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“Huh, didn’t think I was your type.”
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“Huh, didn’t think I was your type.”
'You couldn't be more wrong.'

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Send ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) to walk in on my muse changing their clothes
Dick stared at Ethan, his Nightwing costume only half on without a mask. “I’m uh, going to a costume party.” He lied.
The look on Ethan's face is smeared with a bright blush as he tries to keep eye-contact with the former Boy Wonder. 'Right... I was just, uh... yeah.'
“The job doesn’t give me any time to have a funny bone, simple as that.” He’s not offended, just slightly annoyed. “Let me ask you some questions now. One; Are you Kryptonian?” He infers the answer is no, but’d be easier to get a direct answer.
'Not Kryptonian. Next.’ Ethan answers just as quick as the boy asks, folding his arms. As young as he looks still, he pulled that motion off like a satirical old man.
“Okay then. Why the hell are you talking to me?” If he weren’t so concerned with making sure he didn’t fall off the gargoyle, he would have crossed his arms in response.
'Just coincidence, I think. Same place, same time.'
'Wh – why do you wanna talk with me?’ There’s a fear in his voice, of course there is, the ol’ Blue Bird’s in his apartment questioning him while he’s wearing his turtle neck and glasses.
“I’ve heard rumors. I wanted to see if they were true.” Nightwing answers simply, arms folded as he stared the man down. He wore a turtleneck and glasses, a look very similar to another super’s alter ego. Imitation is the most sincere form of flattery after all.
'I – ’ There was two options, and Ethan weighed them equally. Nicked, as they’d say.
’ – I suppose I’ve been making too much noise to go unnoticed by the other heroes anymore.’ Rising while he spoke, which only really comprised of his posture being adjusted to stand 6’+. The tremble in his voice was replaced by confidence from a well-worked diaphragm. He wasn’t trying to be intimidating, folks just naturally thought he was, that worked in his favour in his other line of work. That line of work now exposed.
'I would have thought it’d be the giant bat that climbed up my balcony.’
Clark wore unassuming well, but this guy, talk about a mood shift. Nightwing tried to look unintimated, but something about the man threw him for a loop. He could tell that Ethan had been around a lot longer than he let on–call it intuition–but the way he went from timid to imposing had to have been practiced.
“He and I still run in the same circles, but I’d figured I’d play good cop before the bad cop comes a stalking.” Nightwing leaned against the windowsill but now walked closer to the taller man, who was much, much, broader than he looked. “I’m not here fight, just to talk.”
'Very kind of you,’ Ethan replied to his good cop remark with a smirk to accompany, and turned away; taking off his glasses; and leaving them on a dresser next to the closet behind him.
He pivots and leans on the dresser, ‘what do you want to talk about? What colours will suit you when your hair goes grey like mine? Earth-y. Works well for redhead’s, too…’ he quipped, then his face took a more subtle change to a serious expression. ‘Please, go ahead.’ Giving permission to say what he had on his mind initially.
He was the chatty type. Oh, thank god. “Well, it seems like only recently that you’ve been active in the hero community.” Nightwing begins, “But I can tell you have experience.” He shifts a bit, “Which is odd since no one has heard of you, Ethan.” His tone wasn’t accusatory, but inquisitive. “My question is why? Who are you really?”
'My name is Ethan Crane. But the rest, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I actually am a pretty good comic book artist,’ he quipped again. His voice took a more concentrated look, as if looking at Nightwing through and through; which he quite literally was. And on an atomic level. His micro(x'ray)-vision revealed every fracture that never healed to the personal galaxy that is him.
“Try me.” Nightwing grins, “Different universe, reality, plane of existence maybe?” He rattles off the options nonchalantly, counting them on his fingers. “Believe me Ethan, we’re used to weird around here.”
'It was the ‘30s,’ his eyes trailing up to meet Nightwing’s, just looking at him normally now. ‘Hitler was really making a name for himself… I volunteered for something very few could refuse. I was pumped full of drugs, knowledge of what they were is lost on me, but they gave me incredible powers. I left their lab, and my humanity behind. I became a God.’ Ethan, while speaking had retrieved a photograph from a box in the closet and held it out to him. It depicts a man (superhero clad) with an uncanny resemblance to Ethan flying above ground forces holding two bombs under-arm.
'After the war I left Earth and sought out my destiny in the stars and travelled to places that technically don’t exist. You and your little Super-Groups don’t know what weird is.’
