#javevent

[alfredtpennyworth]

It wasn’t that Alfred was inherently distrusting of big galas that the Wayne’s are invited to when the city has a psychotic clown on the loose, but....well, okay that’s exactly what he is. But he wasn’t about to tell them that because he was hoping that his hunch was wrong, he was just being a pessimistic old man and the gala would be fun and just the thing they needed to relax. 

But regardless, he found himself sitting in front of six different screens, watching the news on every channel he could find - and also stomach, he found channel 2 to be extremely rude - and waited. As he watched, he still prayed that he was wrong. And as the night went on and broadcasts online of live interviews at the gala showed nothing more than just people trying to brag about their wealth, and some heroes Conner trying hard to be as neutral as he could. Everything was fine.

Alfred was sorting laundry into baskets when shit hit the fan. There was a laugh, a scream and then a speech made by the voice he was hoping that they’d never have to listen to again. The Joker finally made an appearance. It only took Alfred three seconds to make a decision. He was already running down to his car. 

It was almost an outer body experience, the drive down to the gala location. All he could think about was that everyone was in the same room as the Joker, and something bad was about to happen in 12 hours. And as far as anyone knew he was only a butler. But he was running into a problem situation like he was still a spy. Alfred wasn’t going to lie, he’s always wondered what it would be like to work with Bruce, but...anyways. 

Alfred stuck a light on the roof of his car at the last traffic light before his destination. Okay so he shouldn’t really have it. But he borrowed it from the GCPD a long time ago and they haven’t asked for it back yet - and it works for situations like this. He jumped out of his car and yelled some stupid lie about being a member of the GCPD who had come to help the FBI with the hunt on the Joker to the security guards who were scrambling around to find out where the Joker had run off to. No one paid him any attention and he ran up the stairs to the door, hand on the gun he had in his jacket pocket, waiting for someone to jump out at him. 

The scene was so much worse than what he expected. Debris was everywhere, people were screaming and covering on the ground. Alfred couldn’t find anyone specific so he just exhaled and started moving around, looking for a familiar face. When he found someone, he exhaled in relief. Crouching down, Alfred shook their shoulder. “Hey, hey. You alright then? No falling asleep, no knowing how bad your injuries are, and we don’t want to make them worse.”

[justiceandvengeancerp-blog]

Conclusion of Event 006

Below is what happens at the end of the night in the gala. More information coming soon. For now, your characters can react to the events below and wrap up any ongoing event threads. Let us know if you have any questions! 

                             HIT THE ROAD JACK | Closed Para 

In the dark, a man lights a cigar. They’re an expensive gift, sent anonymously from an admirer somewhere in the city, but it’s not like he couldn’t afford to buy his own. He could buy all the fancy cigars he wanted, lay around on an island if he wanted. But that wasn’t what he was in business for.

“You ready, boss?” asks one of his employees. The sound echoes off the walls of the expansive dinosaur exhibit. It’s empty now, closed. No one’s supposed to be anywhere in the museum except the gala.

“Hmmm,” mumbles the man. He takes stock of what he has: three employees with him, two dozen outside stationed at various exits, and even more stationed around the city on call. He’s got on his Sunday’s best this Friday night, not a wrinkle in his purple suit. He even bought a fresh new deck of cards for the occasion.

“Just one more thing,” he pulls out a name card from his pocket and pinned it to his jacket. Jack Napier. “There we go. It’s time, come on.”

He spares one last glance at the T-Rex looming over them before leading his men on. They navigate easily through the hallways; in New York City it was almost as easy to bribe the security workers as it was in Gotham. Once he gets to his side entrance, an attendant is there waiting to hand him his hat and his cane.

“Strike up the band, boys,” he drawls, and steps into the gala. The swinging beat of old school jazz starts up on stage, right on time. The Joker walks slowly up to the stage, taking his time. He likes the song, after all.

