Rooms

[Mercy has never been his strong suit, but one spider knows another. The neatly wrapped in brown paper and twine book is left addressed to her at front desk of the hotel.

Tucked between the cover and the front page is a simple note:

Do you realise the truth of your situation?

Do you want to win or do you want to change?

Your little anon friend.]

[Call to Cris M]

[Roughly a half hour after Liam's post. Ring.]

I have popcorn.

[In the middle of the night - about 1.]

Are you awake?

Who: Victor Frankenstein
What: Narrative of many things.
Where: The lab, a house of ill repute.
When: Tonight.
Warnings: Child death to start, vague drug use, later mentions of nudity.

( The boy died on Sunday. )

[The bar was a divey little joint that housed mostly barflies who had barely moved off their stools in ten years and thirty-somethings that craved a quiet place with sticky floors and a cheap whiskey and coke on a warm summer’s night. The bathrooms smelled like piss and regrets, and the booths were in a state of disrepair that the red duct tape could barely fix. Marty, the bartender nearing on sixty and missing a tooth or two, was handy with a draft and generous with the salty pretzels that soaked up the plethora of booze he sold to his customers. He was the Mayor of Church Street, which was a sketchy little stretch of Gotham not too far from where the corners of Old Gotham turned into the gentrification of mobsters and millennials, yet still had the character of a seedier, edgier block.

Stephanie sat towards the back of the dimly lit bar, near the jukebox that hummed some ditty about a woman named Jolene. Back when she lived close to here, she’d come here now and then. Usually with her husband, sometimes not, mostly for cheap margaritas before they stumbled home to fool around. Marty had given her a cursory eye when she’d come in solo, and a screwed up mouth told him all he needed to know about the other half of the expected couple. Ah, well. He’d seen that plenty of times before. So, he’d just let her order her drink -- tequila and soda because she was not fucking around tonight -- and settle into that secluded, worn table.

She was waiting for Bruce Wayne, and she knew that no one was going to bother either of them in the back of that dirty bar. Even if he was Bruce Wayne and even if someone recognized either of them. It was one of the things she liked about this place -- people minded their goddamn business. She had no fear that she and her surrogate father could commiserate in peace over the litany of problems that fell into their laps over the last couple of months. So, she sat, blonde hair pulled back, white tank and a mess of chains around her neck, and she sipped from her tumbler, looking just as tired as she felt. Fingers drumming on the surface and swirling the drips of condensation left on cheap wood in alternating fashion as she waited slightly impatiently for the oldest Wayne’s arrival.]

well isnt this fun.

Who: Luke & Cris
What: Talking, drinking, you know.
Where: A bar.
When: After this.
Warnings/Rating: Probably swearing idk.

Honestly, Luke didn't get out much.

So maybe he was a little bit of a homebody. What was wrong with that? There wasn't anywhere else he wanted to be, nobody else he wanted to be with. It didn't bother him, that Wren (and the kids) were his world. Work, home, that was his life, and he was happy with it. —But having a friend, someone to talk to, would be kind of nice. Sure, he liked the other cops in his precinct but there was stuff he couldn't say, things only people mixed up with the hotel got, and they weren't friends so much as they were coworkers.

He liked Cris. Cris seemed nice. Going for a drink, just hanging out, it seemed like a good idea.

As always, he told Wren where he was going, who he was going with, and promised to text when he was on his way home. He took a cab to the bar instead of driving, since he didn't want to leave the car there if he ended up drinking too much. Which he might—why not? Between people leaving, coming back, and leaving again, combined with the last couple months, he thought he'd earned it.

Dressed casual, Luke got there a little early and grabbed a seat at the bar, ordering two beers while he waited.

I know this is a long shot but does anyone have any sort of job opening?

I'm not good with people and I won't pass a piss test/background check but I can lift heavy stuff pretty good and uh, I can count and spell at a 8th grade level at least? I did okay enough on the ASVAB, I mean for 11b. fuck me why am I even trying

Long shot, I know. ...Anybody?