

" ... PENGUINOPOLIS!"

Through the speakers, 'Sing, Sing, Sing' by Benny Goodman begins to play. Balloons and confetti fall from hidden places in the ceiling. Those without the wit or sense to understand the gravity of the situation begin the party, with the Penguin leering down on it all from above.

Back in Washington, the look on Bruce's face could stop a heart dead. He moves swiftly out of the press pit, still ignoring questions as he practically shoves the sea of people out of his way to wade towards the foyer.

"The fights not over yet," he tells Barbara through the comm, even though they'd both strategized enough to know that bill would pass through the senate like a hot knife through butter, "I'm cancelling my flight home. I need to talk to these senators."

Killian Quinn has posed:
    Keep your head down and the drinks coming, Killian. ... and that's exactly what he does. Of course he's also keeping his ears open. Always that, ears always open. With half an eye and mind on the task of serving the next in line, be it one celebrating or one drowning sorrows, and the other half out for the start of any real trouble, the Fairy Bartender just keeps doing his job. From time to time, he shoves a hand in his pocket to fiddle with the seeds he carries with him always and only be used in the event of severe threat to his personal well-being.

Simon Trent has posed:
     Simon comes back to a stand with his pipe stuck into the corner of his mouth. He knows full well what this means for the city, penguin declaring himself its ruler was far from the best situation in the world.

     As he makes his way for the door he adjusts his gloves lightly on his hands taking in a deep breath of smoke from his pipe a long drag before tucking it away into that combat vest of his. Things were no doubt about to get heated on other parts of the city and he needed to do whatever it was that he could to help out the best that he could.

     (Let's go show those ne'er-do-wells the might of justice.) He can already hear the sirens in the distance. And knows full well what it means.

Selina Kyle has posed:
    Catwoman might as well be deaf and blind as far as her ability to absorb what's happening in the room around her; right up until she's startled out of her shock by the feedback noise of the microphone.

She stares blankly, for a moment, as he winds up his speech, but sooner or later her instincts kick back in. Her face regains its composure. Her legs cross nonchalantly. Her hands... okay, they're still shaking right now, but otherwise you wouldn't be able to tell at a glance that she doesn't own the room.

Even with the sinking feeling that follows the unfurling of the banners.

"Penguinopolis." She murmurs. It takes a great deal of self control not to laugh. Like a dozen different psychopaths aren't giving a speech just like this one right now. Though, Selina has to give it to Oswald, his version certainly has production values.

    There's no way it'll be that clean. Not even close.

    But still... Selina Kyle is a survivor. Catwoman begins to clap, gently at first, as the party erupts, then louder as she stands. She doesn't hoot and hollar and cheer, she doesn't cry out a proclamation of loyalty. The important thing is that... she's seen. She's seen supporting the announcement while it's fresh in everyone's minds; while Penguin is at the height of his self aggrandizing hubris, when he'll remember she seemed to take his side. Or perhaps more importantly, he won't have a memory of her NOT doing that.

    Of course... Catwoman doesn't take sides.

    But the longer Penguin thinks she's on his, the less danger she'll have to deal with in this territory, for now at least.

    She idly wonders if she can drop by a few more hideouts before the night is through.

    As she ponders this, she idly back-hand throws an empty bread basket at the Condiment King's head.

    Fair's fair.

Jason Todd has posed:
Jason jumps nervously as the music kicks in and Penguin's voice booms over the PA. Once he's sure none of the noise is on his account, he glances around, it takes a second to register but as it does Jason grins. He came to the right place. Spotting two of his crew doing the rounds he beckons them over.

"We came to the right place, if Penguin's going to be running things, if we get in good with him we're set. No more sleeping in vacants and dumpster diving for dinner, now get back to your rounds and don't slack. I'll get us something to celebrate with."

