[CENTER][COLOR=SLATEGRAY][B]C H A R A C T E R   C O N C E P T   P R O P O S A L[/B][/COLOR][h1][b]B A T M A N 
  I N C O R P O R A T E D[/b][/h1][hr]
[img]https://static.comicvine.com/uploads/original/0/40/2012493-bminc_lev1_jsadfhklasd6f8as98df6245kjhsdf.jpeg[/img][h3][sup][sub]B R U C E   W A Y N E  ♦   C E O   O F   W A Y N E   E N T E R P R I S E S  ♦  G O T H A M   C I T Y[/sub][/sup][/h3][img][/img]
[/CENTER][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]C H A R A C T E R   C O N C E P T:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr]
[CENTER][sup]"Bruce, why do we fall?"[/sup][/CENTER]
[INDENT][INDENT][i]Almost fifty years ago, two ringing gunshots in the rainy, cold black of an unassuming alley would go on to change the world. For the better, some might say, sacrificing but two in exchange for the greatest hero Gotham City had ever known. Others say the death of Thomas and Martha Wayne has has only made things harder and stranger, letting new breeds of criminal fester in the city, and depriving Gotham of her last, best hope at leaping forward into a brave new world. But, with the efforts of their son, Gotham may just have a chance.

Gotham's streets have known the legend of The Batman for some-odd thirty-five years; they have known his blood and his sweat, the sweeping black of his cape, the glow of his symbol in the sky, and the blinding fury of his rage. Trained under countless masters in the Far East and pushed through endless trials, Gotham's first son forged himself into something new. No longer a mere orphan, but a weapon of devastating power, a cruel reminder of what Gotham lost that night in the rain. But this is the Batman of days gone by. A younger man, heart twisted by senseless violence into something even those closest to him would not recognize.

The Bat grew as the city did, calming with the years, settling into a new normal. From urban myth to vigilante to hero, and everything inbetween. His campaign against Gotham's criminal element has slowly morphed into something more, no longer a boy's struggle for vengenace, but a battle of hearts and minds, hopes and dreams: security for the next generation, lessons for each of his sons to wear the mantle of Robin, his faithful boy sidekick.

Since the emergence of the Superman, Batman has been preparing for the end: the day he can hang up his cowl and watch the sun set on an unwatched city knowing, for the first time, that it would be safe without him. To this end, he has established the so-called Batman Incorporated, dedicated to training gifted youngsters and up-and-comers the ways of The Batman, passing on the tutelage he recieved all those years ago to a new, extended class of proteges.

But something lurks in the back of Bruce's mind, the same paranoia that his festered within the very heart of Batman since the night in the alley. Something is changing in Gotham -- whispers of monsters and owls in the streets, talk of mutant gangs, and a new kind of unrestrained police force. Word of something that is hunting his students. The Batman may need a few more long nights, after all...[/i][/indent][/indent]
[INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]C H A R A C T E R   M O T I V A T I O N S   &   G O A L S:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][INDENT][INDENT][i]For most of my life now, I think we've been getting a different Batman from the one that lives in my heart. The last twenty-odd years of Batman movies have featured a dark, violent vigilante that exacts cruel vengeance on anyone who dares to cross him. I like this Batman, to be sure, and I think it's a wonderful version of the character, but I also think this is a rare opportunity to bring something else to the table.

My Batman is older, and has learned over the years that while scars will leave their marks, they can heal -- especially with a little help from your friends. This is a Batman who wants to be Gotham's protector before he wants to be her 'dark avenger', and a Batman who is getting old enough that the game might be a little more about training the next generation and a little less about making sure to squeeze into the Batsuit every night. I want to write a Batman that has a little more heart to him, one with a storied history and a list of rogues as long as his arm, a long history to reckon with, and a solid troupe of Robins and heroes to help get him through it all.[/i][/indent][/indent]
[INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]C H A R A C T E R   N O T E S:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][INDENT][INDENT][i]
[hider= Supporting Cast]
To be updated!
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[INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]S A M P L E   P O S T:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][INDENT][INDENT]
[hider= Sample]Bruce took his sake warm, in Dad’s old whiskey glass. At this point it had been Bruce’s for a decade or so more than it had been Thomas’. But Bruce still caught himself thinking of it that way, Dad’s glass, half-filled with shimmering bronze that disappeared beyond his lips in measured sips, just enough to calm the nerves and steady the hands. Bruce would think about how it looked on his return from Japan all those years ago, rimmed in dust and looking back at him sadly through the sharp angles of the glass, untouched and uncleaned by Bruce’s own orders. But that was the past.

Still: his glass or not, [i]clean[/i] or not, the best manufacturers in the world evidently still hadn’t managed to make sake that went down as smooth Yoru-Sensei’s. Old man never did like to write anything down -- apparently recipes least of all. Bruce supposed that was the one thing he’d admonish his old teacher for, if he ever came back from the other side of the veil: [i]you should have left us something to remember you by.[/i] Instead all that Yoru left was a burnt dojo and a class of disillusioned students wondering what went wrong. But this, too, was the past.

This was now: Jim Gordon, Commissioner of the GCPD, making his way across the Persian Rug back from the wet bar, holding his gimlet in one hand and steadying his horn-rimmed glasses with another. The scars and bruises and bullets of the years hadn’t done much to shake him. He was still the same old Jim, a little grayer than he used to be, but he still had the same set to his jaw, no matter how many times some crook had gotten the better of him and broken it.

