Morose — Roleplayer Guild

Edwina Fairfax & The Joker
Location: Gotham ---> The Joker's Hideout 
Interacting With: @Din Nyt, Cheetah Woman
The Joker waved his hand dismissively at Barbara. "These children, no matters! Rather than calling them millennials, we should call them millennifails!" Cackling wildly at his own joke, the Joker stared expectantly at the driver, until the poor man began to chuckle and clap along as well. A silly grin plastered on his disfigured face, the Joker tilted his head at Nyt, moving his fingers in air as if playing a piano. "Eenee meenee miney mo, what powers do you have to show?"

Edwina rolled her eyes, groaning a bit at him. His jokes hadn't improved at all over the years, worsening along with the quality of his teeth. "For the Joker, you're really bad at telling jokes," Edwina groaned. The Joker's smile curled into a frown, as his hands clenched. 

Fortunately, however, the car stopped. They had arrived at their destination. A disused party supply factory, shut down and boarded up. It was perhaps a bit obvious of a location, but it evidently worked, as the Joker had used it as a hideout for ages. He practically dashed inside. Once in, the newcomers would notice the place was in tatters. Old plans, rotting food, and dirty clothes covered the floor. Two snarling dogs, the size of small lions, fought over something that seemed vaguely human in the corner. 

"Welcome to my not so humble abode!" the Joker exclaimed, bowing slightly. "You'll fine your one of a kind Joker approved costumes in the room to the right! See you in ten for the big show!"

Sherlock Holmes
The Morgue
Taking a stepback to admire her handiwork, Sherlock took a swig of her beer. While most would've argued that scientific experiments and being under the influence didn't mix, Sherlock would disagree with them. It gave her mind a heightened clarity, and if she was truly being honest, this particular experiment was mostly for fun. In fact, she'd hardly notice the power go out, only realizing it from the immense pain that shot into her eyes when it turned back on. 

For a genius, Sherlock can be incredibly thick.

Of course to her, it was mostly that she was focused. Bruising after death experiments were so last year, as she'd already collected plenty of evidence. Raising up her gun, she aimed it at the corpse in front of her -- a John Doe, so she assumed -- and fired off another round. The bullets entered the corpse, and Sherlock dashed over quickly, grabbing her magnifying glass to see exactly how much blood a corpse could expect to lose when dead.

"Watson, I need you to fetch me more bullets," Sherlock murmured, mentally cataloguing the information. She didn't need to write things down, instead using the memory villa technique to recall virtually everything. The device was intended to help orators remember speeches. Sherlock found it perfectly useful for crime. 

"Watson, where are those bullets?" Sherlock snapped, turning around to chew out her flatmate. Of course, she then realized she'd been shouting at an empty room. John wasn't in Mystvale. John suspected Sherlock to be dead. Sighing slightly, Sherlock took another swig of her drink, hoping to lighten up her mood. Tugging at her hair, she groaned, feeling the onset of boredom. 

Perhaps the idiots in the police had something interesting for her to do. Quickly pinning her hair up and covering it with a fedora, Sherlock tossed the gun aside. She'd collect it later, there wasn't too much of a rush or a hurry. Having no concept of what time it was, Sherlock's stomach grumbled slightly. She'd need to get some food, then, as much as she detested wasting her energy with eating. Her body was transport, a shell. Nothing more.

"Watson, how does Chinese sound?" Sherlock inquired, once more to the empty room. A sad smile graced the lips of the consulting detective. Pausing slightly, Sherlock's mind instantly whizzed, a thousand connections firing up. There would be no need for Lancelot to notify her. Already, Sherlock came to the conclusion that there had been another disappearance, and that in some sort of attempt to keep people calm, there'd be a town meeting.

"The game is on...." Sherlock murmured to herself.Harlianne Hook
The Hatter's Bookshop
Harlianne picked the lock to the Hatter's shop, before quietly slipping inside. Underneath the cover of darkness, she could hear the police sirens in the distance. Snickering, Harlianne glanced down at her prize, carefully held by her hook. It was a bag, the straps held in the curve, filled with rum. Despite loving her ship dearly, Harlianne wasn't foolish. The police, if they were competent at all, would go look for her there first.

"Hatter! It's tea time!" Harlianne called out. Hearing no answer, she figured the Hatter must have been asleep. The crazy thing probably needed it, at least. Setting the bag down on the counter of the shop, Harlianne removed her hook with her right hand, before replacing it with her special occasion hook. It was perhaps the only thing the film Hook got correct about her. The lace on it had a few stains from her tea time visits with the Hatter, but she hardly minded. As a pirate, she didn't care much for stains. It was part of the job. 

Grabbing a bottle of rum with her hand, she used her hook to open it, and began to drink the sweet nectar. It instantly set her at ease, and having found a comfortable spot in the back of the Hatter's shop, Harlianne drank herself to sleep. The warm fuzzy feeling helped dear old Captain Hook feel safe and secure, imagining the calm waters of the sea around her. Eventually, her eyes drooped, and the bottle clattered to the floor by her side. 

It was only four hours later that Harlianne woke up. Almost making the mistake of trying to rub her eyes, Harlianne chuckled slightly. Stabbing her eyes with her hook wasn't perhaps the best of plans. Still, it seemed that she'd avoided the police, but she couldn't help but be disappointed that the Hatter had failed to show. "Hatter! Yer late!" Harlianne called out, expecting him to come running in at any moment.

Her eyes fell on the bag filled with rum, and she shrugged a bit. More for meself, Harlianne decided, before opening up another bottle. 
Aravis Tarkheena
Aravis' Apartment ---> Lucy's Apartment
Lost in a dream, Aravis let out a content sigh. She was back home, in Archenland, with Cor, Corin, and Ramna by her side. The Royal Family was together once more, and the Calormene invaders had been rebuked. However, there was a second Queen on the throne of Archenland, one with fair blonde hair and curious eyes. Aravis smiled, watching as Queen Lucy opened her mouth, only to make the most jarring of buzzing noises she ever heard in her life.

Jolting awake, Aravis looked around wildly, grabbing her cutlass. The buzzing noise had originated from her phone, and unlocking it, she saw a missed call from Lucy. Frowning deeply at the message, Aravis threw on some clothes quickly, grabbing her two cutlasses and sticking them in her belt. Lucy's apartment wasn't too far away, fortunately. Running down the steps and out the door, she dashed into the chilly morning air, and raced for Lucy's place. By the time she arrived, she took slight note of the damage to Dorothy's apartment.

"By Tash, you best be alive!" Aravis prayed, knocking frantically on Lucy's door. And a moment later, deciding her own impatience, Aravis scooped up the spare key Lucy kept hidden, and let herself inside. She glanced around, her eyes a bit wild with fear, as she expected to see horror and tragedy.

Instead, all she seemed to find was Aslan, Lucy's cat, hissing up at her. "Lu? What the hell is going on here? By Tash, you acted like the Tisroc (may he live forever) was being held hostage!"

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✨Krakoan Prince✨

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