etcelsior | we're all reponsible here

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we're all reponsible here

TEST DRIVE MEME

Considering apping into MASK OR MENACE? Want to dip your toes into the setting and get a feel of whether your character will fit into it? Or maybe you're just cruising and want to play around? Then you've come to the right place!

Pick any of the following scenarios below or feel free to make up your own, but don't be afraid to throw yourself at anyone's thread, either!

And remember to have fun!

01. Your memory is hazy and you might feel increasingly frustrated or anxious, or maybe you're excited as soldiers march past, barely glimpsing you. One second you're somewhere underground, the next you're enveloped in blue light, and suddenly you find yourself directly under Flordia sun's bright and burning glare. A female soldier steps toward you with a wide smile on her face and directs you to a car, ready to debrief you. You realize you are not the only one, surrounded by equally confused or eager faces... and you're all sporting a digital tattoo on your wrist.

02. Welcome to Cape Canaveral, where the smell of the ocean is in the air and locals are more than pleased to see new imPorts roaming their streets. They wave, they cheer, they ask for pictures as politely as they can. The more inhuman you look, or if you're wearing a costume, the more likely locals are to approach. Hey, enjoy the moment! The popular malt shop is offering you a free drink if you need it.

03. The technology in this world is certainly something. The cars are clearly modeled after popular 50s cars, but they hover several feet above the ground as they drive down the street. There are digital jukeboxes in restaurants, motorcycles also hover through traffic, advertisements can be seen on a digital projector on the taller buildings. Even kids on skateboards appear to drift a safe ten feet off the ground while playing!

04. Wherever you are, you can hear the loud revving of an engine, distance at first before you finally see it: a hovercar bursting around the corner, going beyond the maximum speed limit and just barely making its sharp turn. It doesn't appear to be slowing down any time soon, not with two police cars trailing it... and uh oh. Those skateboarding kids don't have much time to get out of the way as the car comes speeding down the road. You've been brought here for a reason Hero — so you better act fast.

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[ Yeah, right, like she's giving up an answer that big without a good long fight. But she keeps her face in that careful neutral, because she's starting to catch her footing a little better against this familiar face. Slowly. ]

Sure, yeah. Two of 'em. [ A first and a last -- or not. With a quirk of a smile and a surge of recklessness, she adds: ] Just like me. And you too, I bet.

[ A first and a last. He shuffles that possibility aside. It's much too acute a proposal to be coming from wit alone. His head shifts ever so slightly to one side, almost minutely, two degrees at most. He places the tiniest amount of stress on the word 'now', as though to change the meaning of the sentence. ]

Well, we all have two names now, don't we? Not too risky a bet.

[ And his arms fold on the table behind his cup, far too casual for this tense, almost loaded conversation with a stranger. ]

So between the two of you, which one wins? [ So long as they're on obscure... ]

Edited 2014-07-01 02:00 (UTC)

[ He caught her meaning, then — that might be good. Or she might just have given herself dangerously away. Time will tell, and she already knows that one way or another, he's as much to be reckoned with as the Bruce Wayne she remembers.

But nonetheless, she grins. ]

Me, no contest.

[ Not quite true — wins on her side are the non-verbal kind, usually victory snatched when he's distracted or unexpecting. But she'll take 'em where she can get 'em.

Now, back to pretending like they're not having a double conversation: ] You pick your new name yet, hero?

Somehow I don't doubt it.

[ He could have drawled 'Is that right?' but credit where credit was due--the was holding up under scrutiny, given the circumstances. And he was almost enjoying himself. It was nice to have a sparring partner who wasn't in his employ.

Or clinically insane. ]

I was thinking something that best represented my lifestyle. [ And because he was feeling generous, lavish detail. If she knew who Bruce Wayne was - as few people he'd met had seemed to - the words that followed would offer some slither of sense to the conversation so far. ] It's probably much too lavish, but I rather like The Crown Prince of Gotham. It has a nice ring to it.

Do you think there's a character limit?

Considering the old school cars we got? [ Flying or no. ] Yeah, figure like they don't know their way past 170 characters, at least.

[ She drawls it easily, but watches him a little closer. She never really got to see the playboy act in motion much. He was past all that, by the time Robin came back. Her easy tone doesn't quite match the attentiveness when she adds: ] Not half bad a name, though. Figure like that one's a pretty good mask on you.

You don't think it's too obvious? It's more like a stage name than a secret identity.

[ But that seemed to be the idea. Truthfully Bruce preferred to work on his own, under his own banner and for his own reasons. All this hype and excitement would only lead to misery, and the idea that he could be instructed - owned - and sent to do some unseen organization's bidding was something he was simply unready to accept. He'd never be anything less than a free agent.

And if he chose not to act, that was as much his right to do. Nobody would obligate him into wearing the cowl unless he decided it was the right thing to do himself. ]

What would you pick for me?

