#crimenight.

[folkpoet]

her nan was right to worry, so it goes. belinda was only supposed to be in gotham for a day. a quick stopover on her way to a medical convention in the next state. and somehow, in just under 12 hours in the city, she's ended up in danger. a hostage. shaking as around her various costumed vigilantes fight for their freedom. by the time it's all over she's sure she's missed her flight. she stands, forcing her aching muscles to move, ready to get the hell out of there when she hears it. is anyone a doctor? ❝ i'm a nurse. ❞ words fall from her lips before her brain has time to catch up. no one else speaks up and so she's whisked to another room. oh, that's a lot of blood. don't remove his mask, she's told. ❝ hello? can you hear me? ❞ she's not sure if he's conscious but gets to work anyway. locating the wound amongst the black material, the source of all the blood. christ. ❝ i'm belinda. belinda chandra. i'm going to help. ❞ if she can. ❝ are you hurt anywhere else? ❞

@crimenight and belinda chandra.

[folkpoet]

"You’re not very good at hiding."

sheepishly belinda emerges from her hiding place. a tinge of embarrassment creeping up her spine, causing a burning in her cheeks. @crimenight's right, it was terrible, but it's not like she meant to eavesdrop. not really. ❝ oh - er, no, i wasn't . . i mean, i wasn't purposefully - ❞ she sighs, a huff of air blowing at a curl that had fallen over her eyes. ❝ i just wanted to check on you, but you were busy and it sounded important. i didn't want to interrupt. ❞ it seemed heated. in a way that made her doubt if her presence would be all too welcome. she should have turned away, but she couldn't bring herself to go. what if he needed someone.

❝ and, well . . it also sounded intense. ❞ small, tentative steps take her further from her hiding place. becoming more confident when he doesn't say anything to stop her approach, until she's opposite bruce. leaning against the panel of his computer. careful, of course, not to press any buttons. head tilts to the left as she looks at him, inspecting his features for any hints, but he gives nothing away. he's a mystery. a puzzle that she's one missing piece away from solving. maybe that's what keeps her in gotham. not just to make sure he's healing, though that's certainly important, but because she wants to know more about him. about this world of vigilantes that she's somehow stumbled in to. ❝ do you want to talk about it? i've been told i'm a terrific listener. ❞

[ars0nists]

continued from here. @crimenight

( HE LACKED OUTER FLAWS — trained eye had him scanned head to toe the moment he'd stepped into the restaurant . . . and somehow, that made karina all the more uneasy ) hand presented plate without so much a batted eye, leaving food open for him to take. that could have been it : left it at that, no questions asked or answered.

yet, presented to her is a fruit. the olympian's reaction is microscopic, nothing but the small and quick widening of eyes to show surprise. snow white esque, wasn't it — but the question of intention lingered, paused as she contemplated the second offering. bruce wayne, ever the enigma, could very well be a perfect mirror of his media persona, or the hunter waiting for her to bite into the poison apple.

karina hummed to suppress laughter, forgetting her wine to the side and deciding to reach for the fruit despite her initial rejection. there were easy tells in the result of nature's labor : and twisting it in between her fingers, the deserter finds none. so teeth bite into the sweet flesh, finding that humoring the billionaire in this instance could not hurt. ❝ do you always keep fresh organic fruit hidden on you, mister wayne? ❞

[zatna]

@crimenight : “ you look like you've seen some things. ”

“ who, me? ” voice tilts, teasing a second language even with the less than desired circumstances before her. in record time she shakes off the alarmed tension that always follows being caught with your back turned. she overlooks her last steps, well-intended as they were: a lonely body in the early hours of gotham warrants suspicion, especially one that didn’t plan on staying long. the residuals of a ward enchantment dissipate in the air, incandescent sparks fizzling outward and into the nothingness surrounding. one less privy to the altering of reality would dismiss the image as a trick of the light if they managed to catch a glimpse between the alleyways. it’s how she’s gotten around so quickly. having said that she knows the shadows witness much more, are full of knowledge even she has yet to grasp. he, one of almost umbra, does not fall for tricks of the light, rather gleaning it from a faithful distance. his silence urges her to fill the nothingness with something other than precautionary spellcastings.   “ i’d tell you if i could. you know that. ” he knows that, right?

[forhope-a]

if it weren’t for the constant whinging of sirens, or the rumble of her stomach, there wouldn’t have been a single sound shared between them for nearly two hours.   she’s been able to count the scratches on her uniform since their ‘surveillance’ started.    ❛    i spy   -    ❜

&   @crimenight