Gotham: Year One

[industrious]

Alfred shakes his head.

"Not quite, Master Elliot. That was one Lucius Fox, an old acquaintance of Master Bruce's parents. He used to be employed at Wayne Enterprises, but was taken from his post earlier this morning."

Alfred waits patiently as Elliot finishes his cuppa.

"Would you care to see Master Bruce now, Master Elliot?"

[kpenguin]

"Of course, Alf. How is he this morning?"

[doliest]

Michael
Normally, he would have slept until his flock came to him, whispering of evils besetting them. Except...he still remembered that the woman who apprehended Chill had mentioned 'Falcone and Cobblepot'. Instead he moves to talk to Taylor, moving to his friend's church to ask him for information.

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Contact for information-
(1d20-2)[8]

[industrious]

Wayne Manor

"His current delusion is less problematic than those previous, Master Elliot. In fact, it might be more constructive."

Alfred escorts the surgeon to Bruce's area of the manor, and taking out a key, its teeth worn from years of use, unlocks the door.

"Through that door, Master Elliot. He is currently in the study."

The Narrows

Taylor is curt with you; while the presence of the Saint of the Streets is always welcome, pushing through a line at the confessional booth to get to him was not the best way to ask.

"Falcone and Cobblepot. The head of the Mob and the Mayor who enables them to flourish. Excuse me, Walker. I have sins to forgive."

[doliest]

Michael
Michael nods, leaving his friend to his work. Michael was His Vengeance, but people like Taylor did the rest of the work. The hard work; they handled the compassion and forgiveness. He ripped away the weeds, but they tended the garden.

He needed 'Falcone,'; and men like him didn't hide. They were brazen and open. So sure they were in charge; guilty not only of Vice but of Pride, but soon they would know fear for His hand was steady, and so was Walker's.

As for Cobblepot....a mayor was not hard to find, even for one like him. Speeches. Mansions. Buildings. A perfect target.

He leaves the church, moving about his flock in the most decrepit alleys and the darkest corners for information. Thugs were never subtle, nor did they keep things like that secret. Who cared what a bum heard? They were probably crazy after all, not really listening.

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Gather Information
(1d20-2)[-1]

[DeafnotDumb]

Katherine sat still as a dead sea while her mind raced for answers, trying to cover it up with an angry stare into the eyes of the corrupt commissioner.

No. No. Oh, god, she was going to hate herself for this.

What was the worst that could happen, though? She was down in Pawn already, had pissed off a crime boss and half the cops here probably already suspected her of allying herself with Gordon and his idiotic little band. Might as well make it official. "being something of a -" Katherine stopped herself from gritting her teeth and let those dreadful two words escape. "-god cop. Like Jimmy was, and Red, and Kima and the rest of them. Let the rumour mill digest that one!

And then, since Katherine wouldn't be Katherine if she passed up the opportunity to taunt someone, she said "Want me to go on camera and wave my hands a few times? Perhaps give some interviews? Explain to the press how a glorious brave officer - stuck in Pawn with a limp - managed to show up all the rest of them fine police?"

A wide smile grabbed hold of Katherine's face as the idea planted in her mind. It was cruel, but the bastard deserved it, making her walk up every one of those stairs. Her leg was still aching. "I bet the papers would have a field day with that. Even in Gotham. Especially in Gotham, because I know you've have made some enemies to get to the top. So just make sure I don't sell my story, then."

"Sir."

[industrious]

Commissioner's Office

Loeb smiles and swirls his brandy.

"Indeed, Detective. In fact, I fully intend for you to be exonerated as a hero in your department. Injured in the line of duty in a daring police raid; exactly what the press loves to eat up. You have two weeks paid vacation; I strongly recommend you take one. And your talents, are, of course, wasted in Pawn. I'll have a new assignment waiting for you when you get back. Records sound acceptable for someone of your status?"

His smile disappears as he leans forward across his desk.

"Be very glad that it's election year. Or I would have fired you for being a reckless, out of control officer. You are dismissed, Detective."

He returns to his work, then, thousand-dollar fountain pen going over several forms.

The Narrows

Information comes in many forms. And bums are only considered harmless if they remain in the background. Eavesdropping on a bunch of corrupt cops while ranting was not the most valid way to gather information.

"John Doe, you are under arrest for disturbing the peace..."

[doliest]

Michael
Michael Walker draws a pistol with the skill of a trained professional, aiming it at one of the officers, "Leave these streets while you can, sinners. You may have tainted Gotham, but these streets are mine."

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Intimidation- (1d20+6)[25]

[industrious]

Michael Walker

They stare at the gun, and drive off, shutting the police car doors behind them. And Michael gets a bad feeling about the affairs.

