RolePlayGateway™

OOC: I hope you caught the drift of what the tale was by my post. I haven't role-played in quite a while, so my creative juices are flowing and my posts are a-driftin' long!

RULES
most of gotham may not oblige by them, but you must.

oo1. Make your posts have considerable detail. Three good sentences at the least, though it'd make my day if you posted more than that. Oh, also make them coherent. I understand typos and dazed states (i've been having those a lot, but it's just because of the heat, i bet.), but try your best at coherency. Edit your posts if you have to; I do that a lot, so do not be ashamed by the 'Edit' count.

oo2. PM me your profiles. Don't post them here. If you are playing an original, all you need to do is tell me their name and their personality in a bit of detail so I can be sure that you'll play them decently. I may also ask you other questions regarding them, but don't worry. I promise they won't be all that hard, if you've only seen the movies or something like me.

oo3. If you have something to say that doesn't concern the role-play, post it in OOC. (There's an example up above!)

oo4. NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO INSTANTLY DECIDE THAT THEY CAN BE BATMAN'S SIDE-KICK. (LOLNO it doesn't have to be Robin. It can be completely made-up so long as it's awesome!) The ones playing Bruce and Alfred decide that, with some input from other players as well, maybe.

oo5. Keep it 14+. Don't have too much profanity or anything in your posts, got it? That's not cool.

oo6. Your characters can disrespect each other as much as they want, but YOU the role-players cannot disrespect each other. Real life drama is bad enough, but don't create it on teh interwebz too!

oo7. l33t is welcome for OOC, not role-playing. I consider the rules an OOC type of thing, which is why I am using l33t a little. Bare with it if you don't like it.

oo8. Have fun, and don't do anything that'll make me add more rules!

---

APPLICATION

Code: Select all

[b]Name:[/b]
[b]Alias(es):[/b] [nicknames. stuff like batman or the joker or whatever the public knows your alter ego as counts.]
[b]Age:[/b]
[b]Gender:[/b]
[b]Status:[/b] [socially - rich/poor/middle-class/what? politically - good/bad/corrupted/neutral/what?]
[b]Personality:[/b] [long or short as you want. sentence form.]
[b]Biography:[/b] [same as above.]
[b]Appearance:[/b] [picture and/or description. no scene/emo/whatever people. they annoy me... BADLY. no offence!]
[b]Attire:[/b] [what do they usually wear? do they have a costume in mind? -hinthint-]
[b]View:[/b] [what is their view on their city Gotham?]
[b]Other:[/b] [anything else not mentioned here?]

---

Here is the character thread, which sadly has no witty name.

OOC: OPEN! I'll post the character thread once I make it, so don't worry. Your application isn't just there for no reason.

:3

OOC: I am currently too tired to make the role-play thread, or even role-play in general, but I will still continue on lurking for a bit.

The point of this post though, was to inform you all that I will be playing Bruce Wayne. Sorry, those who wanted to play him. If you're desperate, tell me and I'll most probably give you his spot and play Alfred instead.

Both are equally awesome characters, no matter how they're interpreted by others.
:'P

OOC: So is this where you want us to role play? Or are you going to be opening a different thread for strictly IC and leave this one OOC?

OOC: All the OOC threads I've created before have been a waste of space in my opinion since no one ever posted, so this is the OOC/IC thread all in one.

If all the players really end up chatting up a storm though, then I'll create an official OOC thread and keep this one strictly IC.

I'll post my intro soon by the way; it's just that I have lots of stuff to do at the moment. Sorry.
:]

The light shone directly into the supposed vigilante's eyes the minute he opened his eyes. "Alfred must have opened the blinds..." He thought observantly despite his tired state, letting out a quiet groan and pulling his blanket to shield his eyes from the painful sunlight. It was quite ironic how the Batman, whose objective was to vanquish corruption out of Gotham and make it a cheery place, received so much pain from the light, and so much joy from the dark. But then again, anyone in his shoes would feel a sense of pleasure when knowing that their acts were not just selfishly helping themselves, but also everyone else!

After a moment of reflecting over that, Bruce tore his blanket off of him and looked at the alarm clock that he had recently splurged on. Five o'clock. "Hm. Curious as to why Alfred didn't wake me up." Looking down at the floor, he spotted a newspaper and a green protein shake that he always drank as a meal when in a rush, which was nearly everyday in his case. Gulping down the shake, which wasn't exactly the tastiest thing in the world but gave him a lot of energy, he grabbed the newspaper that had been placed beside it.



