The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Human Solos =&gt; Topic started by: AesopsAlternative on 04-04-2010, 09:35:04</h2>
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				Title: <strong>The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AesopsAlternative</strong> on <strong>04-04-2010, 09:35:04</strong>
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				The warm sunlight streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse slowly brought him awake. He moved languidly, savoring the sensation of his skin upon Egyptian cotton, and the comfort of a full night’s sleep, a rare luxury for him. Stretching his arms above his head and emitting a small groan, Bruce threw back the covers on his bed. Clad only in a pair of pajama pants, Bruce padded slowly over to the window, his bare feet gently slapping the wooden floor.<br><br>Bruce gazed down at the city of Gotham as it slowly woke from it’s slumber, his entire view of the city impeded only by the occasional steel girder beam. Bruce watched as the sun’s rays gradually covered Gotham in a golden hue... well... most of it. There was an entire underworld of Gotham that was seemingly untouched by the sun’s light. That was a world he knew well. It was the world where he spent the vast majority of his nights, combating the den of corruption that threatened to overtake Gotham and plunge the city into darkness.<br><br>Yet every time Bruce saw dawn break over the city, it inspired him. Behind the crumbling facades of the buildings, and behind the pollution that seemed to cover the city, Bruce believed that there was a shining, bright Gotham waiting to be reborn. He hoped that one day, like the light that slowly illuminated the city, Gotham would be able to throw off the darkness eternally.<br><br>Bruce placed the tips of his fingertips against the window, feeling the chill of the night through the glass. A small shudder rippled up his arms and down his back, stopping only after it had curled his toes. After a few moments of silent contemplation, Bruce turned from the window and fell forward to the floor, catching himself with his arms. He then began his mourning routine of pushups and sit-ups. By the time he was finished, his torso was coated in a dull sheen of sweat. His morning exercises completed, Bruce regained his feet and walked to his bathroom. He reached inside his walk-in shower and turned on the hot water with a quick twist of a gold-plated handle. After the steam started to rise from the black marble shower floor, Bruce shed his pajamas and stepped into the luxurious warmth.<br><br>Bruce turned away from the shower head and tilted his head back, feeling the hot water pour over his head and down his back. Titling a little further back, he felt the water begin to run down the front of his head, over his face, and down his well-muscled chest. He leisurely cleaned himself, reveling in the heat cascading over his body. After shaving, fully awake and ready to face the day, Bruce turned off the shower and stepped onto a plush white bathmat, wrapping a soft bath sheet around his waist.<br><br>Walking back into his bedroom, Bruce saw a silver tray sitting on the corner of his desk. The tray contained a plate covered by a silver lid and a white mug of coffee, small wisps of steam rising from its surface. <em>Thank you Alfred</em>, he thought with a small smile. Lifting the silver lid off of his plate, Bruce retrieved a piece of whole grain toast and bit into it heartily. The taste of warm bread and hot butter filled his mouth, and he breathed a sigh of contentment as he ate. <em>The little things.</em><br><br>Bruce turned on his computer, eager to see what the latest headlines were. He finished his toast and began to work on some scrambled eggs as he waited for his computer to boot up (it was running Windows, after all). Bruce perused the morning’s headlines while sipping his coffee, and decided that he saw nothing of interest. Just as he was finishing reading up on his gossip - billionaire playboys were expected to know what was going on in the world, after all - his personal telephone line rang. Glancing at the caller ID, Bruce saw that it was Lucius Fox. <em>It must be good.</em><br><br>Lucius Fox was the former head of Wayne Enterprises’ Research and Development department. But that had been before Bruce had become Batman. In creating Batman, Fox had been instrumental in equipping Bruce with all the technological gadgets and knowhow required to pull of the feat. Now, as one of the few who knew Batman’s true identity, Fox was instrumental in providing any equipment Bruce might need for his various and sundry activities. He was also instrumental in maintaining a link between Bruce and Commissioner Gordon; ever since the death of Harvey Dent, Batman had been forced into hiding, officially hunted by the police.<br><br>“Good morning Lucius,” Bruce said.<br><br>“Good morning Mr. Wayne. Have you received my e-mail?”<br><br>“No, I haven’t,” Bruce said, his eyes glancing to his computer screen for confirmation. And then a flicker of his computer screen was accompanied by a small audible chime. “Oh, wait, here it is now...”<br><br>“It sounds... preposterous,” Fox said, “but it was mentioned to Gordon by a fairly reliable snitch. He thought you might want to check it out.”<br><br>“Okay, thanks for the heads-up. I’ll take a look. Goodbye Lucius.”<br><br>Bruce hung up the phone without waiting for a reply and he began to read the e-mail. His eyes narrowed as he read. <em>Portals? Between worlds?</em> Bruce shook his head in confusion. <em>Ridiculous.</em> And yet... He frowned. He supposed it needed checking out, even if only to ensure that it wasn’t true.<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>04-04-2010, 09:49:25</strong>
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				Her stomach growled.<br><br>Samantha winced, though not because she found the sound embarrassing. After all it had been well over eighteen hours since she ate last and even then it was nothing more than a foul tasting power bar. No, as primal as the sound echoing in her belly was, it was quite audible and not at all desired when one wished to be sneaky. So she winced, as did her partner Sean Pride, while the two paramedics crouched together in the back of this section of warehouse, listening to the echoing silence lingering in hunger’s wake. For a long moment there was nothing to give sign of exposing their position, so they sighed softly and glanced at one another in unison.<br><br>“You would have made a terrible Marine,” Sean whispered, his deep voice low and almost inaudible. He had, in fact, been a Marine before his days as a paramedic. Samantha rolled her eyes dramatically, sighing through her nose.<br><br>“It’s not my fault,” She murmured, voice low but not nearly in the same depths as her partner. “I’ve skipped most meals and most sleeping hours all week. My body is starting to give me the middle finger and protest. Not exactly usual for us to be playing lurker in the back while trouble hits at the front.” No, usually they were swooping in like carrion birds, picking at the bodies left in the wake of a fight. Officers and criminals alike would be tended to in order of severity. In those situations, Samantha and Sean would most likely be ordered back and sitting in their ambulance, listening to the radio squawk and chirp as officers spoke and handled the situation. Things change, when the stakes were high enough. Sean was chosen specifically because of his Marine background. The man had once been a grunt; he’s faced his own combat zones that most of the police here couldn’t imagine. And Samantha? Well, they were partners. She wasn’t about to let him face something without her by his side, and while she was inexperienced in ‘wars’ she certainly knew how to handle violence. She just couldn’t help it if she was hungry.<br><br>Her partner smirked; even in the dark she could see it tug on the corners of his lips. The twenty year gap between them provided a… questionable bonding. The two were close, like brother and sister, often together even outside of the work hours. People assumed a sort of ‘relationship’ that wasn’t ever there, though bringing such a thing up to the two friends would do nothing more than puzzle them. After all, they were partners. It didn’t work like that. <br><br>“Stay here, kid, wait for my signal.” A large hand shifted in the dark and pressed to the top of her head, musing her short, choppy locks that automatically sent the woman scowling. Albeit quietly. One of her hands shot up in the dark to pass through her hair in an attempt to put it back in order. Her fingers stroked a little too long, still seeking hair that was no longer there. But she waited, after all Sean was the Marine; once a Marine, always a Marine, as the saying goes. And Samantha wasn’t exactly eager to get shot again; she preferred the quick, hot sting of a knife blade versus the hot, throbbing ache of a bullet. She’s survived both and would like to leave it at that.<br><br>&nbsp;Without a sound, even dressed in bunker gear, Sean lifted gracefully to a half-crouch and crossed the short distance without a sound. Ahead of where the two crouched was a set of large bay doors, large enough to drive a truck through. It was on the other side of these that a light glowed and voices could be heard, as well as an assortment of mechanical sounds and what Sam could only guess was boiling water. The Marine kept to the shadows and dropped down onto his belly, pressing an eye to that lower gap that allowed sound, light and stale air through. Sam couldn’t hear his thoughts but she assumed he was keeping low not only for the convenience, but because when you were looking for someone your eyes usually didn’t drop to the ground. She couldn’t see the machines on the other side of the door. She couldn’t see the armed men or the thin, bony structured scientist who was currently opening a steal suitcase the contained a small red vile shaped like a small Christmas bulb.<br><br>But what she could see was the sudden streak of black on black, and a wiry figure rushing from the left to where Sean was prone on the ground. “Sean!” She whispered hoarsely, remembering the voices on the other side of the door. Always mindful of her surroundings, she was.<br><br>The Marine reacted swiftly, lunging to his feet and tackling the dark mass to the ground. Their scuffle was a swirling mass of reflective tape, grunts and heavy breathing, of the sounds of a fist impacting against flesh, and the crashing of bodies against crates. What silence they needed was broken; though there seemed to be enough of a ruckus breaking out from behind the doors that they were, for the moment, unnoticed. The police moved in, it looked like.<br><br>Another dark form was racing forward, larger than the first but slower. Sam reacted on impulse, not training. As fast as the small woman was, however, she had far more distance to carry than he did, and reached Sean several steps sooner. Sam couldn’t see the weapon in his hand but she heard the impact; a dull <em> thwack </em> against the back of her partner’s skull and he dropped like a bag of bricks. The man he had been wrestling around with was also still, unconscious by her partner’s actions. So one for one, Sean wasn’t dead but seeing him hurt put a furry in her heart.<br><br>That was saying a lot for a woman as slight as she. Maybe she would have been proud that she took the man by surprise; or that she moved too fast for him to swing that crowbar around and back at her. Instead she was only feeling a certain level of fear. She was in a fight, and she hated violence. Her fist cocked back and met with the liver, causing the man to lurch forward in pain. She didn’t feel satisfaction in her hard blow to the vital area, she felt a little ill for having to hurt someone. The opposite arm snapped forward and struck like a viper; her elbow taking him in the temple. The large man staggered, stunned, and dropped his weapon.<br><br>There was no satisfaction in that clanging sound, because gun fire was erupting at her back behind those closed doors. She was there to keep people alive; and already her partner was unconscious.<br><br>Sam rushed forward and pivoted sharply on the heel of her foot. Her kick collided against the man’s gut; but both of his thick arms lashed out at that same moment and trapped the limb in his grip.<br><br>Well shit.<br><br>It was the last coherent thought she had on her feet; because at that very next instant that man used momentum and strength against her, and the paramedic went flying backwards. Her shoulders hit the steel doors and found that they gave rather easily. Into the hall and the thick of the fight, the small medic slid against the floor and came to a jarring stop against a giant vat of dark liquid boiling in a glass containment system. She was struggling with making sense of anything more than that. 