Ethan’s words sent a shiver up Nightwing’s spine. How could he–how could anyone–not of heard of this man? “Why are you not in history books then?” He asked, taking the picture and holding it in his hand. “Or, for that matter, why is there no record of you at all?”
'Not here there isn’t. I’ll put it this way –’ he grimaced. ’– your multiverses do exist, and everything inbetween. Where things are recycled. Reused.’ He turned to the closet where a single item of clothing escapes the light hanging and put the photograph back. ‘I’m not suppose to be here… heroes are too soft here.’
“Maybe because we’d rather instill hope than fear.” Nightwing offers, scanning the apartment. “So, is there any way to get you back?” He muses aloud, pacing slowly around the living room.
'The only thing you’re inspiring hope in is the criminal’s spirit he’ll be able to get off and do it again.
'I don’t want to go back. Besides, some of my enemies from other worlds may have followed me here.’ Ethan’s retort is sharp and packed full of judgement. Elaborating on his point of soft heroes.
“So you’d prefer to kill them? It’s not our job to be judge, jury, and executioner. That’s what the justice system is for.” Nightwing reasons, not skipping a bit. He’d heard this argument before, but killing made them no better than the criminals they apprehended. “No offense Ethan but this Earth, my Earth is home to some pretty hard hitters.” The Bird scowls, folding his arms. “We even a few Gods among us too. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”
Ethan takes a deep breathe and listens intently to to the former Boy Wonder, sighing before his reply. ‘It doesn’t matter. None of them have arrived yet, but I know one from where I’m from is most certainly here… and I can’t wait to get my hands around his scrawny neck,’ then something clicked –
’– these rumours, where did you hear them?’
He thought about it. Besides a few sightings here and there he didn’t know anything about Ethan, at least until–”From a reporter.” Nightwing answers, “Average build, red whispy hair…his smile skeeved me out too.” The Vigilant recalls, “Said he knew where you lived, which seems strange now that I think about it..”
'You idiot...' Ethan would give him a lick with his hand round the ear but it'd leave him without a head. Though it wasn't the kid's fault, he realizes this, but realizes more so that he's talking like a cynical old man. Maybe some hair dye might change his outlook.
He sighs, 'you didn't know who he was. But you and all your friends have a target on your back now so that kevlar you and the Bat got on your chest is no use. And the silicon on the bottom of your boots, to give you a quiet landing I presume, consider it useless. No point trying to sneak up on this guy.'
'Wh – why do you wanna talk with me?’ There’s a fear in his voice, of course there is, the ol’ Blue Bird’s in his apartment questioning him while he’s wearing his turtle neck and glasses.
“I’ve heard rumors. I wanted to see if they were true.” Nightwing answers simply, arms folded as he stared the man down. He wore a turtleneck and glasses, a look very similar to another super’s alter ego. Imitation is the most sincere form of flattery after all.
'I – ’ There was two options, and Ethan weighed them equally. Nicked, as they’d say.
’ – I suppose I’ve been making too much noise to go unnoticed by the other heroes anymore.’ Rising while he spoke, which only really comprised of his posture being adjusted to stand 6’+. The tremble in his voice was replaced by confidence from a well-worked diaphragm. He wasn’t trying to be intimidating, folks just naturally thought he was, that worked in his favour in his other line of work. That line of work now exposed.
'I would have thought it’d be the giant bat that climbed up my balcony.’
Clark wore unassuming well, but this guy, talk about a mood shift. Nightwing tried to look unintimated, but something about the man threw him for a loop. He could tell that Ethan had been around a lot longer than he let on–call it intuition–but the way he went from timid to imposing had to have been practiced.
“He and I still run in the same circles, but I’d figured I’d play good cop before the bad cop comes a stalking.” Nightwing leaned against the windowsill but now walked closer to the taller man, who was much, much, broader than he looked. “I’m not here fight, just to talk.”
'Very kind of you,’ Ethan replied to his good cop remark with a smirk to accompany, and turned away; taking off his glasses; and leaving them on a dresser next to the closet behind him.
He pivots and leans on the dresser, ‘what do you want to talk about? What colours will suit you when your hair goes grey like mine? Earth-y. Works well for redhead’s, too…’ he quipped, then his face took a more subtle change to a serious expression. ‘Please, go ahead.’ Giving permission to say what he had on his mind initially.