With that they scatter, Tommy and Erich cleaning tables while Jason heads to the bar looking very much his twelve years of age. "Hey, three?" shit what did his dad drink. "Scotches and who do I see about work around here?" Met with the bartender's skeptical look Jason says, "You heard the man, we're all living independently, free of fear of,fascistic rule gotta figure that means no ID, right?"

Stephanie Brown has posed:
After Crystal and her daughter finish their sandwiches, she takes the girl into the bathroom. Water is too precious right now for baths, but a damp rag is used to give her daughter a quick sponge bath.

"There, all clean," she says. "Let's go ahead and get you in bed. And I'll go see which of the neighbors can come and watch you tonight while you sleep," she says.

Young Stephanie Brown nods her head to her mother. "Ok mom," she agrees, shuffling along to her room. The window is cracked but the glass hasn't broken out fully. The girl climbs into her bed, Crystal drawing the blankets up over her.

Outside the sounds of gunfire can be heard. Not that it was a sound they never heard in Gotham before. But this was more than just a stray shot or two, as some of Gotham's worst element celebrate the news, firing their guns in the air, until one of them finally realizes they are wasting ammunition.

But it's enough to make the girl clutch her worn teddy bear tightly to her under the covers.

Barbara Gordon has posed:
    "Robin, I really need you right now. Museum on 10th and Harris has tripped a silent alarm," she says as the three would be thieves of the Library turn to face the drone, shielding their eyes and then complaining with groans as she fires the horn at them. One of them draws a gun and takes a shot - the other two, hedging their bets while their friend has the gun.

    The bug they left in the Penguin's club starts playing music. She blinks and frowns a moment. Hands on joystick's.. she's going to do this fight with big band swing playing in her other ear. Great. She begins to tap a finger to the beat and gets to work.

    The drone dips and dives out of the way as the gun starts to shoot at it. One of the bullets glances off the bat shaped wing. She flicks a switch and the bright light begins to strobe.

    A grappling hook shoots out from the drones under carriage and loops around the gun and she pulls back on the joystick to rip it out of his hand and up in the air, disarming him. "Hah!," she elates, then pokes her tongue out a little bit in concentration. Another of the men draws out a crowbar, presumably the one used to get in to the building, and he starts lunging and swinging it at the drone as he shields his eyes.

    The grappling hook is detached when she tosses the gun up to the second floor. She dives the drone out of the way and fires the taser across at a table. The little needles embed in to the wood. She then flies the drone in a circle around the other two and once there's contact with the wires she lets the voltage unleash.

    As they twitch, the one with the crowbar drops it and the free one helps them untangle from the wires. Awkwardly twitching, the third catches a blast of strobing lights from the drone once more. Babs hits the loud irritating siren again, "Disperse! This is your last warning." She says over the voice distortion mic... and finally the trio tuck tail and starts running for the door.. or.. limping awkwardly for two of them at least.

    "Penguin has decided to call Gotham Penguinopolis," she relays to Bruce with a touch of eye roll in her timbre. "We're spread thin but we'll do our best. If you can get national guard support in to the city then may be we could hold things together. Good luck Bruce."

    She notices another police dispatch, break and entry three blocks away from her drone. "Gotham is having one of those nights..." Several more red dots pop up on the map from emergency dispatch calls. "I'm going to need more drones," she says with a slight whimper. Time to multitask.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
The party is in full swing. One could be forgiven for forgetting that outside, Gotham is a lawless ruin ruled only by gangs formed from its former citizens. Women dressed in black and white, legless tuxedos hand out everything from bottled water to booze. Near the dais where the Penguin's table is perched, a hefty-looking crate is pried open and an assortment of firearms spills forth bundled in straw.

Bruce Wayne"Now it's time to take our city. Outside those doors you'll find the Two-Face Gang, dear Doctor Crane's Halloween-themed freakshow, and even the emaciated corpse of Gotham's Finest - Jim Gordon's 'Blue Boys'. Them and a dozen other little worms in the apple. Just remember, take Gotham for me or all the good things dry up. Nobody else can get you what Uncle Penguin can get you."

