maskormenacelogs | February Investigation catch-all

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February Investigation catch-all

WHO: DAMIAN WAYNE, closed to Investigation plot CR
WHERE: Various locations
WHEN: Early February until Mid-February
WHAT: Robin is investigating a missing childrens' case, which brings him into contact with an array of characters.
WARNINGS: The kind of content you'd see usually see in a Detective Comics comic: violence, language, discussion of sensitive topics (murder, human trafficking, etc.)

NOTE TO PLAYERS: I've set the details of this plot up so you can feel free to tag at your own pace, or opt to handwave if you like!

START... MAURTIA FALLS.

Robin first picks up the trail of a few missing kids from the street; four children from the St. Nicholas Orphanage of Maurtia Falls Catholic Union. Assumed runaways, lost numbers in the system, they were originally a case file tossed aside by MFPD. But a key witness gives him a promising lead: Mortimer Stroud, a conman with a minor criminal history working at the orphanage as a part-time janitor under a different alias. Robin suspects he took advantage of his station, and sold some info upstream to interested parties about which children wouldn't be missed.

A catch-and-release interrogation gives him the location of a recently abandoned "workshop" in Maurtia Falls, and another name -- this time of a murdered criminal whose body was found by local police in de Chima: Warren Pierce.

LOCATION... DE CHIMA.

ASIDE: CRANE

Although in de Chima on business, there's some personal motive for Damian to make a visit out to the city. Ever since he discovered this world's Bruce Wayne, he's kept an eye on the older version of his father from afar. However, curiosity wins out, and draws him closer -- close enough to find out Dr. Jonathan Crane has, somehow, insidiously inserted himself into Wayne Enterprises. He has time for a little visit.

SABRIEL

Warren's effects are being held in the police evidence locker, and his body down in the department morgue. Sabriel, on RISE business, catches Robin in the middle of his investigation, and -- after some back and forth -- uses her skill to chat with Warren's ghost long enough for an interrogation, and another name: "CONSTANTINE."

LOCATION... MAURTIA FALLS.

JOHN

Constantine is suspicious, and an asshole, but Damian knows enough to know he (probably) wouldn't be involved on the wrong side of this kind of business. However, a lead is a lead, and the "supernatural advisor" is getting a visit from Robin: whether or not John's sober enough to deal with him. Turns out Constantine knows Warren -- enough to inspire a spiteful grudge that lasted beyond the grave, evidently. Constantine also knows a few other characters who ran in the same circles.

ASIDE: MOTOKO

Other children have gone missing, and these kinds of cases are bound to cross-over the deeper into the criminal underbelly an investigation gets: Robin runs into the Major, who's following up on her own threads. She's got some opinions on a boy getting involved in this kind of business, and Robin has some opinions about her opinions.

ALFIE

Those leads have born fruit: an informant has named Alfie Solomons as a lead player in what is looking, increasingly, like a child-trafficking scheme. Alfie isn't too happy to hear that he's been thrown under the bus, used as a scapegoat and a distraction, and conned by his own clients into unknowingly taking part in the kind of unsavory business even he wouldn't touch. He has the real identities of the perpetrators to give Robin -- one of them the very informant who pointed him Alfie's way.

DARYL

He's close. But his investigation has ground to a halt, as the ringleaders went underground at the tip-off of an investigation, and he's no closer to finding out where the children are being held. He's learned from the best that sometimes a change of track, a step back, is needed. A person -- an "angel" -- keeps coming up in several related cases, and that person might have some answers... if he can find and flush him out. (Daryl, turns out, has a special kind of insight.)

AURICAN, BRIANNA, and SHELKE

With Daryl's help, Robin is able to finally track down where the missing children are being held captive, only to discover a major operation in progress: nearly thirty youth have been taken and stored at a riverside warehouse to be handed off down the line, and among them are several imPorts. However, Robin isn't the only one to be making his move; neither Aurican nor the Breeze have been sitting quietly or waiting on rescue...and Shelke is in the same boat as them.

ALFIE, REVISITED

The main players behind the operation -- this hub, at least -- escaped in the chaos, going deep underground again in hopes of evading Robin's chase. But where they lose the vigilante, they find the man they double-crossed. Their bodies are found a week later, dumped among the trash and grime of Maurtia Falls' personal "crime alley" -- and it doesn't take a genius detective to guess who was behind it.

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Crane's office is a base of academic research; a collection of papers, books and chemical equipment. Every day he can be found here, sitting on his post, pretending to be a normal member of society. Is he going to jump off and move when Bruce's back is turned?

He sits straight behind his desk and smoothes his tie, and doesn't bother to look up when the door swings open. He picks up his pencil and scribbles something on his papers. For the most part he's different to other scarecrows: shorter, dressed well, and calm and unprepossessing to the point of politeness. At least that's the impression one might get when he's silent and still.

And maybe ignoring you.

He could have waited, made his move under the cover of night; could have picked his way through the office while the halls were empty, while he had the leisure of scrutinizing every scrap of paper Crane keeps in his possession. He still will, probably.

It's just that, first, he's going to play with fire.

The boy's dressed in blacks, thick winter coat still on, and he peers around the office with haughty disdain -- and sharp eyes -- before addressing Crane. It must be Crane, it's his name on the door, and the similarities are there, but it's like looking at a reflection in the water: like Dick, like Bruce, he doesn't match up to what Damian's familiar with.

"Busy, doctor?"

It takes a fair bit of work to keep the sarcasm to a minimum. He's attempting to play a part, here, though despite Kelley's instruction, he's still a poor actor at being anything but himself.

