jla_watchtower | Entries tagged with sonia alcana

bigbadharv.livejournal.com

It's taken some doing. It's taken some digging. It's taken some dubious promises and a hell of a lot of legwork. But things are ready.

Rupert Thorne is an old dog trying to teach himself new tricks. Rebuilding his criminal empire after spilling all the details of his operation to the cops, thanks to some well-placed mental coercion, means he's got to relearn how to get things done, and none of the reliable failsafes are options anymore.

Some guys would be happy with knocking that kingpin down a few pegs. That's not the kind of guy Two-Face is.

That isn't the kind of woman Sonia Alcana is.

Thorne is trying to put together a new patchwork amalgamation of kingpins to consolidate some new power, but he's got an unsavory group to work with.

There's Joey the Snake, the ex-thug trying to take the step up into the big players club, and he's mean enough that he's been able to strong-arm cronies to form an actual organization. Green enough that he thinks taking a chance in associating with Thorne makes him ballsy and rebellious, as if that's a good thing.

There's Slick Akeem, the self-proclaimed Doctor of Style, the kind of obnoxious, ostentatious idiot that can only hope for three years at best before someone caps him cold. At this point, though, he's got a big crew of people who thinks he's something special. That never lasts. The fact that Thorne is dealing with this guy speaks of how far off his game the fat slug really is.

And then there's Big Sal, one of Thorne's oldest friends, who owes Thorne most of his career. Turning him away is going to take some extra oomph.

It's all been planned for. Now's the time to see if the Penguin's goons won't screw the pooch.

bigbadharv.livejournal.com

The Arkham Escape.

The old hideout.

Now comes the most important part. Moving forward.

Two-Face hasn't spoken much in the intervening time. Allowing Sonia to rest while he ponders the future. How to end Rupert Thorne.

Finally, though, he approaches her with a sudden proposition.

"Harvey made you his partner." he says, evenly. "This should not be a plan of action I should form alone."

bigbadharv.livejournal.com

It's an old hideout.

Actually, it's an underground bunker in the county adjacent to Gotham City. It's furnished, but it hasn't been touched in years.

The dust isn't pleasant, but it's a good place to lie low from the law after an asylum break.

"Pit Sweet Pit," comes the growl from Two-Face as he opens the door and activates the generator to bring light to the place.

The decor is at least nice, looking more like somebody's library than a military outpost. A full luxury apartment in the Earth.

"Make yourself at home," he says to the woman he's roped into aiding and abetting a felon against her will.

wrist-magnum.livejournal.com

Arkham Asylum
Ten minutes until midnight.

Floyd left the car at the access road. Pulled it behind some scrub brush that the grounds crew still hadn't cleared out. Typical. The laziness of the Arkham employees was one of the main reasons that the place had a revolving door on it. Inmates danced in and out, seemingly at will.

One was going to tonight.

Floyd crept from the car to a point between the rear loading gate and the wall outside of what, if his memory was correct, was the cell of Dumfree Tweed. The severe threat block was deeper inside the monolithic building, containing all sorts of walking nightmares, when they were at home, that was. Joker. Killer Croc. Mr. Zsasz. John Dee, the human skeleton called Dr. Destiny. He was one of the only ones in Arkham who actually spooked Floyd, deep down, with his ability to reach one spidery hand into your head and claw out your nightmares.

He didn't have the current duty rosters. Didn't have the current floorplan. So, if they'd changed things substantially since the last time he'd been inside, there could be trouble. Best to have a distraction, and a plan. Because the moment the shooting started, he'd have about 7 minutes at best before the Bat, or one of his people, showed up to respond.

Whoever he sent, Floyd just hoped it wasn't the Huntress, or that kid. He couldn't shoot a kid. Wouldn't shoot Huntress.

Anyone else? Fair game. They walked into his sights, they'd better know a good orthopedic surgeon. Maybe that chick at S.T.A.R. who always rebuilt Vic Stone.

He checked the loads in the wrist magnums, left, then right. Right hand contained a clip of ezpolsive-tipped shells. Left hand contained rubber bullets. No kill shots with the left, unless they were point blank. Right hand was to blow a way out when everything shook loose.