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AesopsAlternative</strong> on <strong>05-04-2010, 04:36:26</strong>
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				Bruce walked slowly around the Tumbler as he gazed wonderingly at the sleek vehicle, marveling at how its very shape exuded menace. And, of course, that’s exactly what it was supposed to do. Angular, bulky, and yet surprisingly responsive when driving, Bruce couldn’t imagine a better ground vehicle to take into combat. And make no mistake, when he drove Gotham’s streets after dark, that’s exactly what he was doing.<br><br>Running a hand along the black brushed metal, specifically designed not to reflect light, Bruce was awed at how even here, beneath a seemingly endless bank of overhead fluorescent lights, the Tumbler appeared to suck the light from the room, drawing the light to it and trapping it like the predatory machine it was. Bruce could already feel the heady sense of excitement that he got from driving it start to surface. Though he knew its purpose was for use in combating Gotham’s underworld, Bruce couldn’t help but feel empowered when he was in control of such a powerfully dangerous machine.<br><br>Convinced that everything was in order for tonight’s mission, Bruce looked around his staging area. He was located in a large underground chamber beneath a former freight lot that, like many parts of Gotham, had fallen into disuse many years ago. Of course, one of Wayne Enterprise’s shell corporations now owned the lot as its current location and condition was perfect for his uses; the lot was adjacent to the building that housed his penthouse and provided easy cover for, and ready access to, the Tumbler and all his technological accoutrements. The space was approximately half the size of a football field, continuously lit by fluorescent lights that stretched from end to end.<br><br>Bruce walked to a wall and gently pushed his fingers against a seemingly random collection of grease spots on the wall. With a slight hiss, a two-foot by two-foot section of the wall slid to the side to reveal an elaborate control panel. Bruce pushed a button and turned as the low sound of gears whirring began to echo throughout the room. Bruce watched as a circular column rose from the ground containing his Bat suit. It was time.<br><br>Night had gradually descended upon Gotham, shrouding the city in a treacherously deceptive calm. There was always a period between dusk and nightfall when the city seemed at peace, when the decent folk of Gotham had gone home from their jobs and the city’s pulse seemed to slow. But as the respectable people of Gotham began to slumber, another darker, seedier world awakened: Gotham’s underworld. Thirty minutes later, after night had cloaked the city in its embrace, had anyone been listening carefully, the dull whir of a pneumatic lift might have been heard coming from inside one of the numerous empty freight containers scattered throughout the vacant lot. Of course, no one was, because to wander in a dark, desolate, vacant lot after dark in Gotham was a sure invitation to violence.<br><br>After checking the surveillance cameras to ensure that no one was about, Batman hit a button and the doors to the freight container that was the entrance to his underground vault swung silently open. He nudged the Tumbler forward and cruised out of the vacant lot with the merest of whispers. Batman guided the Tumbler to the lower levels of Gotham streets, the place where the criminal element thrived and those unfortunates were forced to do whatever it took to survive. Down here, the stranglehold that crime and corruption had upon the city was evident. Poverty and desperation dripped from very walls of the decrepit buildings forming into stagnant pools of suffering in the gutters. As he drove through the darkness, the pale orange light of the occasional streetlight - the ones that hadn’t either burned out or been vandalized - illuminated flickering scenes of human misery. Homeless people scavenged for food among the detritus that covered the streets and sidewalks, clustering around barrels emitting foul smelling smoke for warmth, light, and protection. Batman clenched his jaw in anger as he let the emotion momentarily surface, a luxury he would not be able to afford later. Gotham could be saved. It could. There were good people here. He would save them. Or he would die trying.<br><br>The one good thing about the current state of the lower levels was that it allowed Batman to navigate the city freely; being hunted by both the police and the criminal element would otherwise have made this an impossible feat. Though there were places of criminal activity where garishly dressed drug dealers publicly declared their goods and scantily clad whores publicly flaunted their wares, there were also pockets of darkness where chaos reigned supreme; not even the most hardened of criminals dared venture there without a large group for safety. If you knew where to find these pockets of insanity, and if you were safely ensconced within the protection of a Tumbler, it was possible to navigate the lower streets without notice; people who lived beneath Gotham had long ago learned that keeping one’s head down was what kept one alive.<br><br>Giving a wide berth to the pockets of criminal activity, Batman made his way to his destination, the only trace of his passage the briefest fluttering of soiled newspapers and discarded food wrappers as the Tumbler slipped past. Batman found a darkened alley a block away from the condemned industrial building he sought and backed the Tumbler into a deep shadow. Emerging from the Tumbler, a fetid wave of rot and decay assailed his senses. Batman placed a gloved hand over his nose and mouth until his senses acclimated and his eyes had stopped watering from the stench.<br><br>Batman stepped cautiously into the alley, his boots landing in something with a wet sounding squish. <em>There will be some serious Lysol action when I get home.</em> Batman moved forward carefully until he could view his target from afar, rats scattering before him while squeaking their protest at being interrupting during dinner. Scanning the old building, Batman saw no signs of activity but well knew that things weren’t always what they appeared. The snitch had reported that there was a secret laboratory of some sort located therein; he would have to see about that.<br><br>Batman pulled out his grappling gun and looked upward. It was always best to approach from the air. Despite the fact that he’d been around a while, combating crime, the vast majority of criminals still hadn’t figured out that one had to be conscious of attack from all angles... even from above. Hooking the tensile line around his belt, Batman disappeared upward with the pull of a trigger.<br><br>Treading softly along the flat roof of the industrial complex, Batman was careful not to disturb the gravely surface underfoot. Scanning the perimeter of the building, he located a window just below the roofline that had apparently lost its glass a long time ago. Turning his back to the ledge, Batman used his grapple to lower himself over the edge and look inside. Batman spotted a support beam that ran horizontally underneath the roof a few feet from the ceiling within easy reach of the open window. <em>Perfect.</em> He deftly hauled himself through the window, crouched on the support beam, and released his grapple.<br><br>Squinting into the darkness, Batman made out the square shapes of long-forgotten wooden crates scattered in haphazard stacks over the vast expanse of the industrial space. Towards the far end, he saw lights from a few dim bulbs casting a dull circle of light against the darkness and saw people moving about; there was activity of some sort. Sneaking quietly along the steel support beam, Batman began the slow journey towards the light.<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>08-04-2010, 01:08:44</strong>
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				Against the far wall, opposite to the boiling vats was the loading bay. The slider door, which rolled from up high over head had been lifted open, and filled with the bodies of officer swarming through that entrance. It was dark outside, and raining, pools of the cold water reflected from the numerous lights of the city around them, too distant to provide any warmth. With the freight stacked in mini towers, a mock city of themselves the officers had ample cover provided for them. Their shouted orders and the occasional discharge of weapons drifted into her ears like echoes, overwhelmed by that bubbling vast tube she had slid to a halt against.<br><br>Between she and the officers were men dressed in a variety of casual garb, mostly in jeans and t-shirts of some fashion, but also a few lab workers dressed in the white coats, and even a few suited thugs. All of them were armed and shouting back at the officers, returning gun fire or just spraying one clip after another into a piece of stacked freight in hopes of catching someone. They had no method other than trying to kill, and it was far from comforting to be behind them, because that meant she had to somehow get passed them in order to return behind the lines of safety. Somehow she didn’t think they would allow her to call time-out until she could get to the other side. This was no children’s game where she had the count of ten to sprint over and hide. And this wasn’t a video game where she had a magic shield or cloak to make her go invisible until the timer ran out. Real life didn’t have that sense of humor.<br><br>There was a strange contraption at her back, however. Four vats of this dark liquid were boiling inside a case of glass; if not boiling at least bubbling in some way, she couldn’t exactly see any perspiration of any kind, even this close. Thick black tubes and cords connected to each vat to a core settled at the center, and here sat what looked like quarters to a great ring. The top portion and the lower portion were clearly visible, metal frames held in place by metal stands, but the sides that would complete this circle were missing. Or at the very least, they weren’t there. An man in his early sixties stood behind the controls of some computer system off by where Sam’s head was pointing, dressed in a long lab-coat and glasses, flicking switches and pushing buttons, directing some strange looking device that was attached to the catwalk above the ring. The device could easily be mistaken for a weapon of some kind, but Sam didn’t think that was the case, exactly, when it wasn’t being aimed at the officers.<br><br>All of this was taken in after a few seconds. Her harsh landing had jolted her some, and it took a little while to get her wits about her again. The paramedic shook her head to focus her eyes and took the liberties to climb to her feet. She made it to her knees before that looming dark shape that threw her here stepped towards her and grew a body. Tall, with broad shoulders and a mean face, the man was grinning at her as he approached, and kicked out savagely towards Sam’s chest. On her knees she wasn’t able to evade from the position of her feet, so she repeated the gesture that got her here in the first place; by bracing herself and catching the man’s leg. Where he might have broken a few ribs, he instead only nearly knocked the wind from her lungs, and sent her scrambling backwards as he jerked his limb away and moved after her.<br><br>Bullets whizzed past but turned to ambiance for the moment. Adrenaline was pumping too strongly in her veins to make the woman jump and cry out every time something streaked passed her face. She had more things to worry about; like the hulking form trying to catch her. Being restricted to crab walking, shuffling backwards on her hands and heels didn’t make her very quick or graceful, so it wasn’t entirely too much of a surprise when she found herself looking up at his grin and reaching hand. She was plenty close so that when the bullet caught him in the side of the head, she could see the blood platter out to the side in a spray against the glass.<br><br>As gruesome as the scene was; allowing the woman barely enough time to scramble backwards to clear the slumping body, she didn’t hesitate to take advantage of the situation provided. She didn’t think it was from a random stray bullet; one of the officers had reacted, which she was much obliged for. She was still stuck, however.<br><br>When Sam got to her feet she yelped in startled surprise as the sudden screech of mechanical gears began to work together and the vat of liquid increased its bubbling by three times the amount. Whatever sort of… gun, the scientist had been wheeling into place started to hum; the tiny hairs on the back of her arms and neck stood at attention as if feeling a surge of electricity. Pale blue light, the same color of her eyes leapt from the pointed tip of the ray and struck the center of the ring. Sam expected the light to pass through to the other side, but the moment the ray discharged the ring’s sides filled in place by arcs of electricity. A ripple pulsed from center to edge, and then another, and then a third, pulsing faster and faster until it seemed to blur together and form one bright light that burned into retinas and cast shadows like the sun.<br><br>From a light that bright, Samantha expected heat, but all she felt at that moment was a sudden sense of dread.<br><br>“Marcus!” The scientist yelled over the whining of the machines. “Get through to the other side! We should bring our friends in to end this mess. Let’s show them who they’re messing with, hmm?” Sam couldn’t see the scientist grinning, and she couldn’t see the man nod his confirmation before rushing towards that pulsing light and plunging inside. The officers who had been shooting stopped now, everyone covering their eyes from the blinding light.<br><br>She yelped as a thick arm banded around her waist, tugging her up against the broad chest. For a horrifying moment she thought it was that first man who had received a bullet to the head; they were so similar in build, but even through the thick shadows of the light she could tell that this man was much paler that the first, and with leaner muscles. His grip wasn’t friendly and a little too tight, and while Sam shut her eyes to blot out the light, she tried delivering an elbow to the side in hopes of breaking herself free again. She wasn’t exactly surprised that he caught her wrist, only that the man’s grip tightened until she could hardly breathe, limbs forced in a lock as he twisted her around and then slammed her up against the base of the stairs that led up to the glowing ring.<br><br>“Ladies don’t belong here,” he growled out, finding his words humorous. Sam’s reply was a soft grunt as his fingers fisted her hair and pushed her bodily against the wire screen at the base of those same steps. The bunker gear on her legs provided some protection against the metal, as did the sweater she wore that read “GCFD”, but there would definitely be bruises on her person tomorrow… if she was going to see tomorrow. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a bargaining chip, Doc!” He called out again, and while Sam couldn’t see his grin, she could hear it.<br><br>“Zip tie her hands behind her back! We’ll use her if these bastards force us to jump.”<br><br>Jump?<br><br>Sam’s thoughts were interrupted when her arms were directed backwards; she didn’t plan to make this easy for him. With a quick backwards thrust of her head, Sam broke the man’s nose with the bone of her skull, rewarded by the howling of the man’s cry. She pivoted around, sending him crashing backwards with her roundhouse, and didn’t delay. She only had up to go from her position, so Sam reached the top of those stairs in a few strides, now on the same level as the doctor, his computer, and that glowing ring.<br><br>But here was a curious sight: a suitcase sat opened to the doctor’s left, and inside a foam case was a single vial. It was small, easily fitting in the palm of her own hand. Instead of looking like some scientific test tube it was housed in a glass bottle that reminded her of a small Christmas decoration, about as wide as the width of both her thumbs side to side. Why such protection for something so small? Why leave it out exposed like that if it wasn’t a hazard? Something important, then?<br><br>God. What the hell was she doing?<br><br>Sam’s booted feet carried her swiftly across the metal grid, clever fingers moved swiftly and plucked the vile from the suitcase, and had it safely in the palm of her hand by the time the scientist could react. He cried out in surprise, graying eye brows arched upward. “No!”<br><br>She turned and bolted; passing the front of the ring without so much as a glance towards it. Not until she heard the automatic gun fine erupting from the other side. And not until she felt the hot sting hit her in the thigh, forcing the woman to grunt and stumble to the ground. Which was better than the fate she would have received; several rounds of the same gunfire had erupted seconds later right where she would have been standing; and would most likely have been fatal.<br><br>She could feel herself bleeding, her leg screamed and the shock of being shot… again… wasn’t nearly as much as she would have hoped. The bunker gear provided protection from fire, but not bullets, and the hot stream of blood began to spread out in a dark patch before she even hit the ground. Sam remembered the vile, and kept it tucked safely in her hand as she rolled over onto her good side, and looked up.<br><br>The light was hovering nearly a foot from the structure she was now prone on. Here, she had the perfect vantage point to see the other side; nothing but empty space. So where did the suited men come from who were armed to the teeth and stepping out onto the same landing she was at? How was any of this even possible? Sam could only gape as seven men stepped out, the tallest of them with a strong Russian accent stood center. “What is problem?”
