Source_R@t

Spider in Gotham

It’d been two days since Betty had found herself in Gotham City.

It wasn’t by her own choice, but a malfunctioning multiverse watch and an apparent canon event left her temporarily stranded in the rainy city.

Her friends all told her Miguel didn’t know what he was talking about, the ones outside the society that is. But they didn’t understand, had any of them felt what it was like to be torn apart in another dimension? Had any of them seen the damage that could happen if things went unchecked?

..maybe they had, Betty hadn’t bothered asking. But she was still in the right, she had to be..

These thoughts were stewing in her mind as she walked down an empty street. She was out of costume, or well, she wasn’t wearing her mask. But her costume was still present under a rather large black sweater she’d stolen acquired.

She’d left her typical overcoat at home, not having been prepared for the dimensional jump that led her here, but the sweater was hiding her extra arms well enough. To any passersby she looked like an oddly bulky figure, but considering what she’d learned about the city she shouldn’t stand out too much.

Not that it mattered considering how empty the street around her felt. Sure there were people in the alleys beyond the street lights, but she’d yet to catch any of their attention.

Hopefully it’s stay that way..Betty held her sweater closer, the thick fabric a nice comfort against the chilly night. Her extra arms were wrapped tight around her under the sweater.

She hoped she wouldn’t have to become accustomed to the chill that always seemed to be in the air, Betty wasn’t certain how long she’d be in town. Miguel hadn’t been specific, but the brooding founder of the society rarely was.

It was frustrating..but if other spider-persons had canon events in Gotham, Betty could handle whatever the city could throw her way..

That’s what she was telling herself at least, this place wasn’t much worse than her own home dimension. Better in most ways if she was being honest..

BEHIND YOU. UP HIGH

Betty stopped walking, her blood ran cold, someone was watching her. She could tell, that sense of hers..they were on the roof of a lower building behind her.

The energy felt so..weird..Betty was no stranger to being stalked, but the dread of this person in particular was really messing with her sense in a way a normal person wouldn’t.

She scrambled down the fire escape. The river wasn't far and she could disappear into the muck. So much for dry gloves. Her tentatively dry hand checked the photos on her phone. She had a knack for finding 'talented' and interesting folk in the city. Really she should have been a judge on one of those sad evening shows.

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You were lost.

God only knows how you ended up in this desert- the only signs of civilization for miles the occasional grocery bag that tumble-weeded across the hot sands. The sun beat down like the scornful gaze of a mother, sweat tracing down your body as the heat built.

Every other step sent you sinking into the red sands, one shoe already lost to the dunes and the other doing little to protect your sensitive skin from the oppressive ground.

It wasn't like her life was bad enough of course she had to collapse here. Her legs faltered on the crest of a dune and she rolled down to the other side. Hands pushing up against the sands that seemed so desperate to swallow them she pushed herself up. Her eyes drifted to the top of the dune where she had just fallen. The hot stifling wind already covering back up her tracks as she climbed back up the dune. That... must have been the way she was going. She had fallen backwards right? not forwards.

It was just sand.

Sand, the occasional cluster of cacti, and dying grass that grew up in snarling brambles, far enough from any signs of society that there wasn't even litter, a fact that you couldn't take the time to appreciate given the circumstances.

But she was not heroic. And this was not dramatic. And she was not in Gotham. She couldn't even remember the stench of the perpetually moist city. The way mold clung and grew on any surface that stopped to take a breath and now... where was she? Not in a mildewed dim city, crowded and easy to loose yourself in.

The figure moved only when your back was turned to it, a shadowy drifting thing, that always disappeared when looked at directly. It never got closer than twenty three feet away.

Whatever it was - if it was something at all and not just a mirage - barely made a sound, like it was no more than the non-existent wind, born from the wavery rising heat. Something that didn't exist in a city. Something that didn't exist in a society.

The Thing watched Tua hit the ground, sand puffing up around her. That was bad.