Time to party.

Twenty steps to the loading gate. Duck beneath the camera, wait for it to swivel left. He crossed the twenty steps in time to miss the revolution of the camera and pressed the buzzer twice, the signal for a prisoner drop-off, counting on the guard shift to simply pop the door.

They didn't disappoint.

He aimed low, coming in rolling, and shot twice, one rubber bullet into each kneecap, the new silencers working like a charm. A buzz like a particularly quick flying mosquito, and another, and the two guards were clutching their knees, rolling on the concrete.

"Shh," was all he said, pulling the mask into place, and slipping a blackjack from his belt. Two swings and the guards on back-door duty were out like a busted Crime Alley streetlight. He had about ten minutes before the roaming guard made his way back to the door on his usual rounds. Just enough time to lug these lumps into a supply closet.

He had to fire three more times before making his way to the block containing Harvey Dent. Nothing lethal. If he got popped again, he had enough murders on his jacket to make sure that Zoe wouldn't ever see him again, unless it was through plate glass before they popped a needle into his arm. He wasn't going to be taken alive. Noah had instructions, and the keys to his Cayman accounts, to make sure Zoe was set up for life should anything happen.

He wasn't going to be looking out of the inside of one of these cells again, that much was certain.

He reached Harvey's cell without incident, sliding the prepped security card he'd recieved in one of his mail drops from the Calculator.

"Counselor," he said. "Your ride's here. I figure we're about two minutes from an appearance by somebody we don't want to see. Clock's ticking."

sonia-alcana.livejournal.com

Sonia has been back in town for a couple of days now, and is still feeling moderately refreshed. St. Roch was... a neat town. (Not Gotham. But nothing is Gotham.) And Roxy, as usual, ever the optimist - nice to be around, after spending so much time in her own head. She started missing it almost the instant she stepped on the plane back to The City.

She's not quite ready to go back to her routine of quiet solitude just yet. She wants to be around people for just a little while longer. Just until... something.

A bar is a good place for that.

Even if one is not actively engaging in conversation with the other people there.

It's a good place for people-watching. Sonia enjoys people-watching.

blonde-techie.livejournal.com

Hallowthanksmas - The period of time starting in late October and ending on New Year's Eve, so named for the commercial tendency to put up Christmas displays before Halloween.

See also: Roxanne Ballantine's favorite time of year...

Okay, she was a nut, and she did so very few girly things, but holidays. Come on! New boyfriend. New city....She was starting to feel a little like before Kevin was hauled off to jail, thanks to the birdbrain. It was never going to be "okay ever again," but...

...Well screw misery!

And she wasn't going to let someone else get a TV dinner for Christmas again either.

"Come on Sonia...pick up."

A little nervous? No. Try A LOT nervous...

sonia-alcana.livejournal.com

Sonia is a person who enjoys quiet moments. Quiet and Sonia are friends - they co-exist comfortably. They understand each other.

Sonia's had a lot of quiet time, lately. Selina checks in occasionally, but most of the time is off doing... things. Important, Catwoman things, probably.

Sonia keeps herself busy, mostly - which is slightly difficult given that she has to be careful, until Thorne can be put away again, to not do anything that could give away the fact that she still exists. At least, as long as she stays in Gotham.

So, she's been throwing herself into research. Research on Thorne, research on his case... it's nothing she hasn't reviewed countless times before, but this evening, here she is again. Pouring over her own notes, because maybe, just maybe, something she missed the last five times will jump out at her this time.

She doesn't notice the silver... thing... for a few minutes.

sonia-alcana.livejournal.com

When Sonia was a little kid, her parents used to take her to church. They were Catholics, sort of. They weren't fanatic about it - they didn't get up for the disturbingly early Mass, they didn't go to confession. They went to church maybe every other Sunday. Sonia didn't retain much from the sermons, except that if you were good (a vague, amorphous concept) you went to heaven; if you were bad, you went to hell; and if you were unlucky, you got stuck in purgatory.

