Another day, another...aww, t'hell wi'dit.

[jla_villains]

Large, green, scaly, scowling, that's the distinct and typical manner of Waylon Jones, known better to Gotham as Killer Croc. His attitude is rarely sunny, and this evening his temper is burying the needle, past murderous rage

Comments

[jla_randoms]

High above, on the corner of the bank building, a shadowy figure observes Croc's hulking form - double-checking the handheld tracker that tells him he's found Batman's tracer.

It seems unlikely that Croc was Batman's opponent earlier in the week - but that doesn't matter, really. He needs to be taken down anyway.

Robin slips the tracker back in his utility belt and prepares to make an entrance.

[jla_villains]

What to throw, what to throw...

Croc eyes a VW Beetle, a trash can, a mail box (nah, dat's a federal offense) and then a lamp post, deciding to uproot the last in that list. Nice big steel weapon, good for shattering glass, beating in iron bars, pulverizing skulls.

[jla_randoms]

There's a thin whistle in the air as three R-shaped shuriken spin to their target - Croc's arm. Tim, bo staff in hand, has arrived at street level without otherwise making a sound - standing a distance from Croc equal to about twice the length of that lamp post.

"What's the deal, Croc? Do you think you'd look smarter if you carried a lightbulb around over your head?"

[jla_villains]

Whirling around, Croc regards the things stuck in his arm and then looks at Robin. "You gotta wear clothes with your initials on 'em and you call me dumb?"

He puts down the lamppost (on top of the mailbox, whoops) to pluck the sharp things out of his scales. "Dat almost hurt."

[_alfred_]

"Sir," comes the sonorous voice of Alfred Pennyworth, "you have a visitor. I trust you are receiving company?"

[_darkknight_]

Silence. Stiff back, some coughing, otherwise nada.

[femme_du_chat]

The shadows don't only contain bats. No, they contain a Cat as well. One whose tail would be twitching did she have one. She's annoyed - with Bruce, with herself. He's down here in the cold and damp. She's silent for the moemnt, watching and waiting.

[_alfred_]

"Very good, sir. I shall inform Ms. Lance that you are at home." He turns and ascends the stairs to the main part of Wayne Manor.

[_darkknight_]

"You can try," Bruce calls after Dinah before a good coughing spell wracks him. In between the gasps for air and the spitting of what comes up, he says very unkind things about the state of the water of Gotham Harbor. "Vampire on the loose, got to find who ambushed me, Tim out there alone...no time," he says to those remaining. "Don't dose me again. I'm fine."

[femme_du_chat]

"You're not fine. I'll go help him as long as you're in bed."

Selina stands there, looking down at him.

[_darkknight_]

Stubborn, pig-headed, bullish? These adjectives don't scratch the surface of the Wayne determination. Bruce also is far, far too proud to admit when injury - or worse, illness - keep him from his appointed duty. Which is precisely the sort of thing that has brought them to the current conundrum. He looks up at Selina, eyes watery, and explains in a scratchy, weary voice, "I can't let you out there with some lunatic bleeding people dry."

[femme_du_chat]

"Please, Bruce. Don't."

Pressing her lips together, she lets a breath out through her nose, "You think I'm going to let some vampire kick my ass? I'll be fine. Go sleeps and take care of yourself."