What happened

Characters: Earth 2's Huntress and Daredevil
Summary: Just your average rooftop meeting, in an attempt to fight and prevent crime.

Wayne Scott may not have been aware of it, but he was in big trouble. The man who had more than once provided an alibi for various gangsters in the City had finally grown a conscience and attempted to quit the business.

However, most who were on mobster payrolls were smart enough to know that it was one job that you couldn't quit. Ever. There was a lifetime contract that involved not only yourself, but everyone you'd ever cared for as well.

Huntress quickly leapt the space between two rooftops without looking down, dropping to a crouch as she surveyed the streets below. The black towncar had disappeared from view in the time she had taken to cross the rooftops.

Briefly she thought of how much easier this would be if she had remembered to bring the commlink that Barbara had supplied her with on arrival in the City.

But she'd been avoiding Barbara for months now. It had just become too painful to work with the people who had made up her family in another world, and not be remembered, or known. Not to mention the fact that Barbara herself seemed to have, in a way, held Helena's place in their world. It was clear how fond Bruce was of her. The daughter he never had.

She sighed to herself. Not that she begrudged Barbara anything. Nor did she begrudge this version of her father a daughter.

Nonetheless, it was painful. Being around the City's Bruce Wayne only served to remind her of what she had turned her back on. Of what had been lost due to her own carelessness and deceit.

A shrill scream penetrated her thoughts, clearing her mind as her body sprang into action, using a zipline to lower herself to a nearby balcony, readying a batarang as she landed, watching the action, and waiting for her cue to jump in.

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Work had been insane today. Helena hadn't been able to concentrate on anything, as her mind kept returning to someone whom she'd been living with for months now. She'd never considered women, and certainly not her newly adopted mentor/roommate, but suddenly... She wondered how she'd been so blind all these months.

For suddenly, the only thing she could think of was Barbara. Her lips, her hair, her smile. The graceful way she manuevered the wheelchair. The sound of her laughter. The way her brow furrowed when she was hot in pursuit of information for some case or another.

Her body.

And so, Helena had returned home much earlier than usual with only a little stop at a small boutique and the grocery store. She had done a quick sweep of the house to ensure that Jake was nowhere to be seen. They needed the evening alone, after all.

And then she had changed into the little black dress she had picked up and then began cooking a sumptuous meal-pasta and oysters-a natural aprodesiac, of course.

As she waited for Barbara to get home, she placed candles on the table, and a place setting for two only-sorry Jake.

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They walked the grounds at sunset.

Every so often, Bruce glanced to the side. Alfred always looked ahead, chin high, face impassive. The invitations had already been sent: You and a guest are cordially invited to Wayne Manor for a family dinner at 8 o'clock on Friday the 14th of April, 2006. Casual attire only. RSVP.

"You should have told me when you knew."

They'd already been over this. The fact that Bruce pressed the point again - a wholly unnecessary act - only demonstrated his irritation. There was nothing to be gained for it.

"My apologies, Master Bruce."

It was problemmatic for one such as Bruce to find himself in a place where he did not know every detail that went on under his roof. He was used to knowing everything; he depended on it. Apparently, however, Alfred had known about the additional guests living in Wayne Manor, and had chosen to keep it a secret. In further conversation, Bruce discovered that they'd been living there even longer than Bruce himself was aware. And they believed that Bruce had been there much longer than when he woke up in his bedroom, some weeks before.

He was also angry with himself, for not realizing that there had been other people in the house. He had certainly had enough time to figure it out on his own. The amount of time that it took him was unacceptable. Never mind that his guests had tried laying low; it was his home. He should have been aware. Bad things happened when he wasn't aware of everything around him. People got hurt. People died.

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Setting: Babs' house, sometime Monday afternoonish
Summary: Helena comes home to find that she is no longer the only houseguest...

Work had been long. Her cases seemed to be particularly perplexing of late, not to mention that the District Attorney's re-appearance was throwing everyone into a frenzy. Helena had yet to meet Mr. Dent, but she already disliked him, if only because she was tired of half the office running around in a panic. It was interrupting her own train of thought, and given the cases she was working with, that was a very bad thing.

