The Universe's Mixer

He hadn't been entirely too happy with getting kicked out of Zoe's place almost right after they'd woken up, but he made it to a store and picked up a pack of cigarettes and it made him feel a little better. Going for an entire night without a smoke had been a new and unpleasant experience.

Real joy came, however, when he got back to his place and after a bit of messing around, discovered - accidentally - that he could become the dog at any time he wanted to. Of course, returning to human form meant that he was bare ass naked, which probably shouldn't happen in public, just for the sake of law breaking.

But remembering how much fun he'd had at night, and thought that a daytime excursion would be better. Different at the very least. More people. More animals out and about. The sunshine. Oh, sunshine. How would that feel on his fur? Maybe he could find some kids to play with, too. Run around until his doggy legs wouldn't carry him anymore.

Not having put on his clothes again after his return trip to humanland, Jesse reverted to the dog form again. He spent a moment trying to figure out if he could carry the smokes and a lighter with him, and decided he could not. Even if he could, he'd have to find somebody to get one out of the pack and light it for him, and that just didn't seem like it was going to happen. Zoe had been quite adamant about dogs not smoking. He was guessing that other people would be as well.

He took the same route out of the building as he had the first time, and ran straight to the park. Almost straight to the park. He did stop and sniff a couple of things on the way, including sticking his nose up a cute girl's skirt to see if he could get away with it. He could. She laughed.

In the morning sun, the grass smelled delightful. He was sniffing it and then started eating it, not even thinking about what he was doing. Once he'd had a good amount of it, he suddenly felt the need to throw up. The big green mushy ball that came out of him didn't disturb the dog part one bit. His human part, however, decided that if eating grass gave that result, he was going to do his best to stay away from even nibbling it.

Jesse took off at a full sprint through the park, tail wagging happily, smelling the air as it rushed into his nose.

Charlie felt strange. It had hurt, turning into this...whatever it was, but in the end, he decided that it could be a good change. He'd never been an animal before, other than the one known as man, so this would give him a different life experience. He was lucky that Lucy-Belle wasn't at home; he didn't think she'd like his new face. It was definitely not his old one, save for maybe the eyes somehow. He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, and gave a testing bark. It wasn't a bad bark. He spent sometime testing out smells and tastes before heading downstairs.

He caught a scent back in the kitchen where the attack had happened. There was something that smelled tangy, not bad but not right..blood? He snuffed some more, finding other scents, some good, some bad. He finally found one that told him food. He followed it; it reminded him oddly enough of an old fur coat his ex-wife had had. Rabbit? Strangest coat. Bunny. He may have found his bad bunny.

He didn't leave a note, but he was kind enough to close the door that he had left open this whole time behind him. He started trailing that bad bunny. It had bitten him, and he wanted to bite back, or at least show it the error of its ankle biting ways. Charlie wondered why he couldn't have this ability normally; it seemed like very ideal for a homicide detective.

The trail was leading him away from the mansion and the orchard to the Park. This was going to take some very good detective skills and the keen sniffer this particular incarnation of this particular police detective just happen to have.

Murders, chaos, the usual was going on. They were still no closer to finding the answers than they had been, although Charlie's gut kept coming back to the only cannibal he knew that lived in the City. He was beginning to worry about his partner, but he wasn't sure if he should butt in to her life. He cared about her, much like he had cared about Reese; he'd have to talk to her eventually about Simon Tam. Apparently the doctor was no longer working at the Hospital, and his apartment was now someone else's home. He'd wait for the right time, if there was really something like that when it came to the matters of the heart.

Lucy-Belle was out with Jake again, which he wasn't going to stop. At least one creature in the house seemed to be having a good time of it. It was nice to know what the fluff ball of a Persian thought of her home, and when Jake was around, she would often times be rather vocal. Who knew cats could be so demanding, or so exacting?

Ted was...probably around. Charlie would need to spend more time with his friend. They hadn't done anything in a while. Not much at all since they'd decided to get a cat.

