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$LAYYYTER

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@thxtisthequestion-blog
â Fine, donât take a seat. â Harvey gripped on the edge of his chair, preparing himself for whatever question this conspiracy theorist would have for him. & then it took every bit of strength within him not to roll his eyes. â Alright. What would you like to know? â  If he knew where the question wanted to go, he could gauge how to respond.
âThe extent of Jim Gordonâs involvement.â Out came the notepad - something he didnât exactly require through the nature of his recollection. Still, there seemed to be no harm in playing on the ridiculous stereotypes of your average reporter. If anything, it could be used to his advantage. âIt ainât gonna be good for the GCPDâs repâ, thatâs for sure - just when the Gothamites were starting to believe the cops were on their side. Yikes.â
Although Victorâs paranoia was hardly a secret, heâd experienced a particular sense of being followed that evening. This wasnât the Court. Or, the Illuminati. Or, the copious amount of spy satellites observing every breath he took. No. This was a living, breathing human in hot pursuit. How could he tell? Well, the breathing part was fairly evident - at a rate only achieved through adrenaline and considerable physical strain. This wasnât just a mere crook about to jump him. This was someone with a distinct mindset of tracking him down. And, for all their efforts, he really did hate to disappoint - so, the journey heâd mapped out suddenly came to a dead end within the alleyway; at which point, he slowly turned to face the pursuer. Expressionless. âYouâre tenacious - Iâll give you that much. Though, I imagine you have some questions of your own for me.â
With how many times someone unsavory had passed through that doorway, sheâd gotten better at lessening her reaction, mostly tensing up and staring the stranger down. Watching this rather mysterious man like a hawk as he moseys into the annex proper, a sudden realization dawned upon her which prompted her to take a small step back away from him, suspicious lining her features. âH-How do you know my name? I haveâWeâve certainly never met.â Although already on edge, she presses on with her next question buzzing around in her head. âAnd before you take another step, sir, I need to see some form of documentation that means that you can be in here.â
âI know everyoneâs name.â It may have been hilariously blunt - though, there was no distinct sign of malice or greater creepiness behind the response. Rather, he seemed to have said it like it were a blatant fact with little room for doubt. âAh. I appear to be lacking in that department.â Well, heâd be told it wasnât the only one. But, this wasnât the time or the place. âI should, however, advise you to not scream. By the time re-enforcement arrives, I will be long gone. And, you will be left with so many questions that you wonât have the answers to.â
The day felt never-ending for the DA. Perhaps it was just one of those days, but it felt like he has had a string of one of those days for the last week. The TV was switched on to the news. The story of the demoted investor popped up, & a scoff could be heard from the DA. Did Jim Gordon know about this?
Just as he was about to turn in for the night, the freelance investigator decided to show his face.
âOf course.â He motioned to the chair behind him. âPlease, have a seat.â
Like Hell was he just going to sit down. There was a conspiracy playing out across the city - and, for all he could achieve as the Question, it seemed worthwhile âtestingâ the honesty of Gothamâs self-proclaimed White Knight. âIâm not here for your social graces, Dent. Iâm here about the murder of Theo Galavan.â A beat. âOh, come on - thereâs no need to take me for a fool. We both know things arenât quite as straight-forward as youâre letting on.âÂ
@misskringle
Seeming to have materialised out of thin air, the coated figure of The Question stood rather imposed beneath the door of the annex. With a tip of the hat, he took three rather silent steps forward; face - or, lack, thereof - concealed entirely by the brim of his fedora. âI gather your first response was to alert the guards to my presence, yes? I assure you, Ms. Kringle, there is a perfectly valid reason for my being here.â
@districtattorneydent
Once the somewhat controversial face of Gothamâs evening news, Victor had been shamed from his position across Gothamâs screens to the role of freelance investigator; a demotion that wasnât exactly any considerable loss to his work. Hubris - thatâs what they called it. Too much pride. Too much anger against the fat slugs who sat around doing nothing - taking their fill while the poor starved at their feet. If it was any consolation, he much preferred this life of liberated pursuit - at least, alone, there would be no-one to call him out on being too crass. Or, a dick. âMr. Dent - a word.â It was all he gave upon his dramatic entrance - if you could call it that. One minute, he was being pursued down the corridors by numerous paper-pushers. The next, he stood directly opposed Harveyâs desk - a man driven by sheer passion.
Experiencing some minor technical difficulties with the ask-box right now.Â