Hit the road Jack, and don’t you come back no more, no more, no more, no more, Hit the road Jack, and don’t you come back no more

He takes a drag of his cigar with one hand and swings his cane with the other. To his right, there’s a small explosion near the bar. And to his left, a few seconds later, another explosion for good measure. People scream and start to run, but of course the entrances are all locked up nice and tight. As the band finishes the chorus, the Joker takes his place front and center.

“Calm down calm down, it was just a little bomb,” he rolls his eyes. “Sheesh, you would think this city would be used to a bit of excitement by now,” he taps the microphone. “Before we get started, I should warn you that I’ve already anticipated that some of you are vigilantes hiding about, so I brought this,” he flips the handle of his cane to reveal a big red button. “No funny business. You do not want to see what this does.”

“Now, I thought tonight would be the perfect night to make some introductions. Especially since the Justice League and the Avengers seem to be down to the count, thanks to the likes of the Mad Hatter and a certain Shmoison Shmivy. For months you all have been asking ‘Who is the Joker?’ ‘What does he want?’ ‘How does he keep his hair so chartreuse?’”

“You’ll find all of that in due time, in my exclusive interview with People Magazine. But for now you need to know three simple rules. One, I want my Harley back,” he pouts. “Quinn, that is. Hurt one hair on her little pigtails and I blow this whole city to smithereens. Two, I want twenty million dollars by noon tomorrow, which is just change to you all, so no whining. And three…..Let’s get to number three later. How bout a game?!” he exclaims. “Yes, a nice icebreaker to get to know everyone.”

A screen lowers from the ceiling and 24:00 flashes in big red numbers. The Joker pulls out a small remote control from his jacket and presses a series of buttons. Nothing happens.

“Oh come on,” he curses under his breath and presses more buttons. The screen goes black for a moment and then 12:00 pops up and starts counting down.

“Whoops! Oh well, close enough,” he turns to the audience. “As you can see, there are now twelve hours left until something very very bad happens. So call up your super powered buddies and tell them they won’t want to miss this. As for me, I’ve got another standup set on the other side of town. Toodles!” he slips his deck of cards out of his sleeve and shuffles them before throwing them into the audience. Each one explodes where it lands.

When the smoke clears, he is gone.

[thatpeterpvrker]

@hithejackpot

The camera had, admittedly, refused to do anything for him, save paint a giant metaphorical sign above his head. He really hadn’t intended on doing a whole lot of anything with it, aside from piecing together an overall documentation that might only land him with mild griping on Jonah’s part. Snooping — or, god forbid, provoking gossip — remained something that he had approximately no intention of delving into. Still, it was too easy for anyone to take one look at the camera hanging from his neck, and assume the worst. So, in retrospect, the planning could have been a touch more thorough. Probably. 

A sigh pushed past his lips, gaze dropping to his suit to check for anything out of place. Okay, but if he had accidentally dropped any of that chocolate whatever-it-was on his person, there was a chance he still wouldn’t find reason to get bent out of shape about it. Totally worth it. Not that it mattered, considering the decided lack of evidence it had left behind. Huh, that shouldn’t have felt as surprising as it did. "One point for the good guys," he mumbled to no one, shoulder lifting in a shrug.

Peter tugged at the hem of his jacket to straighten it, taking a moment to mourn the tie he had only just managed to make look presentable. It was a little skewed, even after so many minutes standing in front of his bathroom mirror with a steadily growing frown. He pressed his lips together, biting back another sigh, and hoped that it wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb. Between sparkling lights and expensive names, there was enough for people to focus on in favor of his tie. It was fine.

Unless there was a bathroom nearby? No — not important. He had things to do. Important things. Finding his friends, for example: both of whom he had arrived with and managed to lose sight of within an immediate ten minutes. That would have been an impressive feat sitting by itself, but the fact that he had lost Harry and MJ only made it that much more so. Really, they both looked like they had pulled themselves straight from Vogue, eye catching in a way that didn’t feel out of place or forced. His best friends. And, okay, he needed to find them.

