Fandom Gotham

[Kassandra Rose]

Abelle Huntington-Whitely

​

Spoiler: Age 7

Spoiler: Age 15

Spoiler: Now

Age:
18

Height:
5"6

Weight: 116 lbs

Personality:
- Sarcastic
- Passionate
- Stubborn
- Intelligent
- Dark humoured
- Emotional

Strengths:
- Fluent in 4 languages
(French, Italian, English and Russian)
- Hands on combat
- Manipulation

Weaknesses:
- Short term thinker
- Headstrong and often dismissive of other opinions
- Slow runner
- Somewhat anti-social

Brief history:

Abbie comes from an affluent family in upper Gotham, though sees very little of them. Her father is the CEO and chairman of the prosperous company Hatfield, and for this reason her parents are often at either work or social gatherings.

As a child, she often kept to herself. Her head was always buried in books. Yet, following the deaths of the Wayne's, and immature passing of her older brother, her parents decided that it would be best to send her away to boarding school in England, where the family originates from.

Here, she was taught, surprisingly, how to fight both physically and mentally. The boarding school was a battle ground in every right, but she also was tutored in combat by a friend of her father's, who often took her in during school holidays.

Having graduated secondary education, her parents have called for her to come back home and integrate into society. It is her father's hope that she will somebody take their place and uphold the family legacy.​

 

[e u n o i a]

Scarlett Ortega
"Looks like it's not your luck day. . ."

Spoiler: Age 7

Spoiler: Age 15

Spoiler: Currently

Alias:
Jinx

Age:
27

Height:
5'7

Weight:
120 lbs

Personality:
- Adrenaline junkie
- Witty
- Blunt
- Spitfire
- Strong willed
- Sarcastic

Occupation:
Assassin for "The Lady"

Strengths:
- Firearms
-Martial Arts
- Persuasion/Deception
- Stealth

Weaknesses:
- Impulsive
- Hungry for danger
- Caffeine driven
- Back talking habit
- Klepto

Brief history:
- Grew up in a low-income household, parents had dropped out or school when her mother fell pregnant with her and never went back to get an education.
- Was an energetic, rambunctious child who broke bones frequently due to her love for the feeling of adrenaline.
- Often got into fights at school with higher class children, feeling envy and bitterness towards them.
- Learned how to get what she wanted out of people with her words and tone of voice. She befriended people who had what she wanted so she could take it from them eventually.
-Moved out at the age of 18, getting a job as a waitress at a gentleman's club. She began pickpocketing and committing petty theft to afford things she wanted, but her crime record only grew from there.
-At age 22, she began working as a trained killer for "The Lady", as she saw it more as a way of getting good money. Her bitterness toward the high profile citizens allowed her to perform her tasks easier than if she felt sympathy. ​

 

[e u n o i a]

Truth be told, waitressing at a gentleman’s club was a lot less exciting, and paid less than making a quick grand to off an upper class prick who pissed someone off for the last time. Clients seemed few and far between when it came to taking care of unwanted individuals, but she was sure she would get a call soon enough. In the meantime, she would rack in as many tips as she could to rack up some money. Wearing what she considered work appropriate, a low cut, lace body suit and a pair of shorts that some would argue showed too much skin, Scarlett waltzed around the room, a tray balanced upon her fingertips. Approaching a group of men drooling over the current dancer on stage, that despite her smile, seemed unenthusiastic, the redhead offered them a drink, to which a few accepted, giving her a few extra dollars as a tip.

After a few rounds around the area in which patrons sat to enjoy the dancer’s performances, the woman returned to the bar to fill up her empty tray with more drinks. As the bartender hastily mixed drinks, pouring them into relatively small glasses, Scarlett found herself leaning up against the surface of the bar, her eyes scanning over the room of paying customers. It wasn’t necessarily the busiest night she had ever worked, but everyone had a drink in hand, which she knew the boss enjoyed. After all, if people weren’t drinking, there was no money flowing into his pocket at the end of the night. Dancers made their own living, and that was out of his hands.

Once two glasses pinged together, the red headed waitress’ golden eyes flickered toward her tray that was filled with glasses by the bartender. Another few rounds around the club, and she would be back for another refill, and around the cycle would go until she clocked out of her shift. Though it wasn’t as exciting as her other job, Scarlett rarely found herself staring at the clock, waiting for time to pass. Working at the club was similar to having a social hour, except she was paid for it, and often racked in enough tips to satisfy her enough. Most of the time, the patrons of the club were interesting to have conversations with, though she couldn’t say that she necessarily cared about their personal life. She was much more interested in flirting her way to a few extra bucks, but there were a few regulars she found to be hilarious to speak to.

—

Fingertips tracing over the thick beige folder sitting on his lap, Bruce glanced at his phone, cradled in his free hand. A number was displayed across the brightly lit screen as his eyes trailed over it to the file folder. He had already thanked Jim for being able to dig it out for him, and he appreciated the relationship he had with the detective. They both seemed to do favours for each other, however, they never necessarily expected anything in return for their actions. It was a healthy partnership, and suddenly he was unsure whether or not he made it clear how much he valued the other man. Though he was sure over the years, Gordon had figured it out, but it was always nice to hear someone’s appreciation, at least that’s what he thought.

Pressuring his thumb firmly in the call button, the brunet brought the cell phone up to his ear as the familiar ring blared from the earpiece. His foot began to tap anxiously against the hardwood flooring of his home as he waited for Abelle to answer on the other line. He had obtained what she was looking for, and although curiosity ate at him, he knew she was the one with the right to read what the file contained before he was able to look. He imagine what he would feel like if it were the other way around and she’d obtained his parents’ full file. Of course he would want to be the first one to lay eyes on the information it held, so he would offer the same thing to her.

“Come on...” The young man murmured, hoping that the blonde wasn’t too busy to answer. He was feeling anxious for her, and she didn’t even know what he had the answers she had been looking for sitting in his lap. He knew how much it must mean to her, as he knew how much it would mean to her if he had all of his questions answered. Clearly she knew there was more to the story if she was looking for more answers than what she was given initially. Frankly, Bruce just hoped that she would get what she wanted when it came to her older brothers case. However, she needed to pick up the phone is that were going to happen.

 

[Kassandra Rose]

The Joker



​

A gentleman's club wasn't exactly where J woulda chose to spend his night. It was, indeed, rather mundane. Business was business however. After all, something as boring as pulling a string was necessary to ignite the spark of a grenade. J understood that sometimes this kinda shit was necessary. Still though, he growled where he sat impatient and a little bored. His shoulders arching back ever so slightly, he rose from where he had been slumped in the chair.

"Ngh," he cleared his throat first. Approaching the gangsters that were sat before him. They were men - grown, adult men - but they talked like boys. They had boyish needs and grumblings like money and power. It was clear that they simply did not understand him. Some men were different, special. Some men just wanted to see the world burn, to stand and watch the flickerings of the chaotic, pretty flames they had ignited.



"Blah, blah blah, blah blah," he approached, blowing on his lower lip. He'd quite frankly had enough of this. Where was all the entertainment? It was rude to not entertain a guest. J supposed he would have to make it himself. He raised his right hand over his mouth. The tattooed smile taking over where his lips had been. When he removed it, he was frowning, allowing them to see that he wasn't in any way pleased. "All that chit chat," he began, before bending over to speak directly to the leader, "is gonna getcha hurt".

As he finished, the men around him whipped out their guns, all directing it at the Joker who seemed completely unaffected. Instead, a noise escaped his lips that resembled a growl, low in pitch and sound. Yet, it began to gradually increasing, louder and higher, until they realised... he was laughing. "HA! HA! HA! HA!l The noise echoed throughout the room, so very loud now, so notorious, that all around had silenced.

With wide eyes, the corners of his lips crept into a manic smile. "Fellas, fellas," he shook his head in disapproval, like a scolding mother. "Is that really a wise way to treat your guest?" Placing his hand into his inside blazer pocket, he pulled out a loop attached to string. "If toys are what we are retorting to, I have plenty of my own. Would y' like to see?"

Slumping back in his chair, the henchmen lowered their weapons as instructed by their boss. "I want a drink," J demanded, clicking his tongue around his mouth as if trying to dissolve a horrid taste. "Something different. The last one tasted like my ex girlfriend"

***
Abelle Huntingdon-Whiteley

​

​

Her petite frame slouched on the ring ropes, with her body ever so slightly turned to face Roberto. It was a Friday afternoon, training day. What was she training for? Well, she wasn't so sure just yet. Perhaps, it was just her own paranoia. Her lips were parted ever so slightly, her body gaping for air, as she welcomed his criticism.

"You depend too much on blocking that you're not getting enough strikes out, Abbie," he informed her, as a matter of a factly. "You need to break out of your comfort zone, or you're going to end up being defeaten". Her nodded slightly, as she weighed the opinion around in her mind. Abelle was more than aware that she often tried to defend herself rather than strike her opponent. However, it was easier said than done, "striking" a world famous heavy weight successfully.

As the assistant removed the last glove, her fingers wrapped around the ropes. Her palms were damp and sweaty. Her hair clung to her face where it had fell from her ponytail. Practice made perfect. Roberto was definitely right, she would be defeated in a fight now. If she didn't, she wouldn't need to be here to learn in the first place. What mattered was that she was ready when they came.

They came? The thought was amusing to even herself, though most likely due to the ridicule she had faced throughout her life. After all, it was her mother's voice that whispered 'don't be ridiculous, Isabelle" in her mind. It was as if they knew something she didn't. Why send her away? Why accept his death so easily? Arthur had never seemed so depressed. Why would he just end his life so suddenly?

A loud ring brought her attention back to the world before her, echoing from her bag on the side. "One minute, sorry," she excused herself, sliding beneath the ropes. "I need to get that. I'm waiting on something important". The man only nodded in acceptance. His eyes following her figure, as she paced over to the bag and pulled out her phone.