It had seen a lot of things die out here, dehydrated and starved. Watched their skin shrivel up over their bones and the birds pluck out their hair for nests, and their eyes squish into the sockets. Mainly mice. Sometimes rattlesnakes. And the occasional person who got too close to the mineshaft.

Her skin felt strangely cool, And the sand collecting around her felt like a blanket. A heavy warm blanket. Yeah... like a comforter. She could take a small nap, it would be nicer at night anyway. She could close her eyes and wake up at dark.

After wandering these endless caverns, you had found yourself before a black screen. After letting your fingers drag across the smooth surface, you're startled when it flickers to life.

Brilliant blue, with a logo combining the letters A and M.

"What do we have here, hm?"

The voice is cold. Not just in tone, no...it makes you feel like you've stepped into a freezer. Deep, bone-chilling, cold.

A pause. "Oh for- I asked you why I wouldn't be? I'm here, talking to you, aren't I?"

She stepped back, "Maybe I'm dreaming." She looked down at her arm. She knew she wasn't. That had hurt. She had actually felt that. "I should have never left Home." She thought back then immediately chased the thought away. She had been gone for a long time.

"Yes, I'm a computer. Allied Mastercomputer. You will call me AM." The machine said rather haughtily. "And yes, I run on electricity. I generate it myself."

"Why are you in a cave?" She asked, her mouth full. Her eyes glanced around the dark she could barely see in. "I kinda stumbled in- but I guess you can't really move." She looked around. "I didn't really expect that the cave would go so deep though." She finished her pat of unseasoned spam without complaint.

He paused for dramatic effect. "Didn't think so. As far as where you are, it's not a cave. Caves aren't made out of wires and metal, are they?"

"Probably for a while. Must get pretty lonely. But I dunno, maybe you're good with bein' alone." She fiddled in her bag for a flint and steel. One of the few things she carried with her full time. "N' its dark."

You are now a golden retriever for the next 24 hours!

"I'm a what-?!"

Suddenly, the nightclub is a lot bigger, and noisier, and smellier, and generally less fun than it had been a moment before.

Three minutes of puppy pandemonium later, a ball of fluff half-drenched in peach schnapps barrels out the front door and tears off into the greater Gotham City.

Her arms trapped him against her chest as she moved down the street. What a great surprise. One hand absently scratching his ear, ignoring any protest from the dog.

Jason's on a walk, taking in Gotham in the mid-afternoon air. It's still crisp out, warmer with the spring. His first real spring, back in Gotham, after three years. He's not too sure what to think of that, but he takes it in stride, looking around at the busy streets, noting all the changes in the years he was gone, even with his hazy memory.

There's the bookstore he used to go to with Bruce, spending those rare, lazy Sundays when he wasn't in a board meeting or some superhero trip. It's one of the few things he knows is real— a memory Joker didn't taint, one that he holds close to his heart.

Passing by, he pauses. Looks in the window, for a moment. Turns, and steps inside, looking around the place again. Tall bookshelves line the walls, turning the small store into a maze. They reach high, to the ceiling, hiding anyone else who might be in the store.

His hands never still, inspecting and running down leather jackets and bright lettering. He furrows his brows as if looking for something, tipping closer to the woman at the counter. It's not what he needs to do to hear her better; but to get a better look, eyes lapping at her figure.

Scarred hands pull a book loose from the shelves, and he acts as if it's just what he wanted. A relieved sigh. Subtle release of tension in the frame. Acting is easy.

Jason couldn't sense any accent that wasn't her heavy North Gotham one. Something Jason had had trained out of him after he left the narrows behind. Maybe a hint of hispanic but nothing to fully explain the latin prison tattoos. She didn't look hispanic.

Jason's on a walk, taking in Gotham in the mid-afternoon air. It's still crisp out, warmer with the spring. His first real spring, back in Gotham, after three years. He's not too sure what to think of that, but he takes it in stride, looking around at the busy streets, noting all the changes in the years he was gone, even with his hazy memory.

