[identity profile] deadazdillinger.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] jla_watchtower
It seems trite to say that it was a cold and stormy night in Gotham, but it was, on the night that Deadman Boston Brand returned to that most forboding of cities in the USA. A den of scum and villainy that more often than not seemed more suitable for being burned off the face of the Earth like Pompeii, or washed out to see like Atlantis, and yet somehow it still persisted and small beacons of hope and light would continuously fight back the darkness.

Perhaps this is why Deadman was called back there. He had spent many months in the Himalayas since the great war with Mordru (and Mordru) and was beginning to feel a certain sense of spiritual peace. But then something like a pang of hurt, or guilt, drew him back to the reality that far too much evil was still being practiced, especially in this supposed bastion of civilisation. And despite it's many defenders such as Batman, Robin, Ragman and Huntress, there was always a need for more people to fight away the darkness.

So Deadman came back, pouring from the soil of his grave and into the cemetery he knew so well, looking around at the cold and stormy vista from East to West, and finally floating his way into the city itself. "It feels crap to be home."

Nothing much had changed in Gotham in the year or so he'd been away, by all appearances. Just by scanning through some news archives he read that he Riddler and Scarecrow were apparently now reformed, that crime boss Rupert Thorne was now dead, and that Max Shreck was making inroads into Metropolis, but... "These things are transient. Reformation is only as permanent as the criminal wants it to be. Death is no object in this world full of mystics. And corrupt business tycoons always crawl back to the relative safety of Gotham when their plans go bust."

He floated past the window of Andrei's Gondola, one of his favourite restaurants from his mortal days. It wouldn't hurt to go inside, take a body, and maybe enjoy a meal... And then he sees a very familiar criminal face at one of the tables.

Date: 2009-08-17 10:13 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ten-of-six.livejournal.com
Now that? That is unexpected. For Hatter, anyway. Toasted-Cheese doesn't have enough mind right now to unexpect anything. He goes down quickly, before Hatter's shock can remind him that oh right, he has to MAKE Toasted-Cheese defend himself.

Except now Toasted-Cheese's hat has fallen off as well. Damn the luck!

Date: 2009-08-17 10:32 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ten-of-six.livejournal.com
Hatter's eyes widen, and he scurries out of his chair as quickly as possible. Granted, that isn't very, and it only serves to make Candle-ends tip the chair over.

Hatter falls the short to most but a bit longer for him distance to the ground, and his hat goes flying as he does.

His hat. Which allows him his control over the devices scattered around him. His victims don't return to their senses, but instead they just...glaze. They aren't free from control, they just don't have any orders right now.

Date: 2009-08-24 02:12 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ten-of-six.livejournal.com
No no no. He needs that hat. It's his favourite hat. It goes with everything and and and it oh it has the best things. He always feels most at peace wearing that hat. He can't stand not having it, he just can't.

"Wait!"

He scrambles in his coat and pulls out a small remote control, which he pulls out and points at Candle-Ends.

"Th-th-this button will make all the microchips self-destruct. It won't be a big explosion, but it will be enough to light the hats on fire. If you touch my hat, I'm going to light everybody else in this room on fire."

He's crying, though he doesn't really know it. All he knows is that he NEEDS his hat, and he'll do anything to get it.

Date: 2009-08-25 03:39 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ten-of-six.livejournal.com
He doesn't trust this...whatever it is. He's torn. He wants to push the button, just to prove he can, he WILL, HE IS NOT TO BE LOOKED DOWN UPON AND TREATED AS A CHILD.

But he needs his hat. It's his favourite. He NEEDS it, or he's going to go back to Arkham where it's loud and crazy and terrifying and NO. The hat makes everything better.

He can recreate the device, of course. But that's just it. Some part of him in the back of his mind thinks that the device in his own hat is important somehow. As if he'd ever use his own technology on himself like that.

No. The hat is all that matters.

"F-fine. Just give me the hat back. Please."

Date: 2009-08-26 07:21 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ten-of-six.livejournal.com
He snatches the hat from the other's hands, and quickly thrusts it on his head. He waits for that euphoric feeling, the one that makes it all bearable. He waits. And he waits again.

It doesn't come. Something is WRONG with his hat.

"M-m-m-my hat! What did you do to it? You RUINED it!" He's practically foaming at the mouth, shaking and shivering. He's both terrified and furious and it isn't clear which is the stronger emotion right now.

Everything seems to be closing in on him. All the madness and the the horror reaching across everything, coming for him. He can fix this, a small voice in the back of his mind says. He has other hats. They'll keep it all away. They'll keep him happy. Not like this harlot of a hat, abandoning him just when he needed it most!

Candle-Ends is all but forgotten as Hatter's mind goes into panic. He has to escape run run run run run new hew that's all he needs. Another hat.

He looks a little like a frightened chipmunk as he surveys the room, and then breaks for the closest exit.

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