And so, tonight she had promised herself a night off from it all. She would be returning home at a normal hour, and she was going to take a hot shower, slip into her pajamas and watch a movie. Maybe Barbara would even be home to join her, for once.

She reached the kitchen door, pushing it open and dropping her keys on the table, instinctively locking the door behind her before kicking off her shoes and heading up the hallway towards the bathroom.

"Barbara?" she called out hopefully as she moved through the house.

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Sam had finally convinced Dean that they should sleep for the night, before they went running around trying to figure out where the hell they were. He didn't sleep very well, at all, maybe a few hours all together, between him waking up and tossing and turning. It was nine, now, and he was staring at the ceiling. There were no cracks to count. No strange stains to wonder about. Those things were comfortable to him, which would probably sound weird to someone else, but when you've been living out of motels for the last nine years of your life, your comforts seem to change.

Sam was still sleep, which was a good thing, so he wouldn't spoil that just yet. Instead, he got up and found his way to the kitchen. Standing in the door way for a second or two, he yawned and ran a hand over his head before walking in. He looked back and forth over the cabinets before he reached for one. Where's the coffe? Dean dug around, cabinet after cabinet, getting more and more frustrated the longer it took his to find his addiction. He was quite sure now that he had died and gone to Hell.

But he doesn't give up that quickly. He moved to what looked like a pantry and continued his hunt there, swearing to himself when he hit his head on a shelf. For all he knew, Sam could have gotten up earlier and hid the coffee on purpose! "That little Bastard," he said quietly to himself, hitting his head again, and giving it a bit of a rub before calling. "Sammy!"

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The first thought Kyle had when he felt the earth shake was, 'Damn. There aren't any signs up about how to handle earthquakes. We never had earthquake drills'. Then he looked at his light board which had fallen off of his desk smashed to the floor, and thought, 'Fuck.'

Then he saw the smoke.

That was when he finally thought to stand up and look away from his desk. How were his coworkers handling the impromptu earthquake. Or whatever it was. They weren't handling it very well at all, actually. For all he could see, they were running through the resulting smoke like chickens with their heads cut off. Kyle couldn't really blame them; they probably weren't used to stuff like this. Hell, he wasn't even completely used to stuff like this.

The art department for The City's newspaper was on one of the lower floors, so when Kyle finally got his wits together and started yelling and ushering people out of the doors, he could at least have some comfort in knowing they all had a good chance of getting out safely. No one seemed to notice when he backed away from the stairwell and ran back into the main area of the floor where all the artists had their desks set up.

He moved slowly through the smoke, making sure no one else was trapped in the room and once he was relatively sure, he raised his hand. A green gas mask covered his face, and Kyle took a deep breath, hoping that he hadn't already inhaled too much smoke. Next he created a lantern, which shined brightly through the smoke, allowing him to move quickly to the large windows.

Where was the smoke coming from? Kyle wasn't immediately sure, but he was definitely leaning more towards an explosion now. He just didn't know from where. Looking out of the windows, he could see smoke pouring from some of the lowers floors as well, and a slightly grey tinge in the air above make him think that something had to going on on the higher floors as well. Across the street people were pouring out of another office building and onto the street, pointing up at both buildings. Grey smoke was pouring from their windows as well.

The building shook again, and this time Kyle could hear an explosion coming from upstairs. It was time to get out.

Kyle backed away from the window, back into the smoke where he was sure no one would be able to see him as a green glow engulfed his body. When it died down, he was suited up completely, mask included. He had to help somehow.

Though, as he started breaking through the window so that he could fly out, Kyle couldn't help but hope that some of the other heroes in this place had heard the explosions. Because he was pretty damn sure that alone he wasn't going to be much good.

OOC: Just a note, as stated before, everyone can participate in this, whether your character wants to be a bystander or wants to try to rescue people or even wants to try and make the situation worse. Any of those options is cool! NPCs may even come and interact with your characters.