Chuckling, Bruce read the rest of the article since he assumed it may help him on his quest of finding an assistant. Predictably, it didn't. It was written exactly like those articles from trashy tabloid magazines, and didn't even have any pictures for proof! "Well, at least now the youth aren't driven to corruption." He stated dryly after having finished the article and carelessly tossing the newspaper away from himself. Bruce saw a neatly ironed suit laid down for him on the comfy chair in his gigantic bedroom, which he sat on when deep in thought about something more serious than his usual thoughts, and smiled. Alfred really was always there for him... "But there will come a day when he won't be." Bruce grimly admitted to himself, making the smile on his face instantly vanish. Pushing those depressing thoughts aside, he quickly got himself dressed up carefully to not irritate any of his wounds (all received by his occupation of choice) and made his way out of his bedroom.

Bruce really had no idea why Alfred had put out such a fancy suit for him; what was he supposed to do today? Once he made his way down the stairs, he finally remembered. "The fundraiser!" His old age was making him rather forgetful, which supported the fact that he seriously needed an aide, despite his secretive ego. Dashing out of Wayne Manor, he stepped into a red Ferrari that he had bought to conceal his true self and sped over to the locale where he was supposed to be. Being in Gotham, he knew that none of the cops would care less about speeding and wouldn't even bother to give him a ticket, so he used that to his advantage...

"What would make me seem more like an idiot than using my status to break foolish laws?" Bruce thought, with a grin on his face as he revved up the engine even more. As he drove, he winked at many gals who looked like the playgirl types, who were perfect for his fake persona.

Jack Morris leaned against the back wall of the small bookstore, The Little Shop. It was dim and cozy inside the bookstore, the shelves filled with volumes of all kinds of fiction, history, romance, advice and self help. A small clock ticked above the teen at the counter, slowly droning away the minutes and drawing night closer. Only one or two customers roamed the shelves, most just browsing to pass the time.

Jack continued to crack his knuckles, the small pops of stressed caused CO2 being drowned out by the clock. Boxing practice had been canceled today, much to his annoyance. He really enjoyed the matches and the rush from a good fight. The first reason he had taken up boxing however was not a current issue anymore though. The lean young man had first started to box so he could learn to defend himself from tormenting bullies. Soon he had horned his thinly muscled arms into steel rods and his fists into jawbreakers. The bullies learned too, much to their health care providers expense.

His thoughts continued to his plans for tonight, of the cool night air streaming though......Jack shook his head, not needing to be lost in a daydream right now, he had a store to mind.

Due simply to his disfiguration, and the fact that half his suit was just as horrifyingly messed up as his face, many people of Gotham were staring at him either in fear or in pity. It was, clearly, getting on the man's nerves; his face began to look even more vicious because of it. All because his face and half his clothing was tweaked up for the worse didn't mean people had to look at him that way! "Should we yell at them, or not?" Two-Face asked himself, or rather his two selves. With a smile, he took his precious coin out of his pocket and flipped it. It landed on the side that had been burnt with oil, just like his once handsome face, so...

"Hey you, freaks! Why're you staring at us, huh?! Haven't your Mothers taught you that it's rude to stare?!" He hollered, turning his head to face each and every one of the fools that were staring at him in shock. The people unanimously decided to stop staring at him, and awkwardly continued on whatever they were doing. Two-Face, previously recognized as the great District Attorney Harvey Dent destined to make Gotham a better place, continued on wandering aimlessly up and down the streets. Gotham had gotten even worse while he had spent his time in that blasted Arkham Asylum...

"That place was for the criminally insane, so why in the world did we have to go there? I mean, it wasn't like we did anything wrong! All we were doing was erasing out all the bad parts of Gotham, right?" Two-Face often wondered curiously. Honestly, he could never seem to figure out that answer. Not even his beloved coin helped him figure it out!

At some point of his currently uneventful journey, Harvey spotted a bookstore. "Ahhh. I think we should read to catch up with Gotham, hm?" Flipping his coin to decide, it flipped on the scorched side once again, so he stepped into the bookstore with a smile on his face. Seeing a young man at the counter, he walked cockily over to him and drummed his fingertips on it to capture his attention, if his appearance hadn't already, and asked,"Hey kid, do you know where we could find books, or newspapers if you sell them here, that would help us figure out what's been going on in Gotham lately?"

