What happened

Sticking away from Bigby was all just a careful process of avoidance. Very simple. Every time they'd had the opportunity to be together in the same room, she'd made sure she'd had somewhere else to be. She'd gone shopping on that first day, and had returned with enough clothes to last her for a little while. Or at least until she'd found herself her own apartment, with which she could fill with clothing and her own furniture and all sorts of things like that.

Today, she'd decided to have a talk to Kristy, or Kirsty or whatever her name was that Charming was so intent on wooing this week. There were some apartments free in the building, on the top few floors, but she wasn't the one who controlled the rental situation. Snow was given a card with contact details, and a quick phonecall later, Snow had set up an appointment with the realtor in charge of the Woodlands.

After that, she'd put on her finest business suit, a nice checkered ensemble, and some comfortable flats, and had begun the short walk from the Woodlands to the Realtor's office. Normally she would've taken a Taxi, but the more she relied on other methods to get herself around the city, the less likely she was to heal properly.

Besides, it meant that getting to and from her appointment would take longer, which would mean she'd be avoiding Bigby for longer.

It was a win-win situation.

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Judge McRiley entered the court room and sat down. The room was eerily silent.

"Bailiff, enter the jury, please."

The group arrived in a single file line and filled in the seats. The judge remained quite for a good five minutes after everybody had settled in. He was gathering his strength for this. There was no telling which way the jury had voted. No way to know what they were thinking right now. And he wouldn't know until he called for his answer.

It had to be done. Putting it off would not make things better.

"Miss Forman, have you come to a decision?" He asked.

"We have, your honor." Said a slight blonde woman.

The judge motioned for the slip of paper. It was brought to him, and he read it. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or not. He passed the paper back.

"Please read it for the court."

She nodded. "On the count of malicious harassment we find the defendant guilty." She paused and went on. "On the count of assult, we find the defendant guilty. On the multiple counts of murder, we find the defendant guilty."

"Thank you."

"Sir? We have a recommendation."

"Go ahead."

"Given the light of the situation surrounding these crimes, and what we've seen in this court, we have deemed Jack Napier unfit for the public. We see him as severely mentally ill, and would request the court take that in stride with the sentancing."

"Thank you, Miss Forman, you may sit."

The judge, frankly, felt the same way himself. Jack Napier should not, in any case, ever, be allowed to commune with the populus. It wasn't right. There was too much danger in it, and in him.

"I don't think I need any time to think this over. I am ready for ruling now. Please stand, Jack Napier, and hear your fate." He waited for Jack to stand, and was surprised that there wasn't anything wild or scary going on. "Given the decision of the jury, and their recommendation, and given the state of this entire trial, I have to agree with the idea that you are completely mentally unfit. For anything. I cannot in good conscience send you to prison and hope that you get the help that you need. And that society needs for you. So. My ruling is this: Life imprisonment in Arkham Asylum with a strick rehabilitation program. I have no faith that you'll ever actually get help, but, we can hope."

The gavel banged. It was over.

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It had begun like any other trial. Smoothly. Calmly. The judge entered and the people silenced. The baliff called for everybody to stand, and they did so, respectably. They sat just as silently, just as calmly when the judge called for them to do so. Judge Scott McRiley presiding...

It was just as the judge was settling in that the first mishap occured.

Jack Napier stood up to introduce himself to the court. And to the audience of people attending. He did so with a flourish and a bout of laughter so nerve-wracking that it took Judge McRiley a good ten minutes to quiet everybody down again.

"That is the last we'll have of that, I hope." He stated, looking Jack directly in the eye as he spoke.

Little did the poor judge know that this was only a pre-cursor to the sorts of things that could go on in a trial like this. A trial against Jack Napier. Maybe the only truly insane genius The City had ever seen. The misguided fellow might actually mistake to think he'd be able to control The Joker.

Jack himself spent a good few moments blowing kisses at Harvey Dent while Judge McRiley tried to call for order and the beginning of the trial.

He looked out at the lawyers and nodded. "Prosecution? You may begin."

And then he sat back, ready to hear this fantastic case.

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So, that was it then. She'd spent the day wandering around and could only come to one conclusion.

The world had gone bloody well mad.