Back in Washington, Bruce stands on the Capitol steps staring out into the night. It's been a long time since he's taken in the evening as Bruce Wayne rather than as Batman.

"He'll keep. Penguin's an opportunist. He's just trying to profit. For now, I need to work the Senate - get them to knock the bill back. We need a lot more boots on the ground than just Dick. Put out feelers. There're a few people still in Gotham who we can get to work with us. See who you can find."

Killian Quinn has posed:
    One of those people is still keeping his head low behind the bar. Getting involved directly, it's not one of Killian's favorite things. In fact it's something he's known to avoid with the heated passion of a thousand suns.

    Unless of course, the request to do so comes directly from fucking Batman and his ilk. So far that hasn't happened and Killian is glad for it, elated even, he's feeling the luck of the Irish for now. ...but how long before his luck runs out?

Simon Trent has posed:
     Simon slips out from the front of the building best that he can into the dead of night that is the trapped Gotham City. He's following the radio reports to the nearest crime scene as he dons the hat of the Gray Ghost back to cover his head adjusting his goggles into place to cover his eyes once more. It won't take a rocket scientist to figure out that Simon Trent IS the Gray Ghost, but plausible deniability is key in situations like this.

     "You know this is crazy right?" He mutters to himself as he feels the cool nights air against his skin moving over towards his car parked to one side of the Iceberg lounge. (So is talking to yourself, but here we are.) Chimes the voice of the Gray Ghost. (Just slip into character little actor, we've got the performance of a lifetime waiting for us.)

Jason Todd has posed:
Scotch? What scotch? Jason's eyes round as Penguin calls for people to join his gang and take over Gotham, spilling guns onto the floor. Jason dashes to pick one up, diving under some goons legs to snatch up a pair of pistols. "Get your own," he tells the goon, turning one of the guns to face him. His dad put him out on the corner when he was nine, he knew how to handle a gun, hell, he carried his dad's piece when they did jobs together since as a juvenile Jason would pull less time for possession of a deadly weapon.

The man backs off, and Jason helps himself to another pistol before beckoning his friends over, handing out the pistols he shouts to Penguin. "We're with you!"

Selina Kyle has posed:
    Catwoman blucks a bottle of water from the hand of a passing woman with a thin, tight lipped smile. She's done that job once or twice. For her other work. She has no sympathy for them, except perhaps that the implications of this job they have are probably going to get really complicated really quick.

    Rather, Catwoman has her focus set on a more profitable means of survival. She saunters up to the stage and makes herself at home, lifting herself up and seating herself on the edge of it. Setting the water down, Catwoman idly picks up one of the pistols that poured out of the great, and looks it over with curiosity. Idling kicking her dangling legs, Catwoman speaks to the Penguin without looking at him, her voice thoughtful, "Oswald, you know I've never been... much of a *fighter.*" She lies with a straight face. She looks up at him with a coy little smile and sets the gun down. "Buuuut... there's no reason I can't still do my usual work~"

She leans back on her two hands, still looking up at the Penguin. "Just saying. It'd help a girl out in a big scary new world if you rang up her commissions now and then."

    Without looking away, Catwoman snatches the back of Jason's shirt collar, and yanks him towards her without looking at him. "I don't think we're hiring child soldiers just yet, kiddo." she says to him quietly, barely looking at him. She plucks the gun out of his hand and sets it on the stage beside her. "Folks around here get *impulsive* when the wrong people touch their toys." She looks at Jason, finally, smiling sympathetically and giving a little wink. "Keep your cool, okay? Put in a good word." She says, before letting him go and giving his hair a quick ruffle.

Clark Kent has posed:
ICEBURG

Condiment King is hit in the face with a bread roll. "You could at yeast give me a chance, Catwoman!" Condiment King says, laughing a little because that was clever, right? He frowns a bit as the guns come out and Penguin goes full John Galt.

