You won't slip past me.

I drew some Alices with the big fellas she hangs with

I ended up making this sketch as art therapy for working through my fear about my upcoming medical procedures/surgeries and I actually ended up feeling pretty proud of it, so I hope it's ok that I share it here. Moderately Zelda related. It's Scarecrow with a bit of a Skullkid style-twist.

"I didn't have anything to do with the breakout, Bolton. Or the riot."

She watched him with a black eye marring one socket, swelling her cheek, expression detached — wariness creeping in through one blood red sclera. Watching only to watch, in part, in a room with nothing but slate grey walls, gunmetal table and chairs. Searching for visual interest.

"If I did I wouldn't be sitting here, would I?"

Her ears were still faintly ringing from the blast that had taken out the cafeteria walls. The sound had shuddered every wall in the asylum; stunned into wide-eyed silence, she had seen the diamond criss-cross in the bullet-proof windows quake. After that had come the roar of voices, the swelling panic of animals sparked into action and fleeing a predator, all crawling over each other, scrabbling for a foothold in disaster.

Lyle had her brought before him for a series of quick, informal interrogations he was conducting as he went through a list of probable coconspirators. Fingerlaced hands pressed against his mouth where they steepled.

Anyone else would have found it hard not to feel a little sympathetic for the battered woman who had clearly not come out of this unscathed. Lyle on the other hand was far too occupied with his own seething fury, a barely contained snarling dog at heart.

His leg lightly bounced while making mental notes to review staff performance tonight, he'd seen guards stunned and gawking. Which reminds him he needed to reevaluate the budget to allocate more funds for pacification weapons.

There’s a twitch to his right eye at her very expected denial, he exhales through his nose slowly and lowers his still folded hands to the table.

“You've made all sorts of plans before Dahl...” he remarks lightly, chair creaking as he leaned back, cocking his head back to look down his nose at her through thin narrowed eyes. “And how often do those plans not go your way?” it's dry, and dangerous. The implication in the air strong; any rise to provocation at this delicate moment would be viewed as 'giving him a reason'.

The security system, new tech & protocols he'd installed since becoming chief of security had actually vastly minimized loses, less opportunistic scum able to capitalize on the chaos. Something his peers were eager to praise him for--but Lyle could only fixate on how SEVERAL still escaped.

As he viewed it any escaped may as well have been a failure. Afterall, one single rogue was all it took for massive casualties and chaos in Gotham.

"You're not going anywhere--" one palm slammed down to a clipboard on the table as he stands suddenly, "You know something." an accusation that's punctuated with him grabbing the front of her Arkham uniform to drag her closer by, "--even if you had nothing to do with it, you know who did." leaned in so close now over the table you could smell his aftershave and the coffee on his breath, he looks downright unhinged, "I've seen you being 'friendly' with several of the ones who escaped."

just because i write something it doesn’t mean that i condone it.

just because i write something it doesn’t mean that i condone it.

just because i write something it doesn’t mean that i condone it.