To be nice, and perhaps in hopes of seeing that strange woman again, Charlie went out to gather some fruit to make Ted a nice salad. Now and then Charlie would look for a particular tree, a strawberry with chocolate sap tree. It was a fanciful idea, but Charlie was curious to see if it would happen. Though he'd supposed it'd be more of a bush or a vine of some sort rather than an actual tree. So, there he was, collecting fruit to make a salad for his housemate, now and then saying something to the fruit to see if it spoke back to him.

There were more crimes and not enough law enforcement types to go around. The murders weren't escalating, and they weren't being solved. The detective didn't like what he was dealing, but the cops dealt with the unpleasant on a regular basis. It was his job.

Charlie Crews tried to let go of the unpleasant; he needed to make a difference, to make the world better. He dealt with the unpleasant, so that others didn't have to. Not that zen was all about the pleasant; it was dealing with life in a different way, seeing beyond life to the truth. It was releasing the world to find something true, real, wisdom.

He settled down at the table with the bowl of fruit he'd just picked from the orchard. He smiled with a little pride, claiming one of the apples from the bowl. He couldn't say he owned the orchard, or even the fruit. He could and would say he appreciated the fruit. For the moment, he'd let himself appreciate how the fruit looked, how it felt, how it existed. It wasn't exactly meditation, just something very like.

Drinking with Devon, his asshole of a roommate was probably a bad idea, Logan reflected. He'd accepted the invitation out without giving it too much thought, but now the jackass refused to shut the hell up.

Logan downed another beer, hoping that he would get less annoying through the pleasant haze of alcohol.

"And that girlfriend of yours... I'd definitely do her," Logan caught the last bit of that ramble. "If you ever decide you're done with her, let me know."

He slammed down his beer, and turned to his roommate. He stood up, puffing his chest out.

"You want to say that to me again?"

"Sure thing," Devon agreed and stood up, crossing his arms with a grin. "I said-"

His sentence was truncated as Logan's fist impacted squarely with his jaw. Devon reeled, and then dove at Logan.

Before Logan quite knew what was happening, several others had joined the fight and he was now parrying drunken blows from all sides and taking the advantage to work out some of his aggression as he fought his way through the crowd.

Charlie hadn't been avoiding the large and multifruited orchard, but something about it was bothering him. He couldn't decide if something were missing, or if something bad had happened in the beautiful orchard. He'd not bothered in talking to Ted about it because Ted didn't need to be concerned. The man had enough to worry about. Who knew looking after a cat could be so...adventurous? Not that Charlie had been too bothered by the white ball of fur, mainly because he hadn't been home for long enough periods of time. Somehow he'd even managed to sleep through the crazy attack kitty moments.

Today was a late day, and the kitty in question was actually surveying her territory. She was queen of a nice big house now. Even an orchard, but she'd yet to bother with going outside. There were still too many rooms to search when her male humans were away. The ginger, almost alpha, was good for a treat when she rubbed along his legs. Whether or not he did it to be kind or to get her to move along didn't matter. He wasn't cruel at least.

Charlie was definitely doing it to be kind. "So, Lucy Bell, do cats walk on leashes? I wouldn't ask, or put you on one, but I thought you'd like to go to the park. Ted wouldn't like it if I lost you." Even if she had her issues. "I'm also an officer of the law." Charlie paused for a moment as he was leaning down to scoop the white fluff of a cat up; were there leash laws in the City? He should probably know this.

Lucy Bell didn't fight him, even though she seemed more partial to the other human, the one who'd brought her to her new home. Charlie rubbed round her ears and scratched at her jaw and neck.

"I guess I could carry you. Do you chase mice?" Yes, Charlie was holding a conversation with a cat that didn't or couldn't talk back. "You probably could; animals don't forget how to kill even when they've got an easier life." Charlie would know. "I should know. Humans haven't stopped yet." He was currently walking to the front door and absently set her down to put his keys and a few other things in his pocket. Absently because as he was pocketing what he saw was necessary for the day, he also started to open the door. Lucy Bell saw her chance; it wasn't that this was a bad house, but who could resist an open door?

Charlie didn't curse, nor did he yell after her. He took a moment to text a note to Ted.

Cat ran out door. Will find her. Call if you want.

With that, he closed the door behind him, locked it, and went in search of a wayward kitty who had caught the scent of a fish market she had no idea existed. She wasn't the only one.