It's a hell of a story, but how long do they have? Jimmy's finger trails towards his super-watch. "What's the catch, Penguin? We just work for you, forever?"

Meanwhile, in Washington.

Bruce Wayne'll see a familiar figure climb those steps. Clark Kent's been seen with Bruce Wayne in public before, the two men never seen as close but.

But some things are important. Clark puts a gentle hand on Bruce's shoulder. "Hey." Clark says, and considers his options. 'Are you okay?' seems stupid, but what else is there?

"This isn't going to be forever. Even if the Senate won't listen, the Justice League..." Is a very new concept, these days. Could they survive defying the government's order? Could they survive NOT doing it?

Barbara Gordon has posed:
    The Eye in the Sky, aka, the big drone that doesn't do combat sours high in the sky watching over the city. That's not it's only job though as it lowers down closer and Babs guides her combat drone up toward it. Refueling. They dock just briefly long enough to swap batteries for the engines, taser, and restock the grappling hook, then they are away from each other once more.

    "On it," she replies to Batman. Her fingers wildly typing as she scans her eyes over the maps and the information in the Bat computer. They need allies and they need them fast. The police scanner that Simon is using, a bit old school, but she overrides it for a moment to get in contact.
    "My name is Oracle. I work with Batman. Gotham needs you. There's a robbery in progress on 14th and Kane."

    Her eyes flick over the database and she picks her next potential aid. A phone rings near Killian and she hopes he answers..
    "My name is Oracle. I work with Batman. Gotham needs you. There's an armed assault on 117th and Washington."

    Oh.. now there's a terrible idea. But why not get ahead of the curve. She attempts to find a way to get in contact with Catwoman. Comms? Perhaps, phone? may be.. phone of opportunity as she's wandering past? definitely.
    "My name is Oracle. I work with Batman. Gotham needs you. Penguin has plans for his gang deployments in his office. Steal them. An agent of mine will be waiting outside in the ally."

    Hooo boy, putting eggs in some rickety baskets tonight. She keeps on perusing the list and trying to make contact. Her drone autonomously swoops down toward an approaching collision between two rival gangs out for blood.

Jason Todd has posed:
Jason grabbed from behind Jason whirls around only to have the gun taken out of his hand. "I'm not a child," he protests, but when Selina offers to put in a good word, his eyes flick to hers trying to get a read on the woman before he says, "You better," trying to salvage his pride. Tommy and Erich try to slip off into the crowd.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"My delightful feline," the Penguin replies, stretching out to scratch Selina under the chin with the end of the umbrella in his hand, "I wouldn't dream of letting you divert from your true calling. Just remember ... "

At this point, the good-naturedness drains from his face and leaves only a glaring malice through the glass of his monocle.

" ... everybody kicks up to Uncle Oswald. Everyone. Even you."

The Penguin's attention turns to Jason and he offers him a knowing wink: "The lady is right. But I do appreciate the fervor, young man. Enjoy the party."

Back in Washington, Bruce glances over his shoulder at Clark. His features are dark, lined with concern. He's grown a layer of stubble and bags under his eyes from all the late nights, trying to push the votes Gotham's way. All for naught.

"The Justice League can't do anything, Clark. If the Senate passes the bill, then this is law. There are still hundreds of thousands of people living in Gotham that didn't make the evacuations. If the bill passes, they become stateless. The scum is already making plays to take over."

He turns suddenly, jamming a fingertip into Clark's chest angrily. Likely fracturing the bone, but he doesn't show it at all.

"Why are you here? You could be dropping food and water. Digging through the rubble. Hell, you could put on that costume and tell these greedy, self-centered bureaucrats to look beyond their own self-interest for a change. You're right about one thing, Clark - this won't be forever."

