To his credit, Thorne himself doesn't look particularly thrilled with his limited options at this meeting of the lesser minds.
He's also a bit uncomfortable with the new surroundings. Warehouses down by the docks, long a mainstay of his secretive operations, are crawling with cops these days, and he doesn't have enough scratch to get them all back on the payroll again. Damn Dent.
It's still hard to teach an old dog new tricks, though. That's why it's still a warehouse, but now it's so far away from the docks that it's almost in suburban Gotham. He's still using his 'raised chair at the end of a long table' motif as well, apparently finding his comfort zone where he can as these three self-styled kingpins and their assorted bodyguards and money men gather around it.
"Good you could come, gentlemen. I trust you had no trouble finding the place."
There's a dark figure hidden in the rafters, obscured by shadows. Usually, in this town, that's the Bat's place.
But it's not the Bat who's watching over this meeting. Rolling their eyes at someone calling Rupert Thorne "Mr. T." even as they ignore the anxiety creating a knot in their stomach.
Sonia has learned the hard way to not make assumptions about the outcomes of these sorts of things.
This may be the first time ever that Sonia Alcana and Rupert Thorne have shared the same feeling, in regards to their disdain towards Slick.
"I'll advise you not to delude yourselves into thinking I can't get by without you gentlemen, no matter what rumors you may have heard. What I'm about to propose to you is a privilege, so consider this your only warning. Show some respect, or I show you disrespect."
"You just killed the closest thing you'll ever have to a friend. The powerbroker is now just plain powerbroken. I think there's a case to be made that I have, yes."
Comments 56
He's also a bit uncomfortable with the new surroundings. Warehouses down by the docks, long a mainstay of his secretive operations, are crawling with cops these days, and he doesn't have enough scratch to get them all back on the payroll again. Damn Dent.
It's still hard to teach an old dog new tricks, though. That's why it's still a warehouse, but now it's so far away from the docks that it's almost in suburban Gotham. He's still using his 'raised chair at the end of a long table' motif as well, apparently finding his comfort zone where he can as these three self-styled kingpins and their assorted bodyguards and money men gather around it.
"Good you could come, gentlemen. I trust you had no trouble finding the place."
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Big Sal gives Joey a look.
Slick fingers his jewel-encrusted pimp cane while sizing Thorne up.
"It's Kool and the Gang, Mr. T. Trust you're gonna make this worth our while."
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But it's not the Bat who's watching over this meeting. Rolling their eyes at someone calling Rupert Thorne "Mr. T." even as they ignore the anxiety creating a knot in their stomach.
Sonia has learned the hard way to not make assumptions about the outcomes of these sorts of things.
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"I'll advise you not to delude yourselves into thinking I can't get by without you gentlemen, no matter what rumors you may have heard. What I'm about to propose to you is a privilege, so consider this your only warning. Show some respect, or I show you disrespect."
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Footsteps echo through the drafty warehouse.
"Disrespect?" comes the D.A.'s voice.
"Thorne doesn't know the meaning of the word."
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Thorne raises a hand to keep them in check.
He doesn't like the sound of that voice.
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He's not flipping a coin.
His hands are clasped behind his back as he walks out of the shadows.
Those faces are unmistakable.
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"I see Arkham gave you the treatment you deserved."
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Then he pulls a gun and shoots Big Sal in the back of the head before he gets out the door.
"You think you've won something, Dent?!"
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"You just killed the closest thing you'll ever have to a friend. The powerbroker is now just plain powerbroken. I think there's a case to be made that I have, yes."
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