The Belfry
Rupert Thorne feels complete again.
After turning his penthouse upside down looking for that last ring of his, it's finally been found, wedged in a darker corner, where the Bat had thrown it after breaking his fingers.
The recovery has been relatively quick - surprising, the healing agents one can get on the black market in this superhuman world. Now, he can clench and unclench his fist once more, with all the rings he's used to. Thorne is not particularly ostentatious by most standards, but he does like to have things a certain way.
Like Thursday night dinner in DiNucci's Italian Restaurant.
His usual table, the back corner. Never sit with your back to the door. Any door.
Sitting across from him is his right-hand man, Alphonso Gates, who's been at Thorne's side for twenty years now.
"So, how are things coming on the West End?"
After turning his penthouse upside down looking for that last ring of his, it's finally been found, wedged in a darker corner, where the Bat had thrown it after breaking his fingers.
The recovery has been relatively quick - surprising, the healing agents one can get on the black market in this superhuman world. Now, he can clench and unclench his fist once more, with all the rings he's used to. Thorne is not particularly ostentatious by most standards, but he does like to have things a certain way.
Like Thursday night dinner in DiNucci's Italian Restaurant.
His usual table, the back corner. Never sit with your back to the door. Any door.
Sitting across from him is his right-hand man, Alphonso Gates, who's been at Thorne's side for twenty years now.
"So, how are things coming on the West End?"