A reasonable person would yield.

Say what you like about Brucie Wayne, but the man sure could throw a party. Although by all rights, Lex shouldn't have even been here; a deliberate snub from Wayne, which meant that Lex had no choice but to show their face. And who refused a chance to step foot in Wayne Manor anyway?

So he'd gone arm in arm with a very reluctant employee- Dorothy something -making use of her press pass to get in.

Lex had made a big show of slipping in, grinning at Wayne from across the hall. He didn't even like Galas, rubbing shoulders with fools for so little gain, but it did feel good to rub it in Wayne's face. Sipping Wayne's expensive drinks, and eating his fancy canapés.

Revenge tasted fine as a hors d'oeuvre, Lex decided, waiting and watching for a delicious opportunity when Clark Kent- loathsome, troublesome thorn in Lex's side, but very pretty -was not at Wayne's hip. Instead, Lex brushed past Kent, waiting to relish a shiver or shudder from the man.

"So you're not working tonight?" Lex probed. Then, heady- bored- this side of daring, they streaked a hand along Kent's waist. "I do have a job for you though..."

@official-clark-kent

official-clark-kent

Clark had known of Lex's presence since they stepped into Wayne Manor, and wasn't that an unpleasant thing, that his awareness of a person he didn't much like had broadened so? But the beat of Bruce's heartsong, strong in his ear, soothed him, and he forced himself to ignore the sound of Lex making his way around, how they swam through the crowd like a shark. It was somewhat easy to stick near Bruce for a time, but when he'd slipped off for a moment and Dottie came forward to say hello, Clark had scooted them to the kitchens, given her a breather from the gala and their boss. Had meant it when he said he'd keep Lex focused on him instead of her. Knowing what he was offering. She'd be furious and guilty if she knew the extent of things. So would Lois, for that matter. But Clark cared, and it was his choice, sort of, and he wanted to keep them safe. He could do it. So when Lex sidled up to Clark's side later, the shark having found its preferred meal, he sighed, let himself be bitten and dragged bloody off to a shadowed corner. Allowed Lex to crowd him back, even as the rising panic sloshed in his lungs, drowning him and his voice. "Lex, we shouldn't do this," he whispered, somewhat hoarse. "Not here. It'd be bad for your image if we're caught, with you being my boss and all."

Even with the deliciously demure reluctance, Lex still was allowed to crowd a man taller, stronger than him back and away. Like a dog cutting cattle from the herd with a nip to its heels. Truthfully, this was the real pleasure for him; that Clark Kent didn't want Lex, not at all, not one bit.

And here Lex was, taking a bite even in the home of Clark's partner.

"Your concern for me is so touching," they cooed, cornering Kent towards a sideroom. Herding him into the room, Lex's eyes dilating in the dark, the only cut of light coming from the hallway. So black they nearly flashed.

And Clark Kent was strong. A thorn that irritated Lex to no end. Prickled them with articles and accusations. And here was Lex reaching his hand up to some country jock's well-muscled shoulder and pressing down. Putting him in his place.

"On your knees, handsome," Lex prompted, voice welled with eagerness. They shifted, leaning back against the desk and drawing their skirts up and out of the way.

official-clark-kent

Clark's jaw ticked lightly, and he slowly, deliberately dropped to his knees, giving a longing glance towards that sliver of light. His too-blue eyes glittered behind the lenses of his glasses before closing in defeat, fingers curled tight into his palms. Better his nails cut into his hands, than shred the knees of his suit's pants on accident. Distantly, he heard Bruce's heartsong, oddly echoed. It was as if Clark had stepped entirely away from his body, to get some space from the act he was about to initiate. Was it getting closer?

Gotham taught her first lesson deep, sharp, sure; that no one in this world was above, nor beneath pain. Bruce had first learned it on his knees at eight years old, blood clinging to his hands like a gentle touch. He had seen it in his children, in his enemies, in his friends, in Clark explaining in hoarse, aching tones that he hadn't wanted to hurt Lex Luthor.

Even when Lex Luthor's fascination for pain clung like blood, seeped into the skin. Even when Bruce and Clark had spoken, and then concluded with quiet, defined bitterness that there was no legal recourse that did not place Clark's secret identity beneath too much scrutiny.