He turns suddenly, shoulders squared as he storms down the stairs towards the waiting limousine. He lifts a hand to his ear, speaking into his comm:

"Oracle, put me through to Gotham. All frequencies."

He doesn't wait, continuing to speak. This time is voice is grave and menacing, the timbre of the Batman. It comes through radios, through speakers, even through the private means of communication by which Oracle has been speaking to the new operatives.

"This is Batman. The government has failed us. They want nothing more than to throw Gotham into a pit and forget it exists. We can bring our City out of this, but we have to fight. The smiling demons in your midst will offer you paradise and talk of freedom. There is no no freedom in devotion to an unjust cause. We will keep the lifeblood of Gotham flowing. We will rebuild. We will show America and the World that we are Gotham and Gotham is strong."

Killian Quinn has posed:
    Don't answer that Killian! Alarms blare in his head when that phone that almost never rings does. Don't. Do. It. He's not unfamiliar with Batling ways and this smells suspiciously like that. Walk the fuck away, didn't hear any phone ringing, it was loud, Bruce, swear, didn't even hear it.

    Alas, he cannot tell a lie.

    So Killian picks up the damned phone rather than having to be faced with admitting that he just... well, didn't. His only answer is a half moan, half little sound of acknowledgment before he hangs up. "Feckin' *Bruce*," muttered under his breath, low enough that it won't possibly be heard by anyone above the din of the bar.

    At least the place is crowded enough and staffed enough tonight that it's unlikely it'll be noticed when he slips away to the back and out. Taking a much needed break, that's all.

    City or not, there's always plant life to be found and it's thus that aids Killian in his travels to 117th and Washington. A bit of ivy clinging to a ruined building here to swing from, a root springing from the ground to bound off of to snag a ledge. Where the plants can't help, his acrobatic prowess kicks in.

    Hopefully he'll make it in time... but if not it's as good an excuse as any 'Sorry, Bruce, got caught in traffic... so to speak'.

Simon Trent has posed:
     Simon is filled with a youthful determination at the call to action. He gains a spring in his step as he rushes through the apparition of the Gray Ghost nodding in his direction. He travels to his car and starts the engine with a roar. A 1958 Studebaker Silverhawk in pristine condition in spite of the surroundings in pitch black and red coloring. He zips through the city streets tires burning rubber as he travels towards the bank with a determination in his eyes.

     Setting next to him in the passengers seat is the form of the Gray Ghost visible only to him. (So, a bank robbery, better use your head if you don't wind up full of lead.) A light pause as they veer around a corner on the road speeding up further as they hit the speed limit.

     He skids to a stop before the nearby streetlight as it turns red pausing on the spot as he waits looking both ways for signs of cars. Sure there are plenty left on the road abandoned or scrapped for parts, but there's no sign of cross traffic as he waits for the light.

     As soon as it turns green he zips back along cruising at the speed limit as he drives for that robbery in progress ready to save the day, and he's going to follow the law to do it!

Selina Kyle has posed:
    Catwoman manages to keep her compoosure when that Umbrella touches her chin. Sure, it's Oswald, and Ozzie uses that thing like an extension of his arm... but she just watched it fire a burst of live ammunition, soooo...

    Case in point, Penguin makes the situation she's in fairly clear. Her smile tightens visibly, but she otherwise maintains her composure. It's important to make Penguin feel like he's in charge, but it's doubly important that Penguin sees her as being on his side; at least in so far as anyone can trust a thief. "You're the boooossss..." she says pleasantly, inclining her head a little as she places one finger on the tip of the umbrella and geeeeently guides it away.

    To Jason, she smirks and offers a little finger-waggle of a wave as he and his friends move away. "Cute kid." She remarks. "Might have a future, if he doesn't step on a landmine."

    And then... Batman's voice. It's a little bit of a shock to her system... and an odd part of her is almost... relieved? And not just because her favorite toy is in one piece. He's still here. Still alive. Still fighting, it seems. The Bat's made like he owns this city for years. ... Maybe he still will?

