2014.03.24 - Twinkle Twinkle Little Bat

~I'll sail upon the Dog Star,
And then pursue the morning,
I'll chase the moon 'till it be noon,
But I'll make her leave her horning.~
The voice is a pleasant but untrained tenor, singing something that sounds like a rather upbeat song. Trained listeners would identify it as a rather simple song from the Baroque period by the lamented youthfully departed Henry Purcell.
The telescope had been Patrick's idea, really. Something that Keith could use to take his mind off everything that had been going on. Dead Tony, no dead Tony, dead Tony again, and then dead Thor and Sif, orphan Eddie...
It was working, too. At first Keith had reluctantly ordered it, wondering if it would just gather dust.. but then he started reading the encyclopedia entries and he kept falling through rabbit hole after rabbit hole, one subject leading to another... and here he was.
~I'll climb the frosty mountain,
And there I'll coin the weather;
I'll tear the rainbow from the sky,
And tie both ends together...~
Singing on the rooftops in this part of Gotham isn't very usual. Then again, neither are purple cats with telescopes. Keith orients the telescope, carefully looking down at the chart, and slips out of singing under his breath.
"Too bad it's too late to see you, doggy. Will have to wait 'til the summer..." But there were interesting things to see, nonetheless. Even when the night was occasionally cloudy, as was the rule in Gotham.
The night sky is wonderful to behold, especially in Gotham where light pollution seems to be one of the few species of pollution the city is not plagued by. The stars, the tendrils of gas and light that make up the spiralling arms of the galaxy, the other worlds of the solar system, the bat-symbol.
The bat-symbol.
Batman appears quite suddenly before the telescope, cape draped about his shoulders to leave most of him ensconced in shadow save for the stylized bat upon his chest. He stands, waiting for Vorpal to react before speaking. When he does, his voice is a deep, ominous rasp. The practiced tone expertly crafted to intimidate.
"We have to talk."
Most people are not sure what exactly they will do upon the moment of their deaths. Will they be brave? Will they regret everything they have ever done? Will they simply accept it with the resignation of a Seneca?
Meeting Batman is very much like dying, in that sense. In Vorpal's case, his reaction is remarkable in that he manages to be exactly fifteen feet -away- from the telescope without even taking a step.
Sometimes his powers surprised him. Not in the same level as a Batman surprise, though.
" * "
He swallows, and tries again.
"... o. Okay?"
Batman steps around the telescope. He could knock it down but he has no specific problem with Keith. There's no need to flex his muscles or intimidate more than he needs to. Especially not when it comes to a fellow member of the Justice League. He may be about extremes but not that kind of extremes.
"Who are these people?" he demands, reaching into his belt to produce a small tablet computer that is completely devoid of branding as he closes the distance between them. The tablet displays the two individuals identifying themselves as Krys Hemma and James Alexander. It's a brief, ten second video clip that looks to have been filmed from Batman's own point of view judging by the unsettled looks on their faces.
Keith tenses when Batman approaches him. They may be on the same team, but Keith's self-doubt is legendary. It's no secret that he doesn't understand why Diana invited him into the league and he only accepted the invitation because...
Well, look at his uniform. It was clear who his idol was, really. He couldn't say no to Diana.
But it didn't keep him from thinking that Batman must obviously think that he was some sort of upstart, some insignificant speck on the windshield that had managed to get on board by sheer luck.
"K-Krys. Krys and ... Joseph. James. James." He corrects himself. "... no record of their existence, a-according to Tin Can." Even if the Cheshire's posture didn't betray nervousness, his voice and his tail (the great traitor) did.
"I found them in an alleyway in Gotham just begging to be mugged. I try to instill some sense into them and that's when I found out they remembered nothing. Earlier today they called me to tell me that they'd take up my offer to patch them through to Zatanna to see if she can scry whether they come from another universe, they're clones, or something like that. And then the man, James, he drew..." his voice falters, and he shakes his head.
Krys and James. Or Joseph. Batman files all three names away for a possible follow up. It's unlikely he'll turn anything up on them if a database search and facial recognition found nothing but those are more details than he had.
"Drew what? When did you find them?"
Batman has no interest in hurting Vorpal but the stammering to get his point across is frustrating. He is a patient man but he has a busy night ahead of him and little time to waste. Violence wouldn't work here, so instead he simply looms.
 
Keith's hand goes up and traces something in the air-- which remains as a glowing, purple image. A vertical trace, intercepted by a shorter, diagonal one.
"Nauthiz. Need, necessity, trouble."
He realizes the oddity of it isn't immediately apparent. "What sort of amnesiac can't read English, doesn't know how to operate a cell phone or what even the numbers mean, but knows how to write a goddamned Futhark rune?"
He looks away and paces, his tail lashing out behind him. It's as if the thought is completely distasteful to him. "I don't know who they are. I don't want to /think/ about who they are. I'll start grasping for straws. That's why I just want Zatanna to see them and do her magic and find out what's what."
"Could be a cross," Batman answers, examining the glowing image in the air critically, "Or a lower case t."
He thinks out loud for a change, rather than simply staring and knitting it all together in his head. Futhark rune would make the most sense when held against his burgeoning hypothesis but there's no point in ruling anything out. Someone in danger might draw a cross. Or a rune calling for aid.
"When did you find them? How long ago? Tell me."
"Several days... it, let's see..." he counts. "Krys said they awoke in an alleyway 'two days ago' with thirty dollars in their pockets and nothing else, not even memories. From that, it's been a few days, no more than three."
It's clear the Cheshire is frustrated. "I'm sorry, I haven't slept in a few days, things blend together a little." He mutters, trying not to meet Batman's gaze.
"It could be a cross. It probably is." He's been slamming the door in the face of the thought that arose the moment that sign came up. "... they were fighting earlier today. James and Krys. It was ... oddly familiar."
He clenches his fists. "It was a cross. It must have been. He's probably Christian."
Thor and Sif were dead. Tony was dead*. To hope that the dead might come back was only risking more hopes to be destroyed.
*Keith's StarkPhone had been shattered this morning in a fight, and he simply hadn't had the time to drop by the tower to get a new one. Otherwise, he would have been very, very surprised.
 
Whatever Batman's thinking is now, he is keeping it to himself. The notion of two individuals popping out of nowhere roughly five days ago. A Futhark rune for help. No memories bar that. If he's correct then his investigation is going to take him very far afield indeed.
"Hm."
He steps away from Keith, moving to the edge of the building before turning to look over his shoulder.
"Keep in touch with them. Find a place to put them up. They almost got themselves mugged earlier tonight."
"I did!" Keith protests, "I gave them my card and my phone, I gave them three hundred dollars out of my own money. Find a hotel, I told them, don't go out at night, especially not in Gotham." He sighs and turns around, leaning against the wall. He resists the urge to bang his head against it. "Am I going to have to send Iron Spider to babysit them?"
No answer comes. Batman is gone without a sound.
Shortly after however, should he care to check, Keith will find his bank account has had a small cash infusion of three thousand dollars. The source is a bank account for the Desmodus Foundation, a small charity operating out of the UK. An encrypted e-mail that comes with it reads:
Reimbursement. Keep track of J and K.
- B'''
Out in the darkness, Batman makes his way towards the remains of O'Flannigan's Bar to follow another loose thread.
 
 
Category:Log