#plotted;

[ PLOTTED STARTER @burg1ar ]

The dim glow of a flickering streetlamp seeped through the cracked blinds of Floyd Lawton’s apartment, casting jagged shadows across the cluttered room. The air was thick with the acrid scent of gunpowder && metal polish, mingling with the faint bitterness of cold coffee abandoned hours ago. Floyd’s hands, scarred and steady, UNFOLDED the crumpled Gotham Gazette with practiced precision, though his eyes betrayed a rare flicker of unease.

Bruce Wayne Murdered: Catwoman Suspected ! ----------------- screamed the headline in bold black ink. Beneath it, a grainy photograph of Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s untouchable billionaire, stared back at him—lifeless, a GHOST preserved in print.

He let the paper fall limp in his hands, his breath slow but deliberate. Selina Kyle’s name burned in his mind. He’d crossed paths with her before---agile, cunning, unpredictable, but not a KILLER. Not like him. The thought of her clawed gloves smeared with Wayne’s blood felt wrong, like a puzzle piece forced into the wrong place. His jaw tightened, the familiar taste of suspicion bitter on his tongue. “This doesn’t add up,” he muttered, the words barely audible over the distant wail of a police siren. His eyes darted to the corner of the room, where his custom RIFLE leaned against the wall, its barrel gleaming in the dim light. Floyd flipped the newspaper onto the cluttered desk, the headline still glaring up at him like an accusation. His fingers tapped a rhythmic pattern against the wood as the marksman stared at the phone resting beside his dismantled pistol. Contacting Selina wasn’t exactly his usual style---he was a man of precision, not pleasantries. With a resigned sigh, Floyd pulled the burner phone closer. His thumb hovering over the screen.

Selina wasn’t the type to pick up calls, && if she was on the run, a text was his best bet. Quick, discreet, and unlikely to spook her. He scrolled to her contact ---C. Kyle --- and OPENED the thread, the previous messages sparse and cryptic, like everything about their occasional collaborations.

He typed:

Floyd: Saw the Gazette. You okay?

Plotted Starter ;; Latty.

@amarvelousmencgerie

The former marine had grown used to thinking of his inheritance as something ABSTRACT ;; numbers on screens, papers locked in drawers, properties he owned in theory but never bothered to see. The Lawton name was stamped across businesses, ranches && tracts of land, but he let managers and lawyers SHUFFLE the details while he kept his distance.

Wealth insulated him well enough from questions. Except the stables. Something about them tugged at the edge of his attention: a quiet RUMOR that there had been no investors circling, no board meetings, no plans for expansion as there always were with every other piece of the Lawton empire. Strange, in a world where everything about the family fortune usually smelled of PROFIT.

Strange enough that today, for the first time, he came down to see the place for himself.

The sight surprised him. These weren’t the polished, showcase barns of glossy brochures ----- no marble entryways, no fuss. Instead, the stables seemed to BREATHE. Weathered siding, sun-bleached && sturdy, held rows of stalls where horses shifted restlessly within ;; their ears flicking at his footsteps. The air pulsed with living scents ;; musky hay STACKED in shadowed bales, the damp dark tang of earth trampled by hooves && the sweet burn of oiled leather. Light speared through gaps in the walls and rafters, falling across the animals’ coats in bronze patches that glowed && disappeared as they moved.

Saddles hung carefully; tools were kept ready; there was DISCIPLINE here, but not the sterile kind enforced by investors. It was the kind built by hands that worked until the job was done.

As Floyd drifted farther, CURIOUS but unrecognized, the silence carried the kind of honesty he rarely found in his world. He didn’t look like an owner now ------ just a man in a dark shirt && hard boots, pausing to study the line of a restless gelding’s shoulders, listening to the way chains rattled as the horse stamped. He traced the EDGE of the stall gate as though reading the grooves of lives spent here.

  @ecoterrcrist​          PLOTTED STARTER. 

          Thunderous KNOCKING came from the front door, right over the sound of the storm raging outside (no rain but only strong winds blowing). Lawton, who accidentally fell asleep on the couch, nearly fell to the floor in surprise, right on top of DOGSHOT. The poor animal let out a squeal of confusion as he hid underneath the table, just as startled as the marksman was.

            Once again ringed the ballad of the sirens, the four wheeled vehicles hurrying to another a busy night enveloped by the moonlight, as quick steps made way throughout the sheltered mannors, angel with hidden wings, prepared to move onto their next target, distinctive figure posing a threat to any criminal that may arise, prepared to unveil the truth, unmasking their deeds to the authorites, and returning hope to desperate souls, who needed help.

         This modern role of «Robin Hood», leaving no trace behind their tracks, always managing to surpass obstacles easily, yet using no weapons whatsoever, relying purely on their magic performances, ready to deliver the items back to their original owners, remarkable presence with their outstanding classy dark suit , along with the unmistakable orange ponytail....

      ...Only one name would surge , leaving guilty hearts trembling with fear.

             And that was the might thief, Saint Tail. 

  ‥…━━━★ﾟ

            Teeth shuddering , another 'wolf' , disguised with a sheep's skin, glared at the windows, impatient walkings, along with secluded secrets, awaited the thief's arrival, cursing under their breath. Though ever showing their nervous and stressed facade to the surrounding guards, wouldn't they suspect of his deeds after all.

                  Though ,  reflections got interrupted midway, as focused eyes detected the presence of the mighty thief, as usual, daring amazing jumps, making way inside the mansion's corridors, once more, ready to take back what did not belong to this place.

Yellings filled the outwards, as dutifull officers tried to make way in, in hopes of catching her.