Shaking his head to clear it, Peter turned his attention back to the crowd. He moved to skirt around a small cluster of businessmen, all wearing different versions of the same polite smile. The urge to laugh bubbled in his chest, but it died the minute he caught sight of red hair, familiar and so welcome. He stepped around someone else to move closer, hand lifting in a half wave to get her attention. Without anyone to block his path, he could actually see her again, and oh god, that reference to Vogue had been spot on. Mary Jane looked like she belonged there. And — why had he wanted to tuck his camera away, again? 

Close enough to speak without shouting, he tilted his head to the side, mouth stretched into an impossibly wide smile. “Um, excuse me? Totally random party-goer? Esteemed NYC paparazzi here; would you mind doing me a favor?” In a familiar motion, something she had probably seen too much of, he lifted the camera to his face, focusing for only a split second before pressing the pad of his finger to the button. “Say cheese?”

[corporalvenom]

Surrounded by all these important people looking their best, the fancy looks of this place alone, and the cars out front that were more expensive than everything he’s ever bought combined, it was easy to mistake this mission for pleasure rather than business. However, with just how he felt wearing his dress uniform again— this time with the Medal of Honor he had earned, alongside the various medals that came with his service neatly pinned to his uniform— maybe this mission didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy himself. Project Rebirth 2.0 had played this smart though, just the amount of sneaky he had come to expect by now. They were wary of Fisk, as they should be. Ever since the man was put in the position of mayor, Flash had been given various orders to keep tabs on him, but so far his missions regarding Fisk had been unfruitful. 

Flash was no stranger to undercover missions in the name of Project Rebirth. The symbiote was perfect for making the wheelchair using amputee look like any other able-bodied Joe, and this secret section of the military was not above using it, just not tonight. Agent Venom had a personal life, and happened to know some of the guests, who would certainly notice if the war hero had suddenly grown back his legs. So today, he wasn’t undercover, not exactly. Despite his mission, he was here as the war hero he truly was, corporal Eugene Thompson, veteran with a Medal Of Honor to his name. The mission seemed simple, on paper. Get close enough to Fisk to make good use of the symbiote, and Project Rebirth’s technology. With merely a prick of his finger he could insert a tracking chip right under the mayor’s skin, making it real easy for the government to spy... well, within the government. 

With the alien snugly posing as the watch on his wrist, Flash uneasily eyed the crowd. He had never been comfortable in formal situations, let alone around all these rich people seeming to know exactly what they were doing. This hour alone he’d already been offered four drinks, and every time it had been a process of saying no. When he had made the decision to stop drinking for good, about two years ago now, he never though he’d wished there was a bar in this room, just so they wouldn’t have to keep offering him drinks. He had almost risked it. One glass at a special occasion like this wouldn’t matter... right? He didn’t even have to drive, because, well... he couldn’t. The thought alone had made him sick. Guilt had spiked him like nothing else, and his jaws had clenched together tightly in a helpless attempt to numb the anger he felt towards himself. No more alcohol. That was the deal. No excuses. Especially while carrying the most dangerous weapon he’s ever held in his hands, this mind controlling weapon that just happened to be drugged, neutered. He was done with alcohol, for good.

The veteran idly fiddled with the sleeves of his uniform’s coat, letting his eyes scan the crowd once more. The gang had to be out here somewhere, right? MJ had mentioned that Peter and herself would both go as Harry’s platonic plus-ones, and honestly, it was hard to miss any of them. After all, he had years of experience picking out Peter from any crowd, except this time minus the cruel intentions. A deep sigh was pushed from his lungs, irritation slowly building as he had still not found anyone he even remotely recognized. Sure, he was supposed to be here with the V.A. Office, but even they seemed to be another needle in this haystack of people, after he had left them a little while ago. He barely threw a short glance around before pushing his wheelchair forward, with a single, controlled stroke. 

He almost didn’t care when he felt the chair roll right over someone’s foot— hell, maybe he meant to do it. One of the advantages of wearing a military dress uniform, and sporting the kind of medals he did, was that people were easily distracted once they saw and noticed. The smug little smirk tugging just softly at his mouth just couldn’t be helped as his eyes darted up at his victim. Okay, it was a little funny.

“Whoops.”