"Bruce," she inhaled sharply as she answered the phone. "I didn't expect to hear from you so soon". Abelle had sent him an email a couple of weeks back, explaining her circumstances. The Waynes and the Huntingtons had been good friends, with Abelle and Bruce almost raised together in childhood. God, she hadn't seen him now since they were like seven or something.

When she'd wrote to him that she suspected false play on her brother's case. He'd replied that he'd see what strings he could pull to get the files and check what he could find. She wasn't sure whether to be alarmed or soothed by him calling so soon. "Is everything okay?" She wondered what he would sound like. Did she sound different to him? What would he look like now? There were simply too many questions these days, and not enough answers.

 

[e u n o i a]

Making her rounds proved to be rather repetitive, and Scarlett quickly found herself getting tired of seeing the same boyish men, and offering the same drinks to them. She wished it were slightly busier, maybe some action would come about and things would get interesting. It was a rare occasion that her shift would feel so slow. More often than not, there was something that drew her attention in.

That’s when the air changed, when the infamous laugh of one of the most notorious men in Gotham rang through the small club. The volume caused almost everyone in the club to halt what they were doing to have a look at what was happening.

Finally, she thought, feeling as though some higher power had answered her silent pleading for excitement and action. Turned out, her night may just be more interesting than she had originally thought it would be, much to her pleasure. Whatever the rest of the night had to offer, she was interested.

The redhead could feel herself perk up with curiosity, one of the corners of her dark painted lips curling up into a half grin. Golden eyes trailed over to the group of gangsters who seemed to be less than enthralled with the green haired man. Despite the disgruntled looking group of men, she couldn’t help but find the danger that he symbolized intriguing.

Admittedly, Scarlett had a habit of tangling herself in the webs of infamous people, to quench her thirst for adrenaline. There was something about putting her life at risk that made her feel more alive than anything else. The feeling of her heart racing, pounding against her chest, was something she would confess to being addicted to. Whether it was her life being put on the line, or winding up to take another with a swift movement, she didn’t think she could ever go a day without feeling on top of the world.

As if on cue, the waitress sauntered over to the area in which the men were sitting at, likely having a meeting of some sort, as it seemed as though they weren’t getting along as best as they could.

“Care for a drink?” She asked, as if she hadn’t chimed in on the mention of another drink. “Come on, fellas, pick your poison.” Scarlett urged, spinning the tray around on her fingertips to display the array of different coloured beverages she had to offer.

—

For a moment, Bruce felt as though he would have no luck trying to reach his old friend, causing him to frown slightly as the ringing continued to sound through the ear piece. That is, until he heard a voice come through instead. For a moment, he was unsure that he had the right number, but the fact that the young woman on the other line knew his name, it was more likely that he didn’t recognize Abelle’s voice as well as he thought he would.

Of course she wouldn’t sound like the delicate seven year old that she was the last time the two of them spoke to each other. That being said, he was confident that his voice had changed as well, as he had also matured just over ten years. There was still a hint of familiarity in her voice, which he had to admit he missed hearing since they were separated.

“Abelle, hi.” He finally replied once he was able to tear himself from his nostalgic thoughts and return to the present time. There were thing he needed to tell her, and he didn’t want to waste any of her time with small talk about their childhood at that time.

“I wasn’t expecting to be able to update you this quickly, either.” The brunet confessed with a slight furrow of his brow as he looked down at the closed file he had for her. “I’ve got your brothers file for you.” He followed up quickly, curious fingers tracing over the name written in what seemed to be a sharpie, or something of the sort.

“I know you’ve been suspecting fowl play in his death, and I hope this brings you some answers that you’re looking for. You can stop by if you want, or I can meet you somewhere.” Brunch explained with a subtle shrug, though he knew that Abbie wouldn’t be able to see it.

Finally, with his free hand, the young man lifted the relatively heavy file off of his lap and placed it onto the coffee table in front of him, leaning back in his chair to take his mind off of the growing curiosity of what kind of truths the file held in its contents. What mattered to him at that time was figuring out a place that he could meet Abelle and give her what she had asked him for.

Peering out the window, Bruce’s eyes landed on the dark blue sky. He was unsure if she would want to meet him that night or wait until the morning. However, he would be willing to bet that the time of day wouldn’t be stopping his old friend who wanted answers. He knew that if he were in her position, there would be no way that he could wait. It wasn’t as though he was returning a lost sweater to her, what he had in his possession was what exactly had happened to her brother.

 

[Kassandra Rose]

The Joker



​

"Colourful, I like it," his mouth moved animatedly, with his tongue licking his bare teeth. "Sit, baby," his arm wrapped around her waist, ushering her to his lap. "I'm bored," he purred, taking a drink from her tray and downing it in one gulp. Once more, his tongue clicked around his mouth, though this time tasting the berry goodiness. Eeuch. Should've stuck with the green, you could never go wrong with green.

Taking the tray from her hands, he placed it on the table. "Pick a colour, any colour," he urged her to choose a drink. The man opposite him began to object, but he silenced him with a wave of his right hand . The string was still very much looped around his finger.

This time he reached for the green, leaning a little into the beauty on his lap to get it. His head twitched as his nose passed her neck, engulfing her sweet scent, and once more he let out a satisfied purr. He'd much definitely prefer the taste of her lips to any of these very cheaply made cocktails.

As he raised the drink to his lips, his peridescent eyes scanned the men across from him. Some of them looked completely lost, vacancy utmost clear in their eyes. One of them stood from where he was sat, clearly a little tired of so much action and not enough profit. "Careful..." J commanded, stopping him in his tracks. "Don't think I'm quite done yet"

"Look Mr J, about the money..."

"Isn't she a be-aut," he emphasised the word, moving her soft locks from her neck and trailing his fingers up to her face. "Mmmm mn, what's your name darlin'?"

​

Abelle Huntingdon-Whitely​

​

​

​

All colour drained from her face as she heard his words.

"¿Estás bien, princesa?" Roberto called out to her from the ring. The two often conversed in Spanish when they wanted privacy from the others in the ring. From the look on his face, the scrunched forehead and knitted brows, he seemed genuinely concerned for her.

"One minute, Bruce". For a moment, Abelle removed the phone from her ear, and turned to her companion. "Sí," she replied, her Spanish accent somewhat rusty, "solo estoy hablando con un viejo amigo. ¿Está bien si me voy?"

"Por supuesto," He held out his arms as if the answer was obvious. Then, realising that nothing was wrong, he added in English, "do you need me to drive you home?"

"No, that's ok. I've got my car. Thank you though". Abelle's car was her baby. The black Mercedes Benz SLS-AMG had cut a large portion of her bank account. She'd wanted to sob when she'd seen the bill, but every time she saw it she was reminded of her wisdom in the choice.

Remembering her phone in her hand, the young woman raised it to her ear. "Hey, sorry," she apologised sheepishly, whilst grabbing her bag and blowing a kiss goodbye to the old man. "Your place is fine. God, I haven't been there for so long. I can hardly remember how to find it". Her insides felt as if they were giving up on themselves, curling up and stalely dying. "I need to get a shower but," she paused, looking at her iWatch. It was 9PM. "I can be there by 10. I mean, if that's okay?"

 

[e u n o i a]

Scarlett hadn’t fully expected to become a part of the group for a moment, but she didn’t protest when she was ushered into the lap of the infamous green haired man. She was always down to have a little fun, and after all, she was the one who so willingly approached their table in an attempt to tangle herself in the drama for a minute or so.

The low voice urging her to have a drink sent chills down her spine. Of course she knew exactly who the infamous Joker was, but never had she ever experienced him face to face. Frankly, she came to the conclusion that the stories didn’t do him justice. He was so animated, seemed very charming, yet his aura and mannerisms screamed danger - which happened to be right up her alley.

“You can rarely go wrong with red.” The redhead replied with a small smirk, plucking a deep red cocktail from the tray and bringing it up to her lips. She’s never really gotten over her ‘girly drinks’ phase, she loved strawberry and raspberry flavoured drinks to bitter concoctions. “Sweet.” She concluded, swirling the liquid around in the glass.

Brown eyes flickered toward the man who had stood up, seemingly not having enough time to sit around. The woman licked the corner of her lips as she waited for something to play out between the men, though only a warning came from the Joker, who seemed to be running the show, before he caught her attention once more with a question.

“Scarlett,” she replied in a purr, looking at the man over her shoulder as she shifted her body slightly to extend her free hand.

“Nice to meet you.”
—

Bruce offered a small hum to let Abelle know that he would wait on the phone while she did what she needed to do. He was able to hear muffle speech - Spanish, it sounded like, despite the face that he was leaning able to hear much but the sound of something rubbing against the phone. He couldn’t make out what was being said, and frankly he felt that he shouldn’t try if there was an effort to block out the words.

Waiting for the young lady to return to the phone, the brunet’s eyes trailed around the room as if he didn’t already know where everything was. His focus landed on Alfred, who was standing in the entrance to the living room. It seemed as though he was trying to get the young man’s attention without disrupting the phone call.

“Master Bruce, are you wanting anything else to eat tonight?” The much older man asked as he picked a piece of lint from his shoulder.

“No thank you, Alfred. ” The young man replied, motioning at the phone pressed against his ear. “I think I’m going to be meeting with an old friend.” He explained before he heard Abelle’s voice ring through the phone once more.

“Do you need me to text you the directions?” Bruce asked, wanting to assure her that she would be going the right way to arrive at Wayne Manor. “Ten o’clock is fine, I’ll still be up at that time.” He replied with a nod of his head, though it would go unnoticed by the girl on the phone.

“See you then?”

 

[Kassandra Rose]

The Joker

​

"Mm. Call me, Mister J," he replied, nuzzling her neck ever so slightly. "These are my friends, who apparently would really like to see my toys". He glanced back at the others, his eyes dark with bad intentions. "I tell you what, Mr Kavayotaz, I'll give you double the money if you play a game with me".