Purgatory always seemed like the worst deal to Sonia. You didn't even have to actually actively do anything bad to get stuck in Purgatory. You could go there if you just happened to die before you got a chance to be baptized. You could go there if you screwed up and realized it but didn't pray hard enough to redeem yourself. And once you were there, just the waiting was so agonizing that you prayed constantly for the relief that Hell would bring.

It's been a while since Harvey was found guilty and sent back to Arkham. He might be in Hell on Earth, but Sonia is pretty clear on where she is, too. She's in Purgatory.

Well, actually, she's in Selina Kyle's safe house, trying to avoid Death By Vengeful Mobster. But still.

Sonia is not a patient woman. She isn't good at waiting. She's a doer - or at least, that's what she tells herself when she wonders if maybe she's being impatient or pushy. She just likes to get things done. She likes to be moving towards a goal.

She does not like to be stuck indoors all day because someone might put a bomb in her car.

At least nighttime provides a certain amount of cover for someone who's impatient and out of sorts and looking for something to do. Which is why Sonia has taken to prowling through alleys at midnight.

Looking for something to do.

Looking for trouble.

bigbadharv.livejournal.com

The man has come a long way.

A childhood fraught with abuse and violence fractured his mind early, severely hampering his chances to become the good man he always wanted to be.

He did it anyway. Went to law school, married a good woman. Ran for District Attorney and won. One of the few honest men in the Gotham legal system, which meant he had a lot of ugliness to fight. Too much of it. The cracks grew, and he lost the life he'd built. He lost Gilda Grace Dent.

He trudged through the dark for a long, long time. Too long. Enough for it to become habit. To become an addiction. A necessity. To the point where his reach far exceeded his grasp. It took one major experience far beyond his ken to shake him free of it. To shine a floodlight on the darkness that held him down. To heal that fractured mind rather than revel in its defects.

Since that time, he's reclaimed his law practice, focusing less on the public image and electioneering, and more on the people that truly need help.

He's made something of a habit of saving Selina Kyle, earning a trusting friendship with her that neither one of them ever expected.

He's become a positive figure in the public's eyes again, a surprising turn that helped him do his job more effectively, as well as helping to lift some of the stain from his soul.

He's been volunteering at a clinic during times of plague, which are becoming far too frequent.

He's even mended fences with the Batman, overcoming the hatred that ruled his life, after saving him for the second time - first from Hush, then from himself. He's gone so far as to train himself in combat, which has allowed him to fight alongside his former foe when Gotham has needed the help.

He's done the best he can, trying to become the good man he always wanted to be. To pursue justice in a wicked world, and for the most part, he's had to do it alone. Now, his long struggle has granted him a boon he never thought he'd experience again. Some approximation of love.

He takes time to reflect on this, as he sits in his office on a darkening evening, tapping the end of a pen against his lips.

Many years have passed... and he has finally reached a point in his life where he can say these words to himself.

I believe in Harvey Dent.

bigbadharv.livejournal.com

Harvey Dent sits on the edge of his bed, inhaling a cigarette quietly in the light of the moon. His apartment actually looks... lived in for the first time since he's been here.

That might be thanks to the woman fast asleep on the other side of the bed. His employee. His trainer. His... only friend. Batman tried to imply that he was in the friend club as well... and truth be told, there's always the chance that Bats has been watching him from afar and staking him out... as friends do, of course.

There's a sense of wonder and, yes, still complete shock and surprise about it. Thinking of the day she came through that door, skeptical as any other about the past of the man she spoke to.

It's the past. It's finally the past. This feels like the completion of the quest, really, although he knows not to put such stock in something like this. Getting a woman like this to look past the past... to put a light in the eyes that even he'd thought were beyond it...

This might be happiness. Not something he deserves, of course... but this may be a sign that he's on the right path. Encouragement to the lighter side that's been so often overshadowed by that darkness. He doesn't want to let this go.

Of course, her opinion of the whole matter might be entirely different, but that'll be dealt with when it arises.