[ofgunsandhoods-blog]

“No, no, I assure you, I really am on the mayor’s re-election committee. I’m his favorite intern.” Jason flashed the other person a toothy grin, taking a sip from the glass in his hand and relishing the burn of alcohol—he had forgotten how tedious it was to spend time amongst the filthy rich. They were all so boring—and, quite frankly, Jason wasn’t sure what he was doing there at all, but he knew that he wasn’t interested in continuing this vapid conversation, so he turned and walked away, setting his drink down at one of the tall, tables decked in white tablecloths and pulling out his phone to check on the security system back at his place. He pressed his lips together, noticing some strange movement, but figured that it was just Max getting restless and pushed it to the back of his mind. “I’m checking on my dog,” he said as someone approached. “Don’t berate me for being on my phone.” He took another sip of his drink.

[sclinaxkyle-blog]

“Listen, just because I’m supposed to be Bruce Wayne’s date doesn’t mean that we’re together.” Selina tilted her head, stepping marginally closer to the person in front of her. Her manicured nails tapped against the glass of champagne between her fingers, her smile almost menacing as the reporter cowered. “And I’m not giving you my name. Call me whatever you want in your stupid little tabloid—I’m a big fan of ‘the Bitch on Heels’ if you’re looking for something derogatory—but my life isn’t up for you to read like some library book.” Selina took another sip from her glass. Noticing that the reporter was still standing by her, Selina raised an eyebrow. “That was a long-winded way of me telling you to fuck off.”

[iwontbeoverlooked]

A Night of Wonder || Open

‘You’d better make this good Mr Zatara.’

Zach turned to smile at Fisk.

“Oh don’t worry Mr Mayor. I’ll exceed expectations and then some.” He glanced at the two white doves on his shoulders and smiled at them. “Showtime boys.” With that both doves took off and flew through the side door and flew into the gala showroom. People saw and gasped, watching the two beautiful birds performing elegant swirls and twists as they went. Soon they approached a slightly raised section of floor near the back of the room and began to fly in smaller and smaller circles, when they about to collide... 

“raeppA.” 

The spinning birds seemed to meld together and with a slight whooshing sound and a pouf of purple smoke The Great Zatara appeared on stage. His usual show outfit switched up for black skinny fit trousers, a black sash, white shirt and grey blazer. He held a cane between his hands which he spun with a flourish and tapped against the floor.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! Honoured guests. Our fair Mayor has deemed it to me, The Great Zatara, to welcome you tonight to this beautiful showroom.” he gestured around as his louder than normal voice echoed to every corner of the room. 

“He instructed I make this an evening you’ll never forget. So why not begin by making thing a tad more... lively.” he smiled before raising his cane and smacking it against the floor, “serutplucS, evil!” At his spell the sculptures of Africa’s most distinct beasts all came to life before the eyes of the crowd. Elephants, Lions, Gazelles, Buffalo, Leopards and Rhinoceros’ all shook themselves a little before gazing calmly at the crowd.

“I assure you honoured guests these animals will be on their best behaviour,” he chuckled, the lion behind him coming close and nuzzling him for emphasis, “By all mean touch them, admire them and take photos for your pleasure. Just make sure to be polite.” he added, “I shall be available for conversations and personal tricks before my full show later this evening. Until then feel free to come and see me. For tonight I shall give you all a night, of wonders.” he bowed to applause and slipped into the crowd with a teleporting spell.

[the-lois-lane-blog1]

Any day Lois Lane would prefer to be thrown into a warzone than being tasked with writing a piece about a fancy party. Conflicts were stories worth telling. Galas... not so much. Set on doing her job, the reporter made herself look presentable for the charity Mayor Fisk organized. Perhaps she didn’t quite look as sophisticated as the event merited, since she was stopped at the entrance while celebrities and tycoons were not even given a second glance by the security guards.

“I’m Lois Lane, with the Daily Planet” she said as she displayed her ID from The Planet along with her ticket to attend the event. The man took a good look at the ID and then simply nodded, stepping aside to let her in. The young woman smiled in silent ‘thanks’ and walked into the American Museum of Natural History.