He was the chatty type. Oh, thank god. “Well, it seems like only recently that you’ve been active in the hero community.” Nightwing begins, “But I can tell you have experience.” He shifts a bit, “Which is odd since no one has heard of you, Ethan.” His tone wasn’t accusatory, but inquisitive. “My question is why? Who are you really?”
'My name is Ethan Crane. But the rest, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I actually am a pretty good comic book artist,’ he quipped again. His voice took a more concentrated look, as if looking at Nightwing through and through; which he quite literally was. And on an atomic level. His micro(x'ray)-vision revealed every fracture that never healed to the personal galaxy that is him.
“Try me.” Nightwing grins, “Different universe, reality, plane of existence maybe?” He rattles off the options nonchalantly, counting them on his fingers. “Believe me Ethan, we’re used to weird around here.”
'It was the ‘30s,’ his eyes trailing up to meet Nightwing’s, just looking at him normally now. ‘Hitler was really making a name for himself… I volunteered for something very few could refuse. I was pumped full of drugs, knowledge of what they were is lost on me, but they gave me incredible powers. I left their lab, and my humanity behind. I became a God.’ Ethan, while speaking had retrieved a photograph from a box in the closet and held it out to him. It depicts a man (superhero clad) with an uncanny resemblance to Ethan flying above ground forces holding two bombs under-arm.
'After the war I left Earth and sought out my destiny in the stars and travelled to places that technically don’t exist. You and your little Super-Groups don’t know what weird is.’
Ethan’s words sent a shiver up Nightwing’s spine. How could he–how could anyone–not of heard of this man? “Why are you not in history books then?” He asked, taking the picture and holding it in his hand. “Or, for that matter, why is there no record of you at all?”
'Not here there isn’t. I’ll put it this way –’ he grimaced. ’– your multiverses do exist, and everything inbetween. Where things are recycled. Reused.’ He turned to the closet where a single item of clothing escapes the light hanging and put the photograph back. ‘I’m not suppose to be here… heroes are too soft here.’
“Maybe because we’d rather instill hope than fear.” Nightwing offers, scanning the apartment. “So, is there any way to get you back?” He muses aloud, pacing slowly around the living room.
'The only thing you’re inspiring hope in is the criminal’s spirit he’ll be able to get off and do it again.
'I don’t want to go back. Besides, some of my enemies from other worlds may have followed me here.’ Ethan’s retort is sharp and packed full of judgement. Elaborating on his point of soft heroes.
“So you’d prefer to kill them? It’s not our job to be judge, jury, and executioner. That’s what the justice system is for.” Nightwing reasons, not skipping a bit. He’d heard this argument before, but killing made them no better than the criminals they apprehended. “No offense Ethan but this Earth, my Earth is home to some pretty hard hitters.” The Bird scowls, folding his arms. “We even a few Gods among us too. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”
Ethan takes a deep breathe and listens intently to to the former Boy Wonder, sighing before his reply. 'It doesn't matter. None of them have arrived yet, but I know one from where I'm from is most certainly here... and I can't wait to get my hands around his scrawny neck,' then something clicked --
'-- these rumours, where did you hear them?'

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'Wh – why do you wanna talk with me?’ There’s a fear in his voice, of course there is, the ol’ Blue Bird’s in his apartment questioning him while he’s wearing his turtle neck and glasses.
“I’ve heard rumors. I wanted to see if they were true.” Nightwing answers simply, arms folded as he stared the man down. He wore a turtleneck and glasses, a look very similar to another super’s alter ego. Imitation is the most sincere form of flattery after all.
'I – ’ There was two options, and Ethan weighed them equally. Nicked, as they’d say.
’ – I suppose I’ve been making too much noise to go unnoticed by the other heroes anymore.’ Rising while he spoke, which only really comprised of his posture being adjusted to stand 6’+. The tremble in his voice was replaced by confidence from a well-worked diaphragm. He wasn’t trying to be intimidating, folks just naturally thought he was, that worked in his favour in his other line of work. That line of work now exposed.
'I would have thought it’d be the giant bat that climbed up my balcony.’
Clark wore unassuming well, but this guy, talk about a mood shift. Nightwing tried to look unintimated, but something about the man threw him for a loop. He could tell that Ethan had been around a lot longer than he let on–call it intuition–but the way he went from timid to imposing had to have been practiced.
