jla_watchtower | Entries tagged with ventriloquist

aflyinggrayson.livejournal.com

Days have passed. Weeks have passed. God, he doesn't want to do this, not a damned bit. He likes being Nightwing, he likes taking care of Bludhaven, he likes being someone other than Bruce Wayne, Jr.

But he has responsibilities.

Dick has his own Batsuit because his build is trimmer than Bruce's and he is a little shorter, nothing that has ever been noted in the past by Gotham's villains. Wearing that suit, he faces the case in which Bruce's suit now resides with Jason's former Robin outfit and Stephanie's former Batgirl outfit, a quiet memorial to those who died...only Jason and Stephanie didn't stay dead. Which gives Dick a modicum of hope.

"Don't worry, old man," he whispers to the empty Batsuit in the case. "I'll take care of Gotham for you."

Drawing the cowl over his head, Dick strides to the dark, sleek shape of the Batmobile and cracks a sardonic smile. At least he gets to drive the car. If anything will bring a pissed-off Bruce Wayne back from wherever the hell Luthor sent him, it's the knowledge that Dick Grayson is joyriding in Bruce's favorite vehicle. Or so he hopes.

The engine roars to life, and with a blast from the rear-mounted booster the Batmobile screams its way out of the Batcave toward Gotham. Time to kick some ass. And THAT at least will feel damned good.

Current Mood: determined
Current Location: Batcave

jla-villains.livejournal.com

The Ventriloquist and Scarface are on edge. They've heard the rumours of what the Odessa Mob did to Harley Quinn, what the Black Mask did to Poison Ivy, and what Two-Face and his woman did to Rupert Thorne. So this meeting with the Black Balaclava Gang, a bunch of mobsters formerly of the IRA in Northern Ireland, is almost certainly going to be more tense than most arms deals.

"Rhino, you stay hidden." Scarface points his tommy gun at a large clothes rail. "Make sure that if any of those gums pull a weapon you've got 'em dead in your sights." Scarface then gestures at some of the other thugs in his employ, each with a Godfather puppet-master design sewn into their shirts. "You guys just hang close, and no funny gusiness. We want to get this cash plain, easy and simple, capiche?"

As the leader of the Black Balaclavas steps into the old clothes warehouse with his men in tow, the Ventriloquist makes a formal nod of his head, and Scarface then follows suit. "Good that you could join us on this cold night. Shall we get down to the gare gones on the deal?"

Current Location: Gotham City

eddie-nygma.livejournal.com

The invitations have gone out to the proper sources - anyone who's anyone in the Arkham Alumni, plus a few of the more mundane but reasonably reliable 'sane' Gotham villains might expect an invitation. Anyone with that certain sense of flashy panache that distinguishes them from the common thug.

It's a night of celebration - Dr. Crane and Mr. Nygma are celebrating their turn for legitimacy - and a night for renewing old acquaintances. The Riddler is particularly curious to sound out support for his notion to bring the weight of the colorful half of Gotham's underworld to bear on Black Mask.

The Iceberg Lounge has been closed off for the private, invitation-only party, and the Riddler has provided video footage of his ambush for Batman under the Big Top. There's a buffet, and a few tables of poker games going on.

bigbadharv.livejournal.com

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The Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane.

Criminally insane.

Ghost stories, horror tales, bloody rampages, broken souls, never to be mended.

It's been so long. Nothing has changed.

Criminally insane.

Harvey Dent doesn't belong here anymore. Once, he fit right in - another sedated, drooling psychopath muttering in a cage. Waiting for the next break-out. The next 'experimental therapy.' The next payoff, the next brokered deal between dirtbags who had no intention of keeping their promises.

Now, it's alien and familiar to him at the same time. He fears this place - he knows what it does to people. His last hope is that he's off the path, he'd broken his routines and vicious circles, and he was strong enough to hold this place off, for however long he has to remain here. Serve his time for Batman's crime, then move on in peace.