In Metropolis, justice meant to bring something into the light. To tell secrets in the open. Front page news.

However, in Gotham, Justice was illegal. Justice was a thug. A brute. A bruiser with knuckle-dusters and winged kuramaken. A shadow with talons and a grapnel. A local monster that dragged you off into the dark. Dangled you and your life above the cracked concrete and hissed in your ear.

This was Gotham. This was the Bat's City. This wasn't just his City - this was his home. This was his friend. His loved one. Kneeling not in blood, but still in pain.

Lex had little more warning than Bruce's shadow in the doorway, before the door closed with a crack. Little more than the sudden plunge of darkness, before a bare hand wrapped tightly around their throat and pulled- seized- strangled Lex towards the shadows with a low, growl grinding against Lex's neck:

"No. I don't think so."

He pulled Lex's arm tight into the small of their back, a savage restraint nearing towards a broken bone. Teeth baring in the black room. A foot swiping clean to drop Lex into his grasp, bruising where he pinned Lex.

The voice continued, low and eerie in the pitch, "You're going to leave. This house. This city. This man. Alone." The first, he could help Lex with- and with practiced, deliberate, carefully inflicted violence, he broke the window with Lex's back.

Not a far fall to the ground, but still- justifiably painful. Yes. Justified. Justice.

If there had been darkness at the door, Lex had missed it. Instead, hands fisted in the fabric of his skirts, attention fixed on the miserable set of Clark Kent's mouth. Reaching out with clever fingertips to probe and pull and pry, purring, "open up, handsome."

The light went out. Door like a thunder clap. Black swept in and Lex's head jerked up in alarm- the rush of movement in the room, just a rustle and then pain.

Punishing. Pinning. Pulling them back, legs giving a fearful kick as fingers squoze down on his throat.

Bare skin, sharp and scraping, hand clenching on Lex and dragging him into the dark. Something sudden, painful in the curve of Lex's shin. He toppled back against the savage shadow snarling in his ear.

"No."

Strangled, unable to protest, to claim- not even enough air to try to squeak that Kent liked it, enjoyed it, asked for it--

No breath. Not enough in the blood to think of anything beyond the breathless buzz of fear.

The Bat. The Bat. The Bat with his claws ripening bruises, hauling Lex with a command in blackened tones. Lex fought Gods. Lex fought sky-sent. Superman. Strength contained in arrogance that turned Lex's gut to nausea. This wasn't some alien conqueror. This was no God, alight in the air, cape rippling in the wind. No careful, alien consideration. No God.

This was a devil. The Bat. Claw cragged. Wolf humid command rankling- leave this city, leave this house, leave this man, leave this meat behind, leave this meal, leave it. Pain belonged to other people in this place. Other creatures.

Lex fought Gods and never Devils.

The Bat raised Lex overhead and discarded him. Shattered them, and percussive, Lex struck the ground, whatever breath they had left beaten out of them by the impact.

It was only afterwards, struggling to scrape air back into their lungs that Lex tasted it: a sob, another, spilling the breath from them again. Crying in a shaking heap, thrown from a window.

It took him so long to find the wherewithal to sit. Longer to stand. Waiting for the wraith to come down from the dark window, and finding that the Bat hadn't followed him.

"What the fuck," Lex wheezed. Voice a strained whine. Scrabbled to find their phone, hammering a number into it- "Oh my God. Fuck. Fuck. New Jersey's so fucked up..."

Relief at the line connected. "Earn your goddamn pay and help me now. The Bat threw me from a window. He's in the manor. Kill him. Kill him, kill the fucking bat, that's an order."

deathstrokewilson

//Inside, Hunter danced with Dick Grayson in the ballroom, silver and gold, moon and sun in orbited eclipse.// //Outside, there came a voice, both through the phone and behind the defenestrated person half-sprawled on the ground.// "My pay has been earned. The meta containment cube you requested my assistance with has been built. And you can't afford the price of the Bat's head." //There Deathstroke stood, in full regalia, masked. The ease of his movement as he stalked forward could never be emulated by a machine, even one as sophisticated as Sidra. He reached out and plucked the phone from Lex's hand, ending the call, then dropped it and hauled Lex gracelessly to their feet.// "Up you get." //He gave Lex a couple of fortifying pats on the shoulders, brushed dirt and grass from the purple skirt, retrieved and fixed upon Lex's face the now-cracked glasses he'd lost flying out the window.// "There."