"A game?" The darker man leant back into his chair, considering the offer. "A million dollars is a lotta money, Mister J". His group of associates erupted into hushed whisperings of glee, thinking of all the things they could do with a million dollars.

The joker nodded, his laugh escaping his painted lips once more before he added, "it is if you win".

"And if lose?"

"Well, that's part of the game". J pursed his lips together, and put his gun out on the table. "Scarlett, right here, is going to take all out all but one of these bullets. We each take it turns to pull the trigger. The loser is quite obvious really".

He nodded towards the woman to do as he had said. The dark skinned gangster in front of him had begun to converse with his advisers on whether or not to play.

"How do I get the money then if one of us is gonna die? You playing with me, Mister J?" He raised a quizzical eyebrow, his eyes fixed in a stoney glare upon the tattooed man.

"Not at all," he nodded towards his own henchmen, who brought forward the case filled with money. It was opened quickly on the table, and another was placed beside it. Two bags. One bag he could take now. The other had to be earned. "Are you ready to play?" J growled with excitement, unlooping the grenade from his finger, he rubbed his hands together with excitement.

​

Abelle Huntington-Whitely​

​

​

"No directions needed. I'll see you then," she had replied politely and ended the phone call on cue.

When she'd moved back to Gotham, she'd taken her own apartment. Now that she was nearly nineteen, it was time for her to grow a little more independent and that meant branching away from her parents. They'd been fine with it. Of course, they'd bought her a penthouse for her eighteenth, ready for her to move in when she returned.



It was no Wayne manor, but it was a starting point and Abbie was eternally grateful. It didn't take long to slip into something appropriate for a meeting. Could you call it that? That was, after all, what it was. Yet, her counterpart wasn't just a business associate. It was her childhood best friend. She thought about that as she drove there, the route becoming more and more familiar as she got closer.

The whole car ride, she felt as if she were gonna spew, everywhere. Her leg bounced nervously on the peddle, revving the engine when she was stuck in traffic. What would he be like now? Would he remember her? Had he read the file? It couldn't be bad news, if so. Maybe she had been paranoid after all.

No, she knew something was up. It simply didn't feel right. As she pulled up at the house, she paused momentarily and just allowed her eyes to take the view in. Wayne Manor, she hadn't seen this beauty for so long. Did she call and let him know that she was here, or should she just knock? Biting her lip, she slowly but surely built up her confidence and, with a deep breath, she approached the door to knock.

 

[e u n o i a]

Scarlett perked up at the mention of toys and games, her eyes flickering from the Joker to the group of men he had been conversing with before she had made their way to their table. Tension seemed to loom over their group in particular, it was as though the term ‘friends’ was used lightly in that context.

It was evident that her attempt at getting roped into the drama worked out, as the redhead was given a job. Mind you, it was something that would absolutely get her fired, involving herself in a game in which someone would end up dead on the floor of the club. Her boss certainly wouldn’t like the outcome of said ‘game’, but who was she to disobey?

Frankly, the adrenaline rush that was building up in her chest begged her to go along with the plan, and it offered much more fun than work. Her habit of impulsively going along with things was eating away at any common sense she had left in her mind. She could feel herself losing grip on whatever sanity she had mustered up for safe keeping as she reached for the gun on the table.

Wrapping her slender fingers around the grip of the gun, popping out the cylinder of chambers, and removing all but one bullet, Scarlett spun the cylinder and placed the in tact gun back onto the table. For a moment, she toyed with the bullets in her hand before tucking them into the pocket of her shorts for safe keeping.

“No extra shots.” The redhead announced as her fingers trailed over the pocket that she held the extra bullets in. “Fair game.” She concluded, attempting to keep her voice cool and calm despite the rapidly growing excitement in her chest.

—

Once the phone call was ended, Bruce tucked his phone into his wallet and eyed the file folder once more. Truthfully, he was happy to be able to offer Abelle the answers she had been seeking, to confirm or deny whether or not her suspicions would be true. He hoped that whatever was written in the file would allow her some closure, but he couldn’t help but feel anxious that what she thought would be true.

He spent perhaps too long of a time staring at the folder, losing himself in his thoughts before being pulled back to reality.

Not only was he feeling anxious for his childhood best friend, but he was also feeling anxious to see her again. She had been away for so long, and he wondered how much she would have changed in terms of appearance. Clearly they would both be much older than they were over a decade ago, but he had no idea how much she would have changed. Despite the fact that she was back in Gotham, the two had never decided to meet up until then.

For the hour he spent waiting for Abbie, Bruce hadn’t done much that was notable, he freshened himself up and made several attempts to lower his level of anxiety. They were just having a meeting, it wasn’t something that should be so nerve wracking, other than what the file held, that is.

A knock at the door prompted Alfred to answer, opening the door, as a clear look of surprise washed over his features.

“Oh! Miss Huntington-Whitely?” He addressed her, unaware of the fact that she was the ‘friend’ Bruce had been referring to.

“I’ve got it, Alfred.” The young man assured the butler, opening the door further and allowing Abelle to enter the house. “Hey Abbie. Nice to see you again.”

 

[Kassandra Rose]

The Joker ​

The gang silenced as the Joker picked up the gun. "Who should go first?" He asked with glee. "Hm?" His eyes scanned the crowd, waiting for an answer, and locked upon his opponent. With a nod of his head, he urged him on. "You pick. Fair play and what not".

It wasn't really a scary game for J. He spent plenty of time at home playing alone. It was often the poor bastard he stumbled upon who ended up with his brains flying from his head. No matter. Life was a game. You win some. You lose some. People knew how being around him worked. One minute you could be practically winning the lottery. $1 million dollars simply for pulling a trigger. The next second you could be dead.

It was a turbulent life. A roller coaster. No day was the same and any day could be your last. It was how he liked it. Sanity were chains and shackles upon man kind. Conscience was a man made concept to keep people from tuning into their creative nature. There was no such beauty as in the natural order of chaos. Chaos was the most dear thing in the world to J, irreplaceable and priceless.

The man took the gun first, weighting it in his hands. To check that J weren't lying, he raised it to the head of his inferior and pulled the trigger. There was an empty click, but no bullet fired. "Tut tut," the Joker shook his head, spreading his arms on the back of the booth and leanin back into his seat. "No cheating. Your turn". With a tilt of his head, he gestured for the woman to rejoin him upon his lap.

He rather enjoyed her company.

The man pulled the trigger once more.

Nothing.

Sliding the weapon across, the darker man had a small smirk upon his face that made the blood inside J's body boil. Returning it agitatedly, He raised the gun without a thought and instinctively pulled the trigger.

Nothing.

He placed it back down.

The odds were much slimmer now.

The game was on.

Abelle Huntington Whitely ​

The wait between the doorbell ringing and someone answering was torturously long. Abelle felt as if her legs were about to cave in beneath her. She hadn't even realised she'd been holding her breath until Alfred answered the door, and she exhaled a long sigh of relief.

"Alfred," she greeted with a smile. "I'm surprised you recognised me. My own father couldn't even pick me out from the crowd in the restaurant when we were reunited". The corners of her lips tugged down into a small grimace as she though on it. It was a rather depressing fact to admit. All the same though, it was nice enough to be welcomed by the old man and she shook his hand politely. "I'm so glad that you look so well. You haven't aged at all. Say, have you seen-"

Her words were cut off by his interruption. Abelle recognised the voice from the phone but she could scarcely belief it... surely, it wasn't... yet, it was. Bruce. He'd aged so much since they'd last seen eachother. Why, he was nearly a man. Without a passing thought, the young woman slipped through the gap between the old man and ran at the boy. "Hey, stranger!" She greeted, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight squeeze.

Gone were the days where she could lift him or knock him. He felt steady now against her grasp, so much had changed. When she'd left for England, he'd been a good few inches smaller than her. Now, he was a great deal taller, with a leaner build and jaw that most models would envy. His dark brown hair had clearly been grown out, and it contrasted with his porcelain skin perfectly. It hardly seemed possible that it could be the same person.

And yet, it was.

It was Bruce Wayne.

It was her little Bruce.

"You look like a man," she couldn't help but let her head fall back a little with laughter, placing her petite hand beneath his chin and bringing his face to near hers. "My god, does my mother know you look like this?" Mrs Huntingdon Whitely had always much preferred Bruce to her daughter. "Better not tell her, actually, just another thing I'll never hear the end of... how have you been?"

 

[e u n o i a]

Excitement was clear in the eyes of the adrenaline junkie as the game started up. With every pull of the trigger, Scarlett felt a phantom sensation of what the sound of the bullet leaving the chamber would feel like in her chest. However, the booming sound had been replaced with a muted click each time the trigger was pulling.

Chances were getting slimmer, as the gun could only offer empty shots for so long until one of them had the fate of the single bullet driven into their head. She was well aware that the game wouldn’t last long, as three shots had been pulled, leaving only six left, one of those six would end the game.

Moving from her spot, the redhead returned to her seat on J’s lap, wrapping an arm loosely around his neck as though they hadn’t just been acquainted with one another. She had to admit, she was into the idea of the superficial sense of importance he was giving her. Giving her small jobs to complete made her feel like she was an asset. A manipulation tactic? So be it.

Biting down on her lower lip, Scarlett glanced at the dark skinned man, a smug look resting upon his features as he slid the gun across the table. He looked too confident about the odds being in his favour, but she wasn’t entirely sure he should be as confident as he looked. The game had just begun, and it would end just as quickly.

Admittedly, she found the gang mentality to be interesting. It was a dramatic contrast to her job of working alone. She carried out her tasks and hits on her own, never bothering herself to worry over someone else on her team. While she enjoyed only having to feel accountable for herself and her wellbeing, having people to watch her back would be different if she had ever switched up her work preferences.