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AesopsAlternative</strong> on <strong>14-04-2010, 05:42:22</strong>
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				Bruce’s lower back was on fire. He had just finished crawling approximately seventy-five yards along the metal support beam in an awkward, hunched-over position. Pausing silently to sit upon the beam and dangle his legs into empty space, Bruce arched his back and muffled the small sigh of relief that came to his lips unbidden. Being a caped crusader was definitely not as glamorous as it was cracked up to be. After a few moments, and after the flames in his back had subsided to mere embers, Bruce regained his feet and focused upon the activity below.<br><br>Two naked bulbs suspended from the ceiling by long, dangling wires illuminated nine hulking figures forming a semi-circle around a tenth. The nine individuals forming the semi-circle - no doubt mob ‘soldiers’ - were all identically dressed in cheap black suits that barely managed to contain bulging shoulders and thighs the size of small tree trunks. Though mob figures liked to keep up appearances, the fact of the matter was that the life of a mob soldier was typically fairly short lived; there was no sense spending gratuitously on such an expendable commodity. One thing the mob did not typically skimp on, however, was weapons. Bruce arched his eyebrows as he saw that each soldier was armed with a rather formidable looking assault weapon of some sort. Though mob soldiers were usually well-armed, this far surpassed the typical semi-automatic pistol. Scanning the men below, Bruce recognized numerous automatic rifles of varying makes, and several assault shotguns.<br><br>The tenth individual, the one whom the soldiers were clustered around, was no doubt a mob boss, at least judging by his somewhat tailored clothing. Unlike his compatriots, the tenth man’s suit actually fit well, and was not constructed of worsted wool, but had the soft sheen of imported silk. Gold rings glittered from the man’s fat fingers, and small wisps of smoke curled from the tip of a cigar clutched in the corner of a wide mouth by fat, pudgy lips. The man mumbled around his cigar, the sounds garbled by the time they reached the rafters where Bruce perched. Reaching up to his ear, Bruce engaged a noise amplification device and tilted his head, attempting to adjust the aim. Though the man was a good fifty feet below, the mob boss suddenly sounded like he was but a foot away, and Bruce now recognized, though of course did not understand, the distinct guttural sounds of Russian. Fumbling for another button, Bruce turned on the automatic translating software. The mob boss uttered one more sentence to his men before falling silent, and an automated feminine voice whispered softly in Bruce’s ear as it translated, “Any moment now. Be ready. Remember! The medicine is all that matters.”<br><br>Bruce frowned. It made little to no sense out of context. If only he’d gotten here a few moments before. Below, the mob boss retreated to the periphery of the circle of light, and the mob soldiers loitered anxiously, the metallic click of slides being needlessly checked echoing through the warehouse. Bruce had no idea what was going on, and was content to wait until he had a better grasp of the situation. The thing that struck him the most, however, was how barren the warehouse was. Other than the men below, the warehouse seemed utterly unremarkable. Clearly they couldn’t be here to protect something in the warehouse; all it contained was broken down wooden crates, mildewing with age and neglect. Perhaps the mob was simply using this place as a convenient staging point for an assault? But that didn’t make sense either, for the warehouse was in the middle of nowhere, not even remotely close to a potential target... at least any that Bruce could come up with. Bruce furrowed his brow and glanced down in puzzlement. Something was not right.<br><br>Bruce watched as the men seemed content to loiter, and as the mob boss began to glance more and more frequently at his watch. It looked like he was expecting something. After several long minutes, Bruce saw the mob boss remove the cigar from his mouth, holding it in between the first and middle fingers of his right hand. Glancing yet once again at his watch, the Russian yelled, “Fuck.” The automated translator remained quiet. That needed no clarification. The mob boss waved his hand wildly and stomped his foot as if about to throw a tantrum, muttering under his breath. The soft voice purred in Bruce’s ear, “Where is he? He’s late! What’s taking so damn long!”<br><br>It was just then, as the last words issued from the mob boss’s mouth, that a small muscle tremor began in Bruce’s legs. At least, that’s what he thought it was, until he realized that it was not his legs that were shaking, but rather the steel beam upon which he crouched. The vibration seemed to quickly intensify in magnitude, the beam beginning to vibrate wildly under his feet. A loud crash sounded from below. Glancing down, Bruce was amazed to see that this vibration - whatever was causing it - was not limited to his beam. Rather, everything within approximately one hundred feet of the small circle of men below seemed to be vibrating, as if the earth itself were undergoing tremors. The loud crash had been caused by a poorly stacked crate, liberated from its precarious perch by the tremors that shook the warehouse and all within. <em>Earthquake?!</em> Bruce wondered, but quickly rejected the hypothesis because there were no fault lines anywhere near Gotham. And then a sense of extreme foreboding began to fill him. Something was definitely not right. And, what was more, the men below seemed perfectly at ease, as if... as if they expected it.<br><br>The vibrations continued for several more seconds, increasing in strength, and Bruce felt as if he were being buffeted simultaneously in all directions. It was all he could do to hang on to his perch and keep from falling to a rather spectacular entrance below. It was then, just as Bruce began to worry whether the steel beam that he clung to might be torn from the roof, that the vibrations stopped. Completely. In the stillness that ensued Bruce glanced down towards the men, towards the center of the light, to see the warehouse floor expand, jump around, and swirl about. But that, of course, was impossible. A floor cannot move. Which meant, instead, that something was bending the light. Bruce stared, wide-eyed, as the floor seemed to expand, contract, and then swirl again. And then suddenly, with a crack of thunder that reverberated throughout the warehouse, a brilliant blue ball of glowing light appeared about the size of a man’s fist. Moments later, it had expanded and extended, forming a vertical two-dimensional oval approximately eight feet tall and four feet wide, its bottom edge resting upon the warehouse floor. Bruce could only stare with his mouth agape.<br><br>At a barked command from the mob boss, however, seven of the mob soldiers were not nearly as immobilized. They quickly sprung into action, forming a single-file line, rushing forward into the light and... disappearing. The rather inane thought occurred to Bruce that such a thing was not possible but, of course, it was. And he needed to figure out what the hell was going on. Whatever the mob was up to, it surely couldn’t be good.<br><br>Shoving to the side for the moment the ideas of reality and feasibility, Bruce swung into action. Seven of the soldiers had rushed through the light and... left... leaving only two mob soldiers and the mob boss. Should be a piece of cake. Bruce placed a small explosive charge - more a loud noise and a bright flash of light than anything else - on the rafter where he sat for later use. Passing an electric current through the cloth of his cape as he leapt from his perch, Bruce glided rapidly towards the men below, rigid wings controlling his fall. Bruce aimed for the three men, his swift descent marked only by the whispering flutter of fabric. All three of the mob men stared fixedly at the glowing portal, their features bathed in a soft blue light. It was only at the moment just before impact that one of the soldiers, perhaps alerted by the rushing sound of wind, glanced up to see a looming shadow quickly approaching from overhead.<br><br>The soldier cried out and started to raise an arm, but it did him little good. Bruce’s heavy boots caught the man squarely on his upturned chin and he crumpled instantly to the floor. Absorbing the impact of the landing with his legs, Bruce bent his knees and rolled forward off of the downed soldier’s now inert form, vanishing into the darkness of the warehouse. The second soldier belatedly regained his wits, and the staccato sound of automatic gunfire echoed noisily through the warehouse. A hail of bullets whizzed through the air, crashing into crates, sending dust and debris hurtling through the darkness. Taking advantage of the noise of the gunfire and the dust cloud created by the debris, Bruce quickly worked his way around to flank the remaining two figures.<br><br>A well placed throwing star in the shape of a bat severed the wires of the hanging light bulbs sending them plummeting to the warehouse floor and plunging everything into darkness save for the pale blue illumination provided by the blue oval. The soldier, apparently terrified at being in the dark with a man-sized bat, continued to empty his clip into random crates until the mob boss’s angry shouts finally overcame his terror. Peeking out from behind a stack of boxes, Bruce saw the mob boss and his soldier standing several feet apart, their backs turned towards the glowing oval of light. The mob boss occasionally glanced apprehensively back towards the oval, however, apparently either anxious or afraid of just what might be coming through.<br><br>Sneaking as close as he dared to the men, just beyond the circle of light cast by the portal, Bruce activated a small transmitter on his belt and was rewarded with a fiery explosion from the rafters where he had previously set his explosive charge. As predicted, both the mob boss and the soldier wheeled towards the disturbance, the soldier’s bullets filling the air with loud metallic pings as they ricocheted off of steel beams and crashed into the metal roof overhead.<br><br>Approaching from behind and to the right of the soldier, Bruce’s right fist crashed down upon the man’s right forearm. The man yelped in pain and surprise as his right hand went numb and his gun fell to the floor with a dull clatter. Before the soldier could even turn to face him, Bruce’s left fist sank into the man’s right kidney, the man’s eyes going wide with pain. As the soldier turned to face him, seeming to react in slow motion to Bruce’s onslaught, Bruce delivered a solid left to the man’s solar plexus. Hearing the man exhale in an involuntary rush, Bruce knew he had hit the sweet spot. A moment later, as the man began to double over, Bruce followed with a right uppercut to the man’s chin, starting the swing at his shoulder, continuing through his legs, and lifting onto his toes in follow through. Yes, martial arts has its place, but sometimes a good old boxing blow serves best. Bruce saw the man’s eyes roll backwards in his head as his body arced backward in the air before crashing to the warehouse floor. The whole exchange of blows had taken mere moments, and as the soldier’s body settled, the mob boss had only turned his head to stare in Bruce’s direction in bewilderment. He was clearly not a man accustomed to action.<br><br>“Don’t do it,” Bruce said, disguising his voice with a deep, guttural growl. But, of course, the mob boss didn’t listen and tried to wheel around to bring his weapon to bear. Bruce caught the barrel of the shotgun as it swung around with an upturned right forearm, the weapon discharging well wide of him. Grabbing the shotgun’s barrel with his right hand, Bruce shifted his weight to his right foot and delivered a savage kick to the mob boss’s right hand. A satisfying crunch, a high pitched howl of pain, and then Bruce held the shotgun while the mob boss cradled two broken figures. Bruce merely shook his head as he approached the pathetic fat man who was hunched over in pain. The mob boss glanced up as Bruce took a step forward, a protest upon his lips that never made it as the butt of the shotgun descended upon the his forehead.<br><br>After quickly restraining the three incapacitated men, Bruce dragged their bodies out of sight behind some crates. He didn’t want obvious signs of trouble if or when the seven heavily armed thugs returned. He was going to need all the help he could get, including the element of surprise. After making some rudimentary preparations - placing several more distracting explosive devices - Bruce waited in the darkness that surrounded the glowing portal as he contemplated his dilemma. Did he dare go through? See what was happening on the other side? But he would have no idea of what he was walking into. What if he were walking into a trap? Or what if he went through and then couldn’t return home? It was not a risk he was willing to take. Though he wished he could have had time to question the mob boss before knocking him out, it had not been the right time. He would just have to play it by ear. For the moment, he was content to sit and wait, to see what emerged from the portal. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>16-04-2010, 00:40:13</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				“Don’t just stand there!” The scientist shouted, dramatically pointing with his free hand towards the approaching cops. “Kill them!” Men dressed in Gotham’s SWAT uniforms took cover behind the numerous crates and machines inside the warehouse, armed and opening fire towards the platform before them. Bullets hit metal and men, filling Sam’s world with cries, curses and metallic clinks. Her side was advancing, but it wasn’t lost on her the term ‘friendly fire’ nor the fact that she was in over her head. Without thinking, the vile she had stolen was tucked away safely in her pocket, both hands curling around her head as if able to protect herself from fatal wounds.<br><br>The Russian’s just stood there, and didn’t seem nearly as worried as they should have been. But the AK-47s in the arms seemed to provide them with security, because the moment they began to open fire the effect was dramatic. More of Sam’s side began to cry out, more began to get pinned down from the additional weapons, and from their vantage point they were easily capable of spraying down at the scene before them like a garden hose. Hot metal from the bullet’s casings dropped to the ground, steaming in the cooler air. A few caught along Sam’s bunker gear and sweater, though other than a few scattered and mild burns she was safe.<br><br>Or as safe as a woman could be with a bullet in her leg, bleeding, surrounded by gunfire and stuck in the middle of the exchange.<br><br>“Grab that girl!” The scientist shouted again, pointing in her direction this time. Sam’s eyes widened as she realized that she was indeed the initiated target, and had just enough time to lurch forward before a thick arm hooked around her waist and tugged her closer. Sam cried out, twisting and squirming, trying to get away, and was met instead by a sudden vice-like grip that forced all the air from her lungs. “Careful with her, damn it!” The scientist scowled, and then turned to make his way down a few steps until he reached their platform. Lips parted, a ready scowl was on his face; and another bullet caught him in the throat that sent his eyes wide and gurgling as he started to choke on his own blood.<br><br>Sam was allowed to breathe only because the man who had her tightly in his grip relaxed it a little. “Shit.” He cursed softly, his accent was also Russian, obviously a theme.<br><br>Another bullet hit its mark; the man standing to the leader’s right dropped to the ground. A series of curses followed in a variety of languages next. The line was beginning to break, the police and SWAT teams were moving closer and more and more men that were trying to protect the grate were dropping or running, now that their boss was no longer breathing.<br>“Sam!” <br><br>She turned to look over her shoulder, recognizing Sean’s voice in an instant. Both of her pale blue eyes; the color of ice, were wide and blurred with the tears, but there was still an amount of calm left. “Sean!”<br><br>“Go back!” The Russian growled, jerking his head behind him to indicate the portal. The man holding Sam and two others turned without hesitation, taking that half step towards the portal and into the pulsing blue light. Sam screamed, unable to do much of anything else, and was quickly overwhelmed with a twisting sense of vertigo as she was carried through and to the other side.<br><br>She wasn’t certain how much time had passed; or if any time had passed at all. Through that twisting vortex all Samantha could be certain of was the sudden heated pain that pulsed in her skull and the sensation of suffocating. Then, just as suddenly, Sam was gasping as cold air hit her face and her lungs were filled with oxygen, cleaner than that of the warehouse she had been stuck in before. It was taking several moments to open her eyes, but the moment she did the man holding her dropped her to the ground, and allowed the small woman to cry out and moan when she hit and hadn’t the chance to even brace herself.<br><br>“Boss?”<br><br>Sam lay on the ground, curled up on her side and now clutched at the wound on her thigh. The blood was streaming over her palm and between her fingers but she wasn’t yet alarmed about the loss. Not when she was staring at nothing but inky black and the occasional window highlighted with the distant city lights. Or when there came a rush of voices from behind them, shouting and crying out as the remaining Russians left the portal with a few members of the swat team in tow. An explosion sounded, and before the portal began to close a rush of hot air buffered everyone and knocking the unsteady off of their feet.<br><br>Those already off of their feet, like Sam, simply slid a little ways across the ground until they were stopped by friction or, in Sam’s instance, a dark object she could only assume was a crate.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AesopsAlternative</strong> on <strong>16-04-2010, 05:35:36</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Bruce was nearly overwhelmed by the sudden stream of events. Mob soldiers came pouring through the portal with what appeared to be a hostage. Three SWAT members quickly followed them. Shouting, chaos. Then an explosion ripped through the warehouse nearly knocking him over. Bruce ducked his head as the shockwave washed over him. Something heavy skittered across the warehouse floor and came to rest with a dull thud against the crate that Bruce crouched upon. After his ears had stopped ringing from the concussion, Bruce looked up but could see nothing in the inky blackness. Now that the light from the portal was gone, the warehouse was a murky, indecipherable darkness.<br><br>Bruce reached up and hit a button on his helmet. Two small, curved screens descended in front of his eyes with a small mechanical whir. A high-pitched whine echoed briefly in his ears as the screens warmed up and began to receive power. A few flickers of green and then the low-light amplification sensors kicked in, painting the warehouse and all within it an eerie pale green color.<br><br>There was a moment of utter silence as everyone tried to regain their senses. Bruce saw mafia members picking themselves up off the floor, groping blindly through the stacks of crates. Likewise, three SWAT members were huddled together where the portal had been shaking their heads in confusion, trying to orient to the sudden change in surroundings. Bruce glanced down and was surprised to see the hostage at the base of the crate he crouched upon, clutching at her leg in pain.