the blackgate bat

adam henley indie oc roleplay under construction

[theblackgatebat-blog]

There’s something about the way the train rattles past his apartment that seems to send an echoing shutter through Adam’s bones. Every hour on the hour he notes its passing, even if his headphones cancel out the noise. The creaking tracks, the worn wheels, the ever faltering flourescent lighting that emnates from the grafittied carriages; it’s just a reminder of how the chaotic city he loves so much is falling further into the depths of disrepair every day. Glancing on the window, he catches sight of it. The bat signal shining brightly on the gathering clouds overhead. Rocking back on his chair once, twice, three times; he opts to spring from it. The act sends the furniture careening back into his bed but he cares little as he pulls his costume from the closet. With Bruce away on business, the city would have to settle for the Blackgate Bat tonight.

[gossiprelated]

[oliviadumhan]

[theblackgatebat-blog]

bodyxhorror:

   Incessant, insolent alarm screams out at five o’clock, stays quiet till half past the hour, screams once more, then leaves Misty to sleep until one last brutal, bloody scream at six o’clock. An awful way to wake, yet the only viable way when you’re as stubborn as she. Bathroom to breakfast, then dressing and driving to work – arriving at a consistent 6:55. All is well, yes? Except it just turned 6:56 PM on a Friday night, and the embalmer is about as dead as everyone else in the morgue. 

   Rucker Funeral Home handles night shift using a rotation – a handful of older, more stable staff members taking two to three months of the year to work its odd hours and dense silence. For years and counting, Misty bears the worst of it: December to February. Consuming darkness and freezing temperatures make it an unappealing option for attendants who have families and lives outside of work – whereas uninterrupted isolation is exactly what she craves.

   Even still, time feels shaken like a snow globe, so finishing the first week of night shift deserves a little treat. Few cafés are open at this hour – perfect for antisocial tendencies – making it easy to slip in and out with a cup of peppermint tea and pain au chocolat.

Waves crash against the shore rhymically, foam spray settling across grey sand as  a storm approaches from the distance. Adam wonders if the chaos of Gotham will ever spread across the country. To have a single notable criminal in the Booth Bay area must’ve been such a relief to the local law enforcement. He’d lost track of the names of his nemesises back home. At this point he’s sure there’s probably an entire alphabet of them. Sipping his coffee, he takes a moment to savour his long black. It’s certainly a step up from the cheap black coffee he’d recieved while sitting in the economy class over. It wasn’t like he couldn’t have had Bruce charter him a plane or have afforded a seat in business class, he just didn’t feel it a necessity. That was untli he’d been forced to endure the screams of several children and the body odour of the couple sitting next  to him. Seeing a stranger wandering from a café in the distance, Adam wonders what brought people out in weather like this. He continues on his path, glancing at the raven haired woman as he passes her. She seems hamless enough but for some reason he can’t help but keep his jaw tight and his guard up. 

[theblackgatebat-blog]

@bodyxhorror Unlike the other members of the Batclan, Adam didn’t spend every night out searching the streets for vicious villains or lesser evildoers. No, he spent most of his time researching. The importance of having all the facts had never eluded him the way it had some of his acquaintances. If he was going to bust someone it was going to be calculated and in a way which would hold up in court. The last six months he’d been following the stories, the rumours and casefiles of the Coastline Ripper. Each photo was more grotesque than the last, the Gotham papers never shying away from gore. How could they when the city was riddled with acid attacks, drive by shootings and pretentious psychopaths? It took a lot to stand out in a city like this one, even more to draw attention from a few states away. So that’s how he comes to visit Booth Bay, the small city plagued by the oddly violent creations. With a coffee in hand and a coat wrapped tight  around his body he wanders the water’s edge. What sort of person did something like this?