“Sake?” Bruce offered as Jim lowered himself into his seat. He waved Bruce off.

“I’m good.” Jim set his glass on a coaster. He pushed his glasses up from the nose, the blue of his eyes had dulled with age, but they still retained their focus, arcing across Bruce’s features like a searchlight. “Thank you for having me, Bruce. I know you’ve been busy -- all these kids running around...”

“These days I can afford to make time for an old friend. The boys have a handle on things.” Bruce poured himself another glass. “What brings you my way?”

Jim took a long swallow from his drink and then turned his eyes down on it, watching the ice cubes float and bob in the glass. He looked back to Bruce, “just checking up,” he smoothed his mustache with one hand, settling in his seat, “it’s been a while since [i]we’ve[/i] talked. Usually I only get the other guy.”

“Hrm,” Bruce tipped up his glass, letting the warm wash into his belly, still focusing on Jim. How the other man’s shoes tapped against the carpet, how he fingered the rim of his glass.

“You hear from Dick much?” Jim asked. Bruce shook his head.

“I get Christmas cards. You know how they are, at his age,” Bruce said. Some part of him wished he really did get the cards, at least. To get some indication of what his boy was up to in his own words, instead of just the whispers Bruce scraped from the S.H.I.E.L.D servers.

“Always too busy for a phone call,” Jim nodded.

“The same with Barbara, I take it?” Bruce set his glass aside and leaned back in his chair, looking out to the stretches of Gotham winking at him in the distance, beyond the ceiling-high windows of Wayne Manor that cast the house’s light across Bruce’s clipped lawn. Jim’s glass clinked against the table.

“You probably get to talk to her more than I do,” Jim said. Bruce caught the edge in his voice and let the silence sit between them for a moment, keeping his eyes out on the city, tracing out her belfries and alleys in his mind, wondering in which ones his proteges lurked, completing their rotations for the night. Jim probably did the same for Barbara, staring at the stars.

“Managing the Watchtower keeps her just as busy as Dick, I’m afraid.” Bruce said.

“I always thought she was happier as Batgirl,” Jim said, “not up there on that station, looking down on all of us.” Jim put his hands together, squeezing them. Bruce looked back.

“Why are you here, Jim? We’re both too old to do this dance.”

Jim closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose with both hands. “When this started, when [i]Batman[/i] started, it was just us and Harvey against the world. Against the Falcones, the Maronis, Cobblepot, even the old Commissioner. Do you remember what we wanted?”

“To save the city,” Bruce said simply. Jim was wound up into himself, muscles tight, with a together expression on his face, lips strained and eyes pressed.

“We wanted [i]accountability[/i]. A world where cops like Loeb couldn’t take dirty money under the table and let the families run loose. And what do we have now?” Jim leaned forward, Bruce could smell the gin and lime on his breath.

“We wanted [i]safety[/i], Jim. A world where Babs and Jim Jr. wouldn’t have to worry about the gangs, the drugs, the violence,” Bruce began.

“So instead they have to worry about the Justice League hanging over their heads, and a Batman in every neighborhood? It-it’s not right,” Jim shook his head and he stood, pushing back from his chair, “Batman used to be a-a nightmare, a story we made to scare every crooked cop straight. A threat, not a plan. It was never supposed to be [i]this[/i], an unchecked army in your basement.”

Bruce stood, carefully, rising to face Jim, meeting the burning blue beneath his gray caterpillar eyebrows. Bruce felt the register of his voice step backwards, Batman’s voice clawing its way forward from his throat. “What’s the alternative, Gordon? Letting Loeb fester in his filth? You built this right along with us.”

“Jesus, Bruce. We need… We need [i]reform[/i], checks and balances… I don’t know. Harvey always knew the policy. He wouldn’t have wanted this. Big Brother in the sky, a cape on every corner that can do whatever he damn well pleases --”

“Why don’t you head down to Arkham and ask Harvey for his answer?” Bruce caught himself growling, feeling the pressure build in his chest. He fought it down, forcing his shoulders back and making his eyes stay on Jim, calm, level. Jim shrugged his shoulders, and turned, heading for the huge oaken doors on the far side of the Manor. He sighed.

“Maybe I will. I’m going to have a lot of free time.” Jim said. The gears turned in Bruce’s head. Free time?

Jim reached the coat rack by the door, and slipped his arms into his overcoat. He grabbed his hat, the same one he’d held onto since Bruce met him, an old brown trilby finally starting to be pocked with holes.

“I built all this with you, Bruce, but I can’t just sit by this anymore… But I’m too old to fight it. I’m stepping back as Commissioner. You’re the first to know,” Jim said. He took the knob in his hands and pulled, sending the main doors creaks all through the house. Jim sat his hat on his head.

“Stop this, while you still can. And take care of yourself. Give the kids my best.” Jim didn’t look back as he stepped out of Wayne Manor. Bruce watched Gordon as he went, heard his footfalls echoing down the drive as the door moaned shut behind him. 
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[INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]P O S T   C A T A L O G:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][INDENT][INDENT][i]A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed arcs and stories.[/i][/indent][/indent]