Yawn.

Gavina stretched herself out with a grimace, rubbing the back of her neck and wishing that the morning hadn't come so quickly and the evening hadn't followed it so promptly. The night before had been a busy one: two car thefts, five armed robberies, three street fights and a lost child. She had taken a punch to the jaw that had nearly dislodged a tooth, and had sustained a tear in her costume that she now had to find some way to repair. She could just sew it up, of course, but that would require some heavy duty string...of which she had none. Ah, well. She would just have to live without eggs for the next week or so. In the meantime, a glance at the dirty-faced clock on the inside of a store she hustled past suggested that she was going to be late to work if she didn't hurry up on her bookstore run. And if she were late, the manager might be even more irritated than normal about her napping between films at the theater.

Quickening her pace a bit and hugging her raggedy coat closer around her form, Gavin huffed and tugged her cap lower around her ears. Head covered, body shape covered by too-big clothing, eyes stuck fast in the direction she was headed. All excellent techniques in not attracting attention to oneself. Not that she couldn't handle any trouble that attention might cause for a young woman on Gotham's streets...she just didn't want any attention. After all, did Batman seek out the spotlight?

Finally, she reached the bookstore where she spent her spare cash and time. Quite the selection, this store had. Authors most of Gotham hadn't even heard of. Books most of the world wouldn't have imagined needed writing. And there was nothing quite like a good read that nobody else could know about. Tugging the flaps of her hat firmly around her ears once more, Gavin entered The Little Shop with the thought of her employer whining about her being late weighing heavily on her mind.

"Hey," She greeted quickly to the boy that she knew as one of the workers. She never exactly had time to stop and shoot the breeze with any of the shop keepers, but she frequented the store enough that she recognized most of them and felt it worth trying to be polite with a simple hail. She was in enough of a hurry that she didn't take notice of the man speaking to the boy, much less the less wholesome half of his body. If she had, she might have paused to wonder what Harvey Dent was doing in this part of Gotham...in Gotham at all. Instead, she went directly to the corner of the store that she knew to hold the book she had been saving for and began rifling through the shelf for it.

By the time Bruce Wayne reached the fundraiser, which was oddly taking place in a movie theatre, he had two young women by his side that most would consider sexy... Not classy sexy, as you would expect a man like him to be interested in though! Despite the fact that he was nearing his fifties, women still had no regrets spending time with him since he was filthy rich and if they dealt their cards correctly, they could get a whole lot out of it! The older crowd of the reunion, the ones around his age, avoided meeting his cheery gaze. Although decades had passed since his foolish outburst, which had saved their lives, they were still upset at him. Bruce knew that he could easily make them forgive him by lavishing them with expensive gifts and apologizing to them publicly, but he just didn't feel like it. "The less mindless company, the easier this social task is." Yes, that's right. Bruce Wayne considered social gatherings nothing but a boring task, like one a person might get assigned at work.

The younger audience of the fundraiser all surrounded him though, either having no knowledge of the incident that had taken place when they were far too young to party hard, or just didn't care about it. "Times really have changed." He thought, as he looked at the people around him. The suits looked different; some looked rather effeminate in his frank opinion; women looked absolutely trashy, or emasculate. "Maybe I should also rid Gotham of its horrid fashion."

Bruce conversed with whomever came toward him in a manner that he loathed, yet he had to act like to withhold the family's honour, as Alfred had told him once before. His mind was elsewhere as he pretended to be immersed in their intellectual chatter about things like yachts and vacation homes. Unlike the majority of the people he was chatting with, Bruce drank moderately so that he would be on his A-game when the time struck for him to roam the streets of Gotham...

As Bruce worked at maintaining his outer boyish charm, he almost smugly noted to himself that despite the fact that this was a fundraiser for the poor, no one actually showed any genuine interest in them and kept on bragging about their wealth instead, whether it was subtle or not. "If you spend that much, you'll end up becoming poor as well!" Bruce had exclaimed at some point, getting appalled glances his way. He had pardoned what he had said however, by simply laughing in a fake state of drunkness. The brainless fools thought they understood his drunk state, and feeling a rare state of sympathy, laughed along at his not so hilarious statement.

Jack tried continuously not to star at the disfigured man, who had walked into the Little Shop. His mind had instantly jumped to figure out the man's name was, as the twisted face was recognizable. It only took the teen a fraction of a second to know him, the now infamous Harvey Dent or Two Face. He could handle thugs, muggers, thieves and carjackers but here was one of the greatest public enemies Batman had faced.

