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He was somewhat surprised that Miss Xola had accepted his request to meet with him. She was notoriously reclusive, holing up inside of her mansion like a hibernating creature, sending out her small fleet of servants to pick up the things she needed. Perhaps she had accepted his request because he had worded it politely and made it clear that he was a believer in the spirit world. Whatever the reason, he was pleased that he found himself at the door of her mansion, about to gain access to her domain. He had made certain that no one had followed him, wanting to remain as anonymous and indiscreet as possible. The carriage had dropped him off two miles away, and he had walked a strange, circuitous route to her home.

One never knew what sorts of people might be following. Casting one last glance over his shoulder, he knocked on the door.

Table Tilting, More or Less AU

Honoria sat calmly and quietly before the mirror, as her maid, Anne, wrapped her braids around the crown of her head and fastening them with a decorative tortoiseshell comb.

A visitor, of all things. How long had it been since she had spoken with anyone not of her own household? Anne had taken it as a rare and cherished opportunity to dress her up like a porcelain doll, while Owen, the butler, took it as a rare and cherished opportunity to disapprove strongly. He was old, and lacked a romantic spirit, and as such, he was not too happy that a working class man was going to be spending any amount of time on the estate, especially not talking to her.

But ultimately, the choice was hers, and the Others had encouraged her to accept the man’s request to speak with her. Anne would make her look as lovely as she could look, not that it really mattered. This man was as yet a stranger, and she herself was something of an old maid now.

Still, it would probably be nice to speak to someone new. She hoped he would be punctual. 

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                     “the struggle not to roll my eyes at people when they talk”

Indie, Riddler/Edward Nygma Blog. Comicverse and Canon-Divergent Gothamverse

                  Selective and Semi-Private | 5+ Years RP Experience | Multiship, Multifandom, OC friendly | Is actually just a huge nerd

Guidelines | Background | Bio | Verses

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‘Ey lil’ Mama, like this post for a lil’ statrer.

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[10:01:04 PM] anyway, here's wonderwall: get my bIRD OUT OF PRISON [10:01:13 PM] anyway, here's wonderwall: if he ends up in arkham i'll be butthurt [10:01:19 PM] anyway, here's wonderwall: MAYBE HIS DAD WILL BAIL HIM OUT [10:01:24 PM] Queen of Salt: but now he's truly a jail bird [10:01:28 PM] Queen of Salt: Did a stool pigeon send him there? 8) [10:01:32 PM] anyway, here's wonderwall: gET OUT [10:01:34 PM] anyway, here's wonderwall: AUCHEN NO [10:01:50 PM] Queen of Salt: HE GOT SENT TO SING-SING [10:01:54 PM] anyway, here's wonderwall: N O [10:01:59 PM] Queen of Salt: BIRD PUNS

Tfw when your Sweet Salt Sister Savvy (aka @flightlessgothamite) doesn’t appreciate your brilliance. :((

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Could kill you, but is still a cinnamon rol

You are indeed correct. But in addition to this, I would add that he’s a cinnamon roll with tin foil wrapped around him.

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Because of the last thing I reblogged, I now want a Victorian AU in which Vic is still a conspiracy theorist and UFO hunter. 8′D 

I’m sorry, I just like wacky 19th century shenanigans, okay?

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Every question she asked was like a barrage of bullets. He didn’t want to answer her queries--he wanted to sleep. For several years, preferably. Or maybe in an isolated cave if that would prevent him from being abducted for a third time. He pressed his hand to his face, fingers splaying across his features. He almost wanted to laugh. For once, someone else was bothering him with questions. Him--The Question, bothered by another person’s investigating. 

“Yes, it was a ship. Just--just take me to a hospital. Please, I’m very tired. I don’t have time or energy to answer all your questions.”

“Beings? Wait, ship? Those lights, they are a ship? Big enough to have medical facilities? How did you get out? And where should I take you? Do you have emergency contacts? What’s your name, will anybody be looking for you? Friends, family, coworkers?”

The way a person spoke was as distinctive as the voice itself. It was right in front of her.