Yeah, maybe.

[ She leans back in her seat — but this time discomfort isn't the motivator, this time it's a show of considering him. She even rubs her chin for full effect. ]

How about... Two-Face. [ She says it easily, like she really had just made it up on the spot. ] Get it? I mean — yeah, so maybe two faces goes for anyone in a cape and a mask, but it's got a ring.

[ Just kidding, that's one of the worst names she could think of. But it will serve as another (not so) little test. ]

[ He's good, but he's not that good. The pain of Harvey's death is too fresh in his heart. There's guilt and regret, and it shows. At first Bruce's smile just freezes in place, and then he looks away as he gathers himself. He echoes the name with absolutely no inflection at all. ]

Two-Face.

[ And if there's any fun in the game, it's instantly dematerialised. Bruce is serious, his smile gone when he confronts her again. There's no more pretense, no dodging around the questions. Nobody should know that name; the only people who did were either dead or sworn to secrecy. ]

Where did you hear that name?

[ Hurting him wasn't really the intention there — but shocking him, that was. And when the smile goes, he suddenly looks that much more like her Bruce. She doesn't move, but suddenly looks much more alert, even excited, and watches him closely. ]

A birdie told me. [ Like he'd settle for that answer. She doesn't know this version, but she knows that much. So she adds: ] The kind that doesn't chirp in public.

[ And gentle emphasis on the last word, in lieu of glancing at the tables around them. Just because no one's paying attention doesn't mean they're at all safe from an audience. ]

[ A birdie told her. It should mean something to him, is what he thinks, but it doesn't. Her choice in words has been that careful so far. His consideration is more intense than it has yet been. Who is she? Where did she get the name?

He needs to know, but perhaps she's counting on that. His chin tilts, and somehow even in the bright sunshine swimming through the straw canopy of the tiki bar, Bruce finds a bar of shadow, which casts across his eyes. ]

I'm trusting you.

[ He could ask whether or not she could be trusted, but no answer she could give him would dissuade him from doing it, nor convince him that he could. In truth, it was his own ability he needed to have faith in, should she be less than genuine. He rose to his feet, gesturing toward the door. ]

Ladies first.

[ She hadn't realized how much she'd hoped he'd pick up on the clue until he didn't. That light in her eyes fades out again, and she only nods solemnly at the proclaimation of trust. At least that part is right. Batman trusts Robin, that's just how it works.

She rises mechanically from her chair and starts to slip easily through the crowd, but she has nearly no idea where she's even going. She doesn't know this town, she's only just shown up and is still familiarizing herself. She leads on, only to drop back instinctively when she's outside and in the sunlight. Even now, even here, and despite everything, she waits to follow his lead. ]

[ Bruce knows the area a little better, having scoped it before he began his little play. He knows where the escape routes are, knows where the quiet places are that he might take a potential assailant to fight freely without causing a scene, and when she seems to drop away he moves into position, leading the way first left, then right, down a set of stairs, until they drop into a private boat launch in an empty courtyard. The two walls that frame it are windowless and blank, and down near the water even the sound of footsteps and conversation blurs into the ocean, as would a fistfight.

A good place to talk. A good place to get himself killed if his trust is misplaced.

He waits to see which it's going to be. ]

[ She slips after him alertly, with just enough distance that any curious glances wouldn't mentally associate the two of them. She's familiar with the area he leads to, but not this particular part of it... and as they enter the courtyard, she has to admit it makes a lot of sense. It's private. It would be a great place for a trap, if this were some kind of... not-Bruce.

She stops when he does, ready on the balls of her feet, but making every attempt to keep her posture relaxed otherwise. ]

You don't know Robin.

[ It's stated like a fact, but the look she wears — completely belying that attempt at relaxed — says she really wants him to correct her. Even though she knows it's impossible. He'd never have missed that cue if he knew Robin. ]

[ It's clear as day where desire lays. Hope, despite the obvious signs that any would be ill placed given the circumstances. She doesn't expect it from him, and yet she wants it. Which means that she's either Robin herself, or Robin is a very close person to her; a boyfriend, perhaps. But Bruce should know Robin, and the fact that he doesn't is something almost impossible. They must be close, perhaps close enough for Bruce to share his secrets, perhaps close enough that he might share a secret like Harvey Dent.

And if he did that, then he must have shared other details. It would be impossible to tell the story of the fall of the beloved Dent without admitting how he came to know it.

While she relaxes, Bruce studies the wall opposite her and plots six different ways to scale it. ]

Which means I'm not the man you know; at least not yet.