Lex's body was stiff- broken ribs, they knew, daddy's favorite present -standing with Slade Wilson's help. Baring his teeth through pain, Lex flinched at the pats to sore shoulders, expression twisting with frustration, malignant pain and irritation.

"Thank you." Lex grunted. "Your high-priced retainer is worth something at least," they adjusted their glasses. "You'll need to move quickly with the next phase, get the Kryptonian locked down before refocusing religious fervor in Santa Prisca. Hardly need the interference."

Lex sniffed, removing their eyeglasses to inspect them for dirt. "I am one of three people who can afford the Bat's head on a stick." He raised his head to scoff at Slade. "Tell me, what's the use of buying a dog who won't fetch?"

Their voice failed them. Caught by an abrupt nova of impact, then a second, that Lex only noticed seeing blood blossom out from the point where the bullet had entered.

He dropped. Shot. Twice. A ragdoll onto the grass and shining specks of glass; fury and disbelief twitching on their face.

deathstrokewilson

//Slade stepped forward, pointing the barrel of the silenced pistol at Lex's face. His voice came out, low and mocking, smooth but for the bite of bitterness.// "I'm someone else's dog." //And then the third shot rang out. Lex was no more. As promised. The veil was getting thinner, and it was almost time.// //As he picked up his brass, the mercenary glanced towards the ballroom. Through the large windows, Slade spotted himself- Hunter- with Dick. How they finished their dance, how his lips spread in a happy grin as he was attacked with kisses from his little bird.// //The ability to form more than one of himself was a gift, he'd been told as lava edged his veins. For efficiency's sake. But Slade had been using it for ages now, spending part of his time with Dick and part of his time doing his master's work. The meta containment cube, built on Lex's dime, was complete. But it wouldn't hold Superman.// //It was never meant to hold Superman.//

trigon-demonking

Trigon's mark appeared on Slade's forehead and turned the man's eye Red.

"Well Done, My Good And Faithful Servant."

A deep growl of a voice flooded the man's mind. An all-too-familiar burn embraced the mercenary as runes coated Slade's body, his master taking the voice box.

Deathstroke's body shook with laughter as the voice shifted from what was clearly his own to something deeper. Something that would give any living person pause, instilling dread in all who heard it.

As the runes finished etching themselves into Slade's form he disappeared, as did the laughter. In his wake the silence was almost worse- leaving those who'd witnessed to wonder where he'd gone to lurk instead.

#justice league rp #dc rp blog #j onn j onzz #jonn answers #martian manhunter rp blog #j'onn j'onzz #martian manhunter #rp blog #dc rp #jonn jonzz

There was a tireless rhythm to it; Bruce's body ached strangely, Clark was in dire need of comfort and quiet. And yet, three gunshots had happened. Bruce hesitated only long enough to hide his identity, cowl, cape, armor, anger- then alighted the window to the grounds.

At most the fall had a lethality risk of 11.4%. Less, throwing Lex back first and to grassy terrain. Good surface area to dissipate force. Not just survivable but deliberately so.

Lex Luthor had survived their fall.

Which made his corpse on Bruce's lawn troubling. More troubling was jet black and orange armor.

Most troubling was the magma bright Mark of Skath blazoned on his forehead. Burning in Bruce's vision even as Deathstroke dissipated from the scene.

"Trigon," Bruce murmured.

#closed rp #thread end

Oh! So you guys have Halloween here! And... Other species? Uh, hello, Mr. Martian! I'm Billy. I think I'm quite far away home.

- @visiblebill

It was not often people got into the Watch Tower without clearance. Or without setting off the alarms. He nodded towards the guest motioning to his small pumpkin on the control panel.

"Yes we do. To both. We try to celebrate many holidays to help our members feel at home." He gave a tiny smile. So small one could easily miss it and it feel away just as fast.