"Well Sire" said Jack, keeping his voice level and cheerful, "We don't carry any newspapers or travel guides of Gotham but if you go down the sheet to the corner, there is a Seven Eleven that does." He continued to smile in a charming way but truly wanted to stare or maybe take a picture. Being preoccupied with Two Face, he missed one of the regulars come in and jump right to a shelf.

The worker's helpful nature brought a smile onto Harvey's face; at some point of his life, that smile of his represented his charisma, but now it just represented his malice; before his goal was to charismatically change Gotham for the better, but he had chosen a path of malice to accomplish that goal instead. "Thanks, kid. We wish more people were like you; helpful, good-hearted, wholesome fellows who would never once even think about succumbing to evil." Harvey Dent said with great confidence, as though he were also good himself. He thought he was good, but he wasn't... He was considered a freak, an outcast, and worst of all... A powerful breed of the type of person he loathed most... A criminal! Making his way out with his smile still on his face, Dent flipped his coin to decide as to whether he should go to the convenience store or not. It landed on the ordinary heads side.

"Good. I'll figure out what's happened to Gotham the fun way." Harvey said, his face looking more demented than ever at his sadistic joy. He, with all his experience, knew that all the real criminals laid low till night, so he began to wonder if he should rest till then or go after the short-fry crooks with either little experience or a big level of stupidity. Almost predictably flipping his coin, it landed on the ordinary side once again. "Alrighty then, buddies, rest it is. What should we do?" Harvey asked himself, as he wandered down the streets of Gotham. Having no idea, he just shrugged that question back and decided to find a place he could crash into for a few hours. Since he had been stuck in Arkham Asylum for around a decade, his apartment had been given to someone else, along with all of his belongings. That had really upset Harvey, since he had a lot of things that reminded him of his love, Dawes...

Curling his hands into fists, he snarled,"We'll kill every criminal there is, if destiny allows it... And we won't spare that Batman... "

One of the most deranged beings in Gotham had chatted with the boy at the register, then left with a sickening smile upon his face...and Gavin had missed it completely. If Two Faced Harvey Dent had been raging or even speaking more loudly, the sleep deprived girl might have noticed him. But as it were, she grabbed her book and hurried to the checkout station just as the man in the half-decent suit left. She popped the book onto the counter and began rustling through the various pockets of her coat for her cash.

"Hey, I hate ta nag, but could you be quick with that? I've gotta get to work soon or my boss'll have a stroke," She explained hurriedly, handing over the spare money she had been stowing away to purchase the book. It was another strange one, and she looked forward to devouring it when she had a moment.

"Wake up." Came a cold command from a colder individual.

A certain man was tied to a chair in a dark room. A single light hung from the ceiling, casting everything outside of its light into complete blackness. He groggily opened his eyes as his head shook to bring himself out of the stupor. He groaned as he tested the ropes holding him into his seat.

"Finally" The voice said again, and another figure stepped into the light. The seated man raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"Jonathan? Jon Nix?" He weakly said, his voice cracked with age and fatigue.

"Yes?" Jonathan said, smiling. He brushed imagionary dust off of his suit and sat down in a metal chair opposite his hostage.

The man looked his captor over and looked him in the eye, "Where'd you get that suit? I don't pay you that much." He stretched back into his chair and continued, "Oh, is that what this is about? Pay? Or is it the whole debt thing, me forcing you into a life of crime and arson? Because that was your fault." He finished with a faint laugh.

"No. I forgave you for that a long time ago, in fact I thank you for it. You've opened my eyes to the joys and profits of the criminal underworld. And I want more." Jonathan smiled and leaned in close. "I want what's yours."

The man laughed louder this time, "YOU!? Head of this family? You're a petty arsonist! Mind you, your good, the best, but you set fires where I say because you don't have the brains to set them where it counts you freak pyromaniac!" He spat in Jonathan's face. "Without me you'd be lighting your precious fires for campers in Yosemite!"

Restrained, but calmly, Jonathan took a hankerchief from his pocket and wiped his face, "I hate that word, 'pyromaniac', it has such a negative connotation." He stood up and began pacing a tight circle around his former boss, "However true that title may be for me, that part about me being petty is not. I've moved up in the world, and you are the next rung for me to step on." He stopped walking and shoved the chair to the floor.