<br><br>Then all hell broke loose. One of the SWAT members unadvisedly flicked on the flashlight attached to the barrel of his MP5. The thin beam darted around trying to paint the surrounding environs with light, but only succeeded in attracting the attention of the Russian soldiers.<br><br>“TURN IT OFF,” Bruce heard one of the SWAT team members scream. But it was too late. The spot of light in the darkness made an excellent target. The Russian soldiers, afraid and in the dark, had found something to latch upon; they all turned and began pumping lead. Bruce saw the ill-fated SWAT member reach for the light, but he was much slower than the barrage of bullets headed in his direction. He never made it. His body jerked spasmodically for several seconds before falling limply forward, lifeless.<br><br>Bruce knew that things were about to get ugly. Reaching down, he grabbed the girl by the front of her uniform with one hand - she had some sort of bunker gear on - and clamped the other over her mouth to muffle any cry of surprise that might issue forth. He wished he had time to explain, but there was none. He bodily hauled her up with one hand and pulled her to his chest, her face pressed against the chest of his body armor. Bruce turned quickly so that his back was to the circle of men and ran into the darkness seeking cover. The girl fought like a trapped animal, good leg flailing, hands seeking the soft target of his head. Instead, her hands found the rigid, inflexible alloy of his helmet, and her one good leg glanced harmlessly off his body armor. Bruce flinched against the girl’s attack but kept going; they would need more than a single layer of crates to protect against what was coming.<br><br>Meanwhile, the remaining two SWAT members had dove away from the light source and the ensuing hail of bullets. Turning back, they saw a macabre scene: their comrades pale, still visage lying against the warehouse floor, now illuminated by the small beam of the flashlight. Seeing their downed comrade, one of them uttered a primal scream and began returning fire, aiming for the muzzle flashes of the Russian soldiers. A moment later, the other SWAT member joined in. Guns blazed wildly in the darkness, the discharges of numerous weapons within the enclosed space deafening. Bruce dove behind the nearest crate, his body covering that of the girl as the warehouse became a lethal maelstrom of flying metal.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>16-04-2010, 07:03:02</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				It was beginning to settling in just how much Samantha was beginning to ache. Other than the obvious wound on her leg, the woman’s back and shoulders were stiffening from being man-handled against the steps. Her stomach hurt from the kick she had received, and over all her upper body ached from being tossed like a rag doll across the room, through the warehouse doors, where she had landed bodily on the ground. Her most recent fall seemed to stir these things up, and it was all she could do to keep from whimpering aloud like some half beaten puppy.<br><br>After all it was dark, and if Sam played her cards right she could remain hidden so long as the lights remained off. She wasn’t so foolish as to ignore the fact that she was bleeding, and a blood trail was undoubtedly forming. But her night had been bad enough, surely she can find a small miracle somewhere.<br><br>The devil was laughing at her; black on black shifted above her, giving Sam enough time to register movement before something dark wrapped around her shirt. With ease it lifted her slight frame off of the ground, and a hand spawned from shadow to muffle her gasp of surprise. How had the Russians found her so quickly? Wait… no. Those weren’t normal gloves.<br><br>Instincts kicked in that sent the woman scrambling, pushing at the dark in her desperate attempt of finding a body. There, a hard chest; not flesh but armor. Her bloody fingers smeared and slipped againt the chest-piece, unable to find a firm grip. Was it a member of the SWAT unit? That thought brought some relief, and even as the armored hand was clamped around her mouth Sam began to ease against it, calming despite the ragged breathing. It felt as if she had swallowed a sparrow, her heart was hammering so hard and so fast, It was a trapped thing wanting out. She could feel it on her tongue, in her throat, and couldn’t help that weak, pathetic moan that pressed against the palm of the dark figure’s hand as he moved them quickly away from the sudden gun fire.<br><br>Wait…<br><br>There had been three members of the SWAT team, all of which had been by that beam of light. So who the hell was this?<br><br>They were dropping quickly, and Sam grunted under the weight of all of that armor at her back. Teeth clamped down around a miserable curse, and it was all that she had to keep the wind from being knocked out of her. Weapon fire drowned out any hope that curse had at being heard outside the two of them, and while Sam was still terrified, still uncertain of her situation, she pressed as close to that protective form as she could, and got as small as possible to avoid the bullets. Which wasn’t too difficult what with her size; though the injured leg was stiff and refused to bend all the way.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AesopsAlternative</strong> on <strong>17-04-2010, 01:48:42</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<br>Bruce tried to form a protective shield around the hostage and the bullets flying wildly through the air. He rested most of his weight on his forearms as he covered the small frame, ducking his head against the deafening roar of the gunfire. Bullets flew every which way, thudding into crates filled with long forgotten contents and ricocheting off of the warehouse floor with shrill screams. Bruce instinctively ducked his head even further as a whirring bullet flew loudly by, having spent most of its energy crashing through crates. As the two huddled together, Bruce began to smell the thick, coppery scent of blood mixed with sweat and the vaguest remnants of some floral aroma... the girl’s shampoo perhaps. He wanted to check the girl’s wound, but now was not the time or place. It didn’t seem to be life-threatening. He hoped.<br><br>Eventually the sound of gunfire abated from a constant, steady hammering to a sporadic, occasional pot shot. In its place, the muffled groans of injured men started to fill the air. Bruce cautiously raised his head, testing the waters, but could discern little from his vantage point on the warehouse floor. He worried that the lull in the action might be brief, and if he was to have a chance to end this insanity, he had to act now.<br><br>Slowly, gently, Bruce disentangled himself from the form beneath him, raising himself into a crouching position. He saw the form move, released from its burden, and look up at him through the darkness, trying to distinguish his features. As the girl squinted up at him, Bruce was surprised to see her eyes reflected as a bright, pale green in his night vision. He had no idea what to make of that. Bruce softly placed a gloved finger over the girl’s lips, indicating silence. Bending so that his head was adjacent to the girl’s ear, he disguised his voice as a low, guttural growl and said, “Stay down. And don’t move.”<br><br>Angling his magnetic grappling gun straight up, Bruce discharged the weapon, the thin yet durable line whistling in the darkness as it rapidly unspooled until a faint ping told him that the hook had found its mark. He attached the line to his belt, hit the retract button, and disappeared into the darkness with a soft hum. Bruce hung suspended near the roof, gazing down at the scene below. All three members of the SWAT team lay still, prone on the ground. Cursing under his breath, Bruce saw that, to their credit, the two SWAT members that had survived the initial attack had managed to take out five of the mob soldiers. The remaining two were talking in hushed tones together behind a stack of crates.<br><br>Bruce saw one of the soldiers point towards the first downed SWAT member. The second soldier emphatically shook his head in response. The first soldier pointed again insistently and gave the other a small shove for good measure. Slowly, inching through the darkness, the second soldier began to move in the direction indicated. Bruce grabbed onto a rafter, quickly disengaged his grappling hook, and aimed the gun so that it would attach roughly above where the first soldier stood, ostensibly providing cover for the other. <em>Divide and conquer.</em><br><br>After his grappling hook reattached, Bruce let go of his purchase and swung out into space, coming to rest approximately thirty feet above the first henchman who urged his compatriot on with whispered encouragements. Bruce slowly and silently descended through the darkness, twisting ever so slightly as the cable unspooled. His boots hit the ground with barely a sound, and Bruce stood just behind the first soldier. Bruce quickly reached forward and snaked his powerful right arm around the man’s neck, his left arm locking around his right wrist to provide additional leverage. Bruce had the man in a stranglehold, compressing his carotid arteries.<br><br>The man’s hands immediately started clawing at Bruce’s arms, but to no avail. Bruce’s biceps bulged as he relentlessly compressed the blood ways that provided vital oxygen to the man’s brain. A few seconds later, the man’s hands fell to his side, and his head lolled slowly forward. Bruce kept the hold intact for an additional few seconds before lowering the incapacitated man gently to the ground. Bruce quickly removed one of the numerous black plastic zip ties he always carried with him and bound the man’s hands and feet behind him. He’d barely broken a sweat.<br><br>Bruce saw that the first soldier had reached the first SWAT member. The first soldier slowly reached down and picked up the MP5 with the flashlight. It wouldn’t do the man much good. As graceful as a stalking cat, Bruce snuck up behind the man as the soldier slowly straightened to his feet. The soldier began to retrace his steps, his way now illuminated by a small beam of light stained partially red by blood that had covered part of the lens. As the man turned, the multi-colored light illuminated a pair of black boots. Boots that were attached to something whose cold eyes stared out from behind a formidable looking mask. A discrete press of a button and Bruce’s cape flared out behind him.<br><br>“B... b... bat...,” the man stuttered in English. He was unable to complete the word.<br><br>“Going somewhere?” Bruce growled, fixing the man with a menacing glare.<br><br>The man replied with a very un-masculine shriek and tried to bring his weapon up. Bruce caught the man’s wrist as the soldier clamped down on the weapon’s trigger in sheer terror. Bullets whizzed harmlessly by accompanied by the MP5’s distinct, barking cough. The shower of bullets quickly annihilated a nearby crate, sending wooden fragments and large, white cloud of dust billowing into the air. A few seconds later, the cacophony stopped, replaced by a tiny clicking sound as the MP5’s firing pin continued to search for bullets that were no longer there.<br><br>Bruce gazed passively at the man whose wrist he still gripped and saw the soldier’s chin begin to quiver, his knees bending slightly as if he were about to faint. Bruce pointed to the ground with his left hand and the man immediately complied, sinking to his knees, then his face. He couldn’t seem to willingly put his hands behind his back quickly enough. Bruce knelt and trussed the man’s hands and feet with two more zip ties.<br><br>Standing, Bruce found himself suddenly in the midst of a foul smelling white cloud; the pulverized contents of whatever had been inside the crate. Bruce exhaled quickly through his nose trying to rid himself of the noxious odor. That was when the pain started, a burning sensation that raced through his nose and down his throat. It felt like he had breathed in a ball of fire. Bruce barely muffled a cry of pain that bubbled up from within, voiced as a dull groan. His gloved hands flew to his face trying in vain to stop the searing pain and he staggered backward. Then his eyes started to burn too. Bruce blinked rapidly, trying to clear the irritant, but every time he opened his eyes, the pain intensified. Bruce shut his eyes tightly as they began tearing profusely, saline rivulets running down his face and dripping off his chin to fall in fat spots on the warehouse floor.<br><br>The sensations in his nose and throat were so intense that thinking was becoming difficult. With a Herculean effort, Bruce held himself together, pulling himself back from the brink of panic. He had to get out of this cloud of... whatever it was. Bruce fell to his knees and tried to breath in fresh air. Because of the searing pain now occupying his throat and nose, he was limited to brief pants. Nothing helped. Bruce attempted to open his eyes; the pain nearly overwhelmed him. He shut his eyes tightly against the agony and gave a small cry of frustration. He was utterly helpless.<br><br><em>This is so not good.</em><br><br>Bruce continued to crawl along the warehouse floor, navigating inert bodies and crates by his sense of touch alone. He wondered how in the hell he was going to get out of this one. Making his way blindly through a seemingly endless maze of crates, Bruce kept his trepidation at bay and slowly continued to fumble his way along the warehouse floor. It was then that he heard a stifled groan of pain somewhere off to his right. A shotgun blast sounded in the dark instantly reducing a crate to rubble.<br><br>Apparently, one of the soldiers was not quite dead and had heard him crawling in the darkness. Whether the man knew he was aiming at his nemesis or simply shooting at anything that moved Bruce didn’t know. What he did know, however, was that he was in an extremely precarious situation. Bruce crawled quickly forward, twisting this way and that between crates as he tried to put as much distance between himself and the shotgun blast as possible.<br><br>After a minute of crawling and navigating by touch, Bruce found a crate and hunkered down behind it. He crouched on the cold warehouse floor with his back against the crate and tried to figure out precisely what in the hell he was going to do. He needed help. Badly. Reaching a gloved hand to the Bluetooth device attached to his ear, Bruce activated the thing and, after a series of small clicks, heard a ring.<br><br>“Pick up!” he whispered aloud, encouraging the recipient to answer. “Pick up!”<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>17-04-2010, 06:00:55</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Samantha hated guns more than she hated being alone, and the constant staccato of the gunfire, the pain in her body, the loss of blood and scent of gunpowder in the air was quickly giving her a headache. Even under the protective weight of this strange, armored man, Samantha couldn’t help but tremble in a potent mix of fear and pain, feeling reduced to the stage of a small child stuck in a thunderstorm and nothing but a blanket to pull over her head. She hadn’t a clue if it would really provide her any protection at all, but when you were scared you were reduced to the more primal instincts. Curling up into the fetal position; a position one took from the moment they were in the womb. Covering eyes or ears, in the misguided belief of if you can’t see or hear it, then it couldn’t see or hear you.<br><br>Wouldn’t that be nice?<br><br>Sam was tired of being frightened. She was tired of hurting and tired of the course of her night, wishing for silence, calm and a break from all of this chaos. She needed a vacation, an escape from this hell. Living would be nice, too. “Stop… stop it. Stop it!” The pleas were unnoticed to her, but in this state of fright she couldn’t help but whisper them to herself and the dark, aching for reassurance, even if it was from this armored stranger. She didn’t get any; just a set of growled orders that didn’t sooth and comfort her at all.<br><br>His voice was rough, smoky, reminding her of rich chocolate with the texture of sand paper. Would it be farfetched and crazy if she were to say that he didn’t sound human? Where was she? Trying to understand was impossible at this moment, she couldn’t even lift her cheek up from the cold stone floor beneath her as Batman climbed to a crouch and disappeared into thin air. Stay down. Don’t move. Sam, if she was lucky, could indeed move. However she wouldn’t be getting very far with her injuries.<br><br>For a long while she remained curled there, trembling and aching, listening intently even as she covered her ears. There was a shout, which made her stomach clench, then a burst of gunfire; a different weapon this time. A few strays found her direction, though nowhere near enough to put her in any harm, but it certainly made the woman more content to remain where she was.<br><br>Until she heard the coughing, the choking struggle of breathing followed with the stumbling of a heavy figure. Sam pushed up onto her elbows, carefully twisting to her side as she looked out past the crate. She couldn’t see anything, and while her ears were ringing she made the educated guess that the man who pulled her from the fray was indeed the one coughing; why else hadn’t he come back to her yet? She refused to believe that he was hurt, or worse… but was this coughing any better?<br><br>Screw this.<br><br>Sam’s leg was stiffening up now; not a good sign. Extending the joint was nearly impossible, and reduced her to nearly crawling towards that sound. She was silent, save for the occasional moment that had her gasping; working up a sweat by the time she reached the prone beast that she could only assume was human. “Yeah yeah, sit, stay down, don’t move…” She whispered to him, reassuring as best she could with the presence of her voice. “I’m a paramedic. I can’t see worth shit but… be still.”<br><br>Sam pulled off her sweater, leaving the woman in the bunker gear pants, boots, and the camisole she wore under the sweater. The sweater was bloody in the front so she made certain to use the back. “Hold your breath.” With the clean side she carefully wiped at the pale dusting she could barely see scattered about his person. Occasionally she could cough, but she would do so against her shoulder, forcing herself to keep a shallow breath so as not to inhale too deeply. They needed to get out of here, and quickly.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AesopsAlternative</strong> on <strong>18-04-2010, 21:04:48</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				At the first sound of the girl’s voice, Bruce’s head jerked back reflexively, thudding into the crate he crouched against with a dull thud. All consumed by the agony of his scorching throat and smoldering eyes, Bruce hadn’t heard her approach. A small shower of dirt and dust rained down upon him from above, dislodged from the impact. He would have made a small quip, despite the agony, of how well she followed directions, but she beat him to the punch. And, quite frankly, he was glad she was here. She was the only possible hope of salvation in this royally screwed situation. Making a snap decision, Bruce touched the Bluetooth device once more, severing the connection.<br><br>Bruce complied with the woman’s directions as he felt a soft fabric wipe across his face. “Thank you,” Bruce whispered to the girl in a rasp, this time not having to work to disguise his voice; he could barely get the words out as it was. But the girl’s wiping did little good. They needed to get out of here. Period. But she was lame, and he was blind... working quickly, his mind seized upon a solution. Bruce fumbled at his utility belt for a moment and, after dancing his fingertips over several tools recognized and then discarded, he found the object he sought. Removing the device from its protective pouch, he grabbed the small 3x2 inch black gadget that looked very similar to an iPod touch; its function, however, was far different.