oliver morgan ⎞⎞⎞ thomas blake (nopride) wrote in thereincarnates, @ 2013-03-06 21:32:00 |
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Entry tags: | elliot knighton, oliver morgan |
Who: Oliver Morgan and Elliot Knighton
What: When the bats away, the cats will play? Sort of.
Where: Gotham City, NJ
When: Wednesday night, March 6th, 2013
Warnings: Definitely TBD.
We shouldn't be here.
Oliver rolled his eyes, biting back the five or six retorts on the tip of his tongue. Heard it the first twenty times, Blake, was one. You think I don't know that? Yet another. There was no reason for him to be here, not even when he tried to rationalize it. This city had nothing to do with Camelot's interest. Wasn't his territory, and it definitely wasn't Blake's.
It was Batman's.
Or it should have been, if the Dark Knight was anywhere to be found. The junior bats and birds were doing their best trying to keep Gotham clean, but it was too far gone, always had been. They were just too bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to see it. Gotham was beyond saving, no matter how hard all of them pretended to be Batman. The same could be said for Camelot and this whole damn reincarnate war, when you thought about it. And Oliver thought about it a lot. For all his brother's talk, there was a long trail of bodies behind the Morgan family that pointed to one thing and one thing only: this fight was a lost cause. Always had been, always would be.
Yet they were still fighting, just like the Bat family. Why? If anyone asked, Oliver would just give them a smirk and a shrug, as if to say, "Why not?" Truthfully, though, it was personal. He kept fighting for the family he'd lost to this war. For his mother, his grandfather, even his distant father, to a certain extent. Fighting in spite of the odds was a slower kind of revenge, he'd found – a stubborn kind, which suited him just fine. Besides, he and Blake were suckers for lost causes. That, at least, was something they could agree on.
Though that still didn't answer the question of why he was here, of all places. He'd been trying not to think about it too hard since he'd gotten here, but after an hour or so of perching on a fire escape (never a gargoyle) and waiting for the lowlifes he'd been tracking to emerge from whatever pit they'd crawled into... well, the mind tended to wander. Maybe it was the disturbing rumors trickling out of Gotham combined with his antihero complex. Maybe it was being cooped up in the castle too long, like a lion in a zoo. Or maybe it was the fact that today was his son's eighth birthday and he hadn't seen him since his fifth. Whatever the reason, he found himself in a city he loathed, simply because he needed a distraction. And maybe a few faces to punch.
He swiped a thumb over his lips, glanced at Blake's razor-tipped gauntlets, and sniffed. "Chinese," he murmured, nostrils flaring at the pungent aroma even from across the street. Apparently it was a late dinner in Goonville tonight – waiting for the boss's orders, no doubt. Then he sniffed again. There was something else in the air, something underneath the sharp smells of this city that usually crushed everything softer. Something uncomfortably familiar. "And... leather?"