"We have many wanderers who call this place home, myself included. You may call me J'onn and I fear you are correct. This world has an unusually high bleed between universes. Many have found themselves here on accident."

Do you have an opinion on Halloween? Any thoughts to share?

— ☢️☣️

Halloween is a more fun Earth Holiday for me. People in the JL get very... competitive about how many kids dress up as themselves for Halloween. Superman won last year and the year before according to commercial sales but that doesn't account for parents or kids who make their own costumes, or those who reuse from year to year, however it's the only metric we can track. I am also fond of how some cultures honor their lost loved ones around this time. I have begun to implement my own version of this.

Happy Halloween.

#justice league rp #dc rp blog #dc rp #jonn answers #j onn j onzz #martian manhunter rp blog #j'onn j'onzz #martian manhunter #rp blog #jonn jonzz

raven-thewaygate

Little Lamb

Raven was taking a small break. It had been nothing but back to back missions. Halloween always stirred up the more magical villains and given Raven's abilities she was in high demand. Sipping from her tea she internally grimaced as her communicator buzzed again. She checked it to be safe but instead of a new mission she was pleasantly surprised to see she'd been placed on mandatory rest leave and it was a message essentially telling others not to bother her. She would resume active duty Nov 1st. So she was on a small vacation now. That was cause for a small celebration. So she decided she was going out. A shower, change, and make up redo later she was ready for some self indulgence. Hot pot. Maybe with... well it was nearly patrol time for all of her friends. She'd message them in the morning. For now a selfie to her rarely used media saying she'd be going out would have to do.

The Roaring Silence

There is a reason J'onn is stationed at Watch Tower, especially during times where worlds risk collision. It started a week ago. He woke startled after a dream of seeing the world, his new home below burning. They intensified as the days moved on. He would notice small blips of his days missing. Then he would hear it. The being he could sense but not name. Something had broken through his defenses while he'd been vulnerable and had been so gentle that by the time it was noticed it was already too late. He was no longer alone in his mind anymore at Watch Tower. No longer had full control of himself. He could not call for help there was no protocol like this. Every hidden message he tried to send, deleted. Every visual queue to his colleges who knew him best. Corrected. Now a message was sent out to Raven's team and her close friends placing her on Mandatory Medical leave. It made sense for this time of year, her history, and how hard she'd been working up until this point. Essentially her status was 'only contact for major emergency'. There he stood the silent guard trapped in his own body and mind. Like a doll in a play house as visions of fire and death danced in his head. A whisper only to him in his own mind. 'Thank you for your talents. Couldn't have done it with out you.' And the other being could feel his rage, anger, and shame. Yet his body was fine. His face the constant and steady neutral all of his loved ones knew well and had come to know and expect.

#Thread: Before it storms #j onn j onzz #dc rp blog #martian manhunter rp blog #j'onn j'onzz #martian manhunter #rp blog #dc rp #justice league rp #cross blog thread

Wayne Gala

Dorothy Moira McVeigh entered the ballroom of the Wayne Manor. Dazzled by the crystal in the room — champagne flutes, chandeliers.

She had not wanted to come, let alone on the arm of Lex Luthor. After everything that had happened between herself and the Wayne Family, involving and because of Luthor. She could think of very few things worse.

They hadn’t even spelled her name correctly on the plus one.

She kept her head high and confident, but very carefully avoided looking at anyone. Eyeing the spaces between people instead of accidentally meeting the gaze of anyone she actually knew.

She wanted a drink. She would not have one.

Anyone who traveled with Lex was sure to catch the eye of J'onn or Johnathan, as he was known for the night. His powers glanced over her mind, reading both emotions and basic thought. Undetectable to others unless he decided to go deep which he wouldn't without reason.

"Both fans of green I see." He began conversation a half empty champagne flute in hand. He hadn't been drinking just occasionally spilling some into a plant or a vase when others weren't paying attention to him. He'd informed Alfred a head of time of this risk.

"Johnathan Ryan." He held out his free left hand in greeting to her, inclining his head. His hand was adorned in both black/red rings bands thick and thin on his wedding finger.