Don't worry. Something will come of this. So yes. Post!

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Helena had made her escape from the vampire and his... vampire girlfriend? No, the girl seemed to have a pulse, but she also seemed to be way stronger than normal. Her jaw was still aching, and she felt a sticky trickle of what could only be blood on the side of her forehead, but she ignored all that as she quickly undressed, revealing the leather catsuit beneath, and pulled on her mask, before shooting a mini-grapple hook onto the top of a nearby building and swinging upwards and away.

As she came to rest at the top of a building, she pressed gently on one of her black earrings, a well-disguised communicator.

"Oracle, are you there?"

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Walking. Downtown. Maybe.

Town, city, urbanian, place, nook, cranny, crack, crumb, piece.

Somewhere along the line... he had lost it. Completely, utterly, didn't get it, couldn't absorb it. With a knife, he pried off his mask like a second skin, and abandoned both knife and former mask in an alleyway. The side of his face dribbled with blood, but that was perfectly okay. That hard part had been trying to avoid his mouth and eyes. Which he'd managed with some difficulty.

It doesn't talk to me.

He still didn't understand things. Alternatives? Alternate place had no OUTSIDE.

No more mask. No more god damned QUESTIONS.

Vic Sage trembled as stalked the graveyard.

He found himself keeping company with a pair of very dead Waynes.

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Her day had been long, as usual. It seemed that these days she had been spending more and more time at the office, to avoid being in Barbara's way at home. Or perhaps it was just the chance to bury herself in work, something that was familiar and comforting, instead of facing those who were familiar, but anything but comforting. Though, she had re-connected with her father, or rather her father's doppelganger, Helena still felt completely out of place here. Sure, she knew that was ordinary, but somehow she felt even more on the outside than she was sure everyone else did.

Of course, deep down she was aware of just how self-centered and narrowminded this thinking was. But the spoiled brat inside didn't really care much that she was being self-indulgent.

At any rate, she had found peace in pursuing long sentences for criminals, never quite losing the turn of stomach at some of the details of cases that she had seen in court. Of course, the day she stopped feeling that was the day that she would need to quit both her job as an attorney and her night job as a vigilante. That would be the day she lost her humanity.

Pulling her trench around herself tightly to fend off the rainstorm that had been tapping at the windows all night, Helena pushed open the door and opened up her umbrella, losing herself in the City's darkness as she began the sometimes short, and sometimes very roundabout walk to her apartment. The length of the walk often depended on her own moods, as well as the City's degree of like or dislike towards her on any given day, or at least that's what it seemed.

Today, the City seemed to be in quite the mood, as the usual path led her through some as-yet unexplored parts of the City. In fact, Helena was quite certain she hadn't seen any of these streets before, which was odd given that she'd swept the entire City in her nightly patrols. Somehow, the buildings seemed fewer and farther between here, and she found herself passing a graveyard and then, a few blocks later, a club called the Bronze which appeared to be attracting a mix of underagers and young twenty-somethings.

She took a sharp left, attempting to turn out of this bizarro world, and instead found herself down a dark alleyway. Swearing, she half-considered the leather costume that was concealed beneath her business suit, wondering if it would be better to go as Huntress, complete with the weapons stored in her utility belt.

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Fawkes, Darien. The only officer willing to go on record in regards to the Valerio case. She wasn't entirely familiar with the inner workings of the City's underworld, but she had experienced enough to know that Valerio was well-connected, and a threat that needed to be eliminated.

Very well-connected.

Somehow, there were no records of any other cases connected with Valerio, and no other officers willing to take the stand as witnesses in regards to the drug trafficking bust from a few months back. She had immediately been assigned the case when she'd taken on the job as Prosecuting attorney for the City. She supposed they'd hoped that the new girl would give up after the lack of evidence, and take the heat for not seeing it through.

They had thought wrong.

She knew the drug trafficking was merely the tip of the iceberg. She also knew the bust had been on the assumption that it was a disorganized band of thugs, and not the crime kingpin of the City.