Sipping her cheap, maybe overly sweet cocktail, Scar’s eyes trailed over to the Joker’s face momentarily. She hadn’t spent much time looking at him aside from a few glances when introducing herself, but she found herself studying his features. Scars and tattoos covered his painted face, he certainly looked rough, like someone most people wouldn’t want to mess with - but who knew danger could look so good?

—

For a moment, Bruce was caught off guard by the hug Abelle had captured him in, but after a moment he found himself wrapping his arms around her petite frame in a hug of his own. It felt like forever since they’d seen each other, and despite all of their time apart, he was relieved that it hadn’t made things painfully uncomfortable between the two of them.

“I’ll get a pot of tea ready for the two of you, then.” Alfred excused himself from the front foyer of the house, heading into the kitchen to fix something up for the two young adults.

“You look really nice.” He told her, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. Of course his childhood friend didn’t resemble a child at all anymore, she still had certain features that reminded him of what she looked like when they were young, but she had most certainly grown up. Frankly, she was beautiful, not that he hadn’t thought that she was before, but she had aged extremely well.

“I haven’t seen much of your mother, or your parents in general. I’m sure they’re very busy people, managing your family’s success and whatnot.” The brunet replied, he couldn’t remember the last time that he had seen the Huntington Whitely family except for the times they had checked up on him after his parents’ murders. He was thankful for their concern and time when he was grieving, and he hoped they knew how much he appreciated it at the time. Things grew apart after the deaths of his parents and the death of Abbie’s older brother.

“I’ve been good, busy as well at times.” He responded, things were getting increasingly busy in his life, but he could always find time to set aside for an old friend, especially if she needed him for something serious.

“How are you? How was England?” Bruce asked, curious about her time spent in another country, and how she had been doing over the last decade. Truth be told, it bothered him that they were separated for so long as children, but he figured that if it meant she would turn out okay, it was worth waiting for his best friend. She seemed better than she did after hearing about her brother’s death, her eyes still seemed bright, her voice chipper, which made him feel content. He was sure he looked a lot better in that moment than he did when his parents were killed, too.

 

[Kassandra Rose]

The Joker ​

The chamber had clicked but, unlike his partner, J remained nonchalant. The party had only just begun. He was just getting started. The man raised the gun to his head and fired once more. The chamber clicked, nothing. The men around him began to laugh with glee and nudge one another. The Joker simply shuffled beneath the weight of his new found companion to edge forward.

He picked up the gun.

Then, he raised it to his head.

Nothing.

This time, he allowed himself to laugh as he placed the gun back on the table. It would be his last one, or the man before him was about to share nothing but his brains with those around him. "You're turn," J reminded him with glee. Having said so, he lowered his voice for only Scarlett to hear, adding, "mmn you might want to turn away now princess. I've got a luuu-cky feeling about this one".

The man picked up the gun with shaking hands. Then, he shook his head, no. "I don't want to play anymore," he declared, his friends erupted into disenchanted mumbling. "Let's discuss the terms of ending the game".

The Joker let out an exasperated sigh. Running his hand through his hair, he gestured to his men to take the second case that had been opened, leaving only the first one that had not. "Half the money," the gang boss observed. The Joker didn't say anything, just simply watched him with his knowing eyes. "Consider it a deal".

The cowardice of the man gave J a sickening feeling to his stomach. Placing his hand on Scarlett's back, he lifted her from his lap and stood himself. "Well, gentleman," he held his arms out, like a performer would do at the end of his show. "It has been a pleasure. Scarlett," he turned his head. "Come on, baby, you're coming with me".

He like that one, didn't want her entangled in the mess to come.

"Bring the cocktails too".

As they reached the door, the commotion had begun. He could hear people running and screaming. Very definley he could hear the boss say, "it's a bomb! It's a set up!"

"Game over," J declared from the door. Bullets had begun to be fired his way. "Everyone knows that once you start, you either win the game or you lose. There is no in between".


The glass of the shop burst around like a waterfall. Pretty orange flames licked the surrounds. The sounds of screams filled J's ears, and he smiled with satisfaction.


Nothing could be heard now but the sounds of his own laughter.

"HA! HA! HA! HA!"

***

Abelle Huntington Whitely ​

"You know what, I thought things would be a lot more laid back once school had finished but," she gestured around her, to the fact of what she'd had to come here for, "apparently not". It was true. Back in boarding school , it had always been and endless cycle of work, eat, sleep. Even in the holidays, when she used to stay in 'De Claude' Manor House, she'd still have a ton of coursework to do, have to learn how to fight, écrêtera.

"I don't think things will ever be easy," she confessed, pursing her soft rouge lips together. "England was repetitive. Gotham is chaotic. I'm just glad I have my old friend back". Her hand brushed the side of his cheek delicately, and she offered him a small smile. Having allowed silence to linger for a moment, she pulled away from his embrace and brushed down her dress.

She looked nice? Had he said that any other time, she possibly would've bullied him. Yet, now, her cheeks merely gained a light pink glow, and her eyes narrowly avoided his own. Assuring herself that he simply meant happier, Abelle shuffled her weight from one foot to another and managed to summon the courage to look up at him. "You look like you attacked a gym," she taunted, reverting to her old self in her time of desperation. "Here I was thinking you would be taking over Wayne enterprises, but clearly you have plans to become some kind of acrobat".

 

[e u n o i a]

Scarlett pursed her deep coloured lips as she eyed the gun that nearly promised a shot to the head. The game was nearing its end quickly, and she was curious as to see who would prevail. That is, until the dark skinned man backed out in cowardice, what a shame the game never got to play through.

She crossed her arms over her chest as the deal came to a close, rising from her spot on the criminal’s lap. Terms were laid out on the table, and the other man seemed much more interested in settling for half of the money.

Excellent. It seemed as though the redhead’s attempt at stepping into the business of the infamous Joker played out just as she had wanted it to. Flashing a wink and a hint of a smirk to the other group of men, she reached down for the tray of drinks before heading toward the exit of the club.

Truthfully, Scarlett hadn’t expected anything else to happen between the two groups of men, she had just thought that things were resolved, but that was far from the truth.

Screams of panic were only short lived before the bomb detonated, engulfing the small building in raging flames. Well - she was out of an evening job, but at least she still had her life.

Golden eyes glanced over at the taller man who stood beside her laughing maniacally at what he had done; she took a moment to consider what on earth she had just gotten herself into.

Scarlett wasn’t new to death, or killing, or mind games. However, she wasn’t nearly as bat shit crazy as the Joker, which she was experiencing first hand from his celebration of winning the game.

—

Brunch nodded his head at Abelle’s words, mainly in agreement with what she was saying about Gotham. He agreed wholeheartedly that it was chaotic, and he believed that any other person with half of a sane mind would back anyone up on that statement. It was a rollercoaster of crime and tragedy, and no one was able to opt out of the ride. He hoped one day it would be rendered to a good place to have a family, but he couldn’t see it happening in the near future. The city itself changed people, fed off of their negativity and tragedy. It took a strong person not to succumb to the darkness of Gotham City.

“Attacked a gym?” Bruce chuckled, shaking his head slightly at her choice of words. True, he was a lot more muscular than he was as a kid, and it seemed as though his training sessions with Alfred were certainly paying off, he not only looked stronger, but he felt it as well.

“I can assure you that I’m not off to join the circus.” He replied to Abbie’s acrobat comment, a gentle smile curling upon his lips. “You look like you’ve been doing some training, yourself.” He noted, motioning to her clearly toned arms. It was evident that she was staying in shape.

Motioning toward the direction of the living room, the young man silently lead her to it. It would be nicer to sit down, rather than standing and talking to one another; the file still sat in the same place on the coffee table, the dim glow of the lights enhancing its light colour.

“I thought it would be nicer to sit and talk, Alfred will have tea ready soon.” Bruce assured her as he took a seat on the long sofa facing the fire place. Besides, it was likely better if she were sitting when the information she was about to read would confirm or deny her suspicions.

 

[Kassandra Rose]

The Joker

​

"Nothing screams fun like screams of terror," the joker licked his lips with excitement. His eyes wide, he turned to face the little gem that he'd spared from the blaze. It was a good decision made on his behalf, if he said so himself. This one was a good, lil obedient one, it seemed. She'd even brought the drinks, just as he had demanded.

"You're a good girl, pumpkin pie," J eyed her approvingly, like a predator does to prey. Her hair befitted her name, burnt orange like the pretty flames the licked the building before them. It reminded him though, of pumpkins, though for God knew what reason other than the similarity of colour, and he decided that would be her new nickname.

It was her eyes that caught his attention though. He watched in fascination, the speed that he chest rose and fell, a small smirk pulled upon the strings of his lips. Interesting. Never before had he met someone so embracing of his chaotic nature, especially not a woman. People don't understand J. They couldn't. Everyone wanted something. More particularly, they wanted to build something for themselves, for their families, or for the world. That could be money, power, fame. The Joker wanted nothing. In fact, if anything, he wanted to destruct.

From the look in her eyes, so did she. She'd just lost a job. Likelihood was that, Scarlett would be tied to his crimes. They'd possibly throw her in Heathens for her role. Yet, she'd willingly submitted. Every ounce of her being and encouraged her towards him, towards madness. He could see very clearly that she hung to her sanity by such a narrow thread. All he had to do was-

The sirens in the background brought his attention back to his henchmen, who were attempting to usher him towards his car parked a few blocks away. His mouth twitched once more, as his tongue clicked around it in search of a decision. What to do with the girl? What to do?

With a small exhale, he had decided. She would be baggage, but his mind would wander if she was taken. "Come on," he growled. "It's time to dance away to the pretty police song".