Ivy had spent the afternoon exploring the City. It was much like Gotham-dirty, polluted, filled with concrete that strangled any soil that might nourish plants. Unlike Gotham, the citizens of this City had yet to have someone teach them the error of their ways. She had a lot of work to do. And though she’d already punished a few offenders, her mood still hadn’t lifted.

Until she happened upon a sprawling yard that was extremely out of place amidst the sea of buildings. Somehow in the middle of the City, there was a mansion along with an ample yard. There were fruit trees in all colors, fully flowered and stretching up and out as though soaking up every bit of sun allowed into the yard, which was an oasis amidst the skyscrapers that clogged up the air and blocked sun from most other parts of the City.

Ivy approached the trees cautiously, taking a moment to commune with them and sense their emotions. They were content, and even well-cared for. While the person who had planted and kept them up might not have been an expert, he or she had certainly given the trees a lot more care than most humans might. She ran a hand along the trunk of one of the trees, lovingly caressing it as she reveled in this small bit of utopia amidst the hell that was the City’s streets and buildings.

( And trees, glorious trees... )

The night had been interesting. Charlie'd gotten to dance, gotten to drink, gotten to look and feel like he hadn't a care in the world. It was as if he had never gone to prison, or so his reflection told him. He was young again. Unfortunately, he hadn't gotten to dance with the woman he was rather certain was Jennifer, his partner. It would have been fun to get her reaction, and perhaps to try and deduce why he did indeed look so very young.

He went home, smiling. He smiled a good bit, but this was the smile of a man who'd gotten his youth back and found that he didn't really need or miss it. Of course, he wouldn't mind having a few less aches, but he didn't feel the need to go back in time as if he hadn't lived through it all and learned.

The detective was quiet, or tried to be, as he got home; he didn't want to wake Ted. He got ready for bed, and as he was settling in to listen to one of his tapes, the box he'd set on his night stand opened. He looked at it carefully, not touching it until he thought it was safe.

"Make a wish. What could I wish for? What couldn't I wish for? Wishes are not like fishes, even if they sound alike. They're not like horses. Though they can be slippery like fish and speed away, even a little flighty like horses." Charlie looked at the paper and started folding, ignoring the directions. "Wishing is part of the human psyche, so if I do not wish, does that make me non-human? But wishing is desiring, and desiring is not undesirable."

He continued to fold until he had a boat/hat. It was a simple thing that many people learned when they were younger. "I suppose if I were to wish for something. I would wish that I could tell my partner how I feel." He smiled sadly as he decided to just turn out the lights and go to sleep. The boat/hat sat on the night stand, proud and straight.

The next morning Charlie got up, got ready for work, and headed in. His wish didn't come true. Then again, he hadn't really had much of a wish, had he?

The invitations started raining on The City's citizens at half past 11 on the morning of March 31st. In standard City style, the things were addressed to each person specifically -- and nigh unavoidable. Dressed in black curlicues and elegant script, the parchment invitations heralded the black-tie Magical Springtime Masquerade, where wishes would be granted -- for that very night, 7:00 sharp. No R.S.V.P. necessary, it promised, and fine script at the bottom also advised that the City had taken the liberty of stocking the wardrobes of its citizens with masquerade-appropriate fineries, gratis. From all appearances, it looked like the City was ready to host a grand affair.

And grand indeed it was. Just a block north of the Clock Tower, the City Opera House threw open its doors at exactly 7 p.m. Red carpet rolled down the grand marble steps. Warm candlelight beckoned with gentle, clinging fingers to those in the chilly spring night air, and the merry tinkling of crystal glasses and laughter from the Grand Foyer welcomed with warmth in even greater degrees.

As guests arrived, tuxedoed gentlemen stationed at the doors accepted invitations with one hand and passed host gifts with the other. Each host gift, elegantly tucked away in a bag emblazoned with the guest's name, included two items: the first was either a masque, a ring, or a hat matching the attire of the guest, and the second was a small box without seams, hinges, locks or opening of any sort. Everyone seemed to have received this second gift, and everyone also received the same note attached to it: "For your enjoyment between 12:01 a.m. and 11:59 p.m. April 1st"

The night was full and bright, and there was plenty of time yet to ponder the mysteries of that small gift box. For now, the party began in full force, with plenty of wine, music, and merriment. And as the guests began to don their party favors, each discovered something else...