With a sharp metallic clang the chair smashed into the concrete floor, and the man tied to it gave a lurch of pain as a trickle of blood trailed from the back of his balding head. "You see," Jonathan began, looking down at him, "I've done some... extra ciricular activities." He reached into his coat and pulled out a picture of a phoenix, drawn in fire on the parking lot of a convenience store. "Are you familiar with this image?"

"Some nutcase, robbing small time joints and torching the place. Only leaves that bird." He sputtered from his place on the floor, "What about him?"

Jonathan replaced the picture into his coat pocket, "I would call them, test runs. You see, I made a new compound, one that burns all traces in its entirety and leaves behind no traces whatsoever. I used this comound several times-"

"Hold on. YOU'RE the Firebird?!"

Jonathan paused, annoyed. He quickly knelt down and drew out a lighter with his left hand, instantly striking the flame. He held it within inches of the man's face. "Yes. DON'T interupt me." He snapped the lid shut as he stood up and continued, "I used the compound at various locations and hid a small trace in each of them, all leading to a single location. If the police found the trace, then I would know and would have to reconfigure the formula. I had to pick a place the police couldn't sweep under the rug in a private investigation, so I used different traces leading to Wayne Manor."

There was a small moment of silence, "That's insane."

"Yes, but as you have seen, Bruce Wayne remains unnarrested. And my formula is a complete success." Jonathan smiled broadly as he picked up the aged man from the floor and set him back up, "Mind your head." He said, smacking the bloody welt the back of his head.

The man winced before continuing, "Congradulations, you've got better lighter fluid. Now what?"

Jonathan pointed a finger at him, "Good question. I plan to kill you, of course, and take your place as head of this little... club. And I'll do the same to all the other mob bosses."

The man snorted in disbelief, "Right, like you could convince anyone that you're the boss. Besides, Gotham doesn't belong to the mob anymore. It belongs to those freaks: Joker, Dent, Nigma, Freeze, you name um. Hell, Cobblepot's the only normal one around here with any real power anymore. And then, of course, there's... Batman."

Jonathan laughed, hard and long, until he finally looked up, "Joker? Dent? Those freaks are hasbeens, washed up! Cobblepot's smart, he just sells the men and the weapons, he won't get trouble, he'll get my business. And as for Batman. Well, I'll worry about him later."

He straitened up and walked behind the man, "Don't worry about your men either, I've had them in my pocket for months now. They're fed up with weak men like you leading them. We all share a single dream," he said, circleing to the front of the chair, "and that is to resurect this dying, pathetic excuse for a criminal underworld." He grabbed the end of the chair and stared deep into the man's eyes.

"I will burn this city's deepest darkest pits to dust. I will bring about a golden age of crim with no petty arguments, no turf wars, and no Batman. Just pure... legitimate... business."

He flicked out the lighter again, rolling it over in his left hand. A red phoenix, the same that was burned into the asphault of the parking lot, adorned one side of it. "Starting," He bagan, flicking on the flame. "With you."

Jonathan switched the lighter to his right hand. The metal touched a switch in his glove that sent a stream of gas gushing from a small hose sticking out of his sleeve. The gas touched the small, flickering flame, and exploded into a fireball the engulfed the man's face, charing his skin and shriviling his hair. He didn't have time to scream.

Jonathan pointed the flame up and down the dead body, setting it all ablaze, and then he stood up and raised his arm to the ceiling. As the roof caught on fire, he swayed his arm back and forth. He turned in a small circle, and stuck his other hand out to one side. He watched the flames on the ceiling dance about, and he moved as if dancing with them. He stopped, brought the lighter to his other hand, and took a deep breath.

"I love that smell." He said to himself, before grabbing a gasmask from a nearby table and strapping it on. He calmly walked out of the condemed building in downtown Gotham as the inferno blazed around him. He turned back to the building to watch for a moment.

"Sir? We should go." A man standing next to a black BMW said.

Jonathan held one finger up, "Hold on. You can't just do something so magnificent and leave without truly enjoying it."

After a few moments of silence, the Gotham fire department could be heard in the distance, blaring their horns. Jonathan frowned, "They're getting faster." He took out his lighter again with his left hand and struck the flame. "Oh well." He stooped down and set the flame close to the ground. Immediately, a trail of flamable liquid ignited, creating a bright, soaring phoenix on the sidewalk.