<br><br>The girl was off to his right, partially lying on the ground as she worked on him, her left hand on his right shoulder to stabilize herself. Bruce gently stopped the girl’s attempts to clean his face and proffered her the device. “Hold this,” he grated. After a moment’s hesitation, Bruce felt the girl’s fingers close over the device and begin to remove it from his hand. Not letting her hand retreat, but grasping her right wrist with his hand, Bruce then caught her left wrist with his left hand. “This might hurt a little,” he rasped as he lifted her left hand above his head and ducked under it, turning his back to her. He pulled her close to him, her stomach against his back, using his grip on her wrists to guide her into position. The girl got the idea and compliantly folded her arms over his shoulders and around his neck. Bruce stood slowly, trying to jostle the girl as little as possible. Despite his care, he heard her gasp in pain as her leg straightened, now dangling down his back.<br><br>Reaching his hands around behind him, Bruce helped support the girl’s weight by grabbing his wrists and placing his hands under the girl’s bottom. He flexed his arms slightly, lifting her so that her arms did not have to bear her weight. It might have seemed childish, but a piggyback was going to get them out of here as quickly as possible, and with some lunatic with a shotgun still roaming the darkened warehouse, quick seemed like a pretty damn good idea. As if to accentuate the point, another shotgun blast thundered through the darkness. Though no crates exploded in their vicinity and the shot seemed distant, no one was safe with a shotgun-toting maniac wandering the darkness.<br><br>Bruce told the girl how to activate the device and, after she followed his directions, a series of red luminescent LEDs danced across the face of the screen. The screen went completely blank and then a bright blue dot appeared in the center, a series of pale green circles radiating outwards from the central blue dot. After a moment, a small series of electronic blips chirped through the darkness and the concentric circles fixed themselves on the screen. A bright yellow dot appeared, slowly fading in and out.<br><br>“We’re blue,” Bruce explained, “we need to get to yellow.” An uncontrollable coughing fit shook him mercilessly, agony coursing through him with every wracked breath. Trying to condense his sentences as much as possible, Bruce struggled to explain. His voice was sandpaper over gravel. “Yellow at top... means heading towards.” Bruce had the inexplicable urge to reach up and claw at his throat. Anything, anything to make the pain stop. But he persevered. “Point me.”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>19-04-2010, 02:41:59</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				When was the last time she rode piggy back? Samantha searched her memory, allowing the flickering images to keep her occupied while this strangely armored man adjusted and worked with her until they were both fairly comfortable. Sort of. There had been the time when she was stung by a jelly fish on the beach; Sean hoisted her up then while laughing, finding the whole situation comical even while red welts began to form around her ankle where the strings had tangled. Sam didn’t know how to swim, and it took him nearly half an hour to convince her to just wade out in those dark blue depths. And what happened? She put her foot right in the path of a jelly fish nearly as long as she was and released a string of curses that would make any sailor blush. Perhaps that was why she didn’t live by the ocean? Perhaps that was why she was content to be in the city, and away from those damnable things?<br><br>Ironic, in a way, that it had been the same leg as this one. Sam preferred the jelly fish over the bullet now. Like a lump under her skin, she felt it sitting there, working deeper into her body. Not as dramatic as inches, but by the time she was able to sit down and get medical attention she was going to have to spend a lot of her time gritting her teeth and getting creative with curses. It would provided a mild distraction at least, and sometimes focusing on other things actually helped.<br><br>Injured leg or not, she was the medic, and whatever this man inhaled was effecting his respiratory system. She thought about making some sort of filter but left her sweater behind. It wouldn’t do her any good anyways since it was covered with all of that blood. Where was her medical bag when she needed it most? And where the hell was she, anyways? The only gunfire came from that lone shotgun. Every time it sounded Sam would wince and instinctively duck, though they were moving farther and farther away. She kept her eyes focused on the lights in her hand, wishing it was enough to illuminate the man’s helmet. And what was the fabric at his back?<br><br>“Head South,” She replied, voice soft since her mouth was so close to his ear and she was still half afraid of being targeted and shot at. “I hope you can see better than I.” Maybe he could? He seemed to have quite a number of tech on his person. Was he some sort of… special forces? How big of an operation was this? She was starting to feel light headed, in which she released a slow, steady breath to keep her wits about her. They’d be fine, whatever yellow was it was getting close. “Left after twenty strides, then you’re nearly on top of it.”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AesopsAlternative</strong> on <strong>19-04-2010, 06:04:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Navigating his way through the warehouse in the dark, the crates created an invisible minefield that Bruce had to navigate blindly, his eyes clenched tightly against the pain that seemed to be searing his eyeballs in their sockets. Because of both his blindness, and because of his precious cargo, Bruce’s pace was little more than a shuffle. If he went any faster and ran into anything, the pair would undoubtedly end up sprawled on the warehouse floor. That wouldn’t do anyone any good. So Bruce put one foot ever so carefully in front of another, testing the space with the toe of his boot before shifting his weight. Progress seemed painfully slow, all the more so because of the inferno that seemed to rage inside his nose, throat and eyes. Bruce tried to put the pain from his mind, tried to focus entirely on the task at hand in an attempt to distract himself. But pain was a stern mistress this night, and he had difficulty concentrating.<br><br>He continued to put one foot in front of the other, following the girl’s directions as she consulted the device that was his remote link to the Tumbler. Foot by foot, the pair made progress towards their destination. Occasionally, Bruce’s toe would hit upon a crate, and he would have to carefully circumvent the obstruction, feeling out its shape in the dark with his foot, and an occasional shoulder that rubbed a passing obstacle. Progress was slow but steady.<br><br>Finally, the girl told him that he need only go twenty more strides to the left. Bruce carefully turned to his left, approximating ninety degrees in his head, and started moving that direction. Seven slow strides later, Bruce came up short as his toe encountered yet another barrier. But this was no crate. Kicking the object, it felt quite solid and sturdy. Cement. He’d found the warehouse wall. They were close, but they needed to get outside. If Bruce guessed correctly, they were in a corner of the warehouse that was adjacent to the alley where he had parked the Tumbler. Outside, across the street and into the alley and there it would be. Sweet salvation. Sort of.<br><br>Bruce needed to communicate again, and steeled himself for the effort, bracing himself for the pain. He tried to clear his throat first, to make himself easier to understand, but that was a mistake. A molten wave of pain seemed to bubble up from within, lodging somewhere just behind his Adam’s apple. A strangled gasp issued forth. Small red dots and streaks of yellow seemed to dance along the backs of his closed eyelids. He breathed in shallow pants, the pain washing over him, his body starting to quiver from the strain of keeping it together. A voice seemed to tempt him, to whisper his name, to beckon him towards a comforting darkness with promises of oblivion.<br><br>Bruce shook his head violently as if responding to only the voice he could here. No. He would not give in. Never. Redoubling his efforts, Bruce managed a rough croak, “Look...” He paused a second, the pain seeming to come from within in pulsing waves. It felt like the stuff had gotten into his lungs. And they were none too happy about it. Bruce wondered vaguely if lungs could spontaneously combust. It felt like it. A few seconds later, Bruce managed, “... door.”<br><br>Reaching down to his belt, Bruce found the transmitters for all the remaining explosive charges that he had set but never used. He hoped this would give the girl enough light to find a door... assuming there even was one in this corner of the warehouse. Waiting a couple seconds, uttering a mental plea to anyone that might be listening, Bruce pressed the button for the remaining charges. Seventy yards behind them, a series of small detonations combined to form a large, fiery explosion that sent a bright flash rolling through the dark expanse of the warehouse. A second later, another shotgun blast chased the explosion’s echo.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>19-04-2010, 18:45:34</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Look for a door; if Sam could depend on walking, feeling out the wall in this utter black then it would have been easy. What was she supposed to do in this void, unable to walk but capable of standing… for a short while. The device in her hand didn’t even cast a glow on her pale fingers, holding it up like a torch was out. She wasn’t a smoker either, so there went the handy lighter or set of matches that would have been a blessing right about now. So would be red and blue lights, streaming in through the windows high above announcing the Calvary, safety and Sean. Where the hell was she?<br><br>She was about to tell him to drop her, to set her down near the wall. Using the heel of her injured leg rather than the ball of her foot would make steps easier though difficult. But she wanted out of here badly, even if that meant with this strange man in armor. With light, it would be interesting to see the full details of his outfit. Unless of course that meant he’d only have to kill her. She was tired of being faced with death constantly.<br><br>This was when the explosions heralded themselves. Better warning would have been appreciated, since the sudden blast caught her by surprised and would have given them away what with her sharp cry. Only the fiery inferno did a good enough job masking it up, and in the heated blaze warming her back, Sam cowered for half a second, before forcing her eyes open to look.<br><br>Luck was with them. Or mocking them. A few more steps to the left down the length of the wall were a set of doors. They looked old, warn, but no signs of locks came to her eyes nor any armed mad-men with thick Russian accents. These were good signs. Even if luck was mocking, it was nice to have her on their side for once. “Against this wall, keep to the left, about seven or ten more steps. Set me down if you need to breathe.” There was nothing she could do if that stuff was already in his lungs, but forcing him to inhale it deeper and harder while holding her as a burden certainly wouldn’t help him any.&nbsp; Fresh air, a chemical rinse to take away the rest of the residue on his person, things that they didn’t currently have access to, but certainly getting outside would help?
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AesopsAlternative</strong> on <strong>20-04-2010, 04:33:08</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Bruce nodded without speaking, showing that he had heard and understood the girl. He turned and began slowly walking, his shoulder lightly touching the wall to guide him. The rubber soles of his thick boots tread softly on the floor, carefully making his way in the darkness. When Bruce’s abdomen registered a protrusion from the wall, he realized that he had found the door. Bruce leaned forward from his waist, supporting more of the girl’s weight on his back as he reached forward with a hand and, after a moment of groping, managed to locate the door handle. Saying another silent prayer, he gave the knob a twist. Things had gone so terribly wrong that Bruce was pleasantly shocked when the knob twisted in his hand. Giving the door a small tug, it swung towards him, needing a bit more encouragement when it started to encounter the detritus that littered the warehouse floor.<br><br>Sounds of the street flooded into the warehouse. Unbeknownst to Bruce, the alley was nearly pitch-black, the warehouse floodlights that would otherwise have illuminated the area having been vandalized years ago. Bruce didn’t know that, of course, his eyes still clenched tightly against the irritating powder, copious tears still streaming down his face. Bruce was vaguely surprised that his eyes were still tearing; they must have tapped some hidden water source deep within his body to still be producing at the rate they were going. Bruce stepped out into the alley, and carefully closed the door behind him; he didn’t want it to be a beacon for whoever was still taking potshots in the warehouse.<br><br>Bruce knew that they should be in the alley, one cross street over from the Tumbler. From here, it was a straight shot. Now salvation truly was at hand. Bruce bent his knees and the girl took the cue, supporting her own weight with her good leg and leaning against the exterior of the warehouse for support. “Device,” Bruce managed in a mangled voice, and the girl quickly handed it to him. Tapping twice on the screen, Bruce activated the remote access to the Tumbler’s controls. He removed a thick black glove from his right hand, and placed his thumb and forefinger on the screen. A few seconds later, a high-pitched chime indicated that his biometrics had been verified, and the remote control to the vehicle activated. He held the control out to the girl. “Start,” he croaked, then after a moment’s pause to gather himself, “Retrieve.”<br><br>The girl saw a menu of several horizontal bars. At the top, a green bar had the word “Start” written across it. Several other currently grayed-out bars appeared below the start button in a vertical stack: Wait, Retrieve, Distract, and then, somewhat ominously, Intimidate. The girl pressed the green start button hesitantly, and the sound of an engine kicking over in the distance echoed faintly through the alleyway. A few seconds later, the device chirped again, and all of the previously grayed-out options were suddenly colored a vibrant blue. Except for the Intimidate option. That one glowed red. As Sam went to push the Retrieve button, Bruce withdrew the device for a moment, said “Careful,” and then held the device out to her once more.<br><br>Being extra cautious, Sam pressed the retrieve button. Almost immediately, a thunderous roar of a powerful engine suddenly engaged in full throttle reverberated through the alley, accompanied by the sharp squeal of tires churning pavement. Glancing down the alleyway, Sam could see an immense black shadow leaping down the alleyway towards them, illuminated only briefly for a moment as it crossed the side street and barreled towards them. It had looked like a strange cross between a futuristic space vehicle and a small tank. The man stood his ground as the vehicle approached. Suddenly, the vehicle braked hard, skidding to a stop, coming to rest within a foot of the two. As it stopped, two bright headlights flicked on, throwing the alley into sharp relief. A click and a hiss, and a central portion of the vehicle rose revealing a cushy but heavily fortified interior, complete with two bucket seats and an odd array of instruments.<br><br>In the sudden light, the girl could now clearly make out the brick exterior of the warehouse, streaked with years of accumulated dirt and grime, overlaid by the infrequent spray-paint of graffiti. She could now see, rather than only hear, the rats that scurried through the rubbish-filled alley. And she also now saw a man facing her. A man dressed in black body armor, wearing a dark helmet and black cape. A man dressed to resemble a giant bat. But also a man clearly in pain, who wheezed for breath, and whose eyes were running profusely, clutched tightly in anguish.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>20-04-2010, 18:54:06</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The roar of the engine frightened her, sounding like some angry beast rising from sleep in the depths of hell, enraged that it had been woken. She almost dropped the remote but didn’t dare less that ‘Intimidate’ option flared to life. She was already intimidated. Light flared and momentarily blinded her, forcing the woman to lift her arm in an attempt to shield her eyes. The rubber of the tires squealed on the pavement and before the woman was ready for it, roared towards their direction. Samantha panicked. Had this man said something to her? Was she supposed to hit another button again in order to stop it? Did they get the far only to die because of her mistake?<br><br>She back peddled; or at least she tried. Sam’s back was already against the wall but she tried to press through anyways, only applying more pressure on that wounded leg. The limb wobbled and protested, the muscle cramped and tightened, and with a startled gasp that was half choked down and swallowed, Sam clutched the wound and slid down to her butt. The limb was burning, the muscles were hot as her body fought against the foreign object still inside. She didn’t have armored gloves like the man before her, just gritty hands covered in soot and her own drying blood. The fresh flow created a sticky mud and smelled thickly of hot copper. The smell alone made her feel ill, the surge of fear made it worse and if she wasn’t certain that they were going to get hit, she would have been sick. “M-Move!” Maybe she could still save him?<br><br>It was in that moment that he was illuminated and fear took over pain. In the warehouse she had only caught the occasional glimmer of his eyes; an eerie reflection on black on black. There was a vague silhouette, protrusions from the head she assumed was some radio or com-link, and fabric at his back. Sam was a medic, not an agent or cop or the life. She didn’t know what the Special Forces sort wear when they were called into such dramatic situations. Sometimes a one-man team was all you needed.<br><br>This wasn’t from Gotham, this was from hell just like the car. Sam cried out in shock, fear, the sound once again was quickly swallowed down and masked with her free hand; the one not covering her wound. Pale blue eyes the color of ice burgs were wide in their silent terror, and if she had been standing she probably would have dropped again. If she had the capabilities of running, the chances were good that the woman would have made a break for it.<br><br>He didn’t work for the Gotham police; someone would have told a story about this figure, there was no way it wouldn’t have trickled down the grape vine. Intuition confirmed this, and aided by the strange back alley that gave a brief glimpse of what appeared to be a dock in the distance, she was plagued with the sudden sensation of distortion. Gotham didn’t have a dock, they weren’t on the bay. So why was there a hint of salt water in the air? Why was there the faint slosh of waves and the reflection of lights on the black surface out there?