Right now... it feels like redemption achieved. Justice served. Hope renewed. Faith restored.

It's not always dark in Gotham City.

mari-grayson.livejournal.com

There is no moment of silence, when so many are gathered to discuss the state of the multiverse, but there comes a time when the conversation is not quite so noisy. Nightstar flies above the heads of the attendees, landing before a draped painting. Judging by the size, the attendees may wonder if the hidden work is a lifesized portrait, but of who? Those most familiar with the Dreaming, and the Endless, may think of the paintings lining Dream's gallery, and what they are used for.

"Excuse me," Nightstar says politely, waiting until all (or at least most) have focused their attention on her. "Dream said that he would be willing to let you all have glimpses in the dreams of those who dwell in the multiverse. I'm afraid you won't be allowed to make any requests, and the glimpses may not last very long." She smiles ruefully. "I also don't know how much use you'll get out of what you see, but ... please pay attention?"

With that, she pulls the veil aside, revealing that the frame is, at first glance, empty.

And then the frame fills with images....

bigbadharv.livejournal.com

Harvey's spent a lot of time handling all this by himself in the past, but right now, he's realizing how much he's come to value having an assistant.

But there's no way he'd take Sonia away from Thorne's interrogation. This is what she's worked for since she was a kid. He can only hope she got everything she wanted out of him.

It's a calm rain beating against the windows. Something comforting about it.

His beat-up old radio is playing that jazz station he tends to favor when he's here alone, filling out affidavits. Trying to ignore that tension in his gut.

There's no way that won't stick. It has to stick.
It'll stick.

jla-extras.livejournal.com

Rupert Thorne has seen better days.

He took a cluster of shots to the chest from Renee Montoya. He's weary, haggard, bandaged heavily and he's lost a startling amount of weight way too quickly.

His surgery and recuperation have been slow but steady, and the insanity at Blackgate has prevented most of the cops on duty from expediting his prosecution.

Not that it's that much in question. He shot a man in the head in front of witnesses. They've got him, red-handed, on a murder charge.

He's leaning on his elbows on the interrogation room table. Glaring at the mirror and waiting for someone in charge to come face him.

But it's not really a glare of hate or spite.

There's something else in his eyes.

jla-extras.livejournal.com

Rupert Thorne is sweating. This is outside his norm, and he knows it.

The choice of a funeral parlor for making these weapons deals felt like imaginative thinking at first, which was necessary, since the goddamned Batman has been making it his personal mission to never let a businessman get a moment's sleep.

Now, though, he's nervous. Wondering whether or not the choice of location was actually a sad irony.

Still, he has to remain smooth and in control, despite the fact that his pulse is racing.

The cigar helps. Always does. This isn't something he'd handle personally, usually, but he'll be damned if the Bat hasn't gotten him edgy. First guy to call it paranoid gets the cigar in the eye.

He doesn't like to be kept waiting, either.

Finally, though, the caskets roll in, which means they can get this done. Before the Bat shows.

"It's about time."

sonia-alcana.livejournal.com

Sonia Alcana is excited.

She's grinning. She's tapping a finger on the steering wheel impatiently. She's reminding herself to stay within the speed limit, because God knows the last thing she needs right now is to get a damn ticket.

She's on her way to meet Harvey. To give him good news - finally, really good news, good news she's been waiting and waiting to dig up - and then to contact the police.

Because Thorne, the bastard, slipped up. He's got an arms deal going down and she knows where and when.

She's almost got him. She repeats this thought, like a mantra, as she parks her car, heads up to Harvey's office, bursts through the door -

"Harvey!"

bigbadharv.livejournal.com

Harvey Dent is indulging in a cigarette outside the police station, next to his partner/assistant/sensei/... Sonia Alcana.

The tip she dug up, the tip he phoned in anonymously... it's led to another shutdown of one of Rupert Thorne's front businesses. The discreet follow-up has just proven it.

He's got a smile on his face. This is a man who really doesn't smile anymore, but there it is.

"It's not much... but it's something."

femme-du-chat.livejournal.com

... but Harvey isn't in.