[ But he was still Bruce Wayne, as was the man she knew. They looked similar, had similar skills... ]

[ She frowns, even though he's got it exactly. "Not yet" is the conclusion she'd slowly been coming to, herself. After all, if a machine like the Porter can snatch you up from anywhere, no problem, why not anywhen? It makes sense. Unfortunately. ]

How old're you, anyway? [ She doesn't answer the question, but she doubts she needs to. Just the fact that she doesn't deny it should be enough. ]

[ That is the inevitable question that comes next. How old is he? But once again the answer to that question will tell her more than it does him. He has to watch her expression carefully if he intends to glean any of it from her careful emotional control, and it puts him at a decided disadvantage, intelligence-wise.

But it's also a necessity if this conversation is going to yield any results at all. They need to better establish who knows what, and the only way to do that is to give, even if in usual circumstances he might play information closer to his chest than this. ]

I celebrated my thirtieth birthday at the beginning of last year. [ And straight: ] Who's Robin?

[ Thirty. So much for her careful emotions-mask, she looks crushed to hear it. She glances away to better hide it (not that that does much good), and clears her throat. ]

Robin's three people. [ Her voice stays dull and low. ] You... the you I know, he met the first one at 25.

[ So it was a catastrophic difference, then. Bruce reads the reaction easily, but then it's hard for her to hide it at all and there's no real victory in that. His face changes into something more grim, and he turns very slightly toward the ocean, letting some of his guard down. Three Robins, and it means everything to her. No, she's not a threat. She's devastated that he doesn't know, and if this Robin were indeed an enemy then this wouldn't be the reaction. An enemy would take advantage instead.

She knows, he doesn't doubt it now. ]

How old was he when Harvey Dent died?

[ Because obviously she needed more evidence of their worlds being different. ]

[ That gets a blink, makes it easier to shake off the blanket of disappointment that had been threatening to settle around her. There's no time for that kind of thing, not in a situation like this. Probably not ever. She watches him with no more than that puzzled little frown, and tips her head. ]

Dent? He's not dead — just landed back in Arkham.

[ But she does get it. It's not just a matter of when, either. This is something totally different, a timeline she doesn't know at all. That he's a Batman without Robin sounds like just the first of a load of differences.

She's not sure if that makes it better or worse. ]

[ That's...different. His grim expression transforms back into curiosity, and Bruce allows himself to glance back over his shoulder to read her. If Harvey Dent were in Arkham Asylum, it must be because he's mad. Mad, not dead. Which would change everything.

Everything. ]

Harvey Dent died a hero. Nobody will ever know what really happened to him, the murders he committed before the end.

[ The greatest secret but his own, but here all it was is information. Information to peel apart the differences and give them the freedom to speak frankly. ]

You know who I am, but I don't know anything about you.

[ Well, if they're being metaphorical, she supposes it could be argued Harvey Dent is dead in her world too... but, no, the boss didn't have time for things like that. So she puts it from her mind and glances away. Down at her shoes, suspicious new and store-bought, not quite in keeping with the hoodie chic she's got going otherwise. Huh. She'll have to work on them. ]

Guess not. [ She makes herself look up to meet his eyes again, because this part's important. She stands a little straighter (she can almost hear that gruff voice, posture, Robin) and takes a breath. ] Kelley — Carrie Kelley. Third Robin, and current Robin.

Edited 2014-07-04 20:24 (UTC)

[ It's almost as though the change in her stature draws him around on the spot, following his gaze, he rotates, then steps toward her, appraising her all over again. He'd genuinely been misled, angled away from the idea that she was Robin. But then he hadn't imagined there'd be three of them either. It seems he has a lot to learn. ]

You and I are very close. Were very close. We worked together, trust each other with our lives.

[ He gestured toward their surroundings. ]

We're completely alone here. How do you feel about showing me what you can do?

[ And now there's something back in his eyes--a light of challenge. ]

[ Again, she doesn't deny any of it, and lets that serve as her answer — but she could say it goes further, even. Her Bruce had trusted her with his death, too.

That's not a story for now, though. She darts a glance around, and there's a ghost of a smirk in place when she looks back to meet the challenge in his gaze. ]

I dunno, didn't bring my equipment... [ A beat. ] Much of it, anyway.

[ But she has enough of it — and of skill — to impress him anyway, if he's got the kind of standards she's used to. ]

I didn't bring much of my own.

[ But that isn't to say he doesn't have anything. He moves very fast, flicking his wrist outward and - who even knows where it comes from - spearing a piece of crumbling plaster on the wall opposite with a black-silver batarang.

It's a warning shot, and it's time for her to move, to show him what she can do. ]

[ He doesn't have to say it twice. She's rolled into a dodge almost as soon as he'd loosed it (there'd been no danger of actually being hit, though, she's confident on that point), and she comes up in a crouch with her slingshot already out and aimed. And not to mention a grin in place. A split second is all she needs to let fly the pellet — the harmlessly explosive kind, meant for distraction. It should land about half a foot from his heel, exploding with gaudy lights and not much else. ]

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