Yes, it was going to be an excellent party indeed!

The murders were still on the detective's mind when he came home much later that day. Thankfully, the woman he'd been entertaining before he left had seen her way out some time during the day. Hopefully she hadn't bothered Ted. Charlie wouldn't have liked it if she had bothered his housemate and best friend. Jennifer was slowly growing to be friend, but Ted was his best friend. Ted was a part of him, as much as any man could be a part of another man in the nonsexual sense.

The murders were on his mind when he cleaned up, had a snack, and then went to bed. The murders were on his mind when he got up the next morning and started breakfast. An orange grove had developed behind the mansion, and he had collected a few oranges for the fresh juice. If they could somehow grow other fruit trees, Charlie would be a very happy man. Then again, they weren't really "growing" the orange trees, so he supposed he should be happy with what they had.

Charlie was currently working slicing fruit. He'd managed to get an order set up while in the City, so they had fresh fruit almost every morning. It wasn't always the same fruit, but it was good fruit. Charlie looked at the mango and wondered if there was ever bad fruit, not rotten fruit, but bad fruit. Of course, he supposed fruit could be bad to someone if they were allergic, but that really wasn't the fruit's fault. The fruit was just being a fruit. So, maybe it couldn't be bad. But, if it couldn't be bad, could it really be good?

He stared at the mango as it sat there on the cutting board surrounded by other fruit in various stages of slaughter. What made anything good, bad, or...hungry?

"Why did they bite the heart and not eat anything else?" He picked up a slice of kiwi and bit into it, enjoying the seeds' bursting.

Jennifer couldn't say that she was one hundred percent happy with the fact that she'd been called away from her bed. There was somebody in that bed currently who she'd been trying to get further with for a long time. And while nothing had happened yet other than sleeping, she was glad for it. Glad that he'd finally opened up to her. Glad that things were actually going somewhere.

Not to mention that there was a cat still missing from her life and she very much wanted to be there when he sauntered in the door. Jennifer had no doubt at all that sauntering would, indeed, happen. Jake may have had many talents, but he was still a cat. Cats had the sauntering thing down. Probably didn't even realize when they were doing it.

But part of was, actually, glad to be called. Glad to know that she still had a job. That she was still capable of working. That she was still wanted at work. Finding out from Simon that she'd not been in there because she'd had some kind of breakdown had helped quite a bit. But getting called in to work at four in the morning really solidified it. She was fine. She wasn't the only one who had been in there. She wasn't crazy.

The sirens on the cop cars were off, but the lights were still going. A perimeter had been created using four cars and an awful lot of yellow crime scene tape. Jennifer supposed that in a place like the City, you just didn't worry about crime scene tape shortages. There were officers posted every ten feet just to make sure that no reporters or lookie-loos got through to see what was going on inside. Off to one side of the tape there was an officer questioning somebody, and beyond that pair was another. At least they'd separated the witnesses.

Jennifer walked through it all. A simple flash of her badge and she could almost feel the respect pour onto her from the men. It felt nice to be able to do her job without the red tape, without needing to get payment from the victim's family. Without worrying about what company might be behind it, or might stand in the way of her work. But she did not smile. From what she'd been told in her brief phone call, this was not a matter that prompted smiling.

She stopped at the bottom of the steps up to the door of the house to catch up with the officer currently in charge. He was a big man, very fit. His face had a sharp, no-nonsense look about it, the holster that held his gun was unsnapped, he was ready for action. Not safe, particularly, but Jennifer understood the feeling.

"Jennifer Government." She said, approaching and showing her badge.

He didn't even look at the badge, just sized her up bodily. "I was wondering when you'd get here. Where's you're partner?"

That was a good question, where was her partner?

Eugenides discovered one other thing that morning: he didn't like coffee.

His face wrinkled as the bitter flavor swept over his tongue and he set it down on its small plate and pushed everything away from him, sending the tiny spoon clattering out of its place. Its warmth had been extremely welcome to his otherwise cold body but he never took it back.