“He and I still run in the same circles, but I’d figured I’d play good cop before the bad cop comes a stalking.” Nightwing leaned against the windowsill but now walked closer to the taller man, who was much, much, broader than he looked. “I’m not here fight, just to talk.”
'Very kind of you,’ Ethan replied to his good cop remark with a smirk to accompany, and turned away; taking off his glasses; and leaving them on a dresser next to the closet behind him.
He pivots and leans on the dresser, ‘what do you want to talk about? What colours will suit you when your hair goes grey like mine? Earth-y. Works well for redhead’s, too…’ he quipped, then his face took a more subtle change to a serious expression. ‘Please, go ahead.’ Giving permission to say what he had on his mind initially.
He was the chatty type. Oh, thank god. “Well, it seems like only recently that you’ve been active in the hero community.” Nightwing begins, “But I can tell you have experience.” He shifts a bit, “Which is odd since no one has heard of you, Ethan.” His tone wasn’t accusatory, but inquisitive. “My question is why? Who are you really?”
'My name is Ethan Crane. But the rest, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I actually am a pretty good comic book artist,’ he quipped again. His voice took a more concentrated look, as if looking at Nightwing through and through; which he quite literally was. And on an atomic level. His micro(x'ray)-vision revealed every fracture that never healed to the personal galaxy that is him.
“Try me.” Nightwing grins, “Different universe, reality, plane of existence maybe?” He rattles off the options nonchalantly, counting them on his fingers. “Believe me Ethan, we’re used to weird around here.”
'It was the ‘30s,’ his eyes trailing up to meet Nightwing’s, just looking at him normally now. ‘Hitler was really making a name for himself… I volunteered for something very few could refuse. I was pumped full of drugs, knowledge of what they were is lost on me, but they gave me incredible powers. I left their lab, and my humanity behind. I became a God.’ Ethan, while speaking had retrieved a photograph from a box in the closet and held it out to him. It depicts a man (superhero clad) with an uncanny resemblance to Ethan flying above ground forces holding two bombs under-arm.
'After the war I left Earth and sought out my destiny in the stars and travelled to places that technically don’t exist. You and your little Super-Groups don’t know what weird is.’
Ethan’s words sent a shiver up Nightwing’s spine. How could he–how could anyone–not of heard of this man? “Why are you not in history books then?” He asked, taking the picture and holding it in his hand. “Or, for that matter, why is there no record of you at all?”
'Not here there isn’t. I’ll put it this way –’ he grimaced. ’– your multiverses do exist, and everything inbetween. Where things are recycled. Reused.’ He turned to the closet where a single item of clothing escapes the light hanging and put the photograph back. ‘I’m not suppose to be here… heroes are too soft here.’
“Maybe because we’d rather instill hope than fear.” Nightwing offers, scanning the apartment. “So, is there any way to get you back?” He muses aloud, pacing slowly around the living room.
'The only thing you're inspiring hope in is the criminal's spirit he'll be able to get off and do it again.
'I don't want to go back. Besides, some of my enemies from other worlds may have followed me here.' Ethan's retort is sharp and packed full of judgement. Elaborating on his point of soft heroes.
“The job doesn’t give me any time to have a funny bone, simple as that.” He’s not offended, just slightly annoyed. “Let me ask you some questions now. One; Are you Kryptonian?” He infers the answer is no, but’d be easier to get a direct answer.
'Not Kryptonian. Next.' Ethan answers just as quick as the boy asks, folding his arms. As young as he looks still, he pulled that motion off like a satirical old man.
The gargoyles were a nice touch, he had to admit. Floating just beyond the edge of one the stone beast’s gaping maw; the end of his brown overcoat billowing in the quiet breeze that occupied tonight in Gotham City.
'We were never born to enjoy anything…’
There was something aesthetically alluring about the gargoyles of Gotham. The city seemed to have an endless night, so it was only fitting that stone guardians were erected in the sky, guarding the travelers of the night.
“Elaborate on that. And while you’re doing that, who are you?”
Ethan turned to face the boy, letting his hands fall by his side. ‘You seem fairly young, you’d rather be out here in the chill of night than let it be in the background while you play video games? Or read. Whatever it is you might be interested in.
‘Have you ever questioned anything you do? It’s like looking down when completely focused on “what’s next”.’
“I don’t need anyone questioning my life choices. All you need to know is that being Robin is the greatest thing I’ve ever done with my life.” He scowls, perched up on the stone protector. He looked to be Kryptonian, yet there was something distinctly… not Kryptonian, about him.