<br><br>Why was she in the presence of this… costumed man?<br><br>The man was in pain, which was obvious. Beneath the mask he wore on his face was flesh and on that flesh were streaming tracks of tears. She didn’t want to approach him but there was no way she was going to just leave him; after all, didn’t he save her? Who was he? Who did he work for? What the hell was with the suit and WHERE the hell was she?! Sam used the wall as a brace and her good leg as a lift, pushing until she stood and dreaded taking a step forward. Pain exploded up through her limb, shot along her spine and threatened to crack her teeth with it. She ignored it, though gasped and with her good hand grabbed the hem of her camisole and lifted it over her head.<br><br>The under shirt was clean, far better than her sweater had been and a good deal softer. Faintly it smelled of lavender laundry soap, having been fresh from the dryer when she put it on. Sam reached out to grab Batman’s arm, using him to stable herself as she positioned him in front of her and used the cloth once again as a wipe. Her hands were trembling but certain in her task, removing the sort of paste that tears and powder created. She’d need to take the mask off if she was going to get everything; but somehow she thought that would just be insane. You don’t ask a masked man to take the mask off; you don’t ask the masked man who they were. That was the whole reason for the mask, right?<br><br>“Don’t we make quite the pair?” She tried to jest, though the fear stood out quite well. “We need to get us both to a hospital, there’s no way in hell you’re going to be able to drive that thing.”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AesopsAlternative</strong> on <strong>21-04-2010, 02:00:43</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Bruce hadn’t been ready for the girl’s touch, and his head had reflexively recoiled at the first unseen touch. But a split-second later comprehension dawned and Bruce patiently submitted to her attentions. He imagined her slight frame standing in front of him, patiently, fastidiously trying to remove the excess contaminant, whatever it was. He appreciated the gesture, but the stuff that was causing him real problems was the quantity that he had already inhaled; no amount of wiping was going to help that. They needed better supplies.<br><br>“Don’t we make quite the pair?” he heard her ask and the briefest of smiles flickered across his face, morphing into a grimace as the pain reasserted itself once more. Then she mentioned getting them both to a hospital. Bruce would have arched an eyebrow in surprise if such a move would not have caused him excruciating pain. Certainly this girl knew that he wasn’t exactly on the best of terms with the Gotham police force. Or did she? Bruce began to wonder where she’d come from. The e-mail had mentioned other worlds but... was it really possible? He had many questions but, unfortunately, they would have to wait; he had other things at the top of his priority list.<br><br>Bruce nodded in response to the girl’s next sentence. She was right, there was no way he was going to be able to drive the Tumbler. He pointed an ungloved index finger in her direction, inadvertently poking her in the shoulder and uttered a single word, “Drive.” Bruce couldn’t see, but could imagine the look on the girl’s face. Or at least he thought he could. Perhaps a unique mixture of surprise, disbelief, and a tinge of fear. He heard Sam beginning to voice her protestations to the idea when another sound reached his ears: the rapid opening of multiple car doors. The sound had come from further down the alley.<br><br>Bruce’s head immediately came up, focusing in the direction of the sounds even though he could not see. Sam could, however. She saw that a big, black, bulky Mercedes had pulled into the alley approximately a hundred and fifty feet distance, its headlights glaring angrily in their direction. Sam saw that the car’s four doors were standing open and, a moment later, the car disgorged four very large men dressed similarly to those that had come through the portal to grab her initially. They were heavily armed. And they did not look happy. They took positions behind the cover of their open doors of the car and, for the third time that evening, Sam found herself the target of screaming bullets. What was it about tonight? Was death lusting after her that badly?<br><br>Bullets ricocheted off the pavement, kicking up small mounds of garbage as they traced their way closer to her and the costumed man. The sounds spurring Bruce to action, he grabbed the girl and bodily turned her, pushing her towards the open waiting haven of the Tumbler’s interior. She didn’t need much encouraging. Bruce turned his back to the men and shielded the girl as she tried to scramble up the Tumbler’s hood on hands and knees, her progress hindered by her injured leg. Bullets continued to assail the two, skipping off the pavement and leaving large pockmarks in the alley’s brick walls.<br><br>As Bruce formed a human shield for the girl, he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his lower right back that spun him slightly to the left. A cry of surprise and anger pierced the alley, adding to the noise and confusion of the moment. Moments later, he felt a dull throbbing sensation began his lower back that quickly escalated into a sharp, stabbing pain. They needed to get out of here. Now. Bruce’s hands groped blindly, found the woman still scrambling up the Tumbler’s hood, and gave her butt a hard shove. Bruce heard her tumble unceremoniously into the cockpit. Better hurt and safe than dead. He would apologize later. Maybe.<br><br>Bruce quickly followed, blindly scrambling up the Tumbler’s hood and diving headfirst into the cockpit. Bruce turned and, removing his other glove, his bare hands flew rapidly over the instrument panel as his mind painted the picture he could not see. Though the Tumbler’s numerous switches and control panels would seem more appropriately located in a space shuttle than in a ground vehicle, the complex instruments were well known to Bruce by now. His fingers danced lightly over the controls as he mentally oriented himself and then found the button he sought. With a slight hiss of release, the Tumbler’s roof closed and securely clamped down, the chaotic sounds of the outside world suddenly muted.<br><br>“Drive,” Bruce commanded as he pointed to the Tumbler’s steering wheel, anger and frustration lending his voice a momentary strength. He gave the girl a few seconds to adjust before taking hold of the throttle stick and slamming it forwards. A plume of thick black smoke filled the air as the Tumbler’s wheels spun furiously before finally finding traction and sending the lurching forward. The Tumbler hurtled towards the Russians and the black Mercedes that blocked the width of the small alleyway. Sam had nowhere to go; there was nothing she could do even if she hadn’t wanted to go through the Russian soldiers waiting for them.<br><br>Sam’s shrill cries of protest rose in pitch as the Tumbler flew forward, rapidly closing the distance. Bruce engaged the jump capability of the Tumbler that would send the vehicle airborne after it had reached minimum jump speed. Upon pressing the switch attached to the throttle, a deep hum sounded through the cockpit as the monstrous booster came alive. Bruce hoped it would be in time. The hum quickly rose in pitch and, after the vehicle had accelerated sufficiently, a deafening roar pressed the two back deeply into their bucket seats as the Tumbler went airborne.<br><br>The Tumbler hadn’t been precisely straight within the alleyway on takeoff, and it careened off of the alley’s brick wall in midair with a loud shriek, sending a bright shower of yellow sparks raining down upon the upturned faces of the Russians as it soared above them, their mouths gaping wide open in surprise. The Tumbler landed with a hard bounce on the other side of the Russians, the wheels still spinning madly. Bruce backed off the throttle a little bit as he guestimated the corner of the alley approached. “Left,” he commanded, and a few moments later he felt the vehicle careen around the turn and out of the alley, the force of the turn sending his body swaying to the right.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>21-04-2010, 03:22:51</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				There were some days where you wondered why you even got out of bed. Why had she thought following along with Sean would be a good idea? There was a possibility that she saved his life; but the man was more skilled in this sort of area then she would ever know. Maybe her presence had put him at risk in the first place? Sure, she captured that vile from the scientist who was still protectively tucked away in the cargo pocked of her bunker gear, but was it even important? How did she know that this strange liquid was indeed the reason behind all of this madness?<br><br>The gunshots were convincing. The fiery warehouse proved a point. The relentless Russians with their standard black suits and accents so thick you could cut it with a knife was another point to consider. So what did this intimidating man with his intimidating car had to do with the mix? Other than pushing her inside where she landed unceremoniously in the driver’s seat. She half expected to find a bowl of candy. Didn’t her mother teach her how dangerous it was to get in cars with strangers?<br><br>She worked to straighten herself in the seat, wiping her eyes with the back of her clean arm and hoped the blood stained his damn seats. She wanted all of this to be his fault; blaming someone would just make it all easier. That was probably selfish of her but it was the only thing Samantha could hold onto right then. Other than the steering wheel. With all the lights, switches, knobs and buttons… how the hell did he expect her to drive this beast? “This is a mistake.” But their only option. The man fell into the vehicle with her, his body jarring against hers which sent another jolt of pain racing through her body but other than a yelp she didn’t scold him. The situation didn’t call for it and Sam didn’t have it in her anymore.<br><br>That changed when Batman started to blindly reach for the control panel, hitting some button or switch that closed the hatch. There was no getting out now; she didn’t even see what he hit. “I don’t-“. The car rushed forward and slammed them into the seat, moving faster than Samantha anticipated and straight for the crowded mouth at the alley. “Wait! Don’t!” More bells and whistles, this one making them shoot up in the air and jump the men and their car. A bone rattling jolt took them as they landed and forced another cry out of Sam’s mouth. She was only running on adrenaline now, as soon as that started to fade she was certain she wouldn’t be of much good. But best not to think that way; he was hurt and Sam needed to tend to their wounds before any passing out occurred. She really hoped they were on their way to a hospital.<br><br>At least she had practice driving at high speeds in an ambulance. Count the small blessings. She turned left, smoother than she hoped as the Tumbler hoped out of the alley and into a main strip of unfamiliar road. She was breathing audibly, sweating, and hadn’t the slightest clue where they were heading or where the hell she was. Nothing looked familiar except the moon in the sky and the occasional speck that told of a star above. The city was too light for stars. “Where’s the closest hospital?” She didn’t dare take her eyes off the road. “We need to get you to a facility.”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AesopsAlternative</strong> on <strong>22-04-2010, 06:11:30</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Bruce nodded his head in agreement to the girl’s statement. Indeed, he did need a facility. Of course, it would not be the one that the girl expected, but she didn’t need to know that. His fingers taking their time as they carefully felt their way over the vehicle’s control panel, the press of a button brought a small LCD screen to life in a center console. This, at least, looked familiar to Sam; amidst all the high-tech gadgetry, the GPS device was a welcoming sight. Then, for the first time that night, Bruce relaxed.<br><br>It was a mistake. As thoughts of death and danger slowly receded, so did the adrenaline in his system, one of the few things that had kept him from fully appreciating the magnitude of the pain coursing through his body. As Bruce relaxed into the cushy leather seat, it seemed that his body started taking detailed stock of all the things it was not happy with. Eyes, nose, throat, chest... they all began to acutely register just how precisely discontent they were. Bruce clutched his arms to his chest in a futile attempt to defend himself from the waves of pain that began to crash over him.<br><br>It was then that the Bluetooth device attached to his ear began to vibrate. He couldn’t tell who it was, but it could only be one of two people. Either would be a welcome blessing. With an extreme effort, Bruce managed to answer the device with a badly shaking hand. When he answered, but didn’t speak, Bruce recognized Lucius’ voice as it uttered a hesitant hello. He must have seen the missed call from Bruce’s device just minutes ago.<br><br>“Need help...” Bruce managed and then a few tortured moments later, “company too.” “I’m on my way,” Lucius replied and Bruce heard the connection sever, exhaling in relief. His breath came in short, distressed gasps, and it was all he could do not to succumb to the tempting void of unconsciousness. But that would be a huge mistake. Rather than fighting the pain, Bruce changed tactics and welcomed it, challenged it, dared it to try to best him. He relaxed utterly, flowing with rather than fighting the current of agony. His head and body lolled loosely from side to side with the movement of the Tumbler as the girl drove. At least he knew that as long as he felt the pain he was still conscious and, more importantly, alive.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>23-04-2010, 20:32:46</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				It was strange that even with everything crashing down around her in a chaotic, confusing mess, instincts were still screaming at Sam to take care of this man. He was intimidating, frightening, a stranger in an even stranger attire that she struggled to understand, but he was still human. He was still hurting and in need of aid and the man had saved her, hadn’t he? She flicked her eyes away from the road for only half a second as if to insure that he was still slumped in that chair before returning her gaze to the road. He didn’t look too well; maybe their best bet would be pulling over and calling an ambulance? Now that they didn’t have people shooting at them Samantha certainly could help him, right?<br><br>With no equipment? Injured and bleeding herself? If she didn’t get to a hospital soon Sam was going to be eating dirt before she passed out, what good would she be to him then? She still didn’t understand what was going on and it didn’t seem likely that she was going to get the answers she wanted or needed anytime soon. There were priorities to attend to first: this… armored man with the cape.<br><br>He was muttering; once more Sam glanced over her shoulder to where he slumped and quickly discovered that he was communicating with someone. Why did that put her on edge? Why did her fingers itch with the desire to check and make sure that that small vile was still in her pocket? Somehow she resisted and followed the directions given by the GPS. “Still with me?”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AesopsAlternative</strong> on <strong>26-04-2010, 16:53:22</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Bruce had been in some tight spots, but this was by far the worst. He had only been disabled once like this before, and that had ironically been through another inhaled contaminant. Of course, that one had been deliberate, and had been specifically concocted by the Scarecrow for its poisonous use. This, on the other hand, appeared to simply be an irritating compound that he had inconveniently inhaled. Unfortunately, the debilitating effect was very near the same. Thank God the woman had been there to assist him, otherwise things could have ended very badly for him in the warehouse. All things considered, Bruce was rather impressed with the girl’s willingness to help him. Not, of course, that she’d had all that much choice. If she’d wanted out of the warehouse, he was pretty much her only ticket out. Unless she would have been content using a body bag as an exit strategy. Nonetheless, she still now followed his instructions, willing to help. He wondered if her benevolence would have been altered had she known his intentions.<br><br>The girl’s voice seemed to come from miles away, distantly echoing through his pain-ravaged mind. Slowly the words took shape, forming into a coherent sentence, and Bruce realized that a response was required. Bruce finally managed a weary thumbs-up in response to the girl’s query. He was still with her. For the moment. After several more minutes of silence, while the girl concentrated on her driving, Bruce heard the girl say, “We’re pretty close now, hold on,” and heard the vaguest sense of doubt creep into her voice. She was probably wondering, he thought, why there was no massive structure creeping into sight, with warm lights, bustling orderlies, and ambulances rushing to and fro. He felt the car slow to a crawl, and could imagine the girl’s head swiveling, perhaps now frantically trying to locate the hospital. “Surely it must be right around the corner, tucked out of sight,” she might have thought. But, of course, it wasn’t.<br><br>Bruce sought out the hand that Sam rested on the throttle control and gave it a comforting, reassuring squeeze, trying to allay any concern that might be building. He gave the girl’s hand a small pat before grasping it and pulling it towards him, holding it firmly against his body. With the limb so trapped, he quickly lifted the jet injector that he had been concealing with his right hand and pressed it against the woman’s arm. He felt the tip sink into the woman’s soft flesh, and knew he had found his mark. A pull of the trigger, a brief, angry hiss, and it was done. He could only imagine the look of horror upon the woman’s face. “Sedative,” he managed to utter, trying to bring her at least some comfort before she succumbed to the potent drug.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>26-04-2010, 19:19:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				When they arrived at the lot, Samantha realized her mistake. She shouldn’t have gotten in the car; she shouldn’t have followed the GPS and instead found herself a highway and followed signs from there. Or called an ambulance once they were safe, perhaps wave down some cops at a mall and let them take care of the details. But she hadn’t, and now Sam found herself slowing to a stop, surrounded by large freight containers that looked to have seen better days. Even in the dark there were rust stains visibly deteriorating the sides, graffiti art from all around the world, some stacked atop one another, others just left scattered about like drifting logs on an ocean’s beach. There was no hospital near here; there wasn’t another soul within screaming range.<br><br>What the hell had she been thinking? Yes the man was injured; but so was she. And yes the man saved her life; but what good would that do if—Sam jumped, startled at the sudden contact. She tore her eyes from the scene before her and snapped her focus on the man in an instant; muscles in her body were already coiling and flexing, adrenaline and fear replacing the first washing waves that coursed through her veins this evening. She was exhausted, her body was still working but it wouldn’t be long until she ran out of adrenaline and courage. That was normal, wasn’t it?