In the meantime, he straightened his back and looked around. Only an hour ago, he discovered himself to be sleeping on the ground well away from the comforts of his bedroom and hadn't been at the peak of himself since. He was confused, he was cold, he was hungry and his body hurt where the ground met it. The diner (they called it one) had appeared to him seemingly out of the blue and before he knew it, he was stumbling inside, welcomed as the first customer of the day. It was coated in pale cream walls and the empty couches that filled the place were of the same shade, the tables basking in the natural brown of their wood which shined when the early sunlight hit it. Eugenides sat closest to the window parting the street from the interior and he found himself gazing at the brickwork and the cemented road for the sixth time in that hour. A wave of loneliness filled his chest like water in a hollowed space.

"Here you are," a female voice said.

He turned towards the bowl of cream chowder placed before him, bits and pieces of white meat and croutons peeking out the surface and he felt his stomach move at the scent of breakfast.

"It's not much but it's soup of the day!" she said brightly, tray pressed against her skirt. "Always the first thing we finish in the morning. Want some bread to go with it?"

Eugenides nodded to her, looking frail under the weight of his tattered brown cloak. "Yes," he said after.

"Right, I'll get you some," she said with a smile, a nod, and was off.

Eugenides returned his gaze to his background. It didn't take long for the waitress to return with half a bagel on a plate and she smiled to him sweetly again. "Well, eat up! Don't worry about paying, it's on the house."

I can pay, Eugenides had almost told her but decided to keep it to himself as he nodded to her and took up the spoon on the right side of the bowl by his left hand and began to stir his breakfast. Better to keep his money for as long as he can and act as he dressed. It would come as a surprise, after all, if she saw him revealing a healthy wad of bills from his mice-nibbled cloak pocket, both of which he stole from no less than two people in the same hour.

Eagerly, he slurped his breakfast and chewed the chicken meat. Warmth washed over his body and he didn't waste time on taking another sip. Finally, breakfast! Nothing can go wrong with breakfast...

Logan looked down at the spreading crimson stain on his shirt. He put his hand to the newly made wound.

"Hm. Well, that is not how I thought this would go down," he said with a dry laugh.

Really, this wasn't funny. Not at all, but he'd been on a reckless tear ever since Veronica had not returned from her internship with the FBI. Anything to find her, to make sure she was safe and get her home.

Keith showing up on his doorstep at summer's end hadn't been what Logan expected. With the news that Veronica was missing, Logan's stomach had dropped out. Not again. Not another ex-girlfriend.

His father was gone, beyond blame for this mysterious disappearance. Besides, Daddy Echolls always did like to leave a body, Logan thought with a twist of hatred for the man.

Logan never had been much of a detective, but for Veronica, he would follow any lead. He'd gone to confront Gory Sorokin, the man responsible for posting a racy video of Veronica and her other ex-boyfriend, Piz, online. He'd figured that Veronica might have gotten herself in over her head with her revenge mission against Sorokin. If he'd done anything...

Logan closed his eyes, the pain from the chest wound was now receding. When he'd banged on the off-campus housing owned by that maggot Sorokin, well, Gory Sorokin had been expecting somebody all right. Maybe he'd even been happy to pull his gun on the guy who'd hit him in the face in the school cafeteria.

Somehow, Logan had a hard time caring about the motivation. He just knew that he'd failed. So much for getting information about Veronica, he chided himself.

At some point in time, Logan realized that his back was against a solid, slightly spongy surface. He moved an arm and winced as it scraped against something that felt like cement. Logan opened his eyes, and blinked in an attempt to clarify his surroundings.

He wasn't sprawled out on Gory Sorokin's front porch. As far as he could tell, he wasn't even in Neptune. Skyscrapers stretched toward the night sky on all sides of him. He sat up and looked down at his shirt. Blood-his own blood, from what he could remember-colored the front of the shirt. Logan reached beneath his shirt to the point where he'd felt the bullet impact. Nothing. Well, not nothing. Skin and muscle, but no hole, no goosh of blood. He lifted up the shirt and checked underneath it. There wasn't even a mark. No sign of the wound that must have stained his shirt. Nothing.

