(no subject)
Oct. 1st, 2010 10:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
emerald_skiesSalutations, internets!
First, I know I said a large chunk of Batman!fic would be up soon, but overall revisions got more complicated than we were expecting (because this thing keeps expanding), so I decided to post a smaller part that's already pretty set to tide y'all over.
(Link to the fic's tag page for previous parts: here)
Title: Celer, Silens, Mortalis (Part 2)
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
emerald_skies and mcl4r3n
Summary: In which Brad has an idea, Nate gets a surprise, and things start to get complicated (as they are wont to do).
In the middle of sparring with Walt in the Batcave one afternoon, Brad suddenly says, "Gents, I've been thinking.” Ray, who watches from a safe distance, grins wickedly, "Uh oh."
Brad sidesteps a kick Walt aims at his midsection and trips Walt by hooking one of his feet behind Walt's ankle. "You need to stop watching my chest to predict my next move, Walt," Brad tells Walt as he helps Walt up off the floor. "A well-trained fighter can easily conceal any hints you might find there." He grins and claps Walt on the shoulder, "Your speed is improving though."
"So," Ray cuts in loudly, "you've been thinking?"
"Right. Think back with me, gentlemen; we didn't interact with the police force very much under the late Commissioner Dowdy."
Walt snorts. "That'd be because Dowdy wanted to cart your ass off to Arkham."
"Point, Walt. Regardless of reasons, I think the lack of a unified front on the side of good served to…encourage Gotham's various miscreants."
"In English," Ray interrupts, "the crime rate went through the fuckin' roof. Brad, I love story time as much as the next guy, but do you have a point somewhere in all those S.A.T. words?"
"Considering that our current Commissioner has proven that he, unlike his predecessor, happens to possess a functioning brain, I was considering presenting him with a gesture of good faith. You know," he grins, "to cement our newfound professional relationship."
Walt grins back, "You know, Brad, most people just say it with flowers and a card." Ray and Brad stare at him like he's grown an extra head. "What, I can't get in on the jokes once in a while?"
Brad glares at Ray, "Stop corrupting him. It's hard enough dealing with one of you."
Walt clears his throat loudly. "What did you have in mind for this good faith gesture of yours?"
Brad's answering grin turns slightly feral and distinctly unsettling.
-------
A few days later, Sergeant Mike Wynn catches up with Nate as Nate comes back from his lunch break.
"You missed mail call," he says as he hands Nate a stack of envelopes. Nate raises his eyebrows at one envelope in particular; unlike its letter-sized fellows, this envelope is large, yellow, and surprisingly thick. It also lacks a return address.
Mike chuckles at Nate's expression, "I had some questions about that one myself."
"I'll let you know if it has anything of interest," Nate replies absently as he unlocks his office. He sets the large envelope on his desk and examines it carefully.
"Typed address label means no handwriting analysis, no adhesive means no preserved fingerprints or salivary DNA analysis…hmmmm," he murmurs under his breath. "Of course," Nate adds dryly, "a return address would be too easy." He finally sighs, "At least it's not ticking," and opens the envelope.
The contents turn out to be photographs – glossy, very high-quality color photographs. In the first batch, Nate sees Craig Schwetje, one of Gotham's top prosecutors, out to dinner with the head of the Falcone crime family. The digitally printed date at the bottom of the photographs is from three days ago.
The next batch, dated two days ago, shows two men throwing clearly labeled evidence bags into a drum of burning trash in one of Gotham's more run-down neighborhoods. Nate recognizes one of them from the rotating roster of officers who watch over the evidence locker.
Suddenly, a recent court case against one of the Falcones’ most important men jumps to the forefront of Nate's mind. The case had been tied up in appeal after appeal for the last couple of months until yesterday, when it was dismissed due to "misplaced evidence". Craig Schwetje was the lead prosecutor on that particular case.
Nate lets out a long, low whistle as the full significance of what he's seeing finally hits him. He's known for a while that a large portion of Gotham's police force occasionally bends the law, but he had no idea that the corruption reached all the way up to one of Gotham's most prominent prosecutors.
