Who: Harvey Dent, When: Unknown (presumably sometime in the morning?) Where: Parking lot of a Motel Six What: Panic! Setting in, a little bit of confusion? Rating: PG for swearing? Status: Complete and closed.
[MODS AND MODLY CREATURES LURKING ABOUT. I applied for this guy right before Eben and ended up sort of screwing up posting his application in. I got a notice that I was accepted and decided to post him in, however I'm not entirely sure that I'm supposed to, that I got accepted, or that I'm doing anything incorrect/correct etc. etc. That's why I'm leaving this closed so's I can hopefully not screw up too much. If I'm not supposed to? Or if I'm in error? Please tell me. Thanks. ;) ]
There's a real sense of fear in waking up somewhere you're not supposed to be.
This is something that Gotham City's District Attorney has experienced...well...never. He's never been in the habit of waking up in places that he didn't really intend to be. So when he jerks awake and realizes that his car is parked in a space neatly, (almost too neatly?) he does an immeadite doubletake.
"...Gilda?"
That's when the horror sets in, the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomache. His wife was sitting next to him and she's no longer there and they're...in a parkinglot. In a motel parkinglot.
What next, perhaps, the reader can imagine in his or her mind. The frantic scramble out of the car, checking for wounds, running helter-skelter to the nearest phonebooth and startling a few curious looking touristy-types. The frantic call to 911...
"You're who?"
Harvey Dent counts to ten, "I'm the district Attorney for Godsake! Harvey Dent! You know?"
The 911 operator's voice turns sour, "Sir, we don't appreciate practical jokes."
"This isn't a joke! I'm-" Alright, so this wasn't gotham city, but that was beside the point! "I'm Gotham's District Attorney okay? Now I want you to send a police cruiser-"
"Right. Uh huh. We'll send out the batmobile." The operator laughed dryly, "Wasting police time is a felony sir."
It wasn't, the irate lawyer knew that it wasn't, but that was beside the point.
"Call anyone. Isn't this Gotham City?"
"Sir? This is Los Angeles. Get your facts straight. Thank you for calling." There was a click and Harvey Dent dropped the phone as he slammed a curled fist into the side of the box.
With a growl, he grabs for his keys and hops back into the car, expression grim. The owner of the motel six, a burly looking fellow, peered out of his door just in time to see the expensive mercedes roar out of the parking lot.
"Fuckin' Richie-Riches."
He shook his head and closed the door, ignoring the cloud of smoke that followed his most recent parking-lot guest.