Bruce was being watched. Again.
He didn’t know where it was coming from, and that was a problem at the moment. He was hosting another gala, intent on putting on the “Bruice Wayne” mask for the public. None of his children were attending, unfortunately, but everything was going okay so far.
Then he kept feeling a cool breeze on the back of his neck. His hairs stood on end, and he shivered randomly. Someone mentioned that he looked cold. But Bruce wasn’t cold. He was Batman! Batman is never bothered by something stupid like the temperature. It just felt like there were multiple pairs of eyes staring at him from all directions.
Bruce tried to catch whoever it was, but when he looked, there was no one there. He even made extra laps around the room, easily slipping between socialites and chatting his way through the crowd. He scanned the tables, checked the stairs, peeked outside, and even snuck at glance at the chandeliers for fuck’s sake! There was nothing. No cameras, no lingering eyes, nothing.
Bruce could feel his heartbeat quicken. There was something in the room. Something dangerous.
Eventually, the source of his anxiety came to him. The gala was small, being in the middle of the off-season for social events. It was a relatively quiet gathering. Still, Bruce flinched when someone tapped his shoulder from behind when he was making another waltz around the room. He turned, and was faced with a boy no older than 16, but no younger than 14. It was hard to tell his age. He wore an ill-fitted navy suit and scuffed dress shoes. His tie was no where to be seen, and the boy had a platter of finger foods balanced in one hand. He hadn’t heard anyone approach at all.
What made Bruce freeze, however, was the fact that the boy looked exactly like the portraits of the young Thomas Wayne that were hanging innocently in the Wayne family home. His crystal blue eyes seemed to glow in the overhead lights as they bore into Bruce. It felt like the boy could see his soul. The air was more chilled than it had been all night, and everything in Bruce’s mind was screaming DANGER!
“Y’know…” Bruce’s breath caught in his throat as the boy spoke. His midwestern accent was heavy, and the boy took a slow moment to polish off a baked feta bite before continuing. “You look like the kinda guy to have a secret basement. The bloody kind. Nice party, though!” With that, the boy disappeared back into the crowd, taking the cold air with him.
Bruce never got out a word.
———
Danny sees all the wandering souls and shades attached to Bruce Wayne, and comes to the obvious conclusion that the billionaire is a serial killer.
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Song of Fire and Ice
Pyrrha: *eating chili-spiced Mistrali chicken stir fry* Mmm~! I missed this kind of food from home! Thank you for treating me to lunch, Jaune! It was very thoughtful 😋
Jaune: *dying as his tongue is submerged in capsaicin* …SO…VERY…HOT…🥵
Jaune: Luckily I came prepared!
Jaune: *breaks out emergency blizzard shake* Ahhhhh…sweet relief…! 😭
Pyrrha: Oh, I’ve never tried one of those! May I have a sip, Jaune?
Jaune: *passes the frozen treat*
Pyrrha: *takes a single slurp* AAAAGH!!! My head!! 😫🥶
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Joel is lounging around on Potato Pier, evening darkening to purple as Jimmy and Grian argue about something stupid in the background. He dips a hand in and out of the water elevator, in and out, and again; and after every splash he's seeing the same numbers.
"Time's stopped," Joel says absently. The lulling noise of the background conversation grinds to a halt.
"Sorry, what?" Jimmy asks.
"I said, the blimming-" Joel realizes what he's saying as he says it, snapped from dreamy to alert in a moment. Grian's head whips up.
Jimmy looks down at his own arm. "The time's stopped. The time has stopped? Grian?"
Already reaching for his comm, Grian says with a forcedly casual tone, "No it hasn't."
Then he blanches, eyes flicking over the screen.
"WHAT."
Joel snorts and looks out over the map. No one is noticeably freaking out yet- the only group he can see out and about this late in the day is the Clockers, busy fixing up the cliff face on their side of the No-Man's-Land with Pearl and BigB. He watches as Bdubs falls in the chicken pit for the umpteenth time. Joel snickers.
He looks up, and catches sight of Grian's expression. He stops snickering.
--------------------
"What do you MEAN," Cleo yells, "that the clocks have stopped?" One of their arms is looped firmly around Scar's shoulders, which seems prudent given his tendency to wander off and either explode or kill whoever he bumps into. He still looks slightly singed from earlier, giving an overall impression of a puppy that cannot be left alone with electric cords.
Slumped against a rough stone wall reloading a crossbow, Joel scoffs. "What do you bloody well think it means?"
"HEY," Bdubs exclaims, "Don't talk to-" Aaand he's in the horse pit.
"It's fine Bdubs." Cleo rolls her eyes. "My fault. What I meant to ask is, why are you-" she points to Grian, who squawks, "-telling us about it? Why aren't you just fixing it?"
"Well he can't, can he?" Jimmy pipes up from his seat at the dining table. "Else he would. He's in here with us, though."
Cleo doesn't stop staring at Grian, and boy is Joel glad he's not Grian right now. Both because being himself is obviously the best option always, and because an angry Cleo is a very scary Cleo.
Reluctantly, slowly, Grian nods. "I can't fix it."
No one says anything.
The dripping from the ceiling to the floor makes Joel think someone really ought to fix up the roof. They'll have the time for it, he reckons. Then Joel remembers that the Bad Boys had, in fact, bombed the clocktower not an hour before, and decides now is really not the time to mention it.
Finally: "I really can't. It's not-" Grian sighs. "I set this thing up. It can run just fine on autopilot, pretty much. If I were on the outside as an admin-" he grimaces, "...like I should be, it wouldn't be an issue. But it's like the pilot is locked inside the bathroom while the plane-" Grian stops talking.
"Crashes? While it crashes." Cleo sounds displeased. Joel starts drafting an obituary. Bdubs has clambered up from the horse pit by now and is sitting on the edge of it, nervously messing with a janky old pocket watch.
"I would really prefer not to be stuck in an airplane bathroom forever," Scar says forlornly.
"Oh for goodness' sake," Joel says. "There has to be someone on this server who can fix this. Grian can't be the first idiot who's ever done something this stupid."
"I'll take that bet," Bdubs mutters darkly. Cleo shoots him a look, and he raises both hands and scoots forward to disappear down into the horse pit again.
Cleo pinches the bridge of their nose. "Alright, let's go find out if someone else on this server has already been a bigger idiot than Grian."
(Part 1)
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