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He hadn’t noticed earlier that there had been stitching. In his hazy, disoriented state, all that he had registered was the cut along his abdomen. But that made sense, he supposed. Earlier he had wondered why alien beings would not take the time to sew up the incisions, and apparently they had. He had just torn them, possibly while stumbling along. He hadn’t exactly been careful when he had been wandering through the darkness in the moments following his ejection from the alien craft.

“I remember very little. The most I can recall at the moment is waking up on a metal table with beings standing over me, using instruments to make an incision in my stomach. I don’t remember what they looked like, and I don’t remember what the ship looked like either.”

He scrubbed his hands across his eyes. That was the truth. And even if it wasn’t the truth, that’s likely what he would have said. He was still trying to shorten their time as much as possible. And on top of that, he was exhausted. He felt like he had every bit of energy wrung out of him, felt as if every muscle inside of his body wanted to slump and droop. He had no interest in talking more than strictly necessary. 

“Trust me, I know disorienting. And I’m going to get you someplace safe. But first I’m going to help with the bleeding…Huh. Looks like there actually is some stitching here, but it’s torn. Please tell me everything you remember.” She knew this man. A quirk of the injuries that had ruined her eyes and burned out her magical senses had also left her with extremely sensitive hearing and a very sharp sense of smell. She never forgot a voice, never. She just needed to keep him talking long enough to place him. She proceeded with the quickest preparations she could, cleaning and examining the wound.

Luck was with him. All the blood was from the torn stitches; not anything internal. She wiped it dutifully away.

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“Just as you said, the--” He almost didn’t spit it out. He knew that Helix believed in aliens. He knew that very well. She was one of the few people the immediately believed his theories. But then, what if telling her who had done this to him put her in danger? What if it put him in danger by telling another person? There were stories about abductees or UFO investigators being threatened if they told anyone else their story. 

But he couldn’t stay silent. The benefits of telling her what had happened out weighed the risks (for the moment, at least). The aliens could still very well be in the area, and it would be more dangerous for her not to know about them. 

“The lights in the sky did this to me. And if you contact your friend, I would be careful. You don’t want too many people involved with this.” He wanted to keep her as far away from connecting his face to his alias as The Question. If Helix tried to get him enmeshed in this particular investigation, it would become difficult to disguise his personal feelings. 

When she began working her magic, he wasn’t surprised, but since he was pretending to be someone that he wasn’t, he had to imagine as if this was the first time he was seeing magic. He widened his eyes, and inhaled. His muscles tensed, though that wasn’t acting. He flinched as she touched him, his skin remembering the cut of surgical instruments.

“I will do my best not to worry, but I’ve just had a...very disorienting day, and this is adding to it.”

“If who comes back? Who has done this to you? I know it must be terribly hard, but please have faith; I only want to help.” She eases him out of his scuffed and dirty shirt, and caught a whiff of familiar scent. It brought someone else to mind. What if he had been taken by these same people and locked away in some government facility somewhere? 

“I have a dear friend who looks into cases like this. He might be able to do something more for you. Now, I am going to do something that is going to look a little strange, but it will hide us from any prying eyes for a little while. Don’t be afraid.”

Many of Helix’s somatic spells involved movement of a circular or spiral nature, some of the hand and footwork was identical to basic Tai Chi. She never explained her magic unless directly asked, but a flowing swirl of both arms plunged the area into complete darkness, and a whispered word in an unearthly language brought a ball of soft light into what now looked to be a dome of black.

“Don’t worry, please. I’m one of the good guys you hear about on the news.”

Sorta. Maybe someday. She didn’t exactly go patrolling for supervillains, but she also didn’t ignore people in need either.

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Put which one from the Cinnamon Roll meme my muse is:

Beautiful Cinnamon Roll Too Good For This World, Too Pure

Looks like they could kill you but is actually a cinnamon roll

Looks like a cinnamon roll but could actually kill you

Looks like a cinnamon roll and is actually a cinnamon roll

Looks like they could kill you and could actually kill you

Could kill you, but is still a cinnamon roll

Would kill for a cinnamon roll

Sinnamon roll

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He thought it was incredibly foolish to underestimate the beings that had taken him. Perhaps this woman was strong, but few humans were any match against extraterrestrials. When she ordered him to sit, he still stood there for a moment, back against the tree, one leg bent. How could he trust this person? He knew there were people that willingly helped others, but those selfless sorts were few and far between. People more often than not had some sort of ulterior motive.