So now that she had come to terms with the world stepping out of it's mind for a bit she was far better equipped to deal with it. She had plenty of food and other life essentials in the Tardis, she was in no danger of starving. She had all the clothes and money she needed, another side benefit of the Tardis and the tricks taught to her by her good friend the Doctor. It was really a shame he'd wandered off somewhere...it was a glorious sunny afternoon, she was bored and there was nothing much to do. SHe'd taken in the local sights but dared not wander off too far for fear the Tardis might decide it was needed elsewhere and leave her stranded. So, for now Rose Tyler stretched out on a oddish white plasticy looking lounge chair. Fetchingly attired in a swimsuit that was a brilliant mockery of the union Jack, and a cool pair of shades to match. Might as well take in the sun before it ducks under the clouds again. So there, in the small green courtyard by the police call box she relaxed, iPod softly cooing in her ear ad the warm sun lulling her into a peaceful doze.

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He'd met Death and Laura, two very different females. He'd liked both of them though, to some extent. Actually, like was probably too strong a term. Both were the type of being that he was simply forced to tolerate.

Unlike the blonde with the slit throat in front of him, Bartleby could not kill Death. Nor could he kill Laura, who happened to already be dead. So he'd chosen to help the latter and just tolerate the first and only when he had to. Death made him feel overly guilty and remember too much the details and feelings he was working to forget. He didn't feel that what he was doing, and the methods in which he was doing it, were wrong.

As usual, he deigned it necessary neither to hide the body or his wings when he left the secluded area of the park he'd just committed murder in. This one had been relatively clean and there was no blood on his hands. He'd aimed most of it at the girl's boyfriend who he'd let run off. Maybe he'd learn something from the experience... such as to not have premarital sex ever again.

Bartleby wiped his knife on the grass before standing and placing it back into the sheath he'd fashioned for it around his waist. The part was still relatively empty, even when he walked back out to the path. The trees were thick here, enough so that he didn't want to fly straight through the thick cover of leaves and branches. Instead he began to walk down the paths for a clearer area.

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She'd found a little convenience store not far from where she parked her truck. They'd sold a variety of city maps there, but Laura hadn't really been fussy. She just picked up the cheapest one that seemed to have what she needed on it. A way out.

Seven dollars and ten minutes later, Laura was back in the truck with the map opened up and spread out across the dash board. According to the map, she was near the corner of 5th and 17th. And if she turned up that road and went down it for five or so blocks, she'd get to what looked like a main road, which would take her out of the city. Perfect.

She twisted the keys in the ignition, and the engine burst into life beneath her. The truck began to whirr and vibrate and Laura pushed the truck forward, gently pressing her foot down on the gas. She was outta here.

Or so she thought.

Getting to that main road hadn't proved that difficult, and the traffic wasn't even that unreasonable. But as the truck moved closer and closer to the city limits, a feeling of trepidition began to fill up Laura's stomach. There was a wall at the end of the road. Laura pulled the truck up abruptly, and stared up at the wall. Maybe she'd taken a wrong turn? There certainly wasn't any wall on the map. Certainly not a tall wall, made of solid red-brick, which was very very tall. She wouldn't be able to scale it. If she were to try, she'd need a grapple-hook and a lot of rope, which were two things she just didn't have on her today.

She hopped out of the cabin, taking the map with her. She'd find someone, and she'd ask them where she'd gone wrong.

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OOC: Gratuitous Pulp Fiction/Bible quoting at the end.

Also there is "gore" at the end. Nothing horrible as I can't really write gore, but y'know, just incase...

He'd seen this in a movie once.

At the time he'd appreciated it for the cinematic effect. It'd been a good scene. Loki, on the other hand, had talked nonstop for about two years about reenacting it. Luckily for the sinners of the world, under Bartleby's watchful eye that had not happened. The other angel had been sated with a few action figures which did a perfectly good job at playing out the scene, just with less blood and real death.

Bartleby felt slightly guilty now. Here he was, standing in an alley, facing a wall with two cowering young men in front of him. All prepared to play out the scene which Loki had obsessed over for two years. His knife was in one hand and he tossed it up and down. His white wings were at their full span. They weren't necessary for the occasion, or for the scene which he wished to recreate, but the effect it was having on the mortals sure was fun.

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The knife in his hand was still crimson and wet, dripping down the blade to the hilt and onto his hand. Blood spoke of mortality and life. Blood at the end of a knife… well. That spoke plainly of death.

It was a wonder that Bartleby hadn't dropped the thing already. The instrument he'd plunged into his best friend was still gripped tightly in his hand, and he didn't want to let go. He was lost here and the blood was the only connection he had left to the world he'd come from and to Loki. It kept him grounded, as grounded as he could be.

Bartleby touched down from the sky. He'd been flying since realising that Redbank, New Jersey was no longer beneath him. The church was gone. The muse, the apostle, the prophets, and the scion were too. The pile of bodies he'd taken so much joy in creating had vanished. Nothing below him was the same anymore, so instead of searching, he'd decided to bite the bullet and land.

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