A slim hope at best.

He's walked down the central corridor, past all the cells, down toward his own. Time to see who's who these days...

lesliethompkins.livejournal.com

Five minutes is all it takes. She wanders out into the hallway in search of coffee. When she returns, her midnight patient is gone. The bed is empty. The sheets are twisted and forgotten. The IV dangles, dripping its contents out onto the floor. She stands there in the doorway, staring in disbelief.

Her sleep deprived brain struggles to comprehend the facts. When she left, the Joker was unconscious. His tortured and mutilated body would not have permitted him to move with the speed needed to leave the surgical suite. Someone must have helped him. Or someone must have taken him.

There's only one person she knows who can move that fast.

Another sensation begins to build right along side the acid burn in her stomach. It's a knot. Pure, unadulterated anger. He brought her a patient to care for, regardless of her feelings. He brought her the man who killed Alfred. He expected she do everything possible to save the Joker. He removed that patient without her permission. From her clinic.

Twenty minutes later, she once again lets herself into the Manor. She bypasses the house and makes a beeline for the cave. There isn't an ounce of fear amidst the rage.

jla-villains.livejournal.com

A rap on the door heralds Lenny's entrance into Scarface's office. "Boss? He's here. Deadshot."

The balding man swivels in the desk chair so that the small figure propped on his knee can see Lenny. "Whattya waiting fer? Ging him in! Gon't ge wastin' my time announcin' he's here when I'm waitin' t'see him!"

"Yes, boss. Sorry, boss."

"Ya better be sorry, ya mook." As Lenny exits, Scarface grumbles, "Christ, I oughta send ya on jobs ya can handle, like gettin' my car washed. Right, dummy?"

"Yes, Mr. Scarface." The balding man brushes dust off the lapels of Scarface's pinstripe suit.

"Damn right. Easy with that--ya got my fedora crooked! Straighten it up, ya dummy--you wanna make me look gad?"

"No, Mr. Scarface."

"Yeah, ya getter not, ya dummy."

oracle-watching.livejournal.com

Bludhaven is not Barbara Gordon Grayson's first choice to shop for high-tech gear, but that's what Internet ordering is for. Today her tech shopping is for something a little lower: going through the DVD section at the local mall, buying up movies to sustain her during her month of maternity leave. She wheels down the "drama" aisle, then the "comedy" aisle, then stops to look at "family/children," shaking her head at the selection. Maybe she'll need to do Internet ordering as well for this....

laughing-mage.livejournal.com

Scattered tools of his nights work can be seen around the room in the abandoned building he has been using as a workshop. In one corner are a pick and shovel covered with fresh earth with gloves and boots saturated with liquid and mud flung beside them. On the table where he's been working are several newspaper clippings and lists. Special ink and paper with a scattering of tobacco cover small bottles of ingredients and a quill made from a dove feather. Taking the pack of cigarettes from the table and putting them in the pocket that doesn't hold the lock opening device that Huntress aqcuired for him he's ready to go.

Breaking in is harder this time. Seems like they got tired of everyone waltzing in and out like this was a public building rather than the hospital containing the most dangerous criminally insane inmates in the country. He'd need to be a little less obvious than last time when he was able to break in with some fairly unsophisticated tools. He's going in the back service entrance, it will have the other things he wants for his little visit to the looney ward. The lock opener is inserted and it gives a clack that only sounds loud to him when it snaps the lock open. Repocketing the device he makes his way down the corridors of the laundry room where he takes a lab coat in exchange for his own.

If you wanted to raise energy in a prison, where would you do it? Experience tells him the answer and he starts making his way to the level where electroshock and other "treatments" are administered.

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JLA Watchtower (Archive)

Entries tagged with ventriloquist

The time has come, the walrus said.

Gang, you're dead!

The Rogues of Gotham

Arkham Asylum.

Multiplicity

You looking at me?

When the going gets tough, the tough go shopping....

(no subject)