At least one thing about this is simple; Nate only has one informant that deals in photos of this quality. He picks up the phone, dials, and waits.
"Gotham Gazette, Evan Wright speaking."
"Evan, it's Nate. I wanted to thank you for these pictures you sent me."
"What pictures?
"The ones you sent me today. You've outdone yourself, to put it mildly."
There's a pause on the other end, "I didn't send you anything today."
"What?"
"I didn't send you anything today. I haven't had any good scoops recently." There's a very long pause. "Nate? Do you have something for me?"
"I don't know yet," Nate finally replies with a sigh. "Let's grab a beer sometime this week, I'll explain then. Sorry to waste your time."
"No problem, don't be a stranger."
Nate hangs up the phone and stares at the pictures with renewed interest. As he shuffles through the more recent batch, a folded piece of paper he hadn't noticed before flutters onto his desk. It's a very short note in small, spiky black script:
Nate,
Hope you don't mind, but I took you at your word when you said you're going to need all the help you can get. Now we understand each other.
--B
After a moment, the familiar phrases jog something in Nate's memory. He smiles, then grins, then starts to laugh. He may be the poster child of all things anti-social, but at least he has a sense of humor. Finally, he tucks the note into his pocket, puts the photographs back into the envelope, and goes to find Sergeant Wynn.
[to be continued...]
Because I am totally neurotic and perfectionist when it comes to writing, many many edits will probably occur throughout the day depending on how strong the urge to nitpick gets. In the mean time? Enjoy!
Also, many thanks to everyone for their support in my Inception/Tom Hardy/sleeping-pill-induced rambling post. Please continue being awesome, internets.
Finally, because I (for once) don't have a huge looming assignment due next week, I'll actually be able to sit down and tackle a bunch of review posts over the weekend (including two Glee posts, two Supernatural posts, and the Kung Fu Hustle post). Oh God, what is my life /o\
---
"Anger cannot be dishonest..." -- Marcus Aurelius
---
Cheers.
First, I know I said a large chunk of Batman!fic would be up soon, but overall revisions got more complicated than we were expecting (because this thing keeps expanding), so I decided to post a smaller part that's already pretty set to tide y'all over.
(Link to the fic's tag page for previous parts: here)
Title: Celer, Silens, Mortalis (Part 2)
Authors:
emerald_skies and mcl4r3nSummary: In which Brad has an idea, Nate gets a surprise, and things start to get complicated (as they are wont to do).
In the middle of sparring with Walt in the Batcave one afternoon, Brad suddenly says, "Gents, I've been thinking.” Ray, who watches from a safe distance, grins wickedly, "Uh oh."
Brad sidesteps a kick Walt aims at his midsection and trips Walt by hooking one of his feet behind Walt's ankle. "You need to stop watching my chest to predict my next move, Walt," Brad tells Walt as he helps Walt up off the floor. "A well-trained fighter can easily conceal any hints you might find there." He grins and claps Walt on the shoulder, "Your speed is improving though."
"So," Ray cuts in loudly, "you've been thinking?"
"Right. Think back with me, gentlemen; we didn't interact with the police force very much under the late Commissioner Dowdy."
Walt snorts. "That'd be because Dowdy wanted to cart your ass off to Arkham."
"Point, Walt. Regardless of reasons, I think the lack of a unified front on the side of good served to…encourage Gotham's various miscreants."
"In English," Ray interrupts, "the crime rate went through the fuckin' roof. Brad, I love story time as much as the next guy, but do you have a point somewhere in all those S.A.T. words?"
"Considering that our current Commissioner has proven that he, unlike his predecessor, happens to possess a functioning brain, I was considering presenting him with a gesture of good faith. You know," he grins, "to cement our newfound professional relationship."
Walt grins back, "You know, Brad, most people just say it with flowers and a card." Ray and Brad stare at him like he's grown an extra head. "What, I can't get in on the jokes once in a while?"
Brad glares at Ray, "Stop corrupting him. It's hard enough dealing with one of you."
Walt clears his throat loudly. "What did you have in mind for this good faith gesture of yours?"
Brad's answering grin turns slightly feral and distinctly unsettling.