She also knew that pursuing this meant risking certain things.

She was more than ready to take that risk, however.

And clearly, there was still at least one cop who wasn't entirely corrupt in the City, and he was going to help her. She would try asking nicely at first.

After receiving very little direction from the rest of the officers in the department, she found her way to an office at the end of a very dimly lit hallway. She stopped just outside the dingy door with the slightly askew nameplate, reading "Fawkes." Mentally, she reviewed the case details. Apparently, Detective Fawkes had been MIA for the last few weeks. Something about memory loss. He was back now, however, which, to her, signified a return of memory.

She raised her hand and knocked on the door-two short, determined raps.

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A few days after her encounter with Jason, Helena had turned things over in her mind. She hadn't yet mentioned it to Barbara. She secretly knew that fact had less to do with the fact that the woman was scarce around the house, than it related to the fact that, well, she felt a need to deliver the message to her Dad-to Bruce-herself.

It was time. She certainly wasn't ready, but then again, she wasn't sure she'd ever be.

But it was time to face him. Maybe even to apologize for some of the things she'd never gotten to apologize for. He wasn't the same person, but maybe on some level, speaking with this version of her father would gain some closure.

And regardless of the fact that the two men were different, he was still a father. He was worried about Jason, and he deserved to hear that the boy was okay, if a little emotionally bruised.

After work, she climbed into the Lexus she'd recently leased and drove to the outskirts of the City, easily finding the manor, as though the roads themselves had led her there. Given the nature of the City, she actually wouldn't be entirely surprised if this was the case. She had not set out with exact directions as to how to get to Wayne Manor herself, and yet had easily found it once she had started driving.
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Perhaps what surprised the Devil most of all was that he didn't need Jason's help in order to find home. The blonde angel only had to follow his feet, The City feeling both familiar and terrifying.

The question of where they were remained unanswered. For the first part of their journey, He Who Is Most Unclean might have sworn they were in Gotham, or perhaps London. It wasn't until the unusual pair walked closer toward the swanky night club that Lucifer swore they were right in Los Angeles. The Lux belonged in LA, of that much the Demon Prince was certain.

He was also certain of who was standing there at the door.

"Makizeen! Darling! What a pleasant surprise. You've followed me home..."

Wherever home is....

She was quite beautiful, really. Or at least the half of her that she revealed was beautiful, though this wasn't entirely fair as Lucifer was fond of every bit of her from eyeballs to entrails. For the rest of this Earth's occupants, however, the less conventional half of her face was hidden by a mask. She said nothing but smiled. It wasn't a particularly nice smile.

"I do hope you're of age, Old Sport," the blonde said to Jason. "I suppose I'll have to retrieve a more proper attire. Please, help yourself. Anything you want is on the house."

For all the Devil cared, the former Boy Wonder could have been twelve.

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Death. Destruction. Senseless violence.

There had been more of it in the papers lately. Whichever incarnation of Lois Lane that occupied this City was certainly on top of things. Helena remembered Lois, though she'd only met the woman a few times. Strong-willed, smart, quick-witted. The only woman to tie down Superman, not to mention an award-winning news writer.

It was comforting to recognize a name, and know that some things never changed.

Of course, she had yet to run into Lois and compare realities, but she was beginning to give up hope on running into anyone from her world.

In fact, she had even begun to wonder if her world truly existed, or if she herself had suffered some sort of delusion, and Barbara was just too nice to point it out. After all, though they were all from different time periods, Barbara seemed to have found several people, all from the same reality, that she knew.

But all the same, she had been welcomed into the family. Barbara had even offered to set up a meeting with Dad-Bruce, as she was trying to remind herself. He was not her father. Never would be, if she understood right.

She longed to. There had been things left unsaid and perhaps she could gain some sense of closure by saying them. But she had yet to work up the nerve, unsure if she would be able to take running into a father that didn't know her. A father that she herself didn't know.

Especially after... She closed her eyes, trying in vain to block out the memories of that last night. The identity she had hidden so well, how it had cost him his life. Their last words-said in anger.