A surface skim of her mind was a little like turning the television on and forgetting you’d had the volume turned up earlier — only to suddenly be in the middle of a horror film. Terror and anxiety like the high, sharp striations of a string instrument, constant but maintained by the finest short strokes. Any internal monologue was focused on clocking details about Johnathan — an investigator’s eye.

Her hand, however, was steady as she offered it out to him for a firm, confident shake. Doing a remarkably good job at masking her inner tremolo. “Dottie McVeigh. Green is my colour.”

J'onn was impressed by the expert masking and mildly entertained as she observed details of his current form, height (5'11"), hair color (blond, natural or boxed it was hard to tell), the way he walked (Sharp and with purpose), the dual rings (two rings on the wedding finger either he really liked this style or something else was going on), the suit gilding if it was read or fake, the swirl of details before the storm calmed and they connected. Callused finger tips but soft palms. "I can't deny you wear it well. Nice to meet you. Have you been to many of these functions before?" His voice was smooth and his body language confident in his presentation to her. She was not at present a threat but her eyes might be overly useful in the wrong hands. Someone to keep a pin on but not a main focus.

“As do you,” she replied, giving a firm shake. Her hands were more callused than one would expect from a journalist. Yes, the calluses on the fingers from typing. But along the palms as well, a gymnast’s hold.

Standing at 5’ even, she was almost a foot shorter than him. But did not appear intimidated by the height distance at all.

“This is my second year as a guest,” she replied. “Usually, I’m over there.” She pointed to the press access area.

“How do you know Bruce?” She asked calmly. Interested but not suspicious.

"Thank you." He inclined his head again his smile widening a small joke for him to tell the others later. Someone not knowing saying he looked good in green. "Work. He's my boss in a sense. I work in their science and space program sub-contracts. My department selected me to represent them here tonight." All versions of the truth. He was on equal measure as Bruce in the JL but Bruce and Ollie bank rolled everything. He was a man of science, and worked at watch tower. W.E. also had space and science programs both in and out of direct networks. J'onn was his entire department in his own right and had chosen himself to be security for this event. "I've never been on the press side. It seems... restrictive. Which side to you prefer?" After the firm hand shakes he slowly let his free hand fall away and back to his side bringing the cup to his lips and faking a small sip.

Her eyes squinted just slightly, observing as he faked a sip. The slope of the liquid and the exact drink levels. The sort of paranoid observation that came so very easily to Gothamites. And vigilantes.

A mental parse over the information about Bruce being his employer — and yet he hadn’t specified for Wayne Enterprises. Her mind flicked through a mental Rolodex of known Justice League members and local vigilantes. But without an immediate obvious sight connection, she forcibly redirected her thoughts away from it. A firm Leave It Alone memorandum to herself.

“Definitely the press side,” she replied, in an easy casual tone. “I get to wear more comfortable shoes.”

He mentally noted to actually drink around her next time. Those skillful eyes could see much. More than most Gothamites. She was sharp as a Batarang. "I saw a woman also wearing heels walking barefoot in the gardens for a moment." He suggested to her as he observed the press, working attire. He disliked their minds most. A few genuine good eggs with genuine questions and interest the rest only cared for another blood story. Waiting for a front row to tragedy , full blow Brucie, or a high society misstep. "The press is given food at these events too right?" He asked genuinely curious. It wasn't anything he'd thought about up until now and his misstep with the fake drink.

Wayne Gala

Dorothy Moira McVeigh entered the ballroom of the Wayne Manor. Dazzled by the crystal in the room — champagne flutes, chandeliers.

She had not wanted to come, let alone on the arm of Lex Luthor. After everything that had happened between herself and the Wayne Family, involving and because of Luthor. She could think of very few things worse.

They hadn’t even spelled her name correctly on the plus one.

She kept her head high and confident, but very carefully avoided looking at anyone. Eyeing the spaces between people instead of accidentally meeting the gaze of anyone she actually knew.

She wanted a drink. She would not have one.

Anyone who traveled with Lex was sure to catch the eye of J'onn or Johnathan, as he was known for the night. His powers glanced over her mind, reading both emotions and basic thought. Undetectable to others unless he decided to go deep which he wouldn't without reason.