-------
A few days later, Sergeant Mike Wynn catches up with Nate as Nate comes back from his lunch break.
"You missed mail call," he says as he hands Nate a stack of envelopes. Nate raises his eyebrows at one envelope in particular; unlike its letter-sized fellows, this envelope is large, yellow, and surprisingly thick. It also lacks a return address.
Mike chuckles at Nate's expression, "I had some questions about that one myself."
"I'll let you know if it has anything of interest," Nate replies absently as he unlocks his office. He sets the large envelope on his desk and examines it carefully.
"Typed address label means no handwriting analysis, no adhesive means no preserved fingerprints or salivary DNA analysis…hmmmm," he murmurs under his breath. "Of course," Nate adds dryly, "a return address would be too easy." He finally sighs, "At least it's not ticking," and opens the envelope.
The contents turn out to be photographs – glossy, very high-quality color photographs. In the first batch, Nate sees Craig Schwetje, one of Gotham's top prosecutors, out to dinner with the head of the Falcone crime family. The digitally printed date at the bottom of the photographs is from three days ago.
The next batch, dated two days ago, shows two men throwing clearly labeled evidence bags into a drum of burning trash in one of Gotham's more run-down neighborhoods. Nate recognizes one of them from the rotating roster of officers who watch over the evidence locker.
Suddenly, a recent court case against one of the Falcones’ most important men jumps to the forefront of Nate's mind. The case had been tied up in appeal after appeal for the last couple of months until yesterday, when it was dismissed due to "misplaced evidence". Craig Schwetje was the lead prosecutor on that particular case.
Nate lets out a long, low whistle as the full significance of what he's seeing finally hits him. He's known for a while that a large portion of Gotham's police force occasionally bends the law, but he had no idea that the corruption reached all the way up to one of Gotham's most prominent prosecutors.
At least one thing about this is simple; Nate only has one informant that deals in photos of this quality. He picks up the phone, dials, and waits.
"Gotham Gazette, Evan Wright speaking."
"Evan, it's Nate. I wanted to thank you for these pictures you sent me."
"What pictures?
"The ones you sent me today. You've outdone yourself, to put it mildly."
There's a pause on the other end, "I didn't send you anything today."
"What?"
"I didn't send you anything today. I haven't had any good scoops recently." There's a very long pause. "Nate? Do you have something for me?"
"I don't know yet," Nate finally replies with a sigh. "Let's grab a beer sometime this week, I'll explain then. Sorry to waste your time."
"No problem, don't be a stranger."
Nate hangs up the phone and stares at the pictures with renewed interest. As he shuffles through the more recent batch, a folded piece of paper he hadn't noticed before flutters onto his desk. It's a very short note in small, spiky black script:
Nate,
Hope you don't mind, but I took you at your word when you said you're going to need all the help you can get. Now we understand each other.
--B
After a moment, the familiar phrases jog something in Nate's memory. He smiles, then grins, then starts to laugh. He may be the poster child of all things anti-social, but at least he has a sense of humor. Finally, he tucks the note into his pocket, puts the photographs back into the envelope, and goes to find Sergeant Wynn.
[to be continued...]
Because I am totally neurotic and perfectionist when it comes to writing, many many edits will probably occur throughout the day depending on how strong the urge to nitpick gets. In the mean time? Enjoy!
Also, many thanks to everyone for their support in my Inception/Tom Hardy/sleeping-pill-induced rambling post. Please continue being awesome, internets.
Finally, because I (for once) don't have a huge looming assignment due next week, I'll actually be able to sit down and tackle a bunch of review posts over the weekend (including two Glee posts, two Supernatural posts, and the Kung Fu Hustle post). Oh God, what is my life /o\
---
"Anger cannot be dishonest..." -- Marcus Aurelius
---
Cheers.
Tags:
- chronicles of a closet overachiever,
- everything is okay,
- exercises in boredom,
- fanfic,
- fic: celer silens mortalis,
- fuck college,
- generation kill,
- holy shit it's not a stark post,
- i love you flist,
- is the semester over yet?,
- it's raining tags (hallelujah),
- no rest for the wicked,
- too many words not enough gifs,
- what an exciting life i lead