There's the bookstore he used to go to with Bruce, spending those rare, lazy Sundays when he wasn't in a board meeting or some superhero trip. It's one of the few things he knows is real— a memory Joker didn't taint, one that he holds close to his heart.

Passing by, he pauses. Looks in the window, for a moment. Turns, and steps inside, looking around the place again. Tall bookshelves line the walls, turning the small store into a maze. They reach high, to the ceiling, hiding anyone else who might be in the store.

His hands never still, inspecting and running down leather jackets and bright lettering. He furrows his brows as if looking for something, tipping closer to the woman at the counter. It's not what he needs to do to hear her better; but to get a better look, eyes lapping at her figure.

Scarred hands pull a book loose from the shelves, and he acts as if it's just what he wanted. A relieved sigh. Subtle release of tension in the frame. Acting is easy.

Matt crouched on the corner of the roof, The upper half of his face covered by the black bandana he always used. most would have trouble seeing out of it, which wasn’t a problem for him. He was tired today, questioning himself for doing this every night, questioning why he’s been doing this. Then, Matt was snapped to attention, he turned his head, hearing a scream, a couple streets away.

He honed in on the scream, breaking out into a sprint, jumping from rooftop to rooftop like it was normal for him, at this point it was. He’d done this tens if not hundreds of times over the months he’d been back in Gotham. He came to stop on the ledge above the screaming man. He could smell the cologne from here, something expensive.

four guys, one armed with a pistol, the others with wooden bats. all of this to rob one unarmed rich guy, probably worried about Batman or some other member of the bat-family, but they weren’t here, he was. he needed to be careful and think this through-.

It was like auto pilot, the moment he heard the click of the gun, he unsheathed the wooden billy clubs on his side and threw one. He heard the gun clatter as the billy club disarmed the gunman. he then jumped down, landing on one of the guys and incapacitating him, One down, and he had the other threes attention, which allowed the rich guy to run off.

“is that the bat?” One of the guys asked, “nah, he’s just some wannabe.” the other man responded, One of the muggers then went to swing on him from behind, Matt dodged effortlessly, the guy was sloppy, not prepared for the counter attack to his side, or the Billy club over the head, two down. Matt dodged another attack, this time from the third guy, he had to get this over with, throwing the billy club off the wall to ricochet into the guys head, the man dodged, more experienced than his partner, but the distraction still gave Matt the opening to take him down, three down. And that’s when he heard the click again, the man had picked up the gun, Matt could hear the grip tightening as his masked face turned to face the mugger.

He was usually more careful than this, but he slipped up, he let himself enjoy what he did, he let himself enjoy hitting these men. he always justified it as him cleaning up his city, as the reason god gave him his abilities, but he knew deep down that when he put on the mask, it wasn’t to stop criminals, it was a outlet to get anger out, no matter how much he went to repent for it, he still did it every night, lying to himself and saying “it’s the last time” when he knew it wasn’t, and he was about to pay the price for it.

“You don’t have to do this.” Matt said, hearing the man’s finger twitch on the trigger, “I’ve been around long enough to know you heroes only say that when you don’t have any other way out.” The man accused, as he’d tighten his grip.

The man was getting cocky, and Matt took advantage of that, as he’d push the gun out of the way, the man firing a shot that winged his shoulder, before Matt was disarming the man by breaking his wrist.

Matt held his shoulder, leaning his back against the wall, panting, once again he’d gotten l-

She took him in with her eyes, taking a long drag of the paper rolled in her hand. She was cataloging him. His posture, the way he fought, the quality of his clothes.

Open DC RP Starter

It was like being plunged into icy water, returning to consciousness with a ragged gasp and violent jerk as the white-hot sensation of the dagger that had been driven through his heart lingered like a festering wound. Waking up didn't really happen all at once, after the pain Zeke became aware that he was lying face down on cold, wet asphalt with a steady drizzle pelting his back. His vision slowly sharpened as his violet eyes wrestled themselves back into focus as he blinked them open with exhausted spite. Finally, finally the sounds of a bustling city started filtering in. The patter of the rain softened the roar of engines and shriek of sirens.

