CCF STARTER

“It looks like you’re having problems with your software; not the hardware. But then I’m not the help desk. You should give them a call.”

“You have to wonder what’s worse? Knowing how it’s all going to end or knowing that nothing you do will stop the end?”

“What’s that phrase people always say? New Year, New Me?” He exhaled sharply through his nose, breath fogging his glass as he simultaneously rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Pathetic humans,” he muttered, nearly imperceptible before sipping his drink.

“So what say you? Are you mustering up a new you for the year?”

“Dick Grayson.” Real smooth, Tim, real smooth. 

OPEN

It was unclear what in particular was grating on Selina’s nerves at the moment. Perhaps it was the unremarkable alternative rock blasting through the soundsystem, which felt to be one notch too loud to hear herself think. Perhaps it was the swarm of belligerent intoxicated idiots making a racket at the end of the bar, insisting on calling her angel face whenever they passed her stool to order another round. Perhaps it was the new bartender, who had the dexterity of a toddler tying their laces with mittens on. He seemed to forget her order before the words even left her lips causing her to repeat herself so many times it was absurd. He had the air of a person in shock, someone who’d brain was lost somewhere else, struggling to deal with some unseen issue. Though likely, her ire, derived from being visually accosted on every fucking street corner by the glossy front pages of gossip magazines depicting in amazing high definition: 

‘The elusive bachelor Bruce Wayne might have found his match' 

Selina was well aware that Bruce and Zatanna were somewhat of an item presently, and she swore it didn’t bother her, not until she was reminded constantly by the hungry tabloids how easily it seemed for him to find happiness with almost any woman but her. Fucking Men. Selina found herself thinking of her ex; Maddox had to be one of the only men who brought her any sense of stability. Which was ironic considering their trades. But she’d ruined that as well. Feeling sorry for herself didn’t sit right with the typically self-assured, over cocksure feline. So she sought out the comfort of her favorite local bar and the something top shelf to numb her resentment.

OPEN

There was something unnatural about the functionality of a grocery store chain.

The rattling of shopping carts inching along the linoleum corridors, one wheel always slightly misaligned to give an unnerving rickety noise. Naked fluorescent bulbs stretched along the ceiling, some glowing bright enough to rival the sun’s surface and others flickering as though on their last legs. Some asinine smooth listening playlist droning behind the chatter, the lyrics barely audible enough to lull each consumer into a bizarrely numbing stupor. And the people, they were the worse element of this altruistic, redundant system. If you needed further informal evidence of the weakness of a human being, of how they were all social creatures bound by social conventions, then look no further than your local grocer. Here is a society plagued by hunger, where one in five lack adequate nutrition, milling about like lifeless zombies in various states of frenzy through aisles of packaged, processed sustenance. Was it really necessary to spend fifteen minutes deciding which brand of toilet paper was softer or which box of cereal had less sugar Susan?

Anya would have preferred to avoid the entire process, but she could only subsist for so long on the jar of olives and crunchy peanut butter in her virtually empty flat. Unfortunately, her body did require some form of fulfilling sustenance regardless of how meaningless she believed the exercise was. But never did she feel more irritated by the general existence of other people than now. From the uniformed guard at the automatic doors, whose sole function was to greet her upon entry, to the clearly exhausted soccer mom attempting to quiet her rowdy children as they chanted for candy, to the elderly woman at the cashier, whose old bones and feeble limbs appeared to have outlived their usefulness. It felt like she’d entered some terrifying simulated event.

It was obvious from the glances she received as she trudged down the aisle that she didn’t fit into the pristinely staged scene. A solitary green apple clutched between her teeth as she flung cans of beans over her shoulder into the cart. It hadn’t occurred to her that the dried blood streaks at the hem of her white t-shirt, the splatter of crimson across her neck, and the gun protruding from the back of her pants were the reason she was attracting so much attention to herself. Not until she was approached and questioned about her condition by the uniformed guard. She did not deny carrying a firearm before taking a large bite from her apple, assuming the conversation was over. When the man remained standing in her line of vision she tilted her head to the side, the speed of her chews slowed to a halt. 

“Is it real?“ he sputtered, his eyes widening a fraction in alarm. ”Of course it’s real. Who carries around fake guns?” she retorted with a snort, thoroughly amused by his ignorance. “I’m afraid we do not allow weapons here, miss,” he answered sternly, his pudgy fingers folded together. “Don’t be stupid. I could just as easily bludgeon someone to death with a can of soup as easily as I could shoot them. Saw off a limb with the butcher knives behind the deli counter, poison them with cleaning supplies. Это просто” It’s easy. When she was refused her peace, once again, she became less amused and more irritated. 

OPEN

There is an effortless elegance to the parkland that flows at the heart of the city. The comfort of a black bench, warm from the steady sun, was one of Kate’s favorite spots to absorb the day and peaceful witness the beauty of a joyful community at play. It was the quickest refuge for her soul during those trying days, and gave quiet reverence when she needed it. She could tackle most challenges head on with a will and determination unmatched, but even she needed a reprieve from time to time. A bit of fresh air was all she ever needed, her lungs expanding as if on automatic refill, and with the rising of her chest comes a sense of calm. The trees providing ample shade, that roots so deep and reaching so high, that take in all variants of weather and bring the gifts of verdant foliage upon brown wands. It told stories of the seasons, one fresh page each day. 

Of course, Kate would never express such poetic sentiments aloud for fear of tarnishing her image. A city slicker at heart, she’d always love nature’s sweet and flowery escapes of nature as the pace of living relaxed to a steadier rhythm. Boris and Natasha frolicked merrily over the length of open grass, snapping at butterflies and engaging in playful wrestling matches with one another. It made her yearn for a few days away; it had been a while since she’d gone trekking through the mountains with her furry companions. 

