Post by Deleted on Feb 9, 2013 13:01:22 GMT -5
His fists slammed down hard, shaking the small, wooden table. Files jumped, and the small cage that sat on it's corner rattled obnoxiously. The brown bat inside stretched his wings with a shriek of protest, but Robert, red faced, paid it no mind. He was angry, he was frusterated, and he was exausted. His eyes sported bleary, dark rims, and his hair was rustled and ungroomed. It was obvious he'd been up all night, driven by some persistant agitation that refused to slip from his mind. With his thoughts so jumbled, focus eluded him, leaving him to suffer with his obsession.
The Man-Bat was gone. Like him, it was tired. It needed rest, and it needed recovery. After Robert's latest failure in evolving his formula, the beast had gotten out of control. It's wild display had cost valuable research and risked exposing his plans. Robert knew Batman would know exactly where to look. The detective probably had the location of every lab programmed into his GPS. So Robert had moved. He had only taken what he could, after the result of his last formula, he'd need to start all over anyway. His new location was hardly of any worth, and it would never compare to a lab, but perhaps, in time, he could build it up to some decent degree.
The old church had long been abandoned, it's towering bell tower cracked and unstable, it's ragged shadows eerie, the wind whistling through broken windows and rips in the wall. The door hung on it's hinges, old pews and other furniture broken and rotted, like the wooden table he had used as a temporary place for his things. There was only slight protection from the cold, and no source of light. The entire place was in shambles, but at least it was safe. Batman would never imagine Robert living in such a disgraceful structure. The vigilante would never think to look there, hell, Robert would have never thought to look there. It was why he had chosen the place. It, at least, was shelter. Temporary, of course.
There was no where to sleep, even if Robert had wanted to. Simply poking the pale padding on the pews sent up a cloud of suffocating dust and who knew what else. The floor was probably cleaner, and it was infested with hiding insects and rodents, seeking safety from the snow outside. No, Robert didn't even want to think about sleeping there. He'd probably wake up with rats chewing on his fingers and toes. Or he'd die from the horrid, stale air. But, he did need a break. And where was the safest place for a wanted criminal to sit back and relax a little? Maybe have a few beers? The Stacked Deck, of course.
The idea of leaving the church was a relief, and Robert momentarily forgot about his hardships. He practically fled the place, shoving past the broken door and into the frigid, night air of Gotham City. It still tasted foul, but the snow that lined the cracked sidewalks at least brought some sense of freshness. Robert knew where to go, what villain wouldn't? The church wasn't to far away at all, which was a good enough plus to his new shelter. It took about fifteen minutes of suprisingly undisturbed walking to reach it, it's bright signs and flashy lights obvious even from the outside. As soon as Robert walked in, he was practically drowned with the casual chatter, boistrous laughter, and exciting music. For some reason, the usually head splitting noises offered him comfort, and Robert's posture visibly slackened.
He weaved his way toward the bar and gazed up at the hefty, muscled man. His face was gaunt and hard, his shoulders broad, arms muscled. His hair was a dark brown, and there was a glint of danger within his sharp gaze. Of course, you'd have to be tough to work in a place like the Stacked Deck, and you'd have to look tough too. In a place like this, you have to look the look to play the part, otherwise, you were just the target of nearly every low life crimanl in the joint.
"Yeah?" The man growled coldly. He had no name tag, so Robert wasn't sure what to call him. He fianlly decided it didn't really matter and slapped some cash down from his back pocket. Jeans were his usual, casual wear in the slums, along with a dirty white T-shirt that was just a little to large for him. "Suprise me." Robert stated flatly, taking a seat as the man took the money.
He didn't feel like choosing anything in that particular moment. Robert's head already throbbed with all the stress of his work. The other man seemed to understand and grunted his acknowledgment, making his way back to whatever he had in mind. Robert hung his head, resting it in cupped hands, balancing on his elbows. His fingers crawled their way up past his cheeks to fiddle with small strings of hair. It had hardly been a minute before a famillier shadow fell over him, and a glass bottle clanked against the bar.
Robert didn't bother to look, or even raise his head. He only sighed and reached for the bottle, rubbing his finger across the top to find it was already open. In a place like The Stacked Deck, where every gang in the city practically hung out, drinking from something that wasn't sealed was hardly considered safe. Nevertheless, Robert took a sip and was suprised by the sharp favor that made his tongue tingle.