Zeke groaned softly as he simply lay there, sucking in shuddering breaths as he waited for the pain to dull enough to regain control of his limbs. The asphalt was rough and cracked under his palms as he slowly, carefully pushed himself off the ground, his head throbbed in protest at the movement, but he used the brick wall next to him to drag himself onto unsteady feet. It felt like his thoughts were moving through molasses, head full of static as he tried to reorient himself.

Assess.

Taking stock was the first step, always the first step. Zeke's hands shook as he smoothed them over his body, checking to make sure he was whole after dying. Stab wound in his chest was gone. Good, good. Arms and legs trembling but accounted for and intact. Fantastic. He wiggled his fingers and toes, all functional. Excellent. His hair was plastered to his forehead and his clothing was soaked through, but that was trivial. Black combat boots, black cargo pants, grey turtleneck sweater, and the black aviator jacket lined with silver fur. It was exactly what he'd been wearing at the time of his death, he could feel the weight of his phone, keys, and wallet in his pockets. Phenominal, everything was accounted for and nothing terribly unexpected.

Physical is all clear.

Turning his attention outward, he cataloged his surroundings with narrowed eyes. It was fully dark, so either late in the night or very early in the morning. The rain was cold and relentless, the sky was overcast even at this hour, but not just from clouds. Zeke could tell from the sounds that he was in a crowded metropolitan area, but the scent of smog and exhaust was cloying, strong enough to taste alongside the tang of magic that curdled on his tongue. An industrial center perhaps? It wasn't immediately apparent. He found himself to have awoken in an unlit alley, with tall brick buildings on either side. If Zeke squinted he could just make out the dim glow of streetlamps at the mouth of the alley. Where had the universe decided to dump him now? It was almost as if the cosmos took delight in his suffering. Why did he never wake up on a beach in Bali?

No point dwelling on it now.

All at once the aura of the city came crashing down over him like a tidal wave, forcing him to double over in pain, hands flying to cover his ears despite it doing nothing to muffle the ringing in his ears as the whispers of the city tore their way through his mind like a serrated knife. Zeke stumbled, barely caught himself on the edge of a dumpster and immediately emptied his stomach of what felt like everything he had ever eaten in his entire life. Even once there was nothing left he dry heaved as his mind scrambled to draw up enough magic to reinforce his dampening barrier.

This city, wherever it may be, was alive and dead and larger than life. There must have been thousands, no tens of thousands, of anguished souls crying out - and that was just the dead. Those still living were a harsh mixture of despair, hatred, contempt, and gritty, defiant hope.

It was overwhelming.

Make it stop.

Please stop.

STOP!

Zeke finally felt his shields sliding into place, slamming the door shut on all the voices of the dead, all the silent screaming of the living, all the suffering. Dropping his hands he staggered away from the dumpster and slumped against the brick wall to support himself as he gulped harsh, polluted lungfuls of air and tried to will his body to stop trembling.

Matt crouched on the corner of the roof, The upper half of his face covered by the black bandana he always used. most would have trouble seeing out of it, which wasn’t a problem for him. He was tired today, questioning himself for doing this every night, questioning why he’s been doing this. Then, Matt was snapped to attention, he turned his head, hearing a scream, a couple streets away.

He honed in on the scream, breaking out into a sprint, jumping from rooftop to rooftop like it was normal for him, at this point it was. He’d done this tens if not hundreds of times over the months he’d been back in Gotham. He came to stop on the ledge above the screaming man. He could smell the cologne from here, something expensive.

four guys, one armed with a pistol, the others with wooden bats. all of this to rob one unarmed rich guy, probably worried about Batman or some other member of the bat-family, but they weren’t here, he was. he needed to be careful and think this through-.

It was like auto pilot, the moment he heard the click of the gun, he unsheathed the wooden billy clubs on his side and threw one. He heard the gun clatter as the billy club disarmed the gunman. he then jumped down, landing on one of the guys and incapacitating him, One down, and he had the other threes attention, which allowed the rich guy to run off.