[doliest]

Michael
Michael drifts back into the alleyway; attempting to move through the city as just another unknown, unacknowledged bum =.

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Stealth- (1d20+13)[24]

[kpenguin]

"Thank you Alf."

Tommy Elliot takes a deep breath. Seeing Bruce always troubled him. No matter how many times he saw his childhood friend, Bruce's condition always unnerved him.

Unnerved and motivated.

He enters the room.

[industrious]

Wayne Manor

The study is lit only by the artificial fireplace; shadows flicker across the room. The desk, filled neatly with pencils and pens, office supplies and forms is half-hidden in the light. And across it, lies Bruce Wayne.

At first, Thomas believes that his friend has finally gotten better. Eschewing his normal garb, normally consisting of bedsheets crudely stitched together, or pajamas, Wayne has in this instance managed to wear what appears to be a brown business suit and tie. His eyes are steady, and there is some unseen yet tangible confidence surrounding him.

Then reality sinks in. The tie is half-knotted, twisting from here to there throughout its length. The shirt is inside out, buttons forced together, and the starched collar reeks of urine.

"Please sit down, Thomas. Thank you for arriving so promptly. We have much to discuss."

[DeafnotDumb]

Katherine leaves the office in a fouler mood than the one she'd entered it in, and headed right for the stairs. She was't going to get snubbed twice, leg be damned. Stamping down those steps helped cool her off.

It would probably be a good idea to get out off the building soon, but first she'd call in a few favors. And fix things so they were a little safer for her.

The Lieutenant wasn't too hard to find, in the same place as he usually was, away from the rest of the force and probably trying to figure things so Chill got the sentence he deserved. "Gordon!"

Katherine pushed herself across to him. "That brandy-swirling bastard packed me off on two weeks vacation. Half the force probably thinks I'm allied myself with you. Pretty much the only option I got to survive is to make it official.

"I help you get the crooks you want to get, my way, and you help keep the politics off my back. Sound good?"

[industrious]

Gordon looks thoughtful as he looks over at Walker.

"I need the evidence samples you took from the arrest, Detective. Evidence Department's probably made the stuff vanish by now. Word is that you've been reassigned to Records; I think this can work..."

He shakes himself out of his reverie, and holds out his hand.

"I can help you the best I can, Detective. And we can clean this city up. You aren't alone in this. Not by a long shot. Watch the news tonight. Trust me."

[DeafnotDumb]

"Give me a time and place I can come round and drop it off. I'm not handling it unless I have to - wouldn't put it past someone to take it off me. Or try." Katherine pauses for a moment and takes a pen out from her pocket and writes down a number on the nearest slip of paper, which happened to be a folded up bill she'd found next to the pen. "This guy's a witness, said he was a dockworker. He's either a cop or a crook from how he handled the cuffs, and I've got no idea why he was there, but he said he'd testify."

"I'll keep an eye on the news." With that she nodded to Gordon and left. Without shaking his hand, of course. She still had some pride left.

She'd wait for what was on the television. Then she'd know which favors to call in.

[kpenguin]

Elliot is at a loss for words, and then sits down.

Alfred was right, this was a more manageable delusion.

"Hello, Bruce. Have you taken your medicine today?"

[industrious]

Wayne Manor

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replies.

"I'll need you to notarize my latest general order to the staff. As CEO, I think my new policy will be controversial, but it should be accepted, in time."

He passes a single sheet of fine parchment paper to Elliot. Written on official letterhead(or close to it, at least), and written with the finest set of instruments money could buy, it read, in an untidy scrawl:

"By OrdeR of the CeO of Waine EntrePrizes, Employees are FORBIDDEN from DYING."

Church of Saint Jude

Walker heads back to the church, only to find its doors boarded over and marked with yellow police tape. Taylor is arguing with a pair of police officers; not, he notices, the same ones that he had held at gunpoint earlier.

[Sojobo]

Agent Clay

Hagen thought he was the only freak in this city itching to hurt the mob and the corrupt; but last night's events showed him there were others just as psycho as him, willing to put their bums on the line to clean Gotham up.

Sure, he didn't trust anyone, but he had a good feeling about this masked cop Walker. The only people he ever interacted with were in the entertainment business, where he was, as always, just playing a role; in his element, as Agent Clay, he worked alone. He was alone.

Having spent so much time working solo, it actually felt a little ... thrilling to be doing this. Besides, he wanted to know what was going on with Chill, and also Wayne Enterprises and their mysterious new CEO.

He picked up his phone, pausing to let the tissues and muscles around his vocal cords and mouth reassume the shape Mitch the Dockworker had last night, then dialed the number.