“If you mean in terms of orders, then no. I’m my own person with my own code. And not in terms of what’s next, either.”
'You're very defensive...' he smirks at the Boy Wonder. 'No humour to guise your insecurity, maybe you don't have a funny bone?' Of course, these are only assumptions but he's poking the little bear nonetheless.
'Wh – why do you wanna talk with me?’ There’s a fear in his voice, of course there is, the ol’ Blue Bird’s in his apartment questioning him while he’s wearing his turtle neck and glasses.
“I’ve heard rumors. I wanted to see if they were true.” Nightwing answers simply, arms folded as he stared the man down. He wore a turtleneck and glasses, a look very similar to another super’s alter ego. Imitation is the most sincere form of flattery after all.
'I – ’ There was two options, and Ethan weighed them equally. Nicked, as they’d say.
’ – I suppose I’ve been making too much noise to go unnoticed by the other heroes anymore.’ Rising while he spoke, which only really comprised of his posture being adjusted to stand 6’+. The tremble in his voice was replaced by confidence from a well-worked diaphragm. He wasn’t trying to be intimidating, folks just naturally thought he was, that worked in his favour in his other line of work. That line of work now exposed.
'I would have thought it’d be the giant bat that climbed up my balcony.’
Clark wore unassuming well, but this guy, talk about a mood shift. Nightwing tried to look unintimated, but something about the man threw him for a loop. He could tell that Ethan had been around a lot longer than he let on–call it intuition–but the way he went from timid to imposing had to have been practiced.
“He and I still run in the same circles, but I’d figured I’d play good cop before the bad cop comes a stalking.” Nightwing leaned against the windowsill but now walked closer to the taller man, who was much, much, broader than he looked. “I’m not here fight, just to talk.”
'Very kind of you,’ Ethan replied to his good cop remark with a smirk to accompany, and turned away; taking off his glasses; and leaving them on a dresser next to the closet behind him.
He pivots and leans on the dresser, ‘what do you want to talk about? What colours will suit you when your hair goes grey like mine? Earth-y. Works well for redhead’s, too…’ he quipped, then his face took a more subtle change to a serious expression. ‘Please, go ahead.’ Giving permission to say what he had on his mind initially.
He was the chatty type. Oh, thank god. “Well, it seems like only recently that you’ve been active in the hero community.” Nightwing begins, “But I can tell you have experience.” He shifts a bit, “Which is odd since no one has heard of you, Ethan.” His tone wasn’t accusatory, but inquisitive. “My question is why? Who are you really?”
'My name is Ethan Crane. But the rest, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I actually am a pretty good comic book artist,’ he quipped again. His voice took a more concentrated look, as if looking at Nightwing through and through; which he quite literally was. And on an atomic level. His micro(x'ray)-vision revealed every fracture that never healed to the personal galaxy that is him.
“Try me.” Nightwing grins, “Different universe, reality, plane of existence maybe?” He rattles off the options nonchalantly, counting them on his fingers. “Believe me Ethan, we’re used to weird around here.”
'It was the ‘30s,’ his eyes trailing up to meet Nightwing’s, just looking at him normally now. ‘Hitler was really making a name for himself… I volunteered for something very few could refuse. I was pumped full of drugs, knowledge of what they were is lost on me, but they gave me incredible powers. I left their lab, and my humanity behind. I became a God.’ Ethan, while speaking had retrieved a photograph from a box in the closet and held it out to him. It depicts a man (superhero clad) with an uncanny resemblance to Ethan flying above ground forces holding two bombs under-arm.
'After the war I left Earth and sought out my destiny in the stars and travelled to places that technically don’t exist. You and your little Super-Groups don’t know what weird is.’
Ethan’s words sent a shiver up Nightwing’s spine. How could he–how could anyone–not of heard of this man? “Why are you not in history books then?” He asked, taking the picture and holding it in his hand. “Or, for that matter, why is there no record of you at all?”
'Not here there isn't. I'll put it this way --' he grimaced. '-- your multiverses do exist, and everything inbetween. Where things are recycled. Reused.' He turned to the closet where a single item of clothing escapes the light hanging and put the photograph back. 'I'm not suppose to be here... heroes are too soft here.'