As she rifled through her bag, he was glad to see that her phone washed the darkness away from her face. He still didn’t trust her, but at least he could see- Oh. Oh.

This night had gotten worse than it already was. For this woman was not a stranger, rather it was someone that was...well, he wasn’t sure if she was a friend. But she was an ally. He had been given no reason to distrust Helix, but she was still powerful, and he couldn’t discount the fact that she might know creatures or other magical humans that might cause him harm. He couldn’t let her know that he had recognized her. His best course of action was to allow her to bandage him and take him to a hospital, and then they could part ways with her never knowing he wasn’t a stranger.

“I don’t mean to rush something sensitive, but it would be best to hurry if they come back.” 

And that was a real concern. But besides that, the less time they spent together, the less time there was a chance she could discover his identity. 

“Oh, I’m not afraid of them. No man alive can hold me. But you need to sit down. I’ve got some things that can help with that.”

She grabed her phone again, using it as a flashlight. It clearly illuminated her face as she rummaged in her bag. First aid supplies were always included in her container enchantments. She never knew when she would need them. She had plenty of disinfectant, cotton, and gauze, but she also had blankets, which she pulled from her purse-too small to actually hold them, but maybe he wouldn’t notice-and laid them out for him to rest on.

She was acting incautious, a mixture of emergency, and that recognition that she was not yet fully aware of.

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He shifted his arms an inch. His abdomen was smeared with a light sheen of blood, and the hairs of his arms were plastered to his skin with the same substance. A distant, more logical part of his mind wondered why the aliens hadn’t had least quickly sewn him up. Was making him suffer more than strictly necessary part of their experiments too.

“So I have been,” was all he managed to say. 

He pressed his arms back to his stomach. It wouldn’t do much to stop the bleeding, but at least it would help more than letting it flow freely. When she mentioned the lights, he flinched, eyes snapping up to the sky. The only lights that glimmered there were the stars, but they certainly could be back any moment. His eyes returned to the woman, vision still somewhat blurry. He could only make out her vague outline, the dark sky painting blue across her cheeks. 

“You need to leave. You can’t stay here if they return.”

Not one of the workers. The back of her mind fired with recognition but the rest had not caught up. 

“You are absolutely not fine! Goddess-you’ve been cut! Very badly.”

Fine? Where did he get the notion to say he was fine? He was shaking, pale in the moonlight, sweaty and barely able to stand. And that horrible mark on his abdomen-like he’d gone through some sort of terribly invasive surgery mere moments ago. 

“You need rest all right. In a hospital bed. What happened to you? Was it those lights?”

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He wrapped his arms over his abdomen, his guts turning and the skin of his stomach stinging. He leaned one hand against the tree, fingers digging into the bark, clutching onto the rough surface. It was solid and real. He needed something to ground him, to show that this was not simply a peaceful dream when he truly lay unconscious on a metal table as foreign beings dug around inside of him with slick, silver instruments. Swallowing, he scrubbed a hand through his tangled hair. He didn’t want to sit here, vulnerable and exposed, crumpled beneath a tree. But he needed to rest. If he stood, he knew that his legs would give out again after several steps.

He closed his eyes, leaning his temple against the tree’s trunk. But--

There were footsteps. They were loud and clumsy, crashing against the ground, kicking stones and leaves. It couldn’t have been Them. It was too loud, too human. But that didn’t mean he still wasn’t in danger. He scooted up against the tree, trying to stand. The bark snagged against the shirt that was already barely clinging to his body and pulled it further down his back. But all too soon, the person reached his side. They--no, it was a woman, definitely a woman--were asking if he needed help. 

“Yes, I can speak. I am fine, I simply need--”

His head was stabbed with pain behind his eyes. He screwed his eyes shut. “I just need to rest.” 

Helix had been hunting the lights all night. There was something going on out here, and she wanted to know what.

