Innocence, my brother.

Hearing his old last name just made his skin crawl, but he didn’t want to go by Wayne while he was out killing people. He would just have to get used to it.

“The Listener.” Sounded like a villain name, but he would have to roll with it. Keeping his comments to himself, he nodded. It was a strong name at least. “Very well.”

An indifferent shrug was what he offered next. “It’s expected. You’d be a fool to hand out information to everyone who asked.” It wasn’t like he was in a rush. He was used to waiting out the long games of things, and that made it fun for him. Ugh, initiation. What horrors would await him then? “Sounds fair. Shall I come back here when I’m done?”

...A pause, as if something immediately came to mind--something unpleasant, perhaps.

“I rather you didn’t. I will seek you out, this time.”

Something about the way it was said gave off a tone of unease.

“Today, you got off with being an uninvited guest. But if you venture in here without becoming a member of the family, it may end poorly for you.”

Done with her own bowl, she went to put it in the ‘sink’--a well made in what used to be a counter in whatever building this was beforehand.

Of course she wouldn’t be open about the murders on the news. Things couldn’t be that easy. He can almost respect her keeping that a secret, too. Though he manages to hide his irritation and desperate need to know.

“Very well.” He takes the sheet of paper to examine it, memorizing the information quickly. It seemed like a waste to kill people in a world where death had no meaning, and held no permanent sway over its inhabitors. But at least he could kill easily without worry of consequences, aside from staining his hands with blood again after having promised his father he wouldn’t. After he puts the paper away, he starts eating the soup, since it seemed safe enough. Maybe the killings on the news where a form of advertisement, as a way to build membership? If it was just her and another potential member, and some unknown mother, the media would be an efficient way of reaching out to people. But on the unlikely event they were caught, it would end badly. 

“Damian.” He says finally, telling her his name. “al Ghul.“ Of course, he wasn’t going to tell her his proper last name, since he didn’t want it getting out who he really was. Damian didn’t really exist, except in school, but Wayne would be a name a few people would recognize. al Ghul too, perhaps would be recognized by even less people. But on this island, at least to her, it might be meaningless. “What may I call you?”

“Damian al Ghul.” She repeated thoughtfully, as if testing how it sounded... With a nod, she seemed satisfied.

“I am the Listener, as the title bestowed upon me by the Night Mother. For now, we’ll keep it at that.”

Seems she, too, had a name she was hiding.

     “I’m sure they would patch up the place in no time,      if it ever burnt down. Perhaps, anyway. Depends on      whether or not they’re feeling kind that day.”

Given the space to move freely now, Zero went right towards the source of the problem. The outlaw hummed a little before gesturing towards the oven with his hand.

     “The numbers indicate how high you want your      temperature to be. If you turn it towards the highest      number, you’ll have your highest temperature, turn      it towards the lower number and you’ll have a lower      temperature.”

Indeed, it was quite confusing to someone who’s never used such a thing before. As funny as it was to watch her struggle, Zero couldn’t help but remember the first time he tried to use a stove and an oven.

     “I wonder if your world is similar to mine… We      never had anything like this before where I come      from.”

“They...?”

What an odd thing to say.

But she watched, eyes on the dial. Turning it to a medium temperature sounded like a good option, and so, her fingers settled on turning the knob to 180. From there, she supposed she could merely experiment with times. Fortunately, she baked enough loaves to tell when one smelled done.

“...How modern.”

It was something to get used to, the Listener supposed.

“It very well may be. Many of the luxuries of this world puzzle me. I can’t say I’m a fan of the learning curve, but the quality of life seems much better. Don’t suppose you hail from Tamriel, do you?”

It’s obvious they haven’t been actually following the conversation, but their metaphorical ears perk up at the mention of the void.

“yes the void is infinite” “but it is not here” “except for me” “it would be willing to take anyone but most people do not want to go”

Well! What did we have here! A slight bow of courtesy was given to the little being.

”I’m already headed in that direction but I’m not in any hurry to get there yet. Smellin’ the roses and all. If I need an escort you’ll be the first to know.”

@dreadwhispers

“Hmph.” If he was going to break his no murder rule, it would be over this guy hurting his friend. “Fine.” he grumbles as he puts the knife down.

Good for him! He behaved! And he got a patpat on the shoulder for doing so.

“Were it someone else, I’d encourage it. But no sense in killing those who can neither feel death nor pain. It is not a lesson, only a satisfaction of making you lose your temper.”

Speaking from experience...

Send me questions about my character's series

A question he had expected. And had practiced for, but a simple one would be bes/*t right now. He could play with her heart strings (if she had any) with a more detailed story at a later date. He eyes the bowl, suspicious of it’s contents, but slowly approaches the table.