"Both fans of green I see." He began conversation a half empty champagne flute in hand. He hadn't been drinking just occasionally spilling some into a plant or a vase when others weren't paying attention to him. He'd informed Alfred a head of time of this risk.

"Johnathan Ryan." He held out his free left hand in greeting to her, inclining his head. His hand was adorned in both black/red rings bands thick and thin on his wedding finger.

A surface skim of her mind was a little like turning the television on and forgetting you’d had the volume turned up earlier — only to suddenly be in the middle of a horror film. Terror and anxiety like the high, sharp striations of a string instrument, constant but maintained by the finest short strokes. Any internal monologue was focused on clocking details about Johnathan — an investigator’s eye.

Her hand, however, was steady as she offered it out to him for a firm, confident shake. Doing a remarkably good job at masking her inner tremolo. “Dottie McVeigh. Green is my colour.”

J'onn was impressed by the expert masking and mildly entertained as she observed details of his current form, height (5'11"), hair color (blond, natural or boxed it was hard to tell), the way he walked (Sharp and with purpose), the dual rings (two rings on the wedding finger either he really liked this style or something else was going on), the suit gilding if it was read or fake, the swirl of details before the storm calmed and they connected. Callused finger tips but soft palms. "I can't deny you wear it well. Nice to meet you. Have you been to many of these functions before?" His voice was smooth and his body language confident in his presentation to her. She was not at present a threat but her eyes might be overly useful in the wrong hands. Someone to keep a pin on but not a main focus.

“As do you,” she replied, giving a firm shake. Her hands were more callused than one would expect from a journalist. Yes, the calluses on the fingers from typing. But along the palms as well, a gymnast’s hold.

Standing at 5’ even, she was almost a foot shorter than him. But did not appear intimidated by the height distance at all.

“This is my second year as a guest,” she replied. “Usually, I’m over there.” She pointed to the press access area.

“How do you know Bruce?” She asked calmly. Interested but not suspicious.

"Thank you." He inclined his head again his smile widening a small joke for him to tell the others later. Someone not knowing saying he looked good in green. "Work. He's my boss in a sense. I work in their science and space program sub-contracts. My department selected me to represent them here tonight." All versions of the truth. He was on equal measure as Bruce in the JL but Bruce and Ollie bank rolled everything. He was a man of science, and worked at watch tower. W.E. also had space and science programs both in and out of direct networks. J'onn was his entire department in his own right and had chosen himself to be security for this event. "I've never been on the press side. It seems... restrictive. Which side to you prefer?" After the firm hand shakes he slowly let his free hand fall away and back to his side bringing the cup to his lips and faking a small sip.

#waynegala

Wayne Gala

Dorothy Moira McVeigh entered the ballroom of the Wayne Manor. Dazzled by the crystal in the room — champagne flutes, chandeliers.

She had not wanted to come, let alone on the arm of Lex Luthor. After everything that had happened between herself and the Wayne Family, involving and because of Luthor. She could think of very few things worse.

They hadn’t even spelled her name correctly on the plus one.

She kept her head high and confident, but very carefully avoided looking at anyone. Eyeing the spaces between people instead of accidentally meeting the gaze of anyone she actually knew.

She wanted a drink. She would not have one.

Anyone who traveled with Lex was sure to catch the eye of J'onn or Johnathan, as he was known for the night. His powers glanced over her mind, reading both emotions and basic thought. Undetectable to others unless he decided to go deep which he wouldn't without reason.

"Both fans of green I see." He began conversation a half empty champagne flute in hand. He hadn't been drinking just occasionally spilling some into a plant or a vase when others weren't paying attention to him. He'd informed Alfred a head of time of this risk.

"Johnathan Ryan." He held out his free left hand in greeting to her, inclining his head. His hand was adorned in both black/red rings bands thick and thin on his wedding finger.

A surface skim of her mind was a little like turning the television on and forgetting you’d had the volume turned up earlier — only to suddenly be in the middle of a horror film. Terror and anxiety like the high, sharp striations of a string instrument, constant but maintained by the finest short strokes. Any internal monologue was focused on clocking details about Johnathan — an investigator’s eye.