'You're the boss.' Catwoman had said just minutes ago.

Selina leans back on her arms again, kicking her legs and sighs "... Meow."

Stephanie Brown has posed:
Stephanie Brown hadn't been asleep when her mother had opened the door to check in on her. But she'd pretend to be. The girl didn't know exactly why she'd done that. Maybe it was to spare her having to tell the girl she couldn't find someone to watch her. Though if so it had probably just caused the woman more anguish on whether to wake Stephanie and tell her, or just hope she slept through the night ok.

In the end her mother had closed the door. It wouldn't be the first time Stephanie had to stay through a night by herself, and at ages even younger than this.

The sound of the front door closing as her mother left for work got the girl out of bed again. She went over to the window to look out. A group of flashlights were visible not too far away. And beyond that, a burned down house was still smoldering. Once it had been clear it wasn't going to cause anything around to burn, it had just been left. The first responders had more important things to worry about.

Stephanie moved over to the living room, and turned on the radio. A man with a deep, gravelly voice came on and was talking about the government failing them. The girl didn't know what all was going on, only that things changed after the tidal wave. She sits there in the dark, listening to the radio and watching out the window.

Clark Kent has posed:
Clark just sort of looks at Bruce's finger. He remembers, briefly, how they started out; Clark broke up what looked like Batman outright torturing some street kid, and Bruce threatened to expose his identity. Their relationship's always had a bit of an edge, as Bruce lashes out and Clark stonewalls. The limits are in flux.

But who can blame him, really?

"I'm here..." Clark decides to ignore the yelling, the immediate switch to bat-voice, every other defensive scramble. He considers what to say and decides on the truth. "...because this is a job for Clark Kent."

Condiment Olsen sits down and looks at Selina Kyle. "So do you have, like, a full fursuit or is the kenomimi look more your thing?"

Jason Todd has posed:
Jason grins when Oswald notices him and he gives a little bow, "Okay, no guns, but you got any other work? We've got all sorts of fervor," he says borrowing Penguin's word even if he wasn't too sure what it meant. "What can we do for you boss?"

Barbara Gordon has posed:
    Batman lays it out like it is. She takes in a deep breath, "Oooh boy." Her job isn't done. She picks on the group with more guns and starts to flash the bright lights at them to steer them back, "Disperse!" She could get used to this super power.

    As she watches what she hopes are her agents making progress toward the addresses she gave them, she can only sit back helplessly and watch. She presses her lips together. She could have been out there.. with them.. fighting the good fight instead of being stuck here in this damn chair. Only time will tell if her ploy with Catwoman will pay off.

    "Ya know..." she pauses and looks at one name on the list in particular. Dinah Lance. She calls her.
    "My name is Oracle. I work with Batman. Gotham needs you. There's looting at the Old Pier Mall gun store in progress." She smiles a moment. Why not call some of these particularly odd case files. Dinah seems like a good and capable person after all.

    "I think I need to make a team of my own. Vet them myself. Because if we keep having nights like this I'm going to need all the help I can get..." She taps a finger to her chair arm for a moment thinking up potentials for the Birds of Prey.

Killian Quinn has posed:
    All that costumed hero shite, that's not Killian's style - at least not yet. Instead, once he arrives here he needs to be, he sticks to the shadows. After all, when one can control the flora and communicate with the fauna, showing oneself isn't necessary to get the job done.

    His cheerful singing of 'Paint the Town Red' by the Mahones might give away his location, but not before any stray blade of grass, any root beneath concrete, any little living green thing in the area does the dirty work for him. Once he's started, once he has the 'bad guys' by the balls so to speak, it's really difficult for him to pull short of ripping them to shreds. But he does, because... feckin' Bruce.

    Once the jobs done, he dances a little jig to the music in his head, sparks flying from his fingers when he snaps them and goes back to work the same way he came.