“Because I was trained to be an assassin since i was young. Well, younger. It’s what I’m used to. Since I’m young, I can’t find a decent paying job here on this island, either.” It was true. The only place where he could make money while utilizing his strengths wouldn’t let him in because of his lack of powers, and his age. Schooling was pointless, since he had several PhD’s. And he had yet to find his team mate or anyone else he was familiar with, Harley Quinn aside. “I was curious about what kind of group this was, once I heard about these killings on the news. So I searched.”

“I see. So you’re familiar with the trade--that’s good. Makes all this easier on me. A contract is a contract, so you’ll be paid fairly. As for the murders on the news...”

A laugh was all he got.

“Well. I have a contract I was going to do tomorrow, but I can easily pass it to you.”

A small notebook was flipped through, and one of its pages torn to give him.

“Your target is this man, here. Kill him without question, and we’ll talk more.”

Nonchalantly, she started eating (presumably since the stew was now cool enough to do so.

Wait. It was that simple??? No background check?? No test to see if he could kill or anything?? Just “hey can I join?” “Yeah sure”. Maybe they were desperate and small? Damian hides his shock well though, with his expression not changing at all. 

Though he isn’t surprised she doesn’t see him as trustworthy yet. He did sneak into her hideout and stalk her for a few days.

“Of course.” It’s not like he went through all this trouble just to say no. “If you’ll have me, I would like to join.”

“Hmm...” Came a simple reply, with the woman casually moving over to a dilapidated cabinet to grab a couple bowls. One was set on the table in offering, and the other for herself, about as nonchalant as this lad.

“Damn.” He muttered, looking over his shoulder. The person had been smart enough to stay out of stabbing range and not sneak up on him, at least. 

“Is it really breaking into if all I had to do was answer a question at the door?” They really needed better security if it was just that easy, and really they shouldn’t be complaining about him having been able to get in without much trouble.

Though he purses his lips and decides an apology might be in order, since he doesn’t want to be hostile. “I apologize for coming in without asking first, as well as the comment about your…. hide out.” As annoying as it was, he even bowed to show “sincerity”. 

“It’s better to ask forgiveness than permission. Though, I suppose for this, I do need permission.” He takes a deep breath, as if he might be somewhat nervous. When he lets out the breath, he continues with his request. “I would like to know more about your group. And potentially join.”

“The Question and Answer is like a Lock and Key. You’ve merely created a duplicate of what was not rightfully yours to access something you weren’t supposed to have.” She eyed critically, putting her hands in the pocket of her hoodie. Carefully, her vision scanned the boy in front of her, noting stance, posture...

...It didn’t seem like the bow was just a cover to make a better move. The Listener was not disarmed by the stranger’s youth.

“...Acceptable. I suppose this looks rather sad, compared to the lives of luxury people seem to have here.”

Cautiously, she moved away from the door, instead going over to that pot hanging over the fire. Perhaps to see if he might bolt for the door.

“It doesn’t surprise me. If you were truly afraid, I suspect you might have gone to the guard. The door did say ‘welcome’, didn’t it?”

A hand motioned to a simple chair over by a sturdy wooden table; it looked hand-made.

“Group is a generous term for me, Mother, and one potential Dark Brother, but I digress. I meet with people, we form a contract, and I give that contract to someone to fulfill. Once it’s done, you get paid. Aside from a few other rules, that’s about the long and short of it. I’ll be more forthcoming when I find you to be trustworthy.”

@dreadwhispers

Admittedly, she has done better. At this point though, Requiem has made the decision that this is for the best, and that she sort of likes the dark wood and smoke that seems to permeate the paneling of buildings like these. It reminds her of traveling, of snow to her knees and wind that chews at exposed skin. And so, she had made her way there, and found a place for herself performing on a Thursday night. 

She feels a little different, in a way that’s neither good or bad, out of her hoopskirt and letting her hair loose. The viola beneath her skin and the low tones of her singing along is enough for her to lose herself on the little raised platform in the corner of this crowded room. This tune is a new one she wrote one night when the taxi sounds kept her up, writing something that swirled and danced with her. 

Intermission comes, or something like an end, and she has time to herself to eat and drink until she’s asked again (if she’s asked again). So, with little hesitation, she packs the viola up and winds her way through people to take a seat at a similarly dim bar, offering a warm smile to the fellow behind it. 

“Wine please, whatever will soothe the senses, and ah, a menu, if I may.”

“Sooth the senses, hm... Let’s see. I’d offer the house special, but the last of it was taken.”