Maybe Maggie and Jaime would like to come, she pondered further, or was it premature to suggest meeting the detective’s child? Kate didn’t want to push.

Her peaceful musings were disrupted as she sensed the presence of someone sinking into in the vacant space beside her. Instantly, the minute glimmer of tranquility that had softened her features stiffened, her resting bitch face regaining its domain. Even from a distance, Boris and Natasha seemed to sense the shift in their owner’s demeanor. She instantly signaled with lax fingers that they were not required to act as guard dogs and should continue enjoying their playtime. Kate had resigned herself to maintaining a forward stare, but she could feel a set of eyes bore a hole in the side of her face. 

OPEN

The coffee shop air swirls with aromatic dreams; little wonder it is a place where writers are drawn to. This haven of white cups and black coffee, of small jugs filled with cream, has that ambience of friendly chatter. Here any could have their own seat, gain the feeling of being social, yet have the confidence that they could enjoy their own contemplations at leisure. The glaze of the mug placed in front of Lois appeared as a rainbow set free from the bounds of physics, swirling and blending. That riot of colour somehow brought more beauty to the hot beverage within, the gregarious and the homely belonging together. 

Lois really wanted to claim, in beautiful articulate lyrical prose that the jasmine tea brought out her sense of grace, bringing her into the blessed moment. And that the moment of this tea was a sweet serenity, a chance to let her soul fill with the song of the birds. And with those birds she was ever daydreaming of a secret garden, of how the flowers grow so wild and free. Instead, the only semi articulated sentence she could muster was the following:

“If I don’t get some proper caffeine soon I’m going to commit a felony and I’ve watched just enough crime documentaries to get away with it”

7 months. 

7 months. 29 weeks and 3 days since her last cup of coffee. The reporter was just hormonal enough to dramatically equate the majority of her prenatal grievances to the absence of her old morning staple. One of the things that had been ingrained in her daily rhythm, another anchor in routine that comforted and provided a feeling of normalcy and purpose. Instead of the coffee shop establishing a sense of calm, Lois only found herself alternating between pouting and gazing longingly at all the patrons with their delicious, frothy lattes. Suddenly Lois became aware of the concerned expression of her companion and forced a smile, an awkward chuckle escaping her as she tried to get comfortable in her seat. 

OPEN

The empress of meticulous analysis and thorough, well-planned, multi-point countermeasures, when Ada was left with only her father’s old motorbike as as a method of transportation, it was natural for her to conduct research. Her car was still being repaired following the impromptu shootout she was unjustly subjected to by a fault not her own. She wasn’t opposed to taking public transit while she completed her safety classes and and made sure the Triumph Bonneville Scrambler was properly maintenance before she took it on the road. She used to ride behind her father, so thankfully she was somewhat familiar with the power the tiny vehicle possessed. Yet, that didn’t alleviate the anxiety of the unknown. As a proponent of safety, there were just too many unknown variables associated with motorbike handling. She was adamant about being well prepared with the appropriate actions to take should unpredictable riding situations arise. Not to mention having confidence in her skill and good judgement. After several practice courses – comprehensive lessons on collision avoidance maneuvers, advanced turning, control tips and braking techniques – she felt more than adequate to take the helm. 

What she hadn’t expected was the emotional aspect. Her father adored that motorbike, and her first time perched on the leather seat overwhelmed her with an indescribable sensation, she immediately made a call to Doctor Williams-Jacoba to help her through the mounting panic attack. It had been a few weeks since she’d been acquainted with the machine, and truth be told, she was very fond of it. In her own way. Naturally, as remedial as it seemed, she obeyed every traffic regulation to the letter and always reviewed her mental safety checklist before hopping aboard.

Headlights and taillights. Strong illumination. Turn signals. In perfect working order. Brakes. Responding adequately. Fuel and Oil. At capacity. Tire pressure. Acceptable. Mirrors and Handlebars…

Ada adjusted the tiny mirrors as she did every morning to make sure it was perfectly aligned with the view behind her. She didn’t notice her visually bizarre ritual was being observed until she began testing the horn. She caught the amused smirk out of her peripherals and turned to confirm it was her they were directing it at. Unsure if the wave of amusement she was sensing from them was of malicious intent she pressed her lips together tentatively. She’d been subjected to far too many unpleasant interactions because she was incapable of discerning that she was being made fun of. 

❛ So, screaming at the rocks is like, a normal behavior here? ❜

Crime was everywhere, but even more so in Gotham City. While Linda had never been, her latest report had brought her here and to be honest, she couldn’t wait to get back home again. Central City felt safer, she knew her way around there and she also knew most of the people. But this was foreign territory to the brunette, an environment that she preferred to avoid, but her work prevented her from doing that. This place gives me the creeps. Linda now hurried herself along, wanting to make it to her car as soon as possible and leave. But before she could reach the vehicle, she felt someone rapidly brush past her from behind and in a split second, her bag was gone. She’d been given no time to grasp at the straps to keep it in her possession and now the person who had stolen it from her was running away. Linda could barely believe her own eyes and the impact that this event had on her prompted the young woman to freeze in place. She blinked a few times before automatically running after the thief, though she wasn’t as fast as the other. “Hey! That’s my bag! Give it back!”

“Okay, sweetie, just stay where I can see you, yeah?” Maggie urged, pretty convinced her words fell on deaf ears as Jaime immediately rushed into the playground with a delighted squeal. It felt like in the time it took to blink she was already climbing halfway up the jungle gym. “Oh, you are gonna give me trouble when you’re older.” She muttered under her breath fondly.