bruce "i'm kin with bats" wayne (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pearlstrings) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
logsinthenight2020-01-14 07:34 pm
pearlstrings) wrote in logsinthenight2020-01-14 07:34 pm
Entry tags:
closed: try to change, i try to change
characters: bruce & akechi
location: library
date/time: january 10
content: two nerds with a preoccupation for justice cross paths
warnings: n/a
There is still snow on the ground. Quite a lot of it, actually.
The blizzard is in its final throes, something Bruce recognizes from Gotham's nearness to winter and to the heavy blankets that came down around Wayne Manor- where they had been surrounded by forest on all sides. The wind doesn't howl without end; there are gaps that are more merciful than others and by extension, represent windows of opportunity.
The museum has more people in it now than ever and not for the first time he can imagine what Alfred might say to him, about his tendency to collect strays. He doesn't regret the decision. In his experience trust and fondness can be mutually exclusive and it's prompted him to make a space for them in this huge building he's come to call home. But Bruce is and always has been a loner. It's easy to let himself be distracted, especially for the way plunging temperatures keep them in doors- tempers flare and everyone is eager to find a method to keep it at bay. For Bruce this means finding familiar layers and heading out into the snow.
He doesn't plan to be gone long, but he hopes that a chance of scenery will give him some much needed perspective. He makes his way to the library and finds the halls relatively empty- with the exception of a few spirits. Bruce says hello to them as he passes because it is the polite thing to do- and then he settles himself at a desk and gets to work. There are notebooks around him, with names and network ids in tidy black script, with small bullet points beneath them- bullet points that Bruce adds to as he combs the network. In another notebook are names and locations around Beacon- notes made during the Town Hall meeting about who was dreaming and what they mentioned seeing. There's a log book that people have been contributing to, but some of the information he's looking for is missing and besides- he's always preferred to keep copies of his own. A black shape curved over a desk, Bruce's lantern casts a pool of yellow light around his work space and the scratch of pen on paper continues.
location: library
date/time: january 10
content: two nerds with a preoccupation for justice cross paths
warnings: n/a
There is still snow on the ground. Quite a lot of it, actually.
The blizzard is in its final throes, something Bruce recognizes from Gotham's nearness to winter and to the heavy blankets that came down around Wayne Manor- where they had been surrounded by forest on all sides. The wind doesn't howl without end; there are gaps that are more merciful than others and by extension, represent windows of opportunity.
The museum has more people in it now than ever and not for the first time he can imagine what Alfred might say to him, about his tendency to collect strays. He doesn't regret the decision. In his experience trust and fondness can be mutually exclusive and it's prompted him to make a space for them in this huge building he's come to call home. But Bruce is and always has been a loner. It's easy to let himself be distracted, especially for the way plunging temperatures keep them in doors- tempers flare and everyone is eager to find a method to keep it at bay. For Bruce this means finding familiar layers and heading out into the snow.
He doesn't plan to be gone long, but he hopes that a chance of scenery will give him some much needed perspective. He makes his way to the library and finds the halls relatively empty- with the exception of a few spirits. Bruce says hello to them as he passes because it is the polite thing to do- and then he settles himself at a desk and gets to work. There are notebooks around him, with names and network ids in tidy black script, with small bullet points beneath them- bullet points that Bruce adds to as he combs the network. In another notebook are names and locations around Beacon- notes made during the Town Hall meeting about who was dreaming and what they mentioned seeing. There's a log book that people have been contributing to, but some of the information he's looking for is missing and besides- he's always preferred to keep copies of his own. A black shape curved over a desk, Bruce's lantern casts a pool of yellow light around his work space and the scratch of pen on paper continues.
no subject
"I was, actually. Although I found myself in a mineshaft with two others, so we didn't exactly get to explore nearly as much as we'd hoped to. Would have been nice given the situation, but it's not something we could freely do with spirits doing as they pleased," he responded back.
no subject
But Akechi says mineshaft and Bruce's attention crystallizes. His eyes flick upward, bright an attentive in the dark. He'd started searching for it months ago. "A mineshaft? What did you see?"
no subject
"It didn't take long to be assaulted by a spirit; maybe even two of them. What we did discover before that though was limited. We had found some miner hats that seemed to have been recently left behind. They showed no signs of damage to the hats, but there was a wet substance and hair found inside of one of them. It was too dark to really verify if it was blood, but It wouldn't surprise me," he started to explain. "What I found intriguing is that there showed signs of an injury of some sort, but it couldn't have been from outside of the hat. Perhaps maybe the victim had been injured before using the hat, but we didn't have enough time to fact check that to be true or not."
no subject
It's impossible to know just yet if Akechi too found himself moving through time. Everything he'd witnessed at the church had been in a state of flux- so to know that that was mining equipment found is confirmation of a kind. His brows come together. Wet, with hair inside. An injury that didn't come from outside the hat. Bruce's stomach does not roil, perhaps that means something about the way he's changed. Years ago he would have thought only of the person's identity- who they were and who they would never be again. Now he thinks: a broken window doesn't always originate from the outside.
"I don't suppose you were able to leave the mine at all. To get an idea of your surroundings?"