Rooms

[Locked to Sam A]
Hey, mami.

[After this.]

[He's actually taken a cab home, determinedly shutting out the driver's silent questions about this bloody little scrap of a kid with fingers that shake as he hands over all of the cash he has in his wallet, muttering unsteady apologies that he doesn't have enough for a decent tip. (Not that the guy really cares, Ronan can tell by the retreating waves of relief that roll over him as the car rumbles away from the house.)

Then he is just sitting in the dark bathroom off the kitchen, cross-legged on the floor with a wet washcloth in his lap because his arms are too tired to lift it to his head. He's made several half-hearted swipes at the blood that has dried on his face, mostly just managing to inspire a fresh trickle of ketchup red to seep down into the collar of his shirt.

He can feel Ben's approach before the front door opens, and his heartbeat twitches into jackrabbit mode. He's a sloppy mix of anger and humiliation and something else that isn't so familiar, and he pulls his legs up to his chest like maybe he can tuck himself into a corner and not be found. He tells himself that he just doesn't want the confrontation, doesn't want Ben's rage and the knee-jerk instinct to do something stupid, but that isn't the whole truth.]

Who: Jim Gordon and Dick Grayson
What: Drinks! And omg someone about to give Carter and Main a run for their money ok?
Where: A bar downtown bc IDK any other things
When: RECENTLY
Wharnings (lol): N/A I am sure

[Dick had been eager to get out of the house, he had been eager to spend time with someone not presently related to him, and if that meant some brand new, fresh off the lot, version of Barbara's father - he'd take it.

He'd estimated it would take about forty five minutes to get to the city, and the bar where he'd told Jim to meet him. It wasn't anything fancy, or too divey, it just simply was. But it was nice and nondescript, and mellow.

He wasn't necessarily going to get drunk and drown his sorrows, in fact pretty much the opposite. He had read Aflie's post about the schedule, and now he was going to focus on something else, and it was not going to be terrible.

He was amused just thinking about it really. A little less amused when he realized he had no idea who he was looking for, and found himself looking toward the door every time it opened, at one point the bartender asked him if he was being stood up.]

[Text to Jo H]

Need a distraction.

[Locked to Natasha R]

Sparring next week?

[Locked to Death]

[Here she isn't sure what to say, but the cursor blinks, and every few seconds there's a key stroke that's quickly deleted. Finally:] Were you with him?

[Batfam Etc]

Hey, everyone. So - Damian is being cremated [time/date/location]. And we have a memorial service planned [time/date/location].

No one has to go, I'll be there regardless, so he won't be alone. And I think I would just say that whoever might be struggling with the decision of whether or not to go and be a part of this or has the desire to get on with things in their own way um definitely do that. I would definitely encourage whatever it is you need to do be done. We don't do enough of that around here if you ask me.

I know it sucks, and I wish I had something a little more uplifting to say along with this all, but I'm not sure I do. I guess just [...] in spite of everything that led up to this and the pain that was caused - I think it might do us all a little bit of good to try and remember [...] better days.

Um. I think that's all.

Who: Sharon Carter - Some S.H.I.E.L.D. NPCs - Then a phone call home
What: Middle of the night call ins to work - regarding this
Where: Sharon's apartment ---> Sharon's office
When: Around 3 AM - then around 6 AM

( Does someone want to tell me why I'm standing here at 3 in the morning with the personnel file of a level 3 analyst in my hands? )

[Locked to Sharon C]
Boss.

[Locked to Ella D]
Settled back in, kid?

[It took three whole days, after talking with Graham, for her to sell every damn piece of furniture in the apartment, along with every fixture and appliance. She was real sure some folks paid her with stolen money, but it didn't matter a whole lot to her, seeing as she was selling stolen furniture. She bought a whole bunch of shiny things with the money, figuring they'd hold their value better than gold would in another door, and she left the big old apartment behind. She left that city behind too, the one where only bad things happened and blood was all over constant.]

[Note left on the very bare counter for Dick G]
[Along with her keys.] Sorry, sugar.

[Locked to Shane A]
You need me, I'm in Marvel.

[Locked to Jack C]
Still out there?

[Eddie and Muerte's go-to karaoke bar for years was Daryl's, a hole in the wall with cracked red leather seats, a full bar, dirty tile and regulars. There was Black Velvet...who always sang one particular song with every ounce of her emotion behind it. There was Mike who was an older man, an accountant for an actual business up town who sang unusual stuff like The Shins. There was an old country failboat that stuck to Dolly Parton and Shania Twain. And, then there was Eddie and Em. Eddie had been there more often than her and he sang anything from 60's hits to something the crowd shouted out (usually Hanson). He sang back up for the ex-country star when she wanted to belt out about any man of MMMIINNE. He shouted clapped and whistled for Black Velvet every time she left the stage with tears in her eyes out of pure emotion. This was his place and if people only knew him from this tiny, dark bar they'd all say Stephanie who?

Tonight he practically lead a sing-a-long to Rocket Maaaaaann rock-it-man, dueted a Fleetwood Mac song with a woman who could have passed as Stevie herself and then practically lost his voice to Valerie. The pain was still there when he stepped off the stage, but he was smiling, his green tie was crooked over a white button up shirt and his hair was doing that especially impressive curl. He smiled, he breathed in the stale air and slipped into a back, back booth. Exhausted, dizzy, loving karaoke the way he loved riddles. He looked up, waiting for Muerte to bring the drinks (just a Shirley Temple for him thank you) and actually, maybe looked okay for once. Yeah, he could talk.]

Who: Stephanie/Eddie
Where: Gotham
When: before karaoke with muerte
What: trying to fix things and failing
Warning: Sads

( He saw Stephanie shiver and he felt no urge to warm her, he felt no idealization for those blonde locks. He felt distance and that was that, wasn’t? )

[Notably, not immediately after this conversation.]

[locked to shane a.]

so. talked to her.

[locked to penny r.]

hey.

ETA: [locked to clem m.]

[Goddammit Shane.] found someplace to stay?

[locked to selina k.]

[As Stephanie B. No N in sight.] How did it go with Bruce?

Who: Russ C & Nathan S
What: Parenting~
When: Uber-recently

( Russ remembered six the way he remembered seven and eight, like beads on a snapped necklace to scatter and bounce under floorboards )

[Meeting with a stranger to go on an adventure was not actually Methos' idea of a good time. He loved traveling and was bored of his version of Earth, true, but he was too suspicious, too much of a survivor, to be considered an extrovert. He was easy going and friendly enough to blend in, but he didn't like putting himself at risk. However, Gotham seemed to be a relatively safe door for an immortal--no guillotines and all--and despite appearances, he was armed well enough to protect himself. He didn't look like much. A little too tall and lanky, with a big nose, and a trenchcoat and oversized sweater that all made him merrily average.

The sword, the dagger, and the gun were all very well hidden in his coat.

He leaned against the door into Gotham, shoulders hunched slightly, as he worked over in his mind the more difficult problem of his name. He was starting a new life, and all immortals knew how to reinvent themselves. Adam Pierson was done. Too much baggage with Pierson now. He tried Benjamin Adams on the journal and thought he'd see how that worked out. It'd been almost two hundred years since he'd used it. Benjamin was an all right name.

He really just hoped nobody would call him Benny. Benny. No, he was really not a Benny.]