"Let's go," he said, walking to the car, "we have to pay a visit to Cobblepot before the heist."

After getting in the car, the man walked around to the driver's side and got in himself, "The Penguin sir?"

"Yes, the Penguin. I need to check on the shipping progress of the ingredients I need for a new compound I'm working on." He said casually as the car pulled away from the curb, onto the streets, and into the night. "Gotham won't see me coming."

((WOW! That took forever!))

OOC: It was worth the time though, don't worry. One question though; are you temping the Penguin just for your next post or two, or actually playing as him? It sounds like temping, but it doesn't hurt to ask, right?

Besides, the more villains, the better really. We need an even hero to villain ratio.
: P


After what seemed like forever, Bruce could not help but look at the clock on the wall. Seven o'clock. Wow, that sure was surprising! The ordeal of dealing with all the mindless idiots made it seem more like seven hours, rather than just a mere two! "Oh, Mr. Wayne, you just must try this caviar! It's to die for!" A rather chubby woman in a short-cut dress that didn't make her look appealing in the very least crooned, pushing a plate of caviar toward him. "They must have wasted most, if not all, of the charity fund on this..." "Well, Mr. Wayne, come on already, love! Eat up! You need more skin to cover those bones!"

Bruce couldn't help but laugh at that; clearly the woman wanted more people to join her in her gluttonous feast to not seem like a fool. "Oh, no thank you. I'm rather stuffed already, and I must depart from your lovely company now."

The woman looked at him in great surprise and dramatically gasped. "But how could you possibly have to leave? Where are you going?" She asked, with an air of absolute nosiness.

"Work. I have to settle some shares there." Bruce lied smoothly. He still did not quite run his company, though he checked up on it every now and then. A young, but very competent, young woman ran his company, making the oldies of the company green with envy; the elderly workers thought that one of them had automatically deserved the spot for having had stuck with the company for so long, not some new worker! Bruce had given that certain young woman the responsibility of running his company though since unlike all the rest of his workers, she didn't particularly care about profits. She cared about the integrity and self-respect of the company, which was more important than selling stuff out for profit, in Bruce's humble opinion. People thought it was because he was so selfishly rich, but it wasn't. Bruce cared about the company's good standing because he didn't want to sell out what his parents had worked so hard to maintain honourably.

The fat lady melodramatically sighed, then clung onto some other male, trying to force-feed him the caviar to make him look just as piggish as her. Bruce manuvered his way through hundreds of people in the unusually packed movie theatre, then stepped into his Ferrari and sped home. As he did so, he smelled something burnt and as though to reassure him, he also heard an alarm of a fire truck. "I think I should make my way there." Bruce thought, as he pushed his pedal to the metal to retrieve his costume!

The minute he reached his mansion, he saw something terribly unexpected... Police cars!

Parking his Ferrari hastily, he stepped out of it and walked over to the officers that Alfred was trying to keep out of the house. Standing in front of the door, he said,"Officers, what can I do for you today? You know my first interest is to keep Gotham a safe haven for all, but why are you all lined up against my doorstep?"

One officer who appeared to be the leader of the squad that came with him looked at him sorrily, then replied,"I'm very sorry, Mr. Wayne, but it would be in your best interests to not say a word right now."

"Yeah! Whatever you say will, and can, be used against you!" A cop, who sure acted like a rookie and seemed like one in front of his squadron leader, piped up. "You have the right to remain silent!"

Bruce looked at them all puzzedly and asked,"What's going on, officers?"

Not answering his question straight-forwardly, the leader looked at him grimly and hissed,"Listen up, old man. You pay up, we let you free and erase whatever dirt they got on you, no questions asked. We know what you're in charge of; crazy considering your wealth and all, but then again, aren't all crooks psychopaths?"

Bruce Wayne kept his cool at that statement, though it was beginning to boil his nerves. Him, a criminal? Come on! Sure, the public didn't know that he was Batman, but even as Bruce Wayne, foolish playboy, he never did anything criminally wrong besides speed every now and then! Not wanting to create a scene any bigger than the one in front of him, he asked in an eerie calm state,"How much do you all want?"

Grinning, all of them answered in unison,"10 grand, each." When Bruce kept silent, inwardly outraged by the bribe, one of the younger members snapped,"C'mon old man, you know you can afford it! Stop being so stringy with your money!"