He got to his feet and looked around the cityscape, mystified.

"I knew all that 'hell is fire and brimstone' talk was an exaggeration," he remarked aloud to no one in particular.

"Well, well, well. It looks like someone's getting out a little earlier than expected. Looks like you've been exonerated." The words were familiar. Charlie had heard them before, but he wasn't sure what he'd done wrong to be locked away for this time. When his mind was clear enough to think it through, he always came back to the feeling he'd done nothing.

"Com'on, or I really will beat you like a redheaded step child." The orderly gave a firm kick to the detective's stomach, and thankfully even drugs couldn't muddle his brain so much that he couldn't protect himself. He wasn't so fast that he could get out of the way, but he knew to go with the kick. He'd feel it for a few days, but he'd live.

Charlie got up, put on the clothes (a tailored suit and shirt with matching tie and a very swanky pair of shoes, even a pair of designer sunglasses) they gave him, and walked slowly wherever they directed him. He signed the release forms and collected the rest of his things; other than the clothes, this was all very familiar, even the walk to the cab waiting for him.

Last time he was released, he'd been hungry. The kick to the breadbasket had decreased his appetite, but he told the cabdriver to take him to a small place that always had fresh fruit. While he might not be hungry, he knew he would be eventually. Fruit seemed like just the thing to get and possibly a fish. A living one, not to be eaten. Possibly a dog, a large one for Ted. Or a horse.

It wasn't until he got out of the cab, paying the driver with the money he knew would be in his pocket, that Charlie realized who Ted was. He turned to get back in the cab, but it was gone. Charlie knew that if he got out, Ted would get out or already was. Charlie, for once, wasn't sure what to do. The drugs made it hard to concentrate but easy to go with the flow and not try to work against the flow. Charlie had to believe that he would see Ted soon; he'd get his housemate fruit to prove as much.

Things had been weird. Ted felt weird. If he turned his head too quickly, things started to tilt. It wasn't quite being dizzy, he knew that feeling. But it definitely wasn't what things should normally do.

It had been a while since he'd lost count of the days. Counting had been automatic. He'd been locked up before, he knew that. He hadn't liked it before, he knew that too. But this was different. They gave him jell-o here. They let him have a nice bed. They let him roam around. The food wasn't horrible. He had little slippers that were fuzzy and warm, and a pair of jammies that were comfortable. On the days when he was cold, he had a nice warm fuzzy robe to wear that matched the slippers.

He couldn't be sure what he was doing in this place, however. He recalled no trial. He didn't even remember being brought in. Just that he was here. The days passed, and he was still here.

A few times he thought he recognized people. But he was never sure enough to go introduce himself. Or ask them. Mostly, he just looked. Ted watched, and he kept to himself. That seemed like the best thing to do. Safest. He was abnormally concerned with safety, he realized. Nobody else seemed to be as worried about certain things as he was. He'd ask if certain things were safe, or if he was going to have a guard when he did some things - like shower, and they obliged him. Though it didn't seem to him that they took him very seriously.

Ted sat in a chair in the cafeteria where he ate his meals every day and watched other people while he ate a bowl of red jell-o. Thinking about being in this place. Thinking about not being in this place. Thinking about getting some more jell-o.

Dead hooker.

Why was it always, more often than not, a dead hooker? Betty sighed as she walked onto the scene, new black heels that matched her black and teal dress perfectly clicking on the pavement. She'd beat the law enforcement, but not early enough to remove the soul prior to death. Shame, she liked to do that as a courtesy on the more tragic cases and from the looks of things, this was tragic.

It wasn't even going to be easy to identify the individual judging by the looks of the face and body. Betty had been late for her appointment, which was horrible. And unlike her. But this City made it difficult to keep appointments, what with the City always changing and one place never being in the same place as they were moments before.

It really made things difficult.

Now as Betty approached the dead prostitute, she reached her hand forward to release the soul from the body, taking care to not step in the blood that surrounded the body. She had to move quickly, before someone showed up and started asking questions.