Sighing, she attempted to bury herself in the paper yet again. She'd lost track of time since arriving in the City, but in some ways it felt like she'd always been a part of it, felt like home. In others, this was still an alien land to her. With no Cranston and Grayson to work at, she had secured a job working in the DA's office. Prosecuting attorney. Her original life's goal. The frustrating thing was that this City seemed to be even more corrupt than Gotham, and far less organized to boot. Those responsible for the shootings hadn't been caught yet. Hadn't even been identified, from what she could tell.

From what she could also tell, the City had brought in several heroes from the outside world, perhaps its way of correcting the balance. These heroes had all taken up their new mantle as protectors of the City, all fighting valiantly to stem the surge of violence that seemed to be ripping through the city. Huntress was among these heroes, of course.

Thinking of the shootings, Helena remembered the two men she had met just after her arrival-Dean and Sam. She'd scoured the hospitals for them after the shootings, but had found nothing. She still kept an eye out, but they seemed to have vanished without a trace. Which left her to wonder... people were sucked into the City, but were they ever let out again?

Helena had left the meeting with Barbara feeling surprisingly better, though increasingly nervous at the same time. Her mind again ran through the events of the past few days since her arrival in the Wayne Manor that wasn't quite home, as she'd come to think of it.

Suddenly, she remembered with a sickening thud that she'd had lunch plans for yesterday. Even worse, she realized that if she'd been caught in the bullet-storm, they might also have been. She wasn't sure how thoroughly the heroes who'd rounded up the gun-men had combed the city for survivors, or even how well they might have been able to, given that the streets had the nasty habit of changing when one least expected it.

Pulling on her mask before leaving the building, she used her batarang gun to scale a nearby sky rise, quickly leaping from building to building, eyes scanning the streets and alleys below for any sign of the two boys, whom she still owed lunch to.

She only hoped she'd get the chance to repay that debt.

Characters: Huntress, Oracle
Summary: After receiving Oracle's email, Huntress drops in for tea. Or, y'know, something like that...

(note: this started as a log that we decided to finish here, so I swear I'm not godmodding :))

Helena had received the email from Oracle with much surprise. She certainly hadn't handed out her email address to anyone and, furthermore, she knew no Oracle. At least not yet.

She had been in the city for nearly a week now and had learned very quickly that one could not take anything for granted. Friends and family did not recognize her as such. Strangers remembered histories that had yet to happen in the timeline she'd come from. Of course, this could also mean that enemies she had yet to face might remember her and capitalize on this advantage.

However, Oracle had mentioned discrepancies with her personal history. Her desire to find out more about her place in this strange City far outweighed her self-preservation instincts. Of course, as she loaded up her utility belt, all self preservation was not to be ignored.

Finally, donning her mask and cape, she set off for the Clock tower that had been referred to. She had begun to get the feeling that trying to find your way to places didn't work so well as just walking aimlessly with a desire to get somewhere.

And so, the Clocktower looming in the distance, she walked towards it, as best as she could.

She made her way into the tower, senses on high alert as she scanned the entryway for any sign of a booby trap, or an outright attacker.

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The gun war began at rush hour. Or rather, at what should have been rush hour. People should have been driving home from work in the evening, getting ready to settle into their house shoes to eat dinner, or just getting back with little Jimmy, from soccer practice. Getting back with Candace, from ballet.

Throughout the City, no one could have not heard it. The first shot was more like a car backfiring than anything else. A sharp, rough sound at City Centre. And then there was a second, and a third. A downpour of these hard, piercing bursts of noise came.

No one wanted to step outside, to brave the criss-crossing of bullets.

The City was shifting, through all of this, scattering the firefight to every end and every beginning of its streets. Citizens kept their eyes down, and hoped from inside their safe, warm homes or their drab office buildings. The City didn't have a masked protector. Not that had shown his face yet.

Not really.


(( Bombs away, kiddies. All you do-gooders, go out and do good. All you baddies, soak in the chaos and join in the fun!))

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