It was a midnight, a silent twilight... Semi-Open|In-Progress
WHO: Dick & Rukia | OPEN once they reach the clinic
WHAT: Dick's Nightmare | Aftermath
WHERE: Castle courtyard, the gallows | The clinic
WHEN: Tonight | Ongoing to well wishers~
"It wasn't me who killed you. It was the bat."
'Lousy pun, Harv.' Hazily, even back then as Two-Face had taken his first swing of the Louisville Slugger to his ribcage, Dick had wanted to tell that to Harvey Dent. But let's just say, he had the wind knocked outta him.
WUMP!
TUMP!
WUMP!
WUMP!
TUMP!
WUMP!
"One good shot to the skull should finish it. Then the Bat for the Double Play!"
It wasn't the mind-numbing pain that brought Dick back to full consciousness, it was the alarming struggle it was becoming to get air into his lungs, like his throat was closing up.
A thick, slick swell of blood pushed its way up, spilling from his mouth, down his aching jaw, and onto the ground beneath him. Instinct made him try to bring his hands up to wipe the stain away, but he couldn't - his hands, he found, with a shooting pain straight up his right arm, were bound behind his back.
Rationally, Dick knew what had happened - how many times had he had that dream? Logically, he knew he didn't have much longer; his vision growing dark around the edges, body too weak to expectorate the blood in his throat.
Dick pressed his swollen face into the wooden floor beneath him, using the pain to keep himself awake. He knew from the resounding, deafening silence, broken only by his struggled breaths, that he was outside in the dead of night. He managed a glance skyward, lifting a head that felt like a ten tonne brick.
A noose. Tasteful.
Dick dropped his head, a choked gurgle coming out instead of a dryly amused huff.
There he was, curled, injured, and on his side, lying on the trap door of the gallows. Bleeding to death. And drowning.
WHAT: Dick's Nightmare | Aftermath
WHERE: Castle courtyard, the gallows | The clinic
WHEN: Tonight | Ongoing to well wishers~
"It wasn't me who killed you. It was the bat."
'Lousy pun, Harv.' Hazily, even back then as Two-Face had taken his first swing of the Louisville Slugger to his ribcage, Dick had wanted to tell that to Harvey Dent. But let's just say, he had the wind knocked outta him.
WUMP!
TUMP!
WUMP!
WUMP!
TUMP!
WUMP!
"One good shot to the skull should finish it. Then the Bat for the Double Play!"
It wasn't the mind-numbing pain that brought Dick back to full consciousness, it was the alarming struggle it was becoming to get air into his lungs, like his throat was closing up.
A thick, slick swell of blood pushed its way up, spilling from his mouth, down his aching jaw, and onto the ground beneath him. Instinct made him try to bring his hands up to wipe the stain away, but he couldn't - his hands, he found, with a shooting pain straight up his right arm, were bound behind his back.
Rationally, Dick knew what had happened - how many times had he had that dream? Logically, he knew he didn't have much longer; his vision growing dark around the edges, body too weak to expectorate the blood in his throat.
Dick pressed his swollen face into the wooden floor beneath him, using the pain to keep himself awake. He knew from the resounding, deafening silence, broken only by his struggled breaths, that he was outside in the dead of night. He managed a glance skyward, lifting a head that felt like a ten tonne brick.
A noose. Tasteful.
Dick dropped his head, a choked gurgle coming out instead of a dryly amused huff.
There he was, curled, injured, and on his side, lying on the trap door of the gallows. Bleeding to death. And drowning.