​

Abelle Huntington Whitely​

​

​

​

"Sí, muy bien visto," she smiled lightly at his comment about her training. "I trained with Roberto Martinez, a heavy weight boxing champion. I'm not very good at it, though, as you could imagine. Still, you'd have to be stupid to return to Gotham and not know how to defend yourself". Had Arthur known how to defend himself, it was likely that he'd still be alive.

That was if her suspicions were correct. Abelle hadn't always been so paranoid. In fact, her time in England had been a period of trying to forget. It had only been when she'd returned home, these feelings had begun to rise and rise until they bubbled into a volcanic erruption. Her parents had pulled out the old photo albums, from when the kids were little. There had been pictures of her and Bruce playing, smiling at the at the camera with their little peggies bare, some even missing. More importantly, there'd been pictures of her brother, holding Abelle, with his girlfriend at graduation, at his first job. He seemed so happy, so incredibly happy, with such a bright future ahead of him.

It simply hadn't made any sense. Shuffling in her bag, as she entered the room, Abs pulled out one of the pictures that she had taken from her parents. This particular one was of her and Bruce. Mrs Wayne was bending down, brushing something out of Abbie's hair. Mr Wayne was pointing the camera out to his son, his spare hand firmly upon his shoulder. None of them had been prepared for the photograph, but it captured their close and happy bond immacutely. "Here," she offered him a forlorn smile, holding out the picture, "I found this going through old stuff the other day. I thought it'd be better placed with you".

As they approached the seat, her attention was completely consumed by the file upon the table. That was it. There it was. There was all the answers that she'd been waiting to. That small insignificant folder, the slice of dead tree, would determine whether her whole life had been a lie. It could make or break her relations, her view on the world, and goals for future with one small inky blot.

Her feet felt imbedded into the ground. Her eyes stung with salty tears that she held back. Clearing her throat, Abelle summoned the energy to move. Blinking to push the tears back, she wiped away any stray droplets before Bruce could see. "It's really there," she breathed, a long and steady breathe exhaled from her chest. "That's it".

Picking it up in her small hands, she sat down on the couch, leaving enough room for Bruce to side beside her, and waited for his company.

 

[e u n o i a]

“I wouldn’t count on that always being the case, Mister J.” Scarlett warned him following his comment about her being a good girl. She could be a spitfire when it came down to it, and at times, she had a nasty habit of talking back. Pushing people to their limits was like a game, seeing just how many comments they could take until they inevitably snapped on her.

Ever since she was a child, the mischievous little thing had always found herself getting into trouble. Whether it be due to a war of foul words, or a physical fight, she was always finding ways back to the office of authoritative figures. Only once she had matured did she find ways of causing a mess without having to deal with the consequences of those above her.

When the sirens rang in the distance, the woman knew that, in her current position, she looked like nothing less of an accomplice. She was tied to the crime over the fact that she had been spared from burning to a crisp inside of her workplace. She could book it, and run the risk of being caught anyway, but she was offered another way out.

Come on, Scarlett’s head twisted to glance at the man ushering her to follow him and his henchmen. Without much of a thought, due to her impulsive nature, she nodded her head.

Frankly, it made more sense than going off on her own, or at least, that’s what she thought. Anyone with a decent hold on their sanity wouldn’t dream of running off with one of Gotham’s most infamous criminals, but what fun was sanity anyway?

Talk about a rush of action, between the game in the club and the blowing up of the bomb, not to mention the fast approaching officers and their flashing lights. It was all happening so quickly that she barely got a chance to enjoy it. One moment she was waitressing, looking to pass the time with a little fun, the next, she was without one source of income and prancing off with a hardened criminal.

“Let’s ride,” the woman grinned, finally moving her feet to join J and his henchmen in the direction of the vehicle that was going to get them out of there.

—

Bruce watched for a moment as Abelle reached in her bad, pulling out something he couldn’t really see. By what he could infer, it looked like a photograph. His head tilted slightly as it was handed to him; the photograph included the blonde and himself, along with his parents. His eyes lingered on his mother and father for perhaps a few moments too long before he nodded his head, pushing back any feelings of sorrow before looking at his old friend.

“Thank you, this means a lot.” He told her, his voice steady, despite the heaviness he felt pushing on his chest as he tried to remember that day, to keep all of his memories alive and well, as he wished they were. Shaking the feelings of sadness away, he brought his attention back to the present day, looking over at Abbie who had the file with her. They weren’t there for him or to talk about his parents, but for her.

“There are your answers, the official account of what happened. Nothing sugar coated and suited to fit what other people want to hear.” He told her, moving to take a seat next to her on the couch, placing the photograph she’d brought on the surface of the coffee table. He would put it in a frame to keep it in good condition later.

Although he didn’t want to make her feel rushed, Bruce was curious as to what would come of the information. He hoped that it would do more good than wrong, and that she would have closure rather than turmoil. Abbie was a good girl, and although he hadn’t seen her in ages, he still knew her soul. She was a bright, kind girl who didn’t deserve to feel the pain she had when her brother passed.

It was awful, how such bad things could happen to such wonderful families. Perhaps he was biased toward his own family, and the family of his childhood best friend, but he stood by his thoughts. It seemed as though good people were targets in the city of chaos and turmoil.

 

[Kassandra Rose]

Abelle Huntington-Whitely

​

As he sat beside her, with the folder on her lap, her eyes floated towards his face for some kind of comfort. It would be okay. The folder could only say two things, either one would undoubtedly make her upset. Her brother had felt that depressed with his life that he'd felt there was no other way but to end it. Or, someone had cut all of his opportunities to thrive away from him prematurely. Neither thought was really of comfort.

Abelle sucked in on her upper lip to fight back the threat of tears, her small hand reached out for his own and gave it a tight squeeze. "What would I do without you, Bruce?" She asked, with shining eyes. "I've missed you so much".

With a sharp intake of breath, she swallowed all her fears with a single gulp. It was now or never. Fingers trembling, she turned the page. Her eyes ran over the first line. Case of Arthur Jared Huntington Whitely. A small smile played upon her lips at the thought of him reading this. Arthur, Jared had hated the name. He'd never forgiven mother and father for naming him like an old pensioner. Abelle knew the struggle.

The picture of his corpse swiped the smile straight from her face. Her nose and cheeks stung and she shook her head. Her eyes were firmly shut, attempting to push it away from her mind. God, she could just be sick. Actually, she might just do that, but it could wait, for now. She hadn't come this far to give up now.

Suspect was found hanging from a park tree by noose. It would appear as though this was were a matter of suicide. Under analysis it became apparent that the rope was purchased from a local hardware store. This would not have been difficult for victim to obtain.

Under further analysis, it became apparent that the victim had very recently accumulated some interesting wounds. The victim had several teeth removed from his mouth, three incisors and four molars. It is unknown how this occurs, although wounds suggest this was by force. Victim also had a broken few broken ribs and fingers, a black eye, a popped lip, swelling of the face, and a knife wound.

No foul play was suspected in this case. Although it was apparent that victim had undergone some nasty injuries, it is thought that these were self inflicted or from a fight with a close friend. Following this fight, it is suspected that Arthur was in an unwell state of mind and unaware to think consequentially. The case has been ruled a suicide.

"No," Abelle shook her head, as if the paper could hear her response. She flung the file to Bruce. "They're lying". Jared wasn't like that. He fought with no one, especially not physically. The kid was the nerdiest, most loving boy that she'd ever met. In many ways, he was a lot similar to how Bruce was. It couldn't be true. Someone had did that to him. They'd killed him and then they'd hung him there like a butchered pig. Suicide. No. Abelle wouldn't no longer accept the verdict. She couldn't.

Her life was forever changed by a single file.

***

The Joker

​

"HA! HA! HA!" The manic laugh echoed around the room, every man at the table sunk into their chairs. In spite of his outward laughter, the joker was anything but amused. Why would he be? He'd returned home to find that the past had come back to haunt him. The Huntington-Whitely girl had returned, and had begun investigating into the death of her brother.

The dead man sat in front of them was a clear indication of his response to the news. "You mean to say," he grunted, licking his lips, "that not one of you senseless idiots knows where the girl is".

"Mister J," a broodish looking man spoke from the corner, his forehead scrunched, "if I may... The last time she was located, she was in her mother's house. The old lady said that she left a note-"

The joker began to laugh again, this time it started low, like a growl, becoming significantly louder and louder. His eyes glimmered in the dim light, with a spark of ill intentions and destruction to be. "You know what I hate more than a senseless idiot?" He asked rhetorically. The table remained silent. "I can cope with senseless idiots. You're all senseless idiots. No, no, NO. What I don't like is a rambling, senseless idiot".

He raised his gun once more, shot the man before him in the head. “Do I look like a guy with a plan to any of you? You know what I am? I'm a dog chasing cars. I wouldn't know what to do with one if I caught it! You know, I just... do things, and it works. Your problem? Your problem is that you ramble too much, think too much".

The Joker sat back in the central chair. He licked his lips tentatively, moving his eyes to look at the pumpkin haired girl still stood by the door. He wondered if she understood him. He didn't want to have to tell these men what to do. Why could they not just use their initiative? They go out and kill the girl. It was rather easy. Did he have to do everything for himself? How many people did he have to kill for an easy life?

In the grand scale of things, these men were replaceable. His show was a circus and the world was his stage. There was always more people to choose from in the crowd. These men in particular were stupid, but they weren't too stupid. They were like monkeys, stupid and senseless, but they were trained monkeys. They could dance and do tricks, because he had taught them to. It would require so much effort to start all over, and he had already killed 3 out of 8 today. Today was not a good day.

It was, in fact, a bad day. You see, the murder of the Huntington-Whitely boy had been collateral damage. Not that he cared for what had happened, he didn't. What he didn't have time for was the police being funded by very rich families. If the police were better funded, they would be better at their jobs. If they were better at their jobs, they would be able to detain him. J wasn't planning on having his show finale any time soon.