It wasn’t magic. She couldn’t smell or sense anything magical out here, and she had combed these orchards for several days prior, in the guise of a migrant worker. The rumors of sky lights at night flew thick with the other workers. There had been disappearances. 

Question should have been out here with her; this was right in his wheelhouse. But she had not been able to contact him in days. That seemed to happen sometimes. So she was going it alone, gathering information, rumors, and hopefully something more substantial. 

She thought it might be the government. She had heard of horrible crimes against humanity from the past; syphilis experiments on unsuspecting black men, radiation and pollutant experimentation, all manner of things. Currently, the backlash against the migrant workers who were vital to the food industry was at a high point. They were afforded almost no rights; they could do nothing about these disappearances. They were ripe for abuse.

She herself was an illegal alien, about as much of one as she could possibly be. She could not go public with anything that she found. But he could. He, and his organization, they could bring these abuses to light.

Light! There it was! It was an aircraft, it had to be. She began snapping pictures.

Unexpected sound from a nearby tree caused her to jump like a startled cat. Abductors! They’d never take her!

No, it was a figure, a man, crumpled at the roots of the tree. He was injured. The lights were retreating, but he was right there. And escapee? She stowed the phone and rushed to his side.

“Hey! Stay still, stay calm! I’ve got you!  Ahora estás a salvo. Can you speak?”

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Everything ached. His head swam and pounded, and abdomen burned. What had happened? There had been…there had been…

Lights? Figures? Yes, figures standing over him, instruments pressed to his vulnerable, sweating skin–

No. His breath caught in his throat as if he had been punched.  Gulping, he slumped against a nearby tree, one foot slipping out from under him. He slammed down to his knees. 

Not again. 

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Everything ached. His head swam and pounded, and abdomen burned. What had happened? There had been...there had been...

Lights? Figures? Yes, figures standing over him, instruments pressed to his vulnerable, sweating skin--

No. His breath caught in his throat as if he had been punched.  Gulping, he slumped against a nearby tree, one foot slipping out from under him. He slammed down to his knees. 

Not again. 

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She had...kept those pictures? The idea in and of itself wasn’t strange. Logically, he knew that many parents were sentimental and kept items from their offspring’s childhood. When he had entered homes to interview people for investigations, it was always inevitable he would run into people with children. Homes with children were obvious. Toys shoved in the corner, the requisite brightly colored alphabet magnets stuck to the refrigerator. And those magnets usually held up crude drawings of humans and animals drawn in hues of purple and blue.

Would it be strange to ask to see those pictures? He didn’t view himself as a sentimental man exactly, but he had held on to little from his childhood. “You know, if we have time, I wouldn’t mind seeing those drawings one day. Though I don’t mean to intrude, of course.”

As Mrs. Kapelput asked him what drink he want, he finally cast his gaze to the full length of the club. “Tea, I think. I’ve got work related things to do, so I’d best stay away from anything alcoholic. And Oswald’s club certainly is nice. You must be proud.”

Actually, he found himself feeling an ember of pride in his heart for his old friend. Oswald had been able to carve out a place for himself in the world, despite his struggles. Vic settled down into a chair at Mrs. Kapelput’s direction. “I have come to Gotham due to an investigation. A corrupt business in Hub City appears to have connections with some likely criminals here in Gotham.”

                            ‘ TALK and TALK, Oswald would about you. Yes, I remember those DRAWINGS you two made; he would ADD to the COLLECTION even after you LEFT. I keep them in my DRAWER still; such little ARTISTS you two were. ’

                                Those were some of the HAPPIER TIMES in her son’s life. After YEARS of being SURROUNDED by countless BULLIES, her Oswald finally found a FRIEND. He smiled so much MORE then, she recalled, and FINALLY his eyes started to SHINE with something other than TEARS. 

                              ‘ Would you like some WINE or TEA, dear? ’ she said with a smile, glancing just over her shoulder towards Gabriel. ‘ Oswald’s NIGHTCLUB has EVERYTHING; isn’t it GRAND? ’ As Gabriel LUMBERED closer, Gertrud turned her attention back to VICTOR. ‘ Sit, sit. Tell me MORE. What are you doing here in GOTHAM? ’