Wayne smiled softly at that statement, and chuckled. "Well, yes, that is quite true. Where should I give it to you?"

"Right here, right now!" One of them ordered. "NO! Give it to us tomorrow at this time. We'll be here, waiting for you, so you won't be able to avoid it." The leader corrected.

"That's fine by me, boys." Bruce answered. The clearly corrupted cops began to drive away, one car at a time, after that and the minute they were gone, Bruce began to pace around with a frown on his face.

"I've been framed, Alfred. I don't know why, or who did it, but I've been framed." Knowing that moping about it wouldn't make much of a difference, he made his way into his mansion and got into his Batcave, then changed into his costume and decided to sneak back to that burnt up building he had seen. "Maybe it's that arsonist who framed me... That Firebird. I should've kept a better eye on him, but hey, I can't do everything myself now..." That melodramatic scene made him realize how desperately he really needed a side-kick, or rather, a partner who shared his load...

(( Penguin's just gonna be a temp, anyone can control him, or any other villain as far as I'm concerned. I only directly control Jon))

The Iceberg Lounge. Nice, elegent, sophisticated. Jonathan sat in a glass chair inside Olwald Cobblepot's private office. He casually looked out the window that overlooked the club; patrons sat and drank at white clothed tables while listening to a band play smooth jazz from the middle of a large pond. He waited patiently for the Penguin to arrive and took out his lighter, rolling it over in his left hand.

At last, the door opened and in walked a short, somewhat large man wearing a tuxedo and sporting a top hat. "Evening Mr. Nix, sorry to have kept you waiting." He placed his hat on the top of a coat rack, and stuck the umbrella he was carrying into a bin full of an assortment of simmilar ones before sitting down behind a large desk. "What can I do for you?"

Jonathan smiled, "Well, I just came to check up on how my shipment is coming along. No complications I trust?"

The Penguin shifted in his seat, "No, all is going well, and you'll have your chemicals by the appointed time next week. Like we agreed." He leaned forward and propped his elbows on the desk, interlocking his fingers. "While you're here, though, I would like to inquire the progress of the rest of my money."

"You'll have it by the appointed time next week." Jonathan said, "With my new compound ready, I can finally pull off the heist I told you about. And then you'll have twenty-give percent more than your given price, like we agreed." He finished with a smile, lighting his lighter for a few seconds and then flicking the lid shut.

Amused, Cobblepot opened a drawer and pulled out a television remote, "Yes, I can see you've been a very busy bee." He pushed a button, and a TV in the back hissed to life. Jonathan turned to see GNN running a video of his recent job, they payed special attention to the firebird symbol.

"It has been comfirmed that this act of arson was indeed performed by same individual behind related robberies and arson." A reporter spoke behind the video, "The difference this time, is that a yet to be identified man was trapped in the flames, investigation is still underway. Although no clues have been found in the fires leading to the perpatrator's identity, or wether or not it is the work of a group, detectives have given the the criminal the name 'Firebird', after the bird-like picture of fire left at each site."

Jonathan turned back to Cobblepot and laughed, "Yes, you see? Nothing."

"There's more." Cobblepot offered, smiling.

The video changed to a showing of Wayne Manor from a distance, Bruce Wayne could be seen talking to a group of police officers. "Gotham police do, however, have one lead. A small trace evidence was found in one of the fires leading to none other than Wayne Manor. Crazy as it sounds, Bruce Wayne is a suspect in these crimes, and is undergoing investigation."

Jonathan frowned, "Well that's dissapointing."

Penguin turned off the TV and returned the remote to his desk. "Not quite perfect I see."

Jonathan quickly got up, and gave a nod to Cobblepot, "It seems that I have a lot of work to do before the heist tomorrow."

"Good luck." The Penguin said, giving a cheeky smile, "You'd better get me my money, by the way. I hear you have a problem with debts."

Jonathan left quickly, a sqawky laugh following him down the hall.

((Hmmm, another long one...))

"Yeah" said Jack, still staring at the door, in somewhat of a daze. He tried to pay attention to making sure that the cash he was being handed was the right amount for the book but it keep slipping away. "Did you see who that was?" he asked, counting the money for the third time. He looked at the book and lost the count again. Sighing in an automated way at his mistake, the teen started counting the money again.

The forth time was the charm as it turned out. Jack got the money to equal just over the price of the book and counted out the change. He slid the three quarters and a dime onto the counter and placed the book in a bag. He still seemed just out of what his profession was, which was service but it was understandable with Two Face just having asked one where he could pay a newspaper.