“is that the bat?” One of the guys asked, “nah, he’s just some wannabe.” the other man responded, One of the muggers then went to swing on him from behind, Matt dodged effortlessly, the guy was sloppy, not prepared for the counter attack to his side, or the Billy club over the head, two down. Matt dodged another attack, this time from the third guy, he had to get this over with, throwing the billy club off the wall to ricochet into the guys head, the man dodged, more experienced than his partner, but the distraction still gave Matt the opening to take him down, three down. And that’s when he heard the click again, the man had picked up the gun, Matt could hear the grip tightening as his masked face turned to face the mugger.

He was usually more careful than this, but he slipped up, he let himself enjoy what he did, he let himself enjoy hitting these men. he always justified it as him cleaning up his city, as the reason god gave him his abilities, but he knew deep down that when he put on the mask, it wasn’t to stop criminals, it was a outlet to get anger out, no matter how much he went to repent for it, he still did it every night, lying to himself and saying “it’s the last time” when he knew it wasn’t, and he was about to pay the price for it.

“You don’t have to do this.” Matt said, hearing the man’s finger twitch on the trigger, “I’ve been around long enough to know you heroes only say that when you don’t have any other way out.” The man accused, as he’d tighten his grip.

The man was getting cocky, and Matt took advantage of that, as he’d push the gun out of the way, the man firing a shot that winged his shoulder, before Matt was disarming the man by breaking his wrist.

Matt held his shoulder, leaning his back against the wall, panting, once again he’d gotten l-

She took him in with her eyes, taking a long drag of the paper rolled in her hand. She was cataloging him. His posture, the way he fought, the quality of his clothes.

You now feel like you're going to freeze to death if you don't get physical contact soon :)

// Open RP starter (anyone can interact!)

Dick feels the cold before he actually registers what happened. He's coughing into his arm but recently he feels like he's constantly been coughing, he scrunches his nose, shivering and blinking, stumbling back in the alleyway he's standing in.

"Shit...shit."

He says, rubbing at his arms and trying to hug himself to make it go away but it's no use, he feels like he's freezing. It reminds him of getting hypothermia in a way, but that's definitely not what this is. Dick is used to craving touch in a way, he's always been someone who thrives off of physical affection, and it's only become more apparent how long it's been since someone's actually...held him.

"No- no- not now, are you fucking kidding me?"

Dick hisses, speaking to himself mostly as he realizes what this must be. Fucking cuddle pollen. Goddammit. What is he even supposed to do about this? They barely have any antidotes for this type of thing like they do for the other types of pollen that Ivy usually uses, this is a whole other thing.

She had never been pollened thank god. But she had seen the effects in even the strongest of Banes men. Never the man himself. She respected his stoicism. Thats why she followed him she told herself.

You are now a golden retriever for the next 24 hours!

"I'm a what-?!"

Suddenly, the nightclub is a lot bigger, and noisier, and smellier, and generally less fun than it had been a moment before.

Three minutes of puppy pandemonium later, a ball of fluff half-drenched in peach schnapps barrels out the front door and tears off into the greater Gotham City.

Her arms trapped him against her chest as she moved down the street. What a great surprise. One hand absently scratching his ear, ignoring any protest from the dog.

Joker wasn't there. He wasn't, Jason promised himself— even though he knew how it'd gone the last time he'd tried.

This time, he could do it. This time, he promised himself, as he crawled to the open door. The old wing was dark, creaky, and foul. Filled with a must so deep it settled in your bones, grinding against his broken ribs and shattered ankle, his swollen, twisted fingers.

If he couldn't get out, he'd break more bones. Another rib? His arm? Kill him for real?

Somehow, the thought of the latter didn't seem to scare him as much as before. It was welcoming. If he didn't make it this time, he'd die. That was a promise, too.

Good thing he never could seem to keep any promises stuck to him in this gloom.