Over the next few moments, Crane continues as though he's heard nothing. He turns a page in his notebook and marks the page number down. He has no intention of showing his initial surprise. He's long since grown past it, hasn't jumped so high since he was a child, but still he feels that fearful itch under his skin.

He looks up at the child ever so personally, so calmly, and says, "That's why the man is paying me."

The Batman. His fingers drum against his desk, and for a moment it's like he's existing somewhere else. Looking at someone else...

"And what is he paying you for? Personal shrink? In-house clinician for the salaried and the managerial?"

Lacking introductions altogether, he drops himself into the chair across from Crane in a slouched sprawl more suited to a sullen teenager several years his senior, dark-eyed stare not straying from the man sitting at the desk. There's no hiding the low hum of hostility from his voice, his body language; the veneer he's put upon is thin.

Damian, despite his best efforts, will always be too much himself to pass as anything, or anyone, else.

(For Dr. Crane, it must be like a strange boy just wandered in, declared he owned the place, and set about for an interrogation without so much as a hello.)

That's exactly what it's like. He slowly reclines in his chair - flattens his brows, closes his eyes - and lets the rudeness wash off his shoulders. He feels the leather beneath his fingertips and the dryness of his skin between his fingers. He doesn't feel anything more. He is in complete control. Not this little man.

"That's nothing to do with you." He calmly holds his breath and counts to five. "Don't you have school to attend? Maybe you should tell me your name. I can call your guardian and have them escort you off the premises."

"Private tutor. School would be a waste of time." Drawled right back. Damian makes no moves to budge; not a twitch, not a flicker of the usual childish hesitance or deference. He considers Crane, stoic.

"My name isn't relevant right now, nor is my guardian. All you need to know is that I am well aware of who you are. The accommodations here are certainly a step up from Arkham."

Clipped. Posh. Casual. And absolutely out to draw blood.

Crane looks at this petulant kid. Far as they go, he's one of the least deferential he's met. One of the boldest, too. He pushes up his glasses and fixes his tie, movements that use his own body as a prop to distract the eye. The amount of mud being thrown in his direction is obscene; but he keeps his silence and sticks to scribbling in his notes.

"Private tuition? Expensive." Clipped. Posh. And absolutely not rising to the bait. "I assume you have some personal experience of Arkham yourself, then?"

"You could say that. On the right side of the cell bars, anyway."

Antagonizing Thomas Elliot, and being antagonized in turn by the imposter wearing his father's face. Their chess matches had been an exercise in self-flaggelation, indulged out of grief.

This time, he's antagonizing with purpose.

"My family's always been a strong supporter of Arkham. Though I, personally, think it'd be better to put them all to the sword."

That Crane himself would be included goes unsaid, but not unheard.

"Fascinating."

His voice drawls with boredom. He regards the child with pointed disinterest, a wandering gaze.

Under that facade, he's putting his mind to work. A family that's a strong supporter of Arkham is a rich family. There is a dividing line between this child and it's patriarch. But both want to clean up Gotham.

"Do you know that your ignorant stance on mental illness went out in the last century?"

"This isn't about mental illness. This is about Arkham's finest, for whom rehabilitation is a pipe dream."

He scoffs, casually crossing one leg over the other. The catch-and-release of serial killers and freaks gets old, and he's not the only Gothamite to think so. Out of everything he's learned, his father's highest law is the one that is still the most unfathomable to him.

"Which is why I'm curious about what it is you're trying to accomplish here."

Bold brat. For a boy who's come sauntering in without an escort, he's making a point of calling a would-be villain out on his certain duplicity.

At first, he's tempted to give the truth and observe. Then he's tempted to award nothing and return his attention back to work. When the brat crosses his leg, he regards him casually - continuously scribbling in his notebook as he does so - and wonders what would happen if he responded with flippant sarcasm.

"I believe it would be pertinent for you to ask Mr. Wayne," he says, leaning forward to whisper conspiratorially. "But between you and me, it's the poisoning of De Chima's water supply."

"He's a busy man with a busy schedule, and I'm hardly a priority."

He contemplates Crane with a narrowing of his eyes from his reclining sprawl on the chair, flatly unamused. Though there is something close to a twitch, a flicker of his stare; he hears Crane's sarcasm, but he's not dismissing the answer outright.

Two can play the game, though. He clicks his tongue, raising an eyebrow.

"Hm. The city water supply is old hat. Anything better?"

Twiddling his mental thumbs, Crane makes sure to shrug and lean back as though he's unmoved by any of Damian's attitude. He doesn't look at Damian, either, as he looks down at his work. Then he sets his pen aside, pushes his chair back and stands on his legs.

"Yes. But if there is, you'll never know it."

He moves around the side of his desk, extending one arm to keep raised fingertips against the grain.

"But this is a place of work. If you have nothing valuable to offer, like an explaination of why you're here, then I'd rather you leave."

It isn't hard to call someone's bluff. He's done it before.

"Already told you. I'm here as a concerned Gotham citizen, who wonders how and why you're under the employment of Bruce Wayne."

And not behind bars, where Crane should be.

Still, there's not much more to be accomplished here -- not like Damian wants, with a fist to Scarecrow's face and a demand for explanation of his own. No sense in potentially riling up building security and risking his father catching wind of it. He pushes himself out of the chair, taking a pointed minute to straighten out his coat, a narrow-eyed, defiant stare still directed up at Crane as he adjusts his cuffs.

"However, I suppose I'll leave you to your work."

He looks down at Damian, eyes aside. As far as intimidation attempts have gone, he's experienced more terrifying ones.

"For now," he says, acknowledging Damian's persistance whilst nodding at the door. He feels smart for catching this child out in wanting explanations and getting none. "Good day."

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February Investigation catch-all

ASIDE: CRANE

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