"No," Gavin replied, confused at the unusually phased state of the young man's countenance. "What, was it like a celebrity or something?"

But she shook her head, accepting the bag and the change quickly as she glanced over in the direction of the man that had just left. She shrugged, deciding that she didn't have time to waste thinking about it, and turned to leave. But before she could even take three steps towards the door, it burst open to reveal four men of generally large stature, each with what appeared to be panty hose over their heads and gleaming cold guns in their hands.

"Everybody down on the floor! NOW!" The man in the front bellowed, firing off a single shot into the ceiling. The relatively empty store filled with shrieks and shouts as the patrons dropped to the ground, clutching at themselves and one another in terror. Gavin remained on her feet, blinking several times in surprise. She wasn't frightened, really. She had certainly experience her fair share of guns being waved around; most people who had been raised in Gotham had, even the ones that didn't run around at night dressed up in flashy costumes. But now, when she was in a hurry to get somewhere, and in her civilian status...it was kind of irritating.

"I said get down!" The first man roared at her, taking several steps forward. The second to enter the store rushed over and pointed his gun between Jack's eyes, cocking it and snapping his fingers as he tossed a bag to the teen. "All the cash and any checks! Move it, in the bag, NOW!"

OOC: 'Kay. Thanks. :]

As Bruce Wayne, or rather Batman, stealthily hopped off roofs to reach the burnt building for evidence to prove that he, Bruce Wayne, was not responsible for the major crime, he felt furious. Seriously. The anger he felt was almost as much as the anger he felt toward the petty robber who had killed his Father! Bruce was much wiser than he had been in his youth, so he knew better than to hunt down the arsonist and kill him in cold blood; he still sure wanted to stop him from ever doing such a thing again though! Bruce hadn't thought that the Firebird would be so serious, so he had pushed him to the back of his mind and focused on his quest to find a partner, but after having been framed, his priorities rather predictably switched around instantly. "I could get a partner later; this is my business only." He knew that decision of his would be one that his dear friend, and butler, Alfred would frown upon, but during the heat of the moment, Bruce didn't particularly care.

Once he reached the burnt remains of the unknown building, he swooped down and quickly scooped a sample of the burnt remains in a tube that he had brought with him, then attached his to his belt and headed back to his mansion. Bruce knew what he had to do even before examining the remains though...

He had to go to the Iceberg Lounge to get some information on the Firebird... With a disguise, of course! It would make it much worse for him if the media were to figure out that he was partying after his supposed arson!



Harvey had ended up not really doing anything beside strolling down every nook and cranny of Gotham, to get familiar with the place once again. He had just been given up on from Arkham Asylum just that day, and been there for nearly a decade, so you couldn't exactly blame the guy for not remembering all the directions. However, he did remember where the bad-doers, or at least the short-fry ones, hung out... The Iceberg Lounge.

Tragically enough though, Harvey did not have the slightest clue where it was. As though Lady Luck had suddenly chosen to shine over him, he ended up in front of the bookstore he had previously been in, with that nice boy inside it. Flipping his coin to decide whether he should go inside or not, it landed on the scorched side so he helped himself inside.

Shortly waving his hand at the boy, he called out,"Hey, do you happen to know where the Iceberg Lounge is, kid?" Chuckling, he added in just as much a loud tone,"We know you're not old enough to go to one of those joints, but I'm sure you should still have an idea of where it is!" He fell silent when he saw the robber, though.

His face twisted into a look of insane rage, making him look even more distorted! Flipping his coin to decide whether or not he should let the robber leave alive, it flipped onto the unharmed side, so he also had to harm him as little as possible. Walking over to the second robber with the gun, he snarled,"You're lucky destiny told us not to kill you. Now, if you and your dumb buddy over there were wise, you'd leave. NOW." Oddly enough, Harvey was not in the mood to kill, let alone be violent, but he didn't mind threatening them anyway; he had, at some point in the Asylum, admitted to himself that he now looked vicious, so he might as well use it to his advantage!

However, just to be cautious, he grabbed the gun that the second robber held and wrenched it out of his arm (he was too much in shock to react!), then put it into his scorched side's pocket. Looking at the good boy and the customer, he said in as a friendly manner as he had,"If we were you two, we'd leave... Now." Getting impatient, he snapped,"We meant it! GO!"