She didn't even know how long she'd been out ill. Long enough for her to be hopelessly addicted to soaps, but not long enough for her to be wondering what day it was. She'd not yet reached the point of irreversible cabin fever. She still felt poorly enough to want to stay inside, and didn't give a single thought to what badguys out there might be doing with one less cop on the force.

Laying on the couch and watching the soaps, she only wondered where Jake was when her soup was late. Jennifer was totally taking for granted that her cat had telekinetic abilities and could make her soup.

It wasn't a really bad sickness. Just a cold. But everybody feels miserable when they've got a cold, and Jen was no different. She might have been, in fact, worse. Having to take care of the rest of the world as your job meant you got to be extra pathetic when you were will. Didn't it?

"Jake?" she called pathetically. "Jake? I hab no bore tissues. Jake? I need soub."

Charlie was feeling pretty good as he woke up that morning. He had a free scoop of ice cream out there waiting for him; it might have been a silly thing to be happy about, but how often did one get a free scoop of ice cream from a young lady? Not that he thought about her in such terms that might get him arrested, but she was a nice young lady; too many young men and women these days had problems with authority. Charlie had problems with authority, but it was of a different nature.

The detective showered, smiling the whole while, got ready for the day (clothes and such - no shoes yet), and went down to have his usual breakfast - some sort of fruit. He was curious to see what the City would bring to him; as he opened the door to the refrigerator, he took a moment to realize that he was happy. Happiness wasn't a bad thing, but he was happy in a prison. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the cool whiteness with what looked to be a couple fruits that didn't come from Earth at all. He was happy in a prison?

"I could be happy anywhere, or content. A prison is only in the mind. The world is not a prison unless I make it so." His voice took on that singsongy nature that he'd heard on the tapes, but it held questions. Was this true? Could he make a prison a place of content?

"I should find someone and discuss this. Wish Reese were here. Perhaps Jennifer?"

The City wasn't so bad, but Raven really, really missed her home. She'd been doing everything she could to be brave, to distract herself, but lately the faces of her friends and family had been surfacing in her dreams. Nothing bad; nothing like some of the nightmares she'd had in her time. These were just dreams of happier days.

It was starting to wear on her. Her loved ones were constantly on the edge of her subconscious, so when she turned the corner, it was easy for her mind to play tricks on her. A teenaged girl with pigtails and an impish gait looked a little like Mac from a distance, and that was all it took for Raven's brain to fill in the details. The girl turned the corner; Raven's heart gave a great heave of excitement, and she broke into a run to try to catch up.

"HEY!" She exclaimed, feet pounding hard against the sidewalk. "Hey, Mackenzie, wait u--"

Raven tore around a corner only to find herself in the direct path of someone else. She let out a startled yelp, her reddish eyes going wide with surprise and fear, and she began windmilling her arms in an attempt to stop without falling over.

Yeah, good luck with that, kid.

The streets were dark. A panic had not risen in The City from the Joker's little prank. Despite the fact that Batman had found some households with the threatened goods in them. The Smallpox was, indeed, on the toast in some of the toasters. Not all of them. The Diphtheria, it seemed only a randomized few had that. But it would spread, no doubt, if nothing was done about it. There was also a third seemingly ancient disease roaming through some of the homes, the Mumps, given by specialty wall hangings. Clearly chosen because of the absurdity of the name.

Bruce could envision Jack Napier saying it out loud over and over again to himself, giggling each time. Until his laughter rolled through the hallways of Arkham Asylum, bouncing off of the leaded mesh glass.

Perhaps that knowledge meant he was far too close to the Clown Prince of Crime. Knew too much about him and his ways. Walked too closely to the line of insanity and criminals.

It was surprisingly difficult to get people to part with their toasters. Even more so to get them to give up their loaves of bread. Not a lot of people were excited to find a giant black bat in their homes with scientific equipment, testing their air ducts, bread, toasters and home decor for disease.

Maybe he'd been out of the loop for far too long, or maybe it was just that nobody believed anybody would do something such as break into their homes for the sole purpose of putting smallpox in their toasters.

He was, admittedly, tired of The Joker's pranks.

Carefully, the almost-shadow figure of Batman lifted the window of the next house. His head was already inside, ready for the first part of the roll he would take silently into the kitchen.