The costumed blonde turned, looking at the bottles on the shelf. More of an ale person, herself... Without looking, a menu was handed to the familiar face on the barstool.

“This one--it’s a favorite around here. Pricey... but you did put on a decent performance, hm?”

Enough to provide the distraction she needed to prepare something, unbeknownst to the bard. It was taken from the shelf, and aerated through an antique-looking piece of crystal-wear, into a wineglass.

“I don’t know what I was so worried about.” Damian muttered to himself, as he watched the assassin cult’s hide out. The security was basic, no one seemed worried about being tracked or found, and the hide out itself was rather easy to find. At least, easy to find would be what he would say if asked. Without any of his technology or weapons, it had taken him a little over a week to reach this point, and another four days of investigating the hide out before he felt confident in trying to do this.

He just had to steel his nerves for what he was planning to do. He had ditched his mask, taken off his R patch and had been mentally going over how he planned to pull this off. Surely with such basic security and lack of care, it wouldn’t be too hard to succeed.

After making sure that the hideout was empty, Damian dropped to the floor and looked around as he approached the door. He took a deep breath as he waited for the question.

“What is life’s greatest illusion?” The door asked. The question didn’t seem to change, at least from what he had noticed. It was always the same, with the same answer. One he could agree with, shockingly. 

“Innocence, my brother.” He answered back, easily. The door opened, giving him a welcome greeting. 

The first thing he noticed, was how different this hideout was from his grandfathers. In fact, if you added a few computers and a car, it would almost resemble his father’s batcave. Still, his heart was pounding as he explored the area quietly, gripping one of the hunting knives he’d stolen in case someone tried to attack him for breaking in.

“Is this it?” He asked to himself. He had been expecting something… different. More than this. It was almost laughable how simple this place looked. 

@dreadwhispers planned starter

Nestled into the ruins of Yesteryear was the hideout, in a crumpled basement of a building that had long succumbed to the environment around it. Overgrowth covered the door, hiding it from sight to passers-by. Careful observation was needed to find it in the middle of all these ruins that looked so very similar...

Inside was dark, cold, and fairly primitive. Candles and sconces replaced any electricity, and the main water line seemed to be woefully broken, with the only thing holding it back was a cork. 

A pot sat atop the embers of a cooking fire, with something simmering away inside. Rugs lined the floor in some places to cover the earth, and a mattress with heavy wool blankets lay in the sectioned-off part of the room.

Clean-looking banners with a black handprint hung in a few places, presumably for decoration, and a few flower wreathes lay in certain places. By far, the most disturbing thing about the place seemed to be a wrought iron sarcophagus, propped up in a shrine-like manner. Incense and flowers lay there, perhaps as gifts.

“Yes, this is it.”

The voice, having a more amused tone than a hostile one, belonged to a figure that leaned against the entrance way. More than any other, the assassin knew where to place her feet in her own hideout to muffle her steps. This teenager certainly wasn’t the first she snuck up on.

His presence had been noted only twice before, though the Listener was unsure of his intentions, and left the boy alone.

“It’s a lot of fun. I’ll show you. The boardwalk isn’t so far away from here. Follow me!” He turns and goes ahead, having faith in the other to follow him.

“...Sure thing. Sounds interesting.”

“Don’t worry, he never saw me coming. I snapped his neck and that was that!”

Killing he can do, but he’s not exactly sadistic. The man hadn’t wronged him in any way. Pathfinder takes the card and examines it thoroughly, saving the sequence to his memory before shredding it into tiny pieces. He opens his hand and lets them fall and scatter into the wind.

“I will think about your offer!” He leans back against nothing, arms casually folded behind his head. “I have business of my own I need to deal with first. There is a group of people in the Fibonacci Ward that has been causing me a lot of trouble!”

If it’s a fight they want then it’s a fight they’ll get, but he’s not about to approach the situation like an idiot. They’ve made it clear they’re not interested in peace talks. The MRVN jumps down from the wall with a hup! and looks up at his companion.

“Let me buy you lunch as thanks! I would like to know more about you, friend. What kind of world are you from?”

“That does sound important. Well, it’s no rush. I’m sure you’ll find me when you’re open to it. Do let me know if I can assist.” Came a nod. At his offer, she tilted her head a bit.

“Hm. I appreciate the offer, and I’ll take you up on it for the sake of company. But can you eat a lunch, I wonder?”

Pathfinder didn’t seem to have a mouth...

“It’s been a while since I’ve had a polite conversation that didn’t involve work. I, too, am curious about someone like you.”

Off the wall she hopped, hitting the pavement in a way that didn’t make much noise at all.