Post by seventhsigil on May 29, 2011 16:26:46 GMT -5
((So, probably setting this a few months before any of my other threads, before he came to Gotham. n.n ))
Victor had only been in Metropolis for a couple of weeks now; he kept his bills paid via some freelance work for a half dozen newspapers scattered throughout the city, and though he had taken to the streets once or twice in his faceless mask, the Question hadn't done much more than halt the occasional mugging. In part, he wasn't terribly eager to bump into the city's self-proclaimed guardian, Superman; the guy's X-Ray vision made anyone wearing a mask just a bit nervous, after all.
Today he had decided to take the subway back to his hotel, figuring that it would beat a three hour walk in the chill air that lurked aboveground. Dressed in a three piece brown suit, trenchcoat and his usual fedora hat, he looked like he had stepped out of the 1940s, and it was probably only his fair size that kept anyone from laughing straight at him. He had even been kind enough to surrender his seat on the train to a kindly looking old woman, figuring that a man trained by Richard Dragon and accustomed to navigating the rooftops would be better suited for standing on the jostling train than an eighty seven year old.
That had been a mistake. It turned out extensive physical conditioning and superb martial arts training really didn't prepare you for a subway at noon.
Sighing, and half-wishing he had chosen the side of villainy so he could dropkick whoever kept 'accidentially' elbowing him in the kidneys, Victor could only tuck himself a little more tightly against the wall of the tram, a half-full cup of lukewarm coffee tucked to his chest like a newborn puppy. It was taking every ounce of reflexes and resilience not to lose half of that drink down the front of his shirt, and whenever he lifted it to his lips for a sip, it would be an almost panicked gesture to make sure none dribbled down his chin. He had started the journey apologizing whenever his elbow accidentially caught a shorter person's head, or if a sudden jerk of the train sent him half-tumbling into someone, but by now his mood was growing so foul, he only met every accusative glare with a scowl of his own. He was reasonably confident that this was the birthplace for all of Metropolis' villainry, because he couldn't imagine putting up with this twice a day, five days a week, without turning evil.
And then, a miracle; the train began to screech to a halt as it reached one of the terminals.
"Oh, thank God," he muttered under his breath, one arm out to cleave a path through the crowd as he made for the doors with all the desperation of an evacuee in a theatre fire. Technically, his stop wasn't for another fifteen minutes; technically he would be looking at an hour and a half walk to his hotel if he took to the streets.
He didn't care. He wanted out.
Victor had only been in Metropolis for a couple of weeks now; he kept his bills paid via some freelance work for a half dozen newspapers scattered throughout the city, and though he had taken to the streets once or twice in his faceless mask, the Question hadn't done much more than halt the occasional mugging. In part, he wasn't terribly eager to bump into the city's self-proclaimed guardian, Superman; the guy's X-Ray vision made anyone wearing a mask just a bit nervous, after all.
Today he had decided to take the subway back to his hotel, figuring that it would beat a three hour walk in the chill air that lurked aboveground. Dressed in a three piece brown suit, trenchcoat and his usual fedora hat, he looked like he had stepped out of the 1940s, and it was probably only his fair size that kept anyone from laughing straight at him. He had even been kind enough to surrender his seat on the train to a kindly looking old woman, figuring that a man trained by Richard Dragon and accustomed to navigating the rooftops would be better suited for standing on the jostling train than an eighty seven year old.
That had been a mistake. It turned out extensive physical conditioning and superb martial arts training really didn't prepare you for a subway at noon.
Sighing, and half-wishing he had chosen the side of villainy so he could dropkick whoever kept 'accidentially' elbowing him in the kidneys, Victor could only tuck himself a little more tightly against the wall of the tram, a half-full cup of lukewarm coffee tucked to his chest like a newborn puppy. It was taking every ounce of reflexes and resilience not to lose half of that drink down the front of his shirt, and whenever he lifted it to his lips for a sip, it would be an almost panicked gesture to make sure none dribbled down his chin. He had started the journey apologizing whenever his elbow accidentially caught a shorter person's head, or if a sudden jerk of the train sent him half-tumbling into someone, but by now his mood was growing so foul, he only met every accusative glare with a scowl of his own. He was reasonably confident that this was the birthplace for all of Metropolis' villainry, because he couldn't imagine putting up with this twice a day, five days a week, without turning evil.
And then, a miracle; the train began to screech to a halt as it reached one of the terminals.
"Oh, thank God," he muttered under his breath, one arm out to cleave a path through the crowd as he made for the doors with all the desperation of an evacuee in a theatre fire. Technically, his stop wasn't for another fifteen minutes; technically he would be looking at an hour and a half walk to his hotel if he took to the streets.
He didn't care. He wanted out.