Doors

Metropolis seems okay if not devoid of anyone I recognize, I'm watching all of the news about everything that's happened in Gotham and it's just terrible.

[Locked to Bruce W]

I saw something about Batman on the news, so I assume you're here. It's Clark, by the way, let me know if I can do anything.

[Call to Peter K]
[Mid-morning, to his office. Ring.]

The water off in Turnberry?

[In a very bad hand. And with a background of very loud music, if there is anyone to hear.]

Sois sage, ô ma Douleur

[the cold front in gotham has continued, and the lows are already plunging into the thirties, with the hottest days being lucky to reach fifty. the news stations are advising calm and caution, especially as the roads are winding up slick with ice in the night. suspicion has fallen on mr. freeze, last known residence being arkham city, but he hasn't surfaced and as there is no apparent epicenter to the cold, the police have been unable to find him.]

[As Christine.]

[Locked to Meg Giry]
Meg, you are there, amie?

[Locked to Raoul de Chagny]
Monsieur, I have a request that I hope you will be able to grant, if it is at all possible.

[Locked to Daniel W]
[After numbering her board.] B2 → B3.

If you see my pictures in the papers for getting into a fight, know that it's because this group of Italian assholes had it coming.

Go England.

[Locked to Loren C]
[After seeing this. No message, just a link]

[Locked to Daniel W]
Feel like letting me borrow your piano come this weekend? I promise no one will go breaking in your door. I need venting, and nothing works so good as pounding on the keys.

[As Superman.]

I'm told to ask what the metal thing sculpture is for.

[Locked to Iris R and Alfred Pennyworth.]
Time's up, baby. How about showing your pretty face so I don't have to hunt down a Gotham key?

[Delivered to Daniel W]
[Finding his address is easy enough, and the sculpture is delivered days after Simon's party. It fits into the palm, and it's smooth, pale metal worked until it's almost white, with veins of rusted red running through it. The sculpture itself is a globe, and the veins of red rise in relief against the pale steel, the dark curved lines visible beneath an even thinner layer of pale perfection. The name is etched in the base, "ribs," and the artist's mark is scrawled beneath it. It comes with no note, no explanation, and no expectation of any contact. A thank you in metal.]

[Locked to Neil D]
I'm running a special on background checks. Need any? I would send you what I've been working on but Fuck
[Not posted.]

[Locked to Damian W]
[A few comments into her conversation with Alfred.] Hey, you. Got a sec?

You would not believe how many emails I have from Perry. It is as if he doesn't know I only have twenty-four at a time to be here.

[As Catwoman.]

[Locked to Lois L]
Looking for the kitty cat, reporter?

[Locked to Superman]
There better some really good romance stories running in the Daily Planet these days, S.

[Lois L/Batman]

Where's Catwoman? She hasn't come pawing around in days. I haven't talked to her since we were all in Vegas either.

[Lois L/Clark K - work email]

To: Clark Kent (ckent@dailyplanet.com)
From: Lois Lane (llane@dailyplanet.com)
Re: there's a french fry truck parked on 4th ave and lois lane was never heard from again...

mr. kent,

there's a food truck up the street with my name all over it. are you hungry? i vote cheese fries for lunch.

yours most sincerely,

ms. lane

[And because she wants to see if she answers - Lois L/Selina K]

here kitty kitty, let me know you're alive please. i'm well beyond concerned.

I think it's probably fucked up that I enjoy living in my shitty studio apartment more than the high roller suites they comp me at Caesar's and the Bellagio. Is that fucked up? I vote yes. But there's something about the grotesque opulence of a hotel suite that would normally cost about a kajillion dollars per night that just makes my skin crawl. There's the way that the plush carpeting matches the velvet drapes which match the color scheme of the dust ruffle on the bed - ugh. What exactly is a dust ruffle for, exactly? How does one ruffle dust? Anyway, I digress.

It's the whole package that just creeps me out. There's something much more soothing about coming home to a mattress on the floor, a stack of books instead of a giant headboard made out of teak or mahogany or something other fancy kind of wood that I wouldn't be able to identify if my life depended on it. I like my bare white walls. They're simple. Easy to understand. No fuss.

I prefer my tiny little kitchen, even if the last occupants chose to paint it the most truly awful shade of pink that has ever existed. At least it's functional. Practical. I've got everything I need, I know where everything is without having to fumble through a dozen dimmer-fader-clapper light switch settings before I can just turn the fucking lights on to take a piss at night. No fancy claw-foot tubs to stub my toes on, or chrome bathroom fixtures polished to a blinding sheen and reflecting my pores to the size of dinner plates. No nosy maids rap-tap-tapping at ten in the fucking morning despite the very obvious 'DO NOT DISTURB FOR THE LOVE OF GOD' sign swinging from the door handle. Just peace. My space. My stuff.

And my cat. She's the best part of coming home to that shitty hole in the wall on Fremont Street. So maybe it is fucked up, but I'll take my cat and my own boring life over the five stars of the Strip pretty much any day of the week.

[locked to simon c]

How'd you and the kid fare?

[locked to roger d]

While I've got faith you and Damian kicked asses and took names, MJ wants me to check in on him.

[locked to adam w]

Okay? I didn't hear anything about Pym

[public]
[anonymously]

Heya Superman. A little redhead just wants to say thanks about the other day.

[Lois L/Superman]

this one was so not my fault.

[Lois L/Catwoman]

having fun?

[Lois L/Batman - because of reasons lol]

Just checking in. Can I put you on the news? Brian's viewers love me.

If I buy some kryptonite, stick it in my pocket and walk through the door, does it count as suicide?

Why is it so hard to find a real cup of tea in this town?

[After this.]

This is ridiculous I thought you might like to know that Catwoman is being dealt with.

Thirty years later, and things haven't changed here. It's good to see. And it seems as though things have become better, too.

[ooc: her picture is that of what appears to be a sixteen year old girl, but Saya definitely isn't 16. She's been around since 1833.]