4c
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Ethan's moans softened as he came to a stop. It was tight, but it was taboo and he enjoyed it for as long as it lasted, pulling out and resting his shaft between the cheeks of her ass. He leaned over and planted gentle kisses on the curve of her neck on the right side where it meets her shoulder. 'Did it hurt?'

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Ethan’s coffee that morning was just a tad too weak so he filled it with the tawny liquid from the steel container engraved with E.C., his initials, he kept in his overcoat and left it just whip cream short of an Irish Coffee. It was almost pre-emptive as moments later he’d find himself standing at a blast site in his proverbial backyard; S.T.A.R Labs.
He had rushed there in a squad car with a fellow boy in blue and as much as he pleaded they, a bomb unit, wouldn’t let him past the cordon.
’Jesus Christ… be okay!’
It had been a relatively normal day for them in the months in the aftermath of the Singularity and ‘death’ of Dr Wells…actually Eobard Thawne. Not that Carrie thought he was truly dead, but still they had to deal with the legal aftermath.
Legal bombshell more like it.
With her head resting in her hands, she stared blindly down at the paperwork from 'Wells’ her lawyer that she had not been wanting to open. Paperwork that turned out to be a last Will and Testament…that named her as his heir…
Paperwork that named her as the new owner and CEO of STAR Labs.
As if she didn’t have enough on her plate already!
What else could go wrong? She mentally grumbled and regretted it moments later when the perimeter alarm shrieked loudly, waking Henry from where he had been napping in the bassinet beside what was now her desk.
Scooping her infant son into her arms she hurried into the Cortex where Cisco sat at a console.
“Someone’s rammed through the barricade in the visitor’s parking deck!"
The visitor’s parking deck was the primary weak spot in the Lab’s security and it had been ruthlessly exploited as they watched the security feed. A large Humvee had rammed through and six armed men had exited it. Each wore generic black fatigues with no identifying patches.
If the were with ARGUS they would have used stealth to enter, like before.
Common thieves thinking the Lab easy pickings? Henry wailed and squirmed in her arms, his cries of distress mingling with the alarm.
"Shut off the alarm,” Carrie ordered and was relieved as Iris hurried to her side. Turning to her sister, she regretfully passed her Henry. “Calm him down while I greet the visitors. Cisco, put the sub-levels into lock down.”
The six men were almost to the main entrance, moving in a sloppy formation. Obviously not professional soldiers or mercenaries then.
In a crackle of gold lightning each found the rifles they carried removed from their hands.
“Fuck! Its the Flash freak!”
In the Cortex, Cisco winced from where he was watching the monitors, all but sensing the surge of rage coming from Carrie’s scarlet-clad form right before she unleashed a beating on the men. One of them managed to get back to the Humvee but he wasn’t getting into the driver’s seat. Baffled, Cisco zoomed in on the man and called over the comm, “Carrie, one of those bozos—”
The explosion ripped through the visitor’s parking deck, the Humvee becoming a fireball. Among the fire, he saw the crackle of her lightning trail, able to snag the closest pair of attackers and yanking them out of the blast zone. Another glance at the monitors showed him that the police and first responders were there. Pushing to his feet, he saw Carrie on-screen putting out the fire caused by the explosion and then secure the pair she had grabbed.
Firefighters and what looked like the bomb squad were swarming the scene and in a crackle of gold, Carrie departed the crime scene, taking a different route back to the Cortex.As she arrived and changed back from Flash to her civilian clothing, Cisco was double checking the footage to make sue there was no signs of Carrie’s running around in her Flash suit in the main corridors and erasing the alternate routes footage.
When he looked up, Carrie had cleared the Cortex of anything connecting the Flash to STAR Labs. A moment later, Cisco took a breath as the Bomb Squad and Fire fighters gave an all clear to the police officers just waiting for the signal that the scene was safe to enter.
Above ground, Joe and Eddie approached Ethan; Eddie’s phone was firmly attached to his ear.
“Crane!” Joe called out in greeting. “The CSIs are on the way, though once lock down is disengaged, Carrie will be able to join us from below. She was visiting with a friend of hers when whatever this is went down.”
'Carrie... that means Henry is in there, too. Still no sign of the damn Flash, guess the Flash doesn't give two shits after all.' Ethan gives a slight raise of his eyebrows to Joe as he sped-walked towards the entrance then broke into a sprint. That niggle to move much faster in his legs, but he constrains himself. He even feigns a pant or two as he passes the bomb squad and fire fighters who gave the all clear for him to enter the building.