<br><br>He was trying to comfort her. Sam blinked to clear her eyes and shook her head, lips parting and mouth opening as she began to refuse. “I-“ His grip didn’t tighten but there was more strength to it, forcing her hand against his chest so that she was leaning across the consol that separated them, gritting her teeth, face beginning to show that trace edge of fear when she found herself unable to pull away. Her eyes found the device and her attempts redoubled, sending Sam jerking backwards but had no hope to tear her arm away. Where had he pulled that from?<br><br>“N-No!” She hated that sound; that pathetic little tremble of fear that made that single word quiver and catch. Sam refused to take her eyes from the device in his hand but understood what it meant. She’s seen a few of those contraptions before, but only in movies, never in person. The sharp bite found the artery in her arm, the hiss accented by Sam’s whimper and then her fate was sealed, whatever it would be.<br><br>Sedative.<br><br>There was no comfort in that word, Sam’s eyes grew angry and accusing as she tried to pull her arm away even if it would be too late. “God damn you!” This was what she got for helping him? Sam could have run the moment Batman left her alone; in the dark, the chaos, no one would have known until it was too late. She could have left him and ran as she would have been entitled to. But she stayed, she helped, she was acting beyond instincts and survival.<br><br>Gray spots found her vision and once again Sam tried pulling herself away, though this time her eyes squeezed shut and she leaned her weight in the tug as she found herself drifting off. As much of a light weight she really was, compared to the delay in the sedative, and the continued struggles until Samantha began to slump, she put up one hell of a fight. He was lucky he had grabbed her hand when he did, otherwise the odds were good he would have found himself with a fox backing in the corner where they were the most dangerous. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AesopsAlternative</strong> on <strong>28-04-2010, 18:49:09</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Bruce shuffled into one of his penthouse’s numerous guestrooms and glanced towards his new guest. She was small and lithe, 5’5” and about 110 pounds, utterly dwarfed by the oversized medical bed that she currently occupied. Her brunette hair was cut short and choppy, blue streaks adorning the bangs that fell across her forehead. Bruce followed the multicolored tangle of wires that snaked out from under the luxurious blanket that covered the girl and turned his attention to the complicated medical device that monitored her pulse and oxygen rate. A steady, muted chirp registered the girl’s slow but steady pulse, and an occasional chime every minute or so indicated that her oxygen level was good. She seemed to be doing well. Bruce turned his gaze back towards the girl and squinted his eyes as he contemplated her. <em>Who was she? Where was she from?</em> <br><br>Bruce ran a hand through his mused hair with a deep sigh. He was also a little worse for wear after the events of last night. Though Lucius had been quick to counteract the chemical irritant, he was still feeling some of the aftereffects; his nose and throat felt sore, and it was difficult to take a deep breath. Lucius had said that the irritation would last a day or so before subsiding. Until then, he was to take it easy. Bruce had complied and skipped his morning exercises. Actually, he had tried, until around pushup number seven he had burst into an uncontrollable fit of coughing and wheezing as his body gasped for air. Then he had complied.<br><br>The one obvious sign of last night’s encounter was his red, bloodshot eyes, but he had carefully concocted a plausible alibi. He had drunk several swallows of hard vodka, careful to let some of the potent alcohol spill on his face, neck and clothes. To complete the disguise, Alfred had carefully bathed the clothes Bruce now wore in cigarette smoke, so that the pungent odors of alcohol and smoke wafted from him. Bruce was barefoot, clad in dark blue jeans, a burgundy button-down shirt with a black t-shirt underneath. By all accounts, he had just come from a hard night of partying and alcohol. He was, after all, a playboy millionaire.<br><br>The sun was just rising, sunlight beginning to peek in through the penthouse’s floor-to-ceiling windows. Bruce shuffled to the girl’s clothes, neatly folded and washed on a chair beside the bed she lay in. He rummaged through her pockets once more to find the mysterious vial. Holding it up to the light, Bruce contemplated its dark, viscous contents. Lucius, of course, had already taken a sample, but the results would not be in for a while yet. Bruce glanced at the girl out of the corner of his eyes, hoping she would wake up soon; the smell of the cigarette smoke was making him sick and he desperately needed sleep, but he first needed to establish his alibi with her.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>29-04-2010, 09:14:30</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				There was no peace in this drug-induced sleep, Samantha began resisting the effects the moment she became aware that she was falling to them. The mind was a powerful tool, it was stronger than most people realized. There were situations where placebos were given to patients in order to ease their pains when morphine was sparse or completely out. Military personnel are trained to work through the pain and the point of where their bodies would break down, instead able to focus and endure. It also worked in the reverse; there had been a story her mother had once told her, years ago, about a man who died because he thought he was locked in a vault with no air. This hadn’t been the case.<br><br>Samantha wasn’t going to be living proof to either side of that theme. She struggled, she fought, she tried resisting and breaking through the haze but it was exhausting work and the woman just didn’t have it in her. So she slept, she rolled under the power of the drugs with no resistance to the Batman, the assistance of Lucius or the machines she was hooked up to. There would have been resistance had she been awake; it was common knowledge that doctors and medics weren’t good patients. She wasn’t an exception to this rule either.<br><br>The bullet hadn’t gone too deep and left a relatively clean wound. Very little gunpowder imbedded into the flesh of her thigh and the skin edges of the entrance wound were regular. A good rinse and scrub took care of the dirt and drying blood, the saline rinse cleared the red suds away, and when the wound was covered with gauze after being garnished with an antibacterial ointment, she was allowed to rest in the bed to allow the wound to close.<br><br>Her sleep didn’t end when Bruce would have liked it, however. As tired as the man was, so was she, it was a wait some time after the vigilante millionaire held the vile to the light that his ward began to stir.<br><br>There was a faint beeping somewhere. Sam had the overwhelming urge to roll over and onto her stomach, to close the distance between her and the nightstand before smacking her alarm. It was too bright for it to be time to go to work; Samantha worked the evenings and wasn’t it her day off? When the paramedic became aware of sound, however, she became aware of being aware, which was shortly followed by being aware of waking. This was confusing at first, because she didn’t remember when she laid down last, only a sense of urgency that began to speed up the steady beep of the monitor reading her pulse.<br><br>It was frantic by the time her eyes fluttered open, blurry and burning from the aftereffects of the sedative. Sam moaned, she tried looking around her but found it difficult to move her head. It felt as if someone had stuffed gauze or cotton in her skull and she was trying peak through the hazy fabric in her head. Fingers flexing, she inhaled slowly and deeply, forcing those pale, nearly translucent blue eyes to open and focus, even as instincts screamed in alarm. Why… why was she scared again? Why was she struggling to push herself up and put her back to the wall? Why was she in a panic? She couldn’t yet remember, but the fear was certainly taking control and forcing her exhausted body awake. “Mmmf…”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AesopsAlternative</strong> on <strong>30-04-2010, 20:53:21</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Bruce had stood a silent vigil, mentally urging the girl awake so that he could then get some much-needed rest himself. But it was not to be; the girl had steadfastly remained deep within the clutches of her drug-induced sleep. Eventually, Bruce had moved the girl’s clothes from the chair that sat alongside her bed, carefully returning the vial, and had slouched in the luxuriant seat, trying to make his wait as comfortable as possible. The supple, black leather had welcomed him lovingly, and eventually warmed to his touch. Bruce had tried to remain awake, but the chair’s gentle embrace had eventually lulled him to sleep. Bruce’s legs were splayed, his mouth slightly open, and his head propped upon his fist when he was stirred awake by the rapid, insistent bleating of the girl’s heart monitor.<br><br>Bruce blinked his eyes a few times, the world slowly coming into focus, his taxed body sluggish in response. There was a brief moment of disorientation before Bruce remembered why he was sleeping in a chair and not his luxurious bed, and why there was a strange girl occupying a medical bed in the middle of his guest bedroom. Bruce shook his head, clearing the cobwebs, and watched the girl as she fought her way towards consciousness.<br><br>Bruce leveraged himself to his feet with a great effort, the seat reluctantly relinquishing its hold on him with a slight groan. Bruce backed away from the bed, his shoes loud upon the wooden floor, positioning himself so that the girl would easily be able to see him when she opened her eyes; he was trying to startle her as little as possible. Bruce almost snorted at the thought; given the sight and smell of him, the girl was likely to think she’d been kidnapped by some well-to-do wino with less-than-honorable intentions. Bruce maintained a good distance, allowing the girl the time she needed to shake off the aftereffects of the sedative and the minor operation that she had undergone. Bruce held his hands out in front of him, palms open. He tried to flash a nice smile, but it was tinged with the weariness of his body and came out lopsided.<br><br>“Take it easy now,” he said, “looks like you’ve had a rather rough evening.”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>01-05-2010, 23:48:23</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Stranger. Foreign location. Private room, not a hospital.<br><br>These weren’t exactly the things Sam expected when she awoke. Surely she should be at a hospital, waking up with Sean passed out in a chair beside her or even watching the game as he waited for his partner to come around. Where was the police? Where was the hospital personnel who would give her the synopsis of what the hell was going on and what she was going through, followed by a ‘the doctor will be here shortly’…<br><br>Who the hell was this man, and where the hell <em>was</em> she?<br><br>The memory of last night began to settle in and forced the injured woman to tense before she was sitting upright with a jolt. The monitors beeped and chimed franticly in time with her heart, screaming at her like frantic nurses that would demand she lay down and rest. There was no dark, foreboding man dressed in dark armor in the corner, no Mafioso smoking a cigar in the other… just a window, a fine room with modern lines and a landscape that didn’t look at all familiar. Sam frowned, easing a little as her eyes began to shift back towards the man who looked like he had a wild night and had yet to sleep. Who was he?<br><br>Samantha removed the widget at her finger that monitored her pulse. It began to scream and beep to send an alarm but this machine wasn’t hooked up to any staff she could see. She reached and switched the damn thing off as if such a thing could take away that scared tension what she felt building. “Who are you?” She croaked, the soft, faintly accented voice hoarse from the drugs and lack of use. “What… where am I?” How long has she been out? What the hell happened? These were questions everyone asked when they found herself in a strange location, struggling to remember all the details of the circumstance. But something seemed very, very wrong... 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AesopsAlternative</strong> on <strong>02-05-2010, 03:33:27</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				“Wait just a second,” Bruce said, his hands still splayed in an open, friendly manner. “I’ll answer your questions, just one second.” He disappeared into an adjoining room for a second and then was back moments later, a glass of water held in his hand. The bright lights streaming through the windows reflected off the glass container, sending numerous reflections tumbling throughout the room. Bruce held the glass out in an offering to the girl. She didn’t move.<br><br>“Hrm,” Bruce said as he nodded his head slightly in comprehension. He took a nice long gulp from the glass, the clean liquid spilling down the back of his throat. A few rivulets escaped the corner of his mouth, and darted down the side of his chin in a daring escape attempt. Bruce wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve before offering the girl the glass of water once more. After a few contemplative moments, she reached for it, her small hands curling around the offering. Bruce backed away once more, trying to lend an air of safety to the place.<br><br>“As to your questions: My name is Bruce Wayne. And as for where you are, you’re in my penthouse.” Bruce saw the rather confused look, a look that appeared to be giving way to unease. “Wait, wait, it’s not like that,” Bruce said, shaking his head, a small smile crossing his features. “I was returning home from a bar early this morning when I noticed that the entrance gate to my container yard was wide open.” Bruce nodded his head in the direction of the large windows, indicating the lot just across the street and numerous stories below them. “The lot is supposed to be closed and locked until development commences, but I have had problems with vagrants breaking in,” Bruce said, a look of mild consternation crossing his features.<br><br>“Anyway, I went to close the gate and almost missed you curled up in a little ball against a container,” Bruce said, giving her a bewildered shrug. “You mewled. I saw that you were hurt and brought you in to have you taken care of... it was either that or have you arrested for trespassing,” Bruce said, flashing a genuine smile. <br>&nbsp;<br>“Yes,” he continued while shaking his head, “I could have taken you to Gotham General, but with no identification, it might have been awhile before the administrative mess was taken care of.” He gently worried a lower lip for a moment, concern touching his eyes as he continued, “You looked touch-and-go when I found you, so I figured it was better to have my personal staff provide you with immediate care. And I guarantee you it was better than you would have gotten at the hospital. One of the best surgeons in Gotham removed the bullet from your leg.” Bruce nodded his head to the chart at the foot of her bed, “It’s all documented right there. You’re welcome to take a look, if you like.”<br><br>Bruce paused for a moment, before continuing once more, “Now I’ll be more than happy to take you to General for your recovery, if you’d rather. Or I’ll be happy to take you home, wherever that is. I’ll certainly not keep you here against your will. However, you were found on my property, and that does cause me a bit of concern... So now that you know my side of the story, how about you tell me who you are and how you ended up on one of my properties with a bullet in your leg?”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>03-05-2010, 01:50:45</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Sam awkwardly held the glass of water in her hand, thirsty but not enough to take a drink from it. She didn’t set the glass down either, almost half afraid that his gesture of questionable good-will would be revoked if he got the wrong idea. She should be thankful, after all, but there were too many things that just confused the woman. Like… why was the skyline outside the window so… alien? How could she never have noticed a lot as large as the one from last night filled with all of those containers?<br><br>Confusion was written clearly on her face and it became clear that Sam was struggling to remember the things he was speaking of. Sure, the events were clear enough for the most case… but now that the adrenaline and threat was gone, why hadn’t the roads looked familiar? The street names, the lights, the city itself seemed to have showed Sam a side that was far more rough and gritty than she was used to. Like the backstage of a movie set, littered with tools and people milling about in a rush to make everything perfect.<br><br>She didn’t know who Bruce Wayne was, so there was no spark of recognition in her eyes as he spoke the name. What showed there was instant shock when she learned of where he found her, and then a winced passed through her before anger and the undertones of hatred. The later was an emotion she’s never felt before and it left the woman sick to her stomach, finally forced to put the glass down on the nightstand or risk spilling it. The trembling returned, finding her small frame and doing a good job of not keeping contained, even if she was uncomfortable and wanted nothing less.<br><br><em>I ‘mewled’? I was left in that lot even after…</em>&nbsp; Sam lifted a hand to her face, pressing it there and slowly passed it up towards her hair, and then back down. The world swam and she felt the angry bite of bile on the back of her tongue but swallowed it down before it could threaten her. He left her. That armored man with the cape just… left her. <em>Why?!</em> Sam hunched forward, the hand not pressed to her face curled around her stomach as if she were trying to protect herself –or maybe keep herself from getting sick. “H-He… he left me? He just… <em>left</em> me?!” Rage was there, but it lurked quietly in the back, outmatched by her wounded realization of Bruce’s words. Left. Abandoned. Like trash, like something that didn’t matter. Not a paramedic, not a damsel in distress, not even a human. Expendable.<br><br>There was no long winded rant, Sam felt too sick to give it much effort. Instead, as she trembled and tried to contain herself, Sam allowed her confusion to show once more, though this time it was an audible response. “Gotham General?” That wasn’t the name of the hospital; she knew that for a fact. Maybe he had too much to drink or was new to the city, perhaps that was why he didn’t have the facts straight. “You mean Gotham Central hospital.”<br><br>Her hand automatically moved to her left, reaching up to where her badge was normally clipped to her shirt pocket. The motion stopped as she remembered removing her sweater in the hospital to try and clear the chemical from that lecherous creep’s face. She helped him; despite everything Sam did her best. And he… left her!<br><br>Sam shook her head, trembling again as anger began to boil and twist her insides. “Samantha Adams.” She spoke, hoping she didn’t sound angry or snippy. “I’m a paramedic for Gotham Fire Department, district 16. If you wouldn’t mind… I’ve got to talk with the police.” She needed to know how Sean was, he’d be worried sick about her.<br><br>He just… left?