His mind reacted pleasently to the beverage, and Robert took another drink, suddenly finding himself not so depressed. Alcohol was just what he needed to relax, even if Robert didn't exactly view himself as a drinker. He nodded his thanks to the man, who offered an understanding grin that didn't even try to reach his eyes, and turned away to take care of the demands of another customer. Robert also turned away, resting back against the bar to watch the dancing crowd, which consisted mostly of women. Of course, that didn't bother Robert. He didn't mind at all in that moment. He simply took another drink of his fiery liquid and relaxed.
The Man-Bat was gone. Like him, it was tired. It needed rest, and it needed recovery. After Robert's latest failure in evolving his formula, the beast had gotten out of control. It's wild display had cost valuable research and risked exposing his plans. Robert knew Batman would know exactly where to look. The detective probably had the location of every lab programmed into his GPS. So Robert had moved. He had only taken what he could, after the result of his last formula, he'd need to start all over anyway. His new location was hardly of any worth, and it would never compare to a lab, but perhaps, in time, he could build it up to some decent degree.
The old church had long been abandoned, it's towering bell tower cracked and unstable, it's ragged shadows eerie, the wind whistling through broken windows and rips in the wall. The door hung on it's hinges, old pews and other furniture broken and rotted, like the wooden table he had used as a temporary place for his things. There was only slight protection from the cold, and no source of light. The entire place was in shambles, but at least it was safe. Batman would never imagine Robert living in such a disgraceful structure. The vigilante would never think to look there, hell, Robert would have never thought to look there. It was why he had chosen the place. It, at least, was shelter. Temporary, of course.
There was no where to sleep, even if Robert had wanted to. Simply poking the pale padding on the pews sent up a cloud of suffocating dust and who knew what else. The floor was probably cleaner, and it was infested with hiding insects and rodents, seeking safety from the snow outside. No, Robert didn't even want to think about sleeping there. He'd probably wake up with rats chewing on his fingers and toes. Or he'd die from the horrid, stale air. But, he did need a break. And where was the safest place for a wanted criminal to sit back and relax a little? Maybe have a few beers? The Stacked Deck, of course.
The idea of leaving the church was a relief, and Robert momentarily forgot about his hardships. He practically fled the place, shoving past the broken door and into the frigid, night air of Gotham City. It still tasted foul, but the snow that lined the cracked sidewalks at least brought some sense of freshness. Robert knew where to go, what villain wouldn't? The church wasn't to far away at all, which was a good enough plus to his new shelter. It took about fifteen minutes of suprisingly undisturbed walking to reach it, it's bright signs and flashy lights obvious even from the outside. As soon as Robert walked in, he was practically drowned with the casual chatter, boistrous laughter, and exciting music. For some reason, the usually head splitting noises offered him comfort, and Robert's posture visibly slackened.
He weaved his way toward the bar and gazed up at the hefty, muscled man. His face was gaunt and hard, his shoulders broad, arms muscled. His hair was a dark brown, and there was a glint of danger within his sharp gaze. Of course, you'd have to be tough to work in a place like the Stacked Deck, and you'd have to look tough too. In a place like this, you have to look the look to play the part, otherwise, you were just the target of nearly every low life crimanl in the joint.
"Yeah?" The man growled coldly. He had no name tag, so Robert wasn't sure what to call him. He fianlly decided it didn't really matter and slapped some cash down from his back pocket. Jeans were his usual, casual wear in the slums, along with a dirty white T-shirt that was just a little to large for him. "Suprise me." Robert stated flatly, taking a seat as the man took the money.
He didn't feel like choosing anything in that particular moment. Robert's head already throbbed with all the stress of his work. The other man seemed to understand and grunted his acknowledgment, making his way back to whatever he had in mind. Robert hung his head, resting it in cupped hands, balancing on his elbows. His fingers crawled their way up past his cheeks to fiddle with small strings of hair. It had hardly been a minute before a famillier shadow fell over him, and a glass bottle clanked against the bar.
Robert didn't bother to look, or even raise his head. He only sighed and reached for the bottle, rubbing his finger across the top to find it was already open. In a place like The Stacked Deck, where every gang in the city practically hung out, drinking from something that wasn't sealed was hardly considered safe. Nevertheless, Robert took a sip and was suprised by the sharp favor that made his tongue tingle.
His mind reacted pleasently to the beverage, and Robert took another drink, suddenly finding himself not so depressed. Alcohol was just what he needed to relax, even if Robert didn't exactly view himself as a drinker. He nodded his thanks to the man, who offered an understanding grin that didn't even try to reach his eyes, and turned away to take care of the demands of another customer. Robert also turned away, resting back against the bar to watch the dancing crowd, which consisted mostly of women. Of course, that didn't bother Robert. He didn't mind at all in that moment. He simply took another drink of his fiery liquid and relaxed.