'Carrie! ... ' He listens out for a voice or a baby's cry.
The gargoyles were a nice touch, he had to admit. Floating just beyond the edge of one the stone beast’s gaping maw; the end of his brown overcoat billowing in the quiet breeze that occupied tonight in Gotham City.
'We were never born to enjoy anything…’
There was something aesthetically alluring about the gargoyles of Gotham. The city seemed to have an endless night, so it was only fitting that stone guardians were erected in the sky, guarding the travelers of the night.
“Elaborate on that. And while you’re doing that, who are you?”
Ethan turned to face the boy, letting his hands fall by his side. 'You seem fairly young, you'd rather be out here in the chill of night than let it be in the background while you play video games? Or read. Whatever it is you might be interested in.
'Have you ever questioned anything you do? It's like looking down when completely focused on "what's next".'
Tacklin’ replies like this shortly!
'You’re gonna be just fine. Your equilibrium might be a tad off, so, watch your step getting up.’ He says to the blonde female layin’ on the surgical slab.
'Wh – why do you wanna talk with me?’ There’s a fear in his voice, of course there is, the ol’ Blue Bird’s in his apartment questioning him while he’s wearing his turtle neck and glasses.
“I’ve heard rumors. I wanted to see if they were true.” Nightwing answers simply, arms folded as he stared the man down. He wore a turtleneck and glasses, a look very similar to another super’s alter ego. Imitation is the most sincere form of flattery after all.
'I – ’ There was two options, and Ethan weighed them equally. Nicked, as they’d say.
’ – I suppose I’ve been making too much noise to go unnoticed by the other heroes anymore.’ Rising while he spoke, which only really comprised of his posture being adjusted to stand 6’+. The tremble in his voice was replaced by confidence from a well-worked diaphragm. He wasn’t trying to be intimidating, folks just naturally thought he was, that worked in his favour in his other line of work. That line of work now exposed.
'I would have thought it’d be the giant bat that climbed up my balcony.’
Clark wore unassuming well, but this guy, talk about a mood shift. Nightwing tried to look unintimated, but something about the man threw him for a loop. He could tell that Ethan had been around a lot longer than he let on–call it intuition–but the way he went from timid to imposing had to have been practiced.
“He and I still run in the same circles, but I’d figured I’d play good cop before the bad cop comes a stalking.” Nightwing leaned against the windowsill but now walked closer to the taller man, who was much, much, broader than he looked. “I’m not here fight, just to talk.”
'Very kind of you,’ Ethan replied to his good cop remark with a smirk to accompany, and turned away; taking off his glasses; and leaving them on a dresser next to the closet behind him.
He pivots and leans on the dresser, ‘what do you want to talk about? What colours will suit you when your hair goes grey like mine? Earth-y. Works well for redhead’s, too…’ he quipped, then his face took a more subtle change to a serious expression. ‘Please, go ahead.’ Giving permission to say what he had on his mind initially.
He was the chatty type. Oh, thank god. “Well, it seems like only recently that you’ve been active in the hero community.” Nightwing begins, “But I can tell you have experience.” He shifts a bit, “Which is odd since no one has heard of you, Ethan.” His tone wasn’t accusatory, but inquisitive. “My question is why? Who are you really?”
'My name is Ethan Crane. But the rest, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I actually am a pretty good comic book artist,’ he quipped again. His voice took a more concentrated look, as if looking at Nightwing through and through; which he quite literally was. And on an atomic level. His micro(x'ray)-vision revealed every fracture that never healed to the personal galaxy that is him.
“Try me.” Nightwing grins, “Different universe, reality, plane of existence maybe?” He rattles off the options nonchalantly, counting them on his fingers. “Believe me Ethan, we’re used to weird around here.”
'It was the '30s,' his eyes trailing up to meet Nightwing's, just looking at him normally now. 'Hitler was really making a name for himself... I volunteered for something very few could refuse. I was pumped full of drugs, knowledge of what they were is lost on me, but they gave me incredible powers. I left their lab, and my humanity behind. I became a God.' Ethan, while speaking had retrieved a photograph from a box in the closet and held it out to him. It depicts a man (superhero clad) with an uncanny resemblance to Ethan flying above ground forces holding two bombs under-arm.
'After the war I left Earth and sought out my destiny in the stars and travelled to places that technically don't exist. You and your little Super-Groups don't know what weird is.'