"So, what are you going to do, hm?" He shouted, his arms held out. No one spoke, they had all became wise enough to realise that their opinions weren't welcome. "You are going to go out the door. And then, you are going to find her. If you need to kill, kill. You want to explode things? Explode things. You just do it. Do it, and don't think on it. Thinking is predictable".

"The girl, what do we do when we find her?" The man opposite had summoned enough courage to ask what they were all thinking.

His gun flung into the direction of the corpse, pointing vividly at the dead man. "Don't wanna hurt'cha, buddy. You think he is much good to me now? What good is a dead man? You can't play with a broken toy," he growled. "Get rid of her and dispose of the body".

There were some things in life that are just accepted. Gravity keeps everything in place. The Earth orbits the sun. Summer comes after spring. Those are a few of many things that just happen. You can attempt to explain them all, how the concepts of them began, but it's complicated, boring. It's easier to just accept than to understand. The Joker's obsession with the Batman was just one of these things. It was something that even he had to accept, and never question. His command to his henchmen was another one of these things. God be his witness, J despised being questioned.

As the men dispersed, he turned to the woman that he'd been left with. "How about another drink," slamming his hands on the table, he lifted himself up and walked towards the open kitchen. "You drink whisky, pumpkin pie?"

 

[e u n o i a]

---​

Standing by the door, arms crossed over her chest, Scarlett listened to the meeting happening between J and his men. Clearly, they were not completing their assigned tasks as well as they should have been. Once a shot had been fired, she shook her head softly. Imagine being so expendable that you just get killed off without a second thought. None of his men were special, they had no skill sets to keep them from turning out like the man who'd just had his head blown off. They were all pawns, and what happens when you break or misplace a game piece? You replace it.

Though she seemed as if she hadn't been paying attention tot he conversation, once the mention of a Huntington-Whitely family member was mentioned, she felt an eyebrow twitch up in curiosity and she'd been paying more attention than ever before. She remembered a kid by that name, it was one of her first jobs to help wipe him out of existence, but why was the family coming up again?

Once the men had left the room and Joker had moved tot he kitchen area, Scarlett wasted no time following in after him, leaning up against the counter. Her face displayed a look that gave away the fact that she knew something that he didn't. After all, she was quite good at keeping her secret life a secret.

"Not really, I prefer sweet drinks." She shrugged her shoulders casually and tilted her head. "You know, J. . ." She began, eyeing the man for a moment as she reached into the back pocket of her jean shorts. "If you ever need someone to get a job done, I know a person." The redhead grinned, excitement building up in her chest as she pulled out a business card from her pocket, placing it down on the counter and sliding it over to him.

The front read "JINX" in glossy orange letters upon a matte black background, the back displayed a phone number with the words, "looks like it's your lucky day" above it.

Jinx was an alter ego, the persona Scarlett took on at night working for The Lady. It was a way to detach herself from her name and her reputation as 'the redhead that works at the strip club'. The name came about when it became known to clients that when ever she was assigned a job, she would bring bad luck to those with hits placed on their heads.

"You should give her a call." She insisted, knowing damn well that her phone would ring in her pocket if he did decide to dial the number in search of said "Jinx" character.

---​

"It's been a long time without you. I've missed you too." Bruce replied, giving Abelle's hand a reassuring squeeze, not as tightly as she had squeezed his, but enough to let her know that he was there for her. He couldn't imagine how she was feeling, but by looking at the glossiness in her eyes, he knew that she would need someone, and he was more than happy to be that support system for her.

Upon the file being opened, his own breath hitched in his chest when the image of her brother's corpse was thrown in their faces. He should have had the common sense to know that it would be included in the file, but he hadn't even thought about it. His chest ached, and a part of him felt regretful for not opening the file and taking the photograph out, surely her eyes did not need to focus on such a traumatic image.

His hand quickly moved from hers to wrap an arm around her for added support and comfort. Hell, it made him feel sick to his stomach and they weren't even related. He didn't even want to dwell on the thought of how he would feel if he had to stare at the photographs of his dead parents. It was traumatic enough to have had to seen the entire event happen before his young, innocent eyes.

No foul play suspected, how on earth could that be the case? Even just judging by the photograph, it looked like someone had beaten Arthur to a pulp before hanging him from the tree. There was no way he could have done that himself, the details only confirmed that there should have been an investigation regarding foul play. The entire case screamed it, it was as if they couldn't make it more obvious if they had a neon sign attached to the tree with the words FOUL PLAY lighting up.

"I'm so sorry Abbie." What else could he say? Surely, there were no words to make it better or resolve the case. "I can't believe this." He added, more in a whisper than anything else. He shoo his head slowly in disbelief, rubbing his childhood best friend's back in an attempt to comfort her in her distress.

Was it just the most awful police work anyone has ever done? Or perhaps it was something else, a cover up, something to shy away from the truth. There was no way that someone else wasn't involved in the clear murder.

 

[Kassandra Rose]

With a small purr, the Joker nodded his head. Of course, she didn't. His pumpkin pie was a sweet kinda gal. What else had he expected? Drinking for one then, he didn't bother to pull out a glass. Instead, he raised the bottle to his lips and chugged thirsting upon the contents as if it were water and he was but a dehydrated child. Having almost downed half a bottle by the time the woman slid the card upon the table, J took a moment to breath.

His eyes scanned the card from corner to corner, JINX. It was the only word upon the card, other than the number, and his mind worked over time on why a woman like pumpkin pie would possess such an item. He had his suspicions alright. There was only one way to confirm it.

"Don't 'ave a phone," he growled begrudgingly, standing from the table that he had made into a seat. No matter, one of his men would've had one. It wasn't like they'd be needing it anymore. Carelessly, he stepped over the body that had fallen upon the floor. With his right foot, he kicked it a little near the pants pockets, listening out for the little jingle of a phone against keys or a wallet.

The sweet sound was serenading to his ears, and he let an animalistic sound of delight escape his lips. "Goodie," he rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. His hand slipped into the man's pocket at once and pulled out his iPhone 7. All of his men had the same password, a requirement very cleverly made by J (if he said so himself).

Having typed the numbers in, he slid it across the counter to her. If it was just a friend, then she could do the talking. Although, he had a feeling that no talking on the phone was gonna occur. No no, if his calculations were right, the sound of her own phone ringing would be as sweet to his ears as a vibrator to a forty year old single mother of three.

***​

It was one thing having suspicions. You could deter yourself. You could tell yourself that you had no evident, your thoughts were neither empirical nor pragmatic. It was illogical. It's what Abelle had been doing for years. It's what everyone in her whole damn family had been doing for years. Her heart broke a little more inside her chest, thudding solemnly against the walls.

No longer could she suppress the urge to cry. He'd died a torturous death, alone and in pain. Everyone had turned a blind eye, as if he were a beggar that no one had cared for. Was he even at peace? Could she even ease herself with that thought? Probably not, it was unlikely. Did it matter? The new found evidence made it feel as if she was reliving the news of his death all over.

No longer did she feel like the woman made in England, multilingual, trained in combat, ready for any challenge. Instead, she felt like that scared, lost and alone little girl that Jared had left behind following his dead. Home wasn't home anymore. Could she ever look at her parents the same? Surely, they must have known something? Had they covered up his murder because they didn't want the family to be stained by the criminal ways of Gotham?

If it had been murder, was she truly even safe? Was it even safe to return home alone now? Everything felt as if it was falling to pieces. The whole world felt as if it was crumbling beneath her, and she took solace in the arms of her childhood friend. "What am I going to do Bruce?" She whispered, her voice low and broken. "I don't even know what to do with the news. I didn't think-" she didn't think that she would be right. Nobody wanted to be right when it came to such thoughts.

Her head found comfort upon his chest, as she nuzzled herself in the space between his shoulder and neck. Her small arms wrapped themselves around his neck, pulling him into her ever so slightly.

 

[e u n o i a]

---​

Biting her bottom lip, Scarlett could almost feel the burning sensation of hard liquor as she watched him chug the whiskey. She couldn't remember the last time she had attempted to enjoy something as strong and bitter, she'd given up trying long ago, realizing that sweetness was what played best with her tongue.

Raising an eyebrow, the redhead watched as J fixed his problem of not having a phone, shuffling over to the body and finding one to use. She licked her lips as he returned to the kitchen, punching in the phone number and sliding the phone back to her. With a sweet smile of her own, she pressed the 'call' button and lifted the phone to her ear and waited for the sound of ringing to come from her pack pocket.

"Wait a second," she gasped in fake surprise as she pulled her phone from her pocket, showing him the caller ID displayed on the screen. "It's me." She confessed standing straight from her leaned over position, her arms outstretched as if she had finished a performance. As if she could think that the wind up to her telling him wasn't already oh, so obvious.

"I'm more than just a waitress from a strip club, Mister J." Scarlett assured him, declining the call from the dead man's phone, as there would be no need for chatting over the telephone. Well, actually, she wasn't a waitress at all anymore since her place of work, boss, and coworkers had been blown up once the bomb had detonated. Frankly, she would have felt a little more sad if it paid better, but alas, it was no more than a minute bump in the road.

---​

There was nothing that could be said or done to fix what Abelle had just seen and read. Bruce wished there was something he could do to make things better, or a the least, make things more bearable. He didn't think there was much anyone could do to take back any of what was said in the file. They could blame it on shitty police work, or a cover up of a truly heinous crime, but it wouldn't change the fact that someone had willingly written down the words displayed in the case file.

Although he had come to the conclusion, despite not being an officer of the law, that Arthur had clearly met with foul play of some sort, he couldn't think of why. From what he remembered of his friend's older brother, he was kind and caring, not something who anyone would think could get caught up in something so awful, something enough to have him murdered in such a brutal, tragic way. It just didn't make any sense whatsoever.