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AesopsAlternative</strong> on <strong>19-05-2010, 23:38:36</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Bruce nodded slowly in response to the woman’s request. “Alfred,” he called over his shoulder, his voice carrying through the penthouse. A few short moments later, a butler came striding into the room. The butler shot Samantha a brief, quizzical look before turning to Bruce. In a voice tinged with a British accent, the butler inquired, “You called, Master Bruce?”<br><br>“Alfred, I’d like you to meet Ms. Samantha Adams, our guest from last evening.”<br><br>A gentle, grandfatherly smile crossed the butler’s features, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Nice to meet you madam,” he said, as he inclined his head in her direction.<br><br>“Ms. Adams was asking for the police, Alfred. Have an officer respond to take Ms. Adam’s report.”<br><br>“Very good, Master Bruce,” Alfred said. He bowed ever-so-slightly at the waste before turning and leaving the room.<br><br>Bruce turned back to the girl. “The police are on their way, but while we wait I would like you to answer some of my questions.” The wooden floorboards creaked slightly as Bruce shifted his weight and walked closer to the girl. He grabbed the chair that sat nearby her bed, and turned it so that it faced her hospital bed. He sank into the chair, but sat forward, his elbows on his knees and his eyes intently upon hers.<br><br>It was the first time he’d seen her eyes up close, and Bruce had to suppress a small gasp of surprise; the girl’s eyes were a pale, translucent blue. There was something about the color that simultaneously transfixed and disturbed him. Bruce blinked his eyes in surprise and, with an effort, put the distraction aside.<br><br>“You said that ‘he’ left you. Who? Who left you?” Bruce asked.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>23-05-2010, 01:12:06</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Both hands lifted to press against her face, soothing her palms slowly up and down as if she were trying to rearrange her features. The tremble that sank into her bones from the silent rage was still present, even as the gentleman’s gentleman passed through and offered a warm smile in her direction. She felt no malice or suspicion stemming from this elegant man, whose faint accent was so similar to her own. At least that offered some semblance of comfort, the mildly familiar lilting tones. Even if his voice was of that of a stranger’s. She didn’t know him. She didn’t know Bruce. She didn’t know this room, the landscape out the window or what exactly was going on.<br><br>She threw back the blankets when Alfred left, forcing herself to sit up straighter, even when the dull throb of her leg recommended otherwise. She had lost her undershirt sometime in her escape; having used it for bandages on her own leg. The sweater had been sacrificed to that armored man’s face when Sam had made an attempt to clear away whatever chemical had sprayed his face. The plain, no thrills bra made of rich navy cotton was still in place, her bunker gear removed but the shorts normally used for sleeping or running had been spared. A little blood stained at the bottom edge… but she didn’t mind. Who ever had seen to her leg managed one hell of a wrap job. Briefly her fingers skimmed the white gauze in appreciation of their handiwork before she turned her attention to Bruce.<br><br>Did she believe he was going to have the police summoned? She was optimistic, but there was a pang of paranoia tickling her thoughts, begging them to proceed with caution. Pale blue eyes flicked side to side as she tried to find the right words to reply to him with, allowing his surprise to go unnoticed. Licking her lips, Sam finally looked at Bruce and pulled the sheets back over her lap.<br><br>“I… I don’t know <em>who</em> he is.” Was? The last she saw of the Batman his condition had been… questionable. “Some man in armor, he wore all black and had a cape.” The paramedic furrowed her brows as her eyes started to grow a little vacant as she receded back into her memories. She could recall clips and pieces, but the adrenaline rush throughout that whole evening left some pieces… fuzzy. Same rubbed her temple with a palm of her hand, once again struggling to remember the series of events. “I… I think he may have been trying to help; but it was so dark and everyone was shooting at everything I really can’t recall. Then… something happened, he started coughing and I tried to help…” A frown began to tug at her features as the scene of the two out in the alley replayed in her head. This Bruce didn’t need the details. She wasn’t entirely certain she could even trust him.<br><br>“Then… he sedated me!” She sounded outraged, that fine tremble returning as anger flushed her cheeks and seemed to spring surprise to her eyes as if he had reached over and slapped her face. “He drugged me and tossed me out like some… <em>garbage</em>.”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AesopsAlternative</strong> on <strong>02-06-2010, 23:34:07</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Bruce eyed Samantha warily, reclining back in his chair as she recounted random fragments of the previous evening. He gave her a noncommittal look, trying to play the part of a curious but ultimately uninterested third party. Bruce wasn’t sure whether it was the girl’s vague manner, or whether it was her piecemeal delivery, but it was an altogether unconvincing story. He wondered whether the police would think she was insane; Bruce would not have believed a word had it not been for his intimate familiarity with the previous evening’s happenings. Her narration sounded like something out of a movie, or perhaps a paranoid delusion. He had suddenly found a better way to spin this.<br><br>Bruce nodded slowly after Samantha had finished. “Ah ha,” he said, and patted her foot through the sheet in what was meant to be a consoling measure. Rising, Bruce gave Samantha a smile, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “Well, definitely sounds like a matter for the police then. I’ll bring them in just as soon as they arrive.”<br><br>Bruce waited in his study until Alfred informed him that a patrol officer had arrived. Bruce walked towards the entryway where the officer waited and had to stifle a small grin. Alfred had not told him that it was a patrolwoman. This would make things all the more easy. A charming smile flashed across Bruce’s features as he approached the female officer, his hand outstretched as if he were welcoming her to his next big party.<br><br>“Thank you for coming Officer...” Bruce trailed off a moment as he studied the silver-colored nameplate, taking the opportunity to gently cup the woman’s own outstretched hand proffered in return. The woman turned her chest slightly towards his direction, making the nameplate easier to read. “Moretti,” she completed for him with a small smile, her dark brown eyes meeting his own. “Moretti,” Bruce echoed softly, pretending for a moment to be entranced by her gaze. Bruce let his hand linger a little longer than necessary before finally releasing the woman’s hand. <br><br>Shaking his head slightly as if to clear his thoughts, Bruce turned and guided the patrolwoman into his office, his hand gently placed in the small of her back. Bruce lowered his voice and spoke in a hushed tone, both to keep his guest from overhearing his conversation, and to convey a sense of intimacy between himself and Officer Moretti. Bruce quickly explained how he had been on the way home from a party late last night when he had discovered a girl with a gunshot wound on his adjacent abandoned property. Moretti’s eyes widened slightly, but she did not interrupt. Bruce continued and explained how, out of a sense of responsibility, he had provided for the girl’s care and had his own medical staff remove the bullet. She had woken this morning and given him some story about a masked man, a firefight, and finally being sedated.<br><br>“Of course, I’m no doctor,” Bruce said, “but by the time I found her she was unconscious and had lost a lot of blood. I think it might have impacted her memory.” Bruce shrugged noncommittally. “But it was my duty to notify you guys because of her allegations, no matter how fanciful the tale.”<br><br>Moretti gave an exaggerated sigh and rolled her eyes, “Don’t worry,” she said, “we deal with these sorts of things all the time.”<br><br>Bruce gave Moretti a wide smile in return. She was exactly where he wanted her. Chances were good that Samantha’s story would be seen as just that and, if a report were taken at all, it was sure to be quickly buried amidst the mountain of paperwork that the station generated daily. “I’m sorry that this is yet another goose chase for you to wade through, but felt compelled to do my part,” Bruce said. Moretti gave him an understanding but weary nod in reply. “Of course,” Bruce continued after a few moments, “I bet that it gives you some pretty interesting stories to tell. Perhaps I could entice you to share a few of them with me over dinner?” Moretti beamed at Bruce, and quickly rattled off her phone number. Bruce jotted it down on a scrap piece of paper on his desk. This practically ensured that he would be able to investigate what happened last night without police interference. <em>Perfect.</em><br><br>“Thank you...”<br><br>“...Laura,” she completed for him. Bruce smiled. “Laura. I’ll call you later this week. But first, duty calls.”<br><br>Bruce guided Laura through his penthouse, and took her to the guest room that Samantha currently occupied.<br><br>“Samantha, this is Officer Moretti. I’ll leave you two alone. Should either of you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.” And with that, Bruce turned and strode from the room.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Herring and the Daffodil: A Disturbing Story of Incest (Aesop and Yggdrasil)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>05-06-2010, 11:23:36</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Samantha knew from the moment that the uniform walked in that she wasn’t going to be taken seriously. Her experience with working with cops, her intuition as a woman as well as the realization of just how crazy her story seemed was proof of that. It sounded delusional even to her, and she somehow managed to live through it.<br><br>Something was wrong. No, everything was wrong. The world wasn’t as it should be; the scenery was off, the air seemed different… and who was that masked man? What was that light she was forced to cross? Halfway through her story Samantha began to rub her temples, feeling the beginnings of a tension headache. It sank in like a chill, tightening the muscles in her neck and shoulders until the muscles ached and her joints creaked in strain. She needed aspirin… she needed water. The glass was still sitting on the stand beside her, and with no more fight left in her; Sam surrendered to Bruce’s offer from earlier and took a drink.<br><br>She told her story, word for word, everything she could remember. The cop wasn’t taking her seriously, her pen hardly moved at all. Sure it tapped the pages and seemed to be constantly moving on the page, but Sam had the sinking sensation that she was just doodling or scribbling to make it look as if she truly cared about the words that were coming from her mouth. It was discouraging, so she cut the story short and wasn’t surprise that there weren’t any questions on clarifying anything in her story.<br><br>She kept her composure while the officer was in the room. She kept it a little longer after that too, before she pushed back the covers and bared her leg. Briefly she checked under the bandage and appreciated the work done on her leg. Bruce Wayne hadn’t been lying when he said that his best worked on it; it was just a bullet, baby steps for a trained surgeon, but they took enough care in the stitches, keeping them tight and straight to minimize scaring. Not that she didn’t already have a few from previous gunshot wounds from her life, a few from blades as well, though all of those were acquired from the streets of Gotham while she was in her uniform.<br><br>Her leg was screaming the moment she swung her legs over the edge, and it certainly didn’t like it when she edged closer to press her bare feet to the floor. She sat that way for a few minutes and wiggled her toes until she forced herself up to a stand and instantly regretted it. Weight was pressed on her heel instead of her toes, so there was less muscle work in her leg, but it didn’t mean that the motion and the shift of gravity had been pleasant. There was a sharp prickling behind her eyes, the threat of tears, and while the paramedic had a high pain tolerance, she began to get the impression that the feeling of displacement in this world was the true cause.<br><br>Sam grabbed a short, white robe that had been draped over the chair and shrugged it on, covering her underwear and giving the impression of modesty. Slow steps brought her over to the window, the short distance brought a light sweat to her skin but that was satisfied when she reached her destination, throwing the window wide open and stuck her head out for the breeze.<br><br>The entire landscape was alien, and what hit her like a punch to the stomach was the smell of salt water and the stretch of ocean ahead of her. It sat there, mocking her with its beauty, causing Sam to stiffen and inhale sharply before clasping a hand over her mouth and jerked away. For a moment she wobbled, the threat of spilling out onto the floor presented itself but in the end, one hand snatched out and caught the seal before she could lose her balance. Those pale eyes so foreign to Bruce were wide and began to brim with tears, before that shudder finally found her again and threatened to take away the woman’s hold on calm and reasonable thinking.<br><br>She wasn’t in Gotham, it was impossible. What was the Ocean doing there, then? And what had that light meant? She was beginning to get an idea, she could make a few wild guesses but all of those possibilities filled her with a cold, blood chilling fear.
			</dd>
		</dl>
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