Her hand, however, was steady as she offered it out to him for a firm, confident shake. Doing a remarkably good job at masking her inner tremolo. “Dottie McVeigh. Green is my colour.”

J'onn was impressed by the expert masking and mildly entertained as she observed details of his current form, height (5'11"), hair color (blond, natural or boxed it was hard to tell), the way he walked (Sharp and with purpose), the dual rings (two rings on the wedding finger either he really liked this style or something else was going on), the suit gilding if it was read or fake, the swirl of details before the storm calmed and they connected. Callused finger tips but soft palms. "I can't deny you wear it well. Nice to meet you. Have you been to many of these functions before?" His voice was smooth and his body language confident in his presentation to her. She was not at present a threat but her eyes might be overly useful in the wrong hands. Someone to keep a pin on but not a main focus.

Wayne Gala

Dorothy Moira McVeigh entered the ballroom of the Wayne Manor. Dazzled by the crystal in the room — champagne flutes, chandeliers.

She had not wanted to come, let alone on the arm of Lex Luthor. After everything that had happened between herself and the Wayne Family, involving and because of Luthor. She could think of very few things worse.

They hadn’t even spelled her name correctly on the plus one.

She kept her head high and confident, but very carefully avoided looking at anyone. Eyeing the spaces between people instead of accidentally meeting the gaze of anyone she actually knew.

She wanted a drink. She would not have one.

Anyone who traveled with Lex was sure to catch the eye of J'onn or Johnathan, as he was known for the night. His powers glanced over her mind, reading both emotions and basic thought. Undetectable to others unless he decided to go deep which he wouldn't without reason.

"Both fans of green I see." He began conversation a half empty champagne flute in hand. He hadn't been drinking just occasionally spilling some into a plant or a vase when others weren't paying attention to him. He'd informed Alfred a head of time of this risk.

"Johnathan Ryan." He held out his free left hand in greeting to her, inclining his head. His hand was adorned in both black/red rings bands thick and thin on his wedding finger.

#waynegala

Gala Runway - outfit thread

(Art credit to FudaArt)

#j onn j onzz #j'onn j'onzz #martian manhunter #martian manhunter rp #j onn j onzz rp #dc rp #dc rp blog #jl rp #justice league #justice league rp #undercover security

A letter arrives to the WatchTower via the reports usually filed by Batman. An envelope addressed to simply M.H. was among the field reports for the Gotham Hero. The letter read "Dear J'onn, I am writing to request your presence and abilities at the upcoming Wayne Gala. We both know why I'd like you there after the recent events involving Bruce Wayne. I would like to contract you officially for your abilities to mind read every single guest who arrives, no matter how young or old to ensure the safety of Bruce Wayne. I require you to subdue them if needed and alert me to any potential threats. If you'd like to bring a plus 1 or however many you believe would be necessary feel free. Please RSVP, ASAP, Pennyone." (( @butlerofthecave ))

"Dear Pennyone,

I would be honored to add this mission to top priorities I oversee personally. The only person I would invite has already received and invitation.

I be in attendance and shall not inform you of my form until the day of so none can attempt to copy it to deceive you.

We must meet under brighter circumstances.

J'onn"

A mental response is given to Pennyone for privacy and security. Bruce Wayne would be in good hands.

#thread: gala security

Abdominal cramps have ceased, ultrasound clear, wbc mildly elevated. Mark me as fit for duty. -B

Due to the requirements being met. (Not because you asked). I'll mark you clear for duty and patrol. Be safe over the weekend, you know how these holidays tend to get people rowdy.

#jonn answers #justice league rp #dc rp blog #dc rp #j onn j onzz #martian manhunter rp blog #j'onn j'onzz #jonn jonzz #rp blog #martian manhunter #Bruce Wayne #Batman #medical clearance

J-onn, I will rule out appendicitis before resuming patrol. Satisfactory? -B

How long has the cramping / pain been going on for?

Hn. Two days. Mild. No rebound tenderness relating to appendicitis. Presumed gastrointestinal or urinary tract infection, as no significant dietary changes and does not fit preliminary appendicitis.

Will confirm hypothesis with batdoppler and white cell count. Then resume normal operations.