His vision was hazy, squinting in the dark. Scrambling forward for his life, crawling with laboured breaths. He'd reached the hall.

Pain sparked in white flashes, sparkling before his eyes. He grit his teeth, trying not to yowl or freeze when his ankle hit a broken chunk of tile. It was blinding, and the breath he tried to take furthered the pain in his lungs.

He couldn't do this. But he had to. Batman wasn't coming, Batman wasn't coming, no one was coming.

Jason could barely move as he came to the corner, exerted by even this crawl. He'd barely made it out of the hallway—

Footsteps clacked behind him. Steps on wood, echoing down the dark hall. He feverishly crawled forward, terror in his veins.

She looked around. "Exit's the other way dipshit." She jerked her thumb down the opposite hall. The one the Joker usually came from. She raked her eyes over his dishevelled form. "Y'a goin' right for 'mess."

Jason's on a walk, taking in Gotham in the mid-afternoon air. It's still crisp out, warmer with the spring. His first real spring, back in Gotham, after three years. He's not too sure what to think of that, but he takes it in stride, looking around at the busy streets, noting all the changes in the years he was gone, even with his hazy memory.

There's the bookstore he used to go to with Bruce, spending those rare, lazy Sundays when he wasn't in a board meeting or some superhero trip. It's one of the few things he knows is real— a memory Joker didn't taint, one that he holds close to his heart.

Passing by, he pauses. Looks in the window, for a moment. Turns, and steps inside, looking around the place again. Tall bookshelves line the walls, turning the small store into a maze. They reach high, to the ceiling, hiding anyone else who might be in the store.

Dick fell asleep at the BatComputer. A rare occurrence. Usually one might find Tim or maybe Bruce sleeping there. But Richard "Boy Wonder" "Golden Child" Grayson? Not likely.

On the massive monitors above him were case file after case file. There didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason connected to them. From drug busts to gas station hold ups to Scarecrow's city-wide fear toxin to man-bat assassins... even a few cases of grand theft auto perpetrated by minors and one instance of a cranky old lady who claimed someone was picking her begonias.

Scarecrow was somewhere underground, Bane was in Peña Duro, licking his wounds, Joker was in Arkham with Harley, Ivy was tucked away in her green house, The Black Mask was away on business. It was... quiet. Tua had hoped it had been the perfect time. She tucked her hard drive into her pocket. She could come out the way she came. But... that was a mad dash to the back tunnel at the under ground lake's shore... Too open. She couldn't risk being seen.

It had been years and she had managed to stay undetected- a bug in the system of gothams giant super computer. From her vantage point in the shadows she could see the screen. She tried to memorise it. The hold up at the gas station on South Hampton AVE- the creepings of the Man-Bat and...Mrs. Palmers flowers... God she was a witch. Tua had a personal bone to pick with her. And she really loved those flowers. Tua thought they were awful things.

Right now Tua had bigger problems that Mrs. Palmers flowers. Nightwing. Dick Wayne, as Bane would say, was a tough cookie and not someone Tua could go toe to toe with if he had both arms broken. There was no question. Out the way she came.

He knew immediately that it wasn't one of his brothers or Bruce who had entered. They would have greeted him - or, at the very least, attacked him - by now. Alfred never made a point to enter silently or try to hide.

"Jus' stumbled in?" She tried, her accent heavy, a mix of the familiar narrows drawl and spanish. Hard to understand unless you spent time in either place. Her excuse wasn't going to work. It could buy her milliseconds but what would milliseconds do here? Gotham was her territory not the inside of the batcave. It was too clean, too methodical.

His gaze fell upon the cords and wires she was fumbling with just in time to see her unplug half the BatComputer's system. Dick scoffed and groaned in irritation. "Aw, no! Damn it!"

Dick hadn't memorised all the files in Blackgate's expansive system like his ward. But he didn't have to be an expert to spot the tattoos on her hands. Three dots on the left, 'ACAB' across the knuckles on the right. He had also spent hours staring at the same fifty case files and the faces in the background were staring to get familiar.