Selina's made her way to Harvey's office. Today is the day they're meeting for lunch.

Isn't it?

Still, as she comes into the office, she becomes aware quickly that Harvey isn't here. Ah well. She'll have to wait for him to get here. And no, she doesn't have a key. She just strolls in here as she wants. It says something that she makes that assumption about her ability to do this and not get shot.

She's sitting in a chair in the office. Waiting.

bigbadharv.livejournal.com

The manager felt he was in debt to Harvey for a little help he gave on a domestic case a while back, so for the past few weeks, he's been allowing Harvey some after-hours access, so he can get some sparring time with his assistant.

His assistant trained by Lady Shiva - well, through a Questionable filter.

Harvey Dent has always been a reasonably big and mildly burly guy. Part of his success as a prosecutor was due to his intimidating presence, which often times will win you a case before it starts. He kept in shape as a D.A. - you've got to stay lean and attractive for the voters. Years of tormenting the Bat had made him concentrate more on his fighting skills, but he was always a brawler. Never had the patience to learn the 'high-end' stuff, which is why, when it came down to a fight with the Bat, he always knew he'd go down eventually. Still, the bare-knuckle brawling was useful when some of the rabble needed to be shown what's what. Odds were always with him when it boiled down to fisticuffs with most folks.

This is new for him.

Time to see what he's learned today. He's sweaty, in workout gear, and he's been working hard. Crouching now in a fighter's stance, eyeballing his sparring partner. Preparing an attack.

"Ready?"

bigbadharv.livejournal.com

Harvey Dent actually got some positive publicity. Not something he's used to... but something he appreciates a lot more these days.

There's a slight grin on his face. Muns is up the river. This is good. The client list is starting to grow, thanks to the rub from the press. More money to come in, which means he can actually pay his assistant.

He's leaning back in his chair, feet on the desk, taking a break from some paperwork, busying himself throwing pencils at the ceiling to see if they'll stick. Waiting for Sonia to come back with news about the Fernandez case. Giving himself a little moment to relax.

Being quietly annoyed at himself for still thinking about Renee Montoya. Scolding himself for being foolish enough to think about Selina Kyle.

"Such the fool, Harvey. Such the fool."

sonia-alcana.livejournal.com

Sonia's been waiting for some quiet time alone to go over the coroner's report on the man Esteban shot. She's got... something like a hunch, and she wants to be thorough.

She's not quite fluent in medical-speak, but she's pretty certain this doesn't add up. Halfway through her cup of coffee and into her second reading of the coroner's report, and she's positive it doesn't.

Esteban said he shot the man face to face.

So how come the coroner's report says otherwise?

The man was shot, all right, but according to this, he was shot from the side, not the front.

So Esteban is lying. Not particularly surprising, but it does raise the question as to why. If he shot the guy, why lie about where he shot him?

She grabs her coat on the way out. Harvey's busy doing his lawyer thing - time for her to get busy with her detective thing.

Neighbors. Neighbors would be a good start.

It doesn't take long to get to the scene of the crime, but it's the buildings around it that interest her now. How many people were at home when the shooting happened, and what exactly are they saying or not saying about what they heard and saw?

She likes this part - the research, the figuring things out. The thing about these situations is that the solution is always out there - it's just a matter of finding it. People might lie, but it doesn't change the reality of what happened. And it's impossible to ever completely hids the truth. There's no such thing as the perfect crime.

Knocking on the neighbors' doors now. Let's see what comes to light.

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JLA Watchtower (Archive)

Entries tagged with sonia alcana

Stranger Bedfellows

In hiding.

Hardly the Four Seasons.

The Great Escape

Two women walk into a bar...

Hallowthanksmas

(no subject)

Restless.

The pendulum swings.

Strange bedfellows, indeed...

Ἀποκάλυψις - The Lifting of the Veil

A rainy evening in Gotham City.

A rare light shining on the Gotham Police Department.

It's always dark in Gotham.

(no subject)

It's a start.

Harvey's office....

Late night at the gym.

It's been strange.

(no subject)

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November 2016

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