"I wish I had more answers for you." The brunet whispered back, enveloping the blonde in his arms in a desperate attempt to make her feel better in any way that he could. Of course an embrace could only do so much, he'd gotten more hugs than he could count after his parent's were murdered, but they could only offer temporary comfort, only for a few moments and nothing more.

"It's okay." Bruce assured her, brushing his hand through her hair. "You don't have to explain anything else, just let it out." He added, honestly surprised that she was still able to make sentences that made any sense other than sobs. She was beyond strong, especially after having to view what her brother looked like post-mortem. It wasn't fair, not in the slightest.

Alfred entered the room, stopping in his tracks upon witnessing the scene in front of him. He didn't understand the context completely, but he came to the conclusion that it could not be anything good. Without making much noise, he placed the two cups of tea, along with the pot, milk, and sugar onto the coffee table before silently excusing himself from the room.

 

[Kassandra Rose]

It was weird how many different smiles the Joker had, always a new one for a different occasion. Even when he was unimpressed, the artificial ink upon his right hand would always replace the grim upon his face. Right now, however, his lips tugged upwards into a devilish smirk. Oh the sweet satisfaction of being right. Well, he was never wrong, not really, and anyone who told him so didn't really live to air another syllable.

"I knew I had a good feeling about you, pumpkin pie," he smacked his lips together. His eyes wide, J approached the girl and placed a firm hand upon her shoulder. Smoothly, he pulled her in towards him. "You're not like the rest of them," he whispered, leaning in towards her ear, which he bit ever so playfully. "Are you? Mm no, you're not dispensable. You're going to prove very, very worthy of my time".

The King of Gotham left her where she stood, making his way back to the remnants of his whisky bottle. The bottle was lifted into the air, inches above his mouth, allowing the contents to pour like some kind of heavenly waterfall. The taste was bitter, stung his tongue, and ever sweet. It sparked the fire that burned in his chest. He loved the pain of it. He lived for it.

Shaking his head, alive, he gave a manic laugh. Them men were useless, stupid. They'd never catch the girl before dawn. No, no, if he wanted the job done, j would have to do it himself. "What do you say you show me just how useful you are in person, princess? Let's go on a little hunt". Hunting people was possibly the best bonding exercise J could think of. The girl ought to be honoured to be given such a privilege. The Joker never allied with anyone. Everyone was below him.

***​

Tea made everything better. It was a fact eel reiterated by the British people. Feeling ill? Drink tea. Heart breaking? Drink tea. Celebrating? Drink tea. Forget alcohol, nothing warmed a girl up inside like a good Earl Grey. Then again, Abelle had drunk a good few PG Tips, Yorkshire and Tetleys in her short and experienced life. Although, she couldn't remember for the life of her what it was that Mr De Claude used to use.

Abelle wasn't too sure how long that she'd been crying for. Too long. Poor Bruce's shirt was probably so saturated with her tears that it didn't even need to be washed anymore. It was ridiculous. She was ridiculous. This was the last impression that she'd wanted to make upon her close friend. Alike anyone her age, the young had been yearning to show off just how much she had changed and grew. It certainly didn't help that Bruce was... well, he wasn't exactly "Brucie Bear" anymore, to say the least.

"What the fuck do I do now?" She almost whispered to herself. It felt a little bit ridiculous to admit that she hadn't truly thought this far. Despite the fact that you couldn't really blame her. The thing was... she wasn't too sure about anything anymore. Could she trust anyone? Her whole life until this point had been a lie. One thing was for certain, however, Abbie certainly didn't feel safe.

At least, if anything, she could trust Bruce and Alfred. They had, after all, gotten the file for her in the first place. "Why would someone do that?" She finally summoned the words to speak sense. "Do you think they're still out there? Do you think they'll come for me now that I'm back?"

 

[e u n o i a]

---​

Licking her lips, Scarlett accepted the compliment gracefully, it was always nice to confirm positive suspicions about herself. However, she did have to fight the chills that threatened to run up her back when he nibbled on her ear. His voice was smooth, but not at all like silk, no, like the whiskey he had downed before they had spoken. She'd always loved the idea of flirting with danger, but she found that the real thing was much more exhilarating than a simple idea. She knew she was playing with fire, but she wanted nothing more than to completely light her life ablaze.

"I like to think I'm different from your goons." The redhead nodded, returning to her leaned position over the counter. What a nice thing to hear that she wasn't as disposable as the men J had working for him. It gave her a sense of importance, and put her on a pedestal higher than the one she stood on when working for The Lady. If Gotham's most notorious gangster saw potential in her, that was more than just good enough in her books.

The woman felt her eyebrow twitch upward at the mention of showing off her skills in a little hunt. The idea certainly caught her interest, nodding her head in agreement before her back straightened from it's curved position over the counter. A little excitement never killed anybody her, in fact, it was what made her feel more alive than anything else could. How perfect of a night would it be to show off what she could really do.

"Together?" Scarlett asked, her interest clearly peaked by the idea of them working along side one another. "You know, from what I've heard, you sound like the kind of guy who usually works alone." She confessed, feeling more than just slightly flattered that he'd asked her to work with him rather than for him. For a girl who had been previously working as a waitress and was currently an 'on call' hitman, she was moving up in the world.

---​

Abelle had been crying for quite a while, but Bruce didn't dare stop her from expressing her feelings. She had every reason to be hurt, distressed, and even scared. He could feel his shirt becoming soaked with her warm tears, but it didn't bother him any, as long as he was able to offer her the comfort that she needed in that moment. He continued to run his hand through her hair, toying with the ends of her golden locks for a moment. What a cruel world.

Frankly, the brunet wished he had the answers to give to his old friend when she asked her questions. No one knew why her brother had met such a brutal and undeserving fate, except, of course, those who were involved with it. He didn't believe for half of a second that it was a suicide on Arthur's part. Although it had been a tremendous amount of time since he had last seen the older man, he couldn't have given anyone the vibes that he would take his own life. Besides, who tore out their own teeth, bruised and battered themselves before hanging themselves? It didn't make sense.

"Maybe you should stay here." He finally spoke up, his hand halting in its movement. Truthfully, he didn't even want to think about people trying to come after his old best friend who he had just reconnected with. Despite their time apart, his feelings remained the same, and she meant just as much to him as his parents did. He couldn't even imagine a world without the bright and sunny Abbie. It would surely be a dreary, dark world, in which no one would have pleasure living in.

"We can keep you safe here. It's better than you being alone in your apartment." Bruce added, his voice almost pleading that she stay with him and Alfred in his home. At least with two other people in the house, it would not be an easy task to make an attempt at hurting the blonde. Not to mention the amount of training he had under his wing. He was a changed man, a more advanced man, if you will, and he was prepared to lose sleep over protecting Abelle.

 

[Kassandra Rose]

​

Spoiler: trigger warning - gore

The hunt always excited every fibre of J. His heart would thud rapidly against his chest. The sound was the only thing that he could hear. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. It was like cocaine to his system. The world was brighter, louder, more alive. He was more alive.

Of course, there was the added disadvantage that he needed to find out where the girl was. He could cope with that. It was just like earlier. J understood that trivial things had to be done to accomplish the unforeseen and greatness. To start a fire required the striking of a match. To light a grenade required the pulling of a string. To end a life required the pressing of a trigger. Everything had a downside, some kind of mortality.

That was unless it was done by the Joker. Most of the time, he tried to avoid such trivialities. For example, his preferred way to kill a person was definitely not a mere handgun. No, no; it was the squealing that appealed to him. Murder for fun had to be slow, carefully attended to like a newborn infant. Explosions were always pretty, but they grew boring after a while. Boom and the fun was all over - what was the joy in that?

His favourite murder had been the one of Benjamin and Ruben Gray. His death had occurred over a prolong period of time. The Joker had cut him apart limb by limb. First, he'd started with the arms, the lucky left one first. The right one had been a few days after. Then, the legs, he switched it up this time. Although, left was always his favourite side. Definitely his favourite side. It had been a word of art. The two wriggling torsos made the eyes. Their limbs had been spread, crimson with blood, in a smiling mouth.

"Your test begins, pumpkin pie," he pulled her in towards him by her wait. His face nuzzled her neck, inhaling her sweet, sweet scent. "I need you to find Isabelle Huntington Whitely".

​

​

There was only so much you could ask one person to do for you, and Abelle was seriously pushing it. Her head shook side to side, no, the blonde locks falling from their brushed back style. Not that she took particular notice, she didn't.

Her hair was the least of her worries with her appearance. Before she'd left, Abelle had applied a quick layer of mascara, matched with a light dewey foundation and a paint of gloss upon her rouge lips. Her face likely resembled an artist's paint board, with all the colours blending into new ones.

"I couldn't ask so much from you," her dainty hands found their way beneath her reddened eyes, swiping away at the remnants of tears and left over cosmetics. "It's okay. I'm just being dramatic. I'll-" survive? Life would go on? It certainly didn't feel like things were about to be all sunshine and rainbows anytime soon. Still, Abbie had always had a tendency to be more than a little melodramatic at the best of times. That was probably the reason no one believed her, not because everyone was enrolled in some big conspiracy.

Her brother had died been murdered almost ten years ago now. If someone was coming for her, she'd have been dead by now. What did she think, that they'd been deterred by the fact that she'd been in England or her mucho martial arts skills? No, the girl simply wasn't of any interest. No one had come for Bruce after the murders of his parents. That's different, something whispered to her. The Wayne's had been a genuine robbery gone wrong. Hadn't it?

She hardly knew what to believe anymore. "You don't need to worry about me, B," she forced a forlorn smile, "it's not like this is news. I've suspected for some time, and it's been years now, a decade even". Her small hand found it's way to his own, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I'll stay for tea, but I won't burden you much longer. Okay?" It seemed like a fair compromise.