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'Wh – why do you wanna talk with me?’ There’s a fear in his voice, of course there is, the ol’ Blue Bird’s in his apartment questioning him while he’s wearing his turtle neck and glasses.
“I’ve heard rumors. I wanted to see if they were true.” Nightwing answers simply, arms folded as he stared the man down. He wore a turtleneck and glasses, a look very similar to another super’s alter ego. Imitation is the most sincere form of flattery after all.
'I – ’ There was two options, and Ethan weighed them equally. Nicked, as they’d say.
’ – I suppose I’ve been making too much noise to go unnoticed by the other heroes anymore.’ Rising while he spoke, which only really comprised of his posture being adjusted to stand 6’+. The tremble in his voice was replaced by confidence from a well-worked diaphragm. He wasn’t trying to be intimidating, folks just naturally thought he was, that worked in his favour in his other line of work. That line of work now exposed.
'I would have thought it’d be the giant bat that climbed up my balcony.’
Clark wore unassuming well, but this guy, talk about a mood shift. Nightwing tried to look unintimated, but something about the man threw him for a loop. He could tell that Ethan had been around a lot longer than he let on–call it intuition–but the way he went from timid to imposing had to have been practiced.
“He and I still run in the same circles, but I’d figured I’d play good cop before the bad cop comes a stalking.” Nightwing leaned against the windowsill but now walked closer to the taller man, who was much, much, broader than he looked. “I’m not here fight, just to talk.”
'Very kind of you,’ Ethan replied to his good cop remark with a smirk to accompany, and turned away; taking off his glasses; and leaving them on a dresser next to the closet behind him.
He pivots and leans on the dresser, ‘what do you want to talk about? What colours will suit you when your hair goes grey like mine? Earth-y. Works well for redhead’s, too…’ he quipped, then his face took a more subtle change to a serious expression. ‘Please, go ahead.’ Giving permission to say what he had on his mind initially.
He was the chatty type. Oh, thank god. “Well, it seems like only recently that you’ve been active in the hero community.” Nightwing begins, “But I can tell you have experience.” He shifts a bit, “Which is odd since no one has heard of you, Ethan.” His tone wasn’t accusatory, but inquisitive. “My question is why? Who are you really?”
'My name is Ethan Crane. But the rest, you wouldn't believe me if I told you. I actually am a pretty good comic book artist,' he quipped again. His voice took a more concentrated look, as if looking at Nightwing through and through; which he quite literally was. And on an atomic level. His micro(x'ray)-vision revealed every fracture that never healed to the personal galaxy that is him.
'Wh – why do you wanna talk with me?’ There’s a fear in his voice, of course there is, the ol’ Blue Bird’s in his apartment questioning him while he’s wearing his turtle neck and glasses.
“I’ve heard rumors. I wanted to see if they were true.” Nightwing answers simply, arms folded as he stared the man down. He wore a turtleneck and glasses, a look very similar to another super’s alter ego. Imitation is the most sincere form of flattery after all.
'I – ’ There was two options, and Ethan weighed them equally. Nicked, as they’d say.
’ – I suppose I’ve been making too much noise to go unnoticed by the other heroes anymore.’ Rising while he spoke, which only really comprised of his posture being adjusted to stand 6’+. The tremble in his voice was replaced by confidence from a well-worked diaphragm. He wasn’t trying to be intimidating, folks just naturally thought he was, that worked in his favour in his other line of work. That line of work now exposed.
'I would have thought it’d be the giant bat that climbed up my balcony.’
Clark wore unassuming well, but this guy, talk about a mood shift. Nightwing tried to look unintimated, but something about the man threw him for a loop. He could tell that Ethan had been around a lot longer than he let on–call it intuition–but the way he went from timid to imposing had to have been practiced.
“He and I still run in the same circles, but I’d figured I’d play good cop before the bad cop comes a stalking.” Nightwing leaned against the windowsill but now walked closer to the taller man, who was much, much, broader than he looked. “I’m not here fight, just to talk.”
'Very kind of you,' Ethan replied to his good cop remark with a smirk to accompany, and turned away; taking off his glasses; and leaving them on a dresser next to the closet behind him.
He pivots and leans on the dresser, 'what do you want to talk about? What colours will suit you when your hair goes grey like mine? Earth-y. Works well for redhead's, too...' he quipped, then his face took a more subtle change to a serious expression. 'Please, go ahead.' Giving permission to say what he had on his mind initially.