"Yeah, I'm uh calling about uh... this cop gave me this number and I need to talk to uh someone named Walker, please?"

[industrious]

The voice that answers the number is feminine, tinged with a slight Latina accent.

"Detective Walker went home for the day, unfortunately. This is Detective Renee Montoya. Can I be of any assistance?"

[doliest]

Michael
He moves in, "Taylor? Are these men giving you a problem?" He looked like a ragged enforcer, the kind of man you don't want to anger, or he might just break your fingers....and then some. The officers might want to stay on their toes.

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Intimidate(when did this become my main skill?)
(1d20+6)[26]

[industrious]

Taylor shakes his head.

"They...they're shutting the church down. Building code violations."

It's true, too. The Church was a sanctuary for the homeless and poor; donations and financial support were few and far between. There were sections where the sky was exposed, some of the wiring had been jury-rigged by volunteers, and there hadn't been a check for asbestos since the last millennium. Strictly speaking, the Church's hands were tied.

[doliest]

Michael
To Michael, someone who lived on the streets, the church had seemed more than up to code. If he knew what a building code was, anyway. "They can look the other way." He's looking at the cops, now. He wasn't going to pull out his gun on a simple legal matter...but that didn't mean he didn't look like the type to.

[industrious]

"Sir, we aren't going to look the other way in this sort of thing. We take code violations very seriously here."

A blatant lie. But there wasn't much the Saint could do when his enemy used entirely legal means against him. He was one of the great unwashed; he could simply disappear into the crowd. Taylor, as a vested member of the clergy, could not.

"This church is going to be closed off for a period of 90 days, after which there will be an inspection. If it still isn't up to code, we're going to have to send in a demolitions team."

[doliest]

Michael
Filth. Lies. Corruption. This was Gotham. Michael was a man proud of his duty...but he, himself, while not as much a sinner as these men, was still a sinner. He killed everyday, but he was sent to do so. Regardless, it was a sin. He would sin to save. "Unfortunate if it happens. Demolition teams are...accident prone. Might get hurt. Or worse yet, cops might get hurt while watching area. Maybe have better things to do?" Let it never be said he never heard the scum he judged talk.

[kpenguin]

Elliot chokes up a little when he reads. Bruce...

He quickly straightened himself

"I'll be sure the people who need to see this see this. Is there anything else, Bruce?"

[industrious]

Church of Saint Jude

"We're just here to serve Father Taylor the notice. We aren't going to be here the whole time; that would be a waste of resources."

One of the two is taller than the other. He steps forward, and leans over to stare at Walker, mirrored sunglasses half-obscuring his eyes.

"But if anyone enters that church before the inspection, then Father Taylor will have a great deal to answer for. Good day, gentlemen."

They drive off then. And Taylor slumps against a wall, head in his arms.

Wayne Manor

"I've been thinking about making that policy retroactive. So that we can be sure that the worst offenders can be dealt with. Because it's bad. And wrong. Nobody should ever die. Nobody..."

He slides forward, knocking his head on the desk, and collapsing out of the chair. Huddled under the desk, he rocks himself backwards and forwards.

"They died, you see. I saw it. That's against company policy. In that alley. Shouldn't they know better? I'm the See-Ee-Oh, people have to listen to me, have to do what I say. They can't die, because its against policy. It's against policy, it's against policy. I need to write them a stern note. Secretary! I need dictation! They can't die, because it's against policy can't die, because it's against policy they can't die, because it's against policy..."

[doliest]

Michael Walker
Michael Walker was not the man you turned to for comforting words. His actions could be comforting, maybe, but not his words. He knew that. Anyone he interacted with knew that. "I'll fix this." Three simple words can often contain more implied action than an entire veiled threat. And those three did. Walker begins the long trek to the main Gotham PD building. He made sure to remove his hat and trenchcoat, leaving them near Taylor. No one who saw them among his Flock would steal them; they were a symbol. A sign that things would get better. Brighter. Safer.

[industrious]

The secretary in the lobby looks at the shabbily dressed man with utter boredom. She pops her gum, tilts her head, and drawls out the standard greeting.

"Welcome to Gotham Police Department. Can I help you?"

[doliest]

Michael Walker
"Church shut down in Narrows. Wish to argue against the statement on Safety; also who requested the inspection."

[kpenguin]

Elliot drops down and gives Bruce a tearful embrace.

"There, there Bruce. I'm here. They... you... I...

ALF!"

Tommy wasn't good at this. He'd never been good at this. He could charm his way through a lot of things... his beside manner was impeccable.. but with Bruce... Bruce...

There were no words. No words at all