 

[e u n o i a]

---​

Scarlett knew the surname too well, as she was involved in the death of some other Huntington-Whitely kid, one of her first jobs for The Lady. The kid hadn't seen it coming, it made such a great impression on her, as the hit was completed so easily. He was defenceless, not nearly as fun as someone who could put up a fight for their lives. How disappointing. Maybe the girl would be more of a challenge to get her hands on. Unless, of course, everyone in that family was the same in the way that they had nofight in them whatsoever.

With a nod of her head, the redhead accepted her challenge. Her background information about the family would prove helpful in her hunt for the daughter. Though it had been years, she was sure she could conjure up old memories in order to get her where she needed to be in order to go through with the hunt. Surely, if the girl lived in Gotham, there were only so many places she could be. For an upper class family, there were even less places she had to look. In her time growing up in poverty in the city, she knew for a fact that no wealthy family would spend seconds outside of the higher end side of the city.

"You can count on me, J." She assured him, raising a hand to brush over his rough features ever so lightly. "I know my own information about the family." The woman added, the corners of her lips twitching up in a small grin. She knew she had an advantage to find the girl, and she would milk her advantages until there was nothing left for her to benefit from.

Though, unfortunately she didn't have any of her Jinx clothing, her outfit from the club would just have to do. Despite the fact that she mainly worked with firearms, having built up proficiency in using them, it seemed as though she would have to rely on her martial arts background. There was no point on heading back to her apartment if she had a backup plan anyway.

---​

Dramatic? Bruce's brows knitted together in a mixture of concern and confusion. There was no way on earth that she was just being dramatic. Hell, he felt a pain in his chest upon reading the content of the file he'd provided to her. Not to mention the image that went along with it. Any person in their right mind would be upset about it, and considering the circumstances, it wasn't out of the ordinary for her to begin fearing for her own life. Now that she had mentioned it, it was all he could think about.

"You're not asking anything of me, I'm offering. If you were being a burden of any kind, the offer wouldn't be up in the air." He told her, sympathetic eyes focusing on the distressed features of the blonde. Though, he knew that if she were a burden, which she certainly was not, he would have still offered her refuge in his house, for the greater good.

Something in the back of his mind told Bruce that he had every reason to be worried about Abbie. Just her emotions alone were enough to make him worry about her, let alone the idea that she could be hunted by whoever went after her brother. He didn't want to push more than he already had, he could only insist on her staying with him for so long. If she genuinely thought she would be okay, he would allow her to do as she pleased.

"If you think you're okay. . ." He began, his voice trailing off somewhat as his eyes focused on the two steaming cups of tea Alfred had brought them. "You better call me if you feel unsafe in any way. You know I'll be there in seconds." The young man insisted, though he knew that he couldn't actually be there that quickly. Even still, he wanted to make sure that she felt safe - that she was safe. He couldn't even begin to imagine what it would feel like if he found out she'd gotten into danger.

 

[Kassandra Rose]

(Thank you for bearing with me).



​

"Hm," the Joker thought momentarily about her words. "I dont doubt that, pumpkin pie". It was true. To him, people were little but commodities or utilities, better yet "toys". What he said before was utmost honest. You couldn't play with a broken toy. That meant more often than not, he preferred not to pointlessly kill his own men. Why he simply felt as if he were robbing himself of the thorough joy of playtime.

Only, say some toys were faulty or some were outdated and lesser. Why then, the most obvious thing to do would be to get rid of it. Toys were useful in three ways. There were the skilled toys. They were advanced, like the latest technology and could get the right job done. There were the entertaining toys . Fools who were fun to play with, to keep oneself busy, like the batman. Finally, you had the toys that knew things. These weren't particularly entertaining, but they had their uses.

J was almost certain that his new flame haired friend was useful in all of these ways, and a toy with three uses was very, very hard to find. "Maybe if ya prove y'self, I might just keep you around," he hinted as his favour, clicking his tongue ever so slightly as his eyes narrowed upon her face.

Of course, out of those who entertained, you had those that were beautiful, those who were funny, either with or at them, and those who were intriguing. Jinx was all of these. Frankly, however, it was her chaotic beauty that intrigued him the most. She was broken in all the right ways. Her eyes glimmered with a hint of insanity, heavy with all that she had seen in her short life. Moreso, it was clear she hung from the cliff of sanity by a mere thread of hope, or perhaps the past. Yet, the future beckoned her, the hushing noise of the waves that crashed against the cliff face. The shadowed sea of insanity, so deep and full of mystery, enticed all those who truly listened.

He knew. After all, he had fallen himself at one point.

"How to start. How to start. You know your information about the family. Good, good. The thought pleases me," he purred, rolling his neck ever so slightly. "Find out where the girl lives". His tattooed fingers reached out, like a young child who could not help but grasp at the delicacies before him. He growled lowly, as his hand pulled her into him by her hip bone. His nails dug in softly. "Because I just can't wait for us to be able to hunt together. It's time that Jinx learned to kill for pleasure, not just," He twiddled the card between his fingers, just before her face. His hot breath ran along her neck as his painted face nuzzled her. Ever so quietly, J nibbled her ear and added, "necessity".



"You can bet I'll be calling you, regardless," her eyes glimmered, both affection and sadness were prevalent, fighting for their place in her heart. "You've grown so much, Bruce," Abelle found herself repeating her earlier words like a broken record. She couldn't help herself. Her mind was numb, incapable of conjuring many new thoughts and concepts. This thought was easy, consumed her attention, and obvious.

Her nimble fingers reached out, though her hand trembled ever so slightly, and brushed his hair back from his face. In spite of everything that had changed, his appearance was as unkempt as always. "You're still so sweet though," she observed on top of the physicalities". Ever so gently, her lips made their way to his forehead, were they brushed his skin momentarily, and the young girl stood.

Her weight shuffled from one leg onto another, as she brushed down her dress and tried to find her confidence or the right words to say. It was hard to know now, what to do. Not only had the obvious disturbed her - that her life was ever changed by the murdering of her brother - but even the small rocks of security in the swallowing sea of life's unsurety, like little Bruce Wayne, were crumbling, changing. Would it be for better or for worse? She couldn't tell.

Only time would.

 

[e u n o i a]

[Thank you for being SO patient. x]​

---​

The idea of killing for fun was a new concept for Scarlett, her Jinx persona was for work, but it seemed as though she would be conjuring up her alter ego much more frequently. The thought of twisting her life in a complete one-eighty was exciting, and she could already imagine the adrenaline pumping through her veins when dwelling on the thought of constant chaos circulating her. Who doesn't love the rush of the body's fight or flight response? Not to mention the fact that the feeling of his warm breath down her neck, and the light nibbling on her ear was already making her heart race.

Frankly, turning her back on her old life wouldn't be anything too difficult to cope with. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a conversation with her parents since she moved out. The only thing that tied her to her life as Scarlett was her name. That was it. She didn't have a job anymore, the gentleman's club likely nothing but ashes and weak foundation by that point. The only job she had in that moment was finding the Huntington Whitely girl, and it was Jinx who was given that job.

"You can count on me, J." She finally spoke, her chocolate eyes trailing to the side, where she was just barely able to see him. The young woman was ready for her challenge, and ideas of what could be done to locate the girl were flying around her pretty red head. "I think you'll be impressed by my work." She assured him, her pale lips pulling up into a mischievous smile, as they perfect idea made its way right into her mind.

If the girl had only recently returned to Gotham, it wouldn't be completely abnormal for a package to arrive to her parent's house. As long as she could find a phone number for the Huntington-Whitely family, and call to 'confirm' the address of Miss Abelle, her plan should move along as smoothly as it possibly could. Of course, there would be no actual package aside from the unexpected visitors.

Pulling away slightly, feeling the increased pressure of J's nails digging into her hipbone, Jinx reached into her back pocket where she had just tucked her phone away into. She made a quick Google search regarding Huntington-Whitely's in Gotham City. It was almost funny how accessible the information of the rich was, anyone could get their hands on their address or phone number as long as there was some already known details.

Twisting herself out of his grasp entirely, the redhead tapped away on her phone a few more times before holding it up to her face. Her number was always blocked, it was just the way she preferred things. After a few rings, a female voice through.

"Hello there! This is Catherine from UPS, just confirming that this is the right address for a Miss. . . Abelle Huntington-Whitely?"

---​

"Please. . ." Bruce replied in regard to Abelle's comment about calling him regardless. "Please call me when you get home safely." The whole situation left a foul taste in his mouth that he couldn't quite fix. He was not fond of the idea of his dear friend potentially being in the same danger that her brother faced before his untimely death. It wasn't fair, and he didn't even want to think about what kind of feelings would ravage him if he had found out that she had met the same fate. There was no way he would let it happen.

He took her words as a compliment, he hoped he had grown in some aspect. Frankly, he felt like he had been growing in many different ways since everything changed in his life. The young man was forced to mature faster than he thought any child usually did. However, with his parents' murders, he needed to step up to the plate as the heir of the family business. In a time where everyone was watching him, he needed to show them that he was okay, and he could continue the legacy of the Wayne family. From all of his experiences, not only losing his parents, he felt like he grew from each and every one of them.

"I'll always care about you just the same, no matter how old I am, or how much I grow." Bruce assured her, putting aside the idea of tea to softly grab one of her hands in both of his. He wanted Abbie to know just how sincere he was being, that he would always care for her and be there for her. After all, they'd been inseparable for years of their youth, and even just having been reunited, he felt as though nothing had changed aside from physicalities. She was still his childhood best friend that he would protect with everything in him.

Squeezing her hand reassuringly once more, Bruce released it from his two-handed grasp, his eyes lingering on hers for a moment longer before he motioned toward the setup of tea that Alfred had brought for the two of them.

"But you said you would stay for tea, right?" He asked, reaching over to spoon a bit of sugar into his own cup before stirring it, the spoon softly clinking the fine glass of the teacup. It steamed, still much too hot to drink unless he wanted a nice burn on his tongue, which quite honestly, didn't sound as appealing as some may think.