#polarprotector

                             congratulations to you polar. ian salutes you.

Duela giggled and hummed as she thought. Her big soft mismatched eyes looked up at the man.

“Well, I’ve been having this awful nightmare lately.” The girl admitted. “In this nightmare, I’m running around this huuuge empty building. I’m running away from something, but I have no clue what.” She rambled on. “Finally, I get to a window. Outside this window, is a man. A man I can’t see, but he’s laughing. I think he’s laughing at me. I see him start to pull something shiny out of his coat and BOOM! I wake up.”

Deep down she knew he probably didn’t care about some stupid dreams she’s had, but why not? Not like she had many friends or anything to tell them to instead. 

Every job had it’s safety hazards. Construction workers? Could easily be harmed by their equipment. Crushed beneath building materials; Maimed by a power tool. Electricians could become a living current, betrayed by the very element they directed on a daily. Police could be shot; Firemen could be consumed by an inferno. A bodyguard could take a beating from a group of thugs from the Narrows who’d found his loyalty to a certain Bird sickening. That was his safety hazard; and while it wasn’t all that surprising, it didn’t make it hurt any less.

Vision swam, a mess of blurred colors and smudges of shapes, and an arm shot forward, grabbing hold to a nearby surface to try and support himself as feet shuffled over each other. A rattle of a cough left him, dying off into a sharp wheeze, the action making everything hurt worst. Bruises. Blood. The potential for a broken rib or two. His other arm wrapped around his stomach, curling and holding to the area tightly before more uneven steps were taken forward.

It was late and the sight wasn’t all that common to find in Gotham. If he were lucky, perhaps he could make it back to his apartment before someone tried to profit off his misfortune.

The sound of quickly approaching footsteps echoed in his ears and he sucked in a harsh breath before trailing into another cough. Back met a supporting wall and his previously curled arm reached for the knife concealed in his inner pocket. A knife that had rescued him earlier; really getting a good mileage out of it tonight.

“Don’t.”

A threat that would perhaps be more effective if he didn’t look ready to keel over.

            👑 〰〰〰 Ignatius had been walking home. 

           It was late, later than he usually bothered to stay out, but there’d been a bit of an incident with one of the projects Oswald left him in charge of and he’d been unable to convince himself to leave for the night before making certain that everything was perfect. The whole process had left him with a notable lack of energy. He was irritated, tired, and stuck with the nagging voice in the back of his head that reminded him that he would need to get up early the next day to take Martin out to some event he was looking forward to. Even the overly ambitious teenager was not exactly equipped for too many night like this.

           Just as he was contemplating firing the idiot who’d messed up so royally tonight, in an attempt to prevent such incidents from repeating in the future, he spotted someone leaning against the wall and looking quite a bit worse for wear. Normally, such a sight would not unusual, but this individual in particular seemed familiar. As he came closer, Ignatius realized that he’d been correct in making that connection - Not only was this man familiar, but it was polar of all people.

           He took a quickened pace forward, missing the other’s choked out response. The only thing that caused him to stop was the glint of the knife still tucked mostly in his coat by a passing car’s headlights. He pulled up short a few feet away, berating himself for being so stupid as to approach someone in the middle of the night in Gotham, let alone in such a place as The Narrows.

〰〰〰 𝒫𝑜𝓁𝒶𝓇 { @polarprotector​ }

           ✦ 〰〰〰 It was not every day that Ethan found reason to visit the lounge, perfectly content to keep his distance from his father’s place of business and focus instead on the various tasks he was otherwise preoccupied with. Between school and his own pet projects, he didn’t really have the time or patience to be mixing up among criminal or socialite alike. The occasion for his visit to this part of the city was rare when most of his waking hours were spent at school or the confines of his home.

            But, today had called for a slight change in his normal routine. He had come to the Iceberg with the intent to speak with Oswald on a rather important matter - One he’d deemed important enough not to wait until the man eventually decided to come home. He’d travelled all the way across town some time after school, reaching the entrance a short while before opening. Despite his few visits to the establishment, he threw open the doors and waltzed in as if he owned the place, sparing only a moment’s glance around him at the decor. 

          Not much of a walk beyond his entrance and he came into view of some of the employees, most of them wandering about preparing for when the public would be welcomed inside. Behind the bar stood a tired looking gentleman, intently focused on what he was doing, but he also seemed the most familiar with his surroundings and Ethan elected to cross the expanse of the lounge to speak with him.

Jonathan…really wasn’t interested in what was going on. Like, really. He was so uninterested, he was staring into space, gaze upon Polar and Oswald but not really looking at them, and all that was running through his head right in that moment was none other than: Wonder what’s for dinner tonight…

There was a whisper in the back of his mind, a faint growl, and Jonathan urged Scarecrow to shush himself. Scarecrow disapproved of Jonathan taking up any sort of domesticity in his life; Jonathan saw nothing wrong with wondering what would be on his plate once he returned home.

He used one gloved finger to scratch at the top half of the scar that ran vertically through the left side of his lips, an old habit from the days in which the wound was still healing, and his attention finally returned to the situation when he picked up Polar’s words.

We should talk. In the office.

But…that involved…

UGGGGGGHHHHHHH.

Now he sort of wished Edward had come along on this trip. Edward liked the Iceberg Lounge; he could’ve gone in Jonathan’s place or, in the very least, he could’ve helped him survive in there. More accurately, he could’ve stopped him from taking his sickle to anybody because God knew Crane didn’t have much patience for people anyway.

In the Iceberg Lounge? Everyone had automatically lost his respect.

Once he realised he was being stared at and spoken of, Jonathan turned his head to the onlookers, purposefully slowly, and did his best imitation of Scarecrow’s trademark grin, one hand lifting up his shirt slightly to show the vials of orange toxin on his belt.

The smart ones turned away; the dumb ones continued to stare.

With a smirk at the laughter Scarecrow was emitting through his mind, Jonathan followed Polar inside. He completely ignored everybody around him as he was led to Oswald’s office, in which he stepped once allowed to, a disapproving look and an eye roll cast at the décor.

Polar, shaking his head as he keeps driving: What an idiot.

Ian: *Keeps talking to the villain*

Polar:

Polar: W a i t a s e c o n d.

“Actually, you’re not. I...kinda might’ve talked to Oswald.” Leaving a message counted as talking, right? Right? “I told him I’d be kidnapping you for the foreseeable future, or at least for one night.”

              One night, to try and get rid of the pain he saw in those blue eyes. Ian didn’t know the full details of Polar’s life, but he knew mentions of Father’s Day had been setting the man even more on edge than usual. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that something had happened to make the Grumpy Bear hate the day, and Ian wasn’t about to push that particular button. No, tonight was for trying to unwind the man in front of him, to help him relax. “C’mon, Polar. The Lounge is dead tonight,” easy to see from the lack of cars in the parking spots, “and I’ve got a bottle or two of Gentlemen Jack whisky waiting on you. Please?”