(Untitled)

[ex_isthenig]

Characters: Bruce, Open!
Location: The tops of the apartment buildings and the general vicinity.
Planet: Coruscant
When: Late late late Tuesday night.
What: Patrolling and other such things.
Rating: Should be PG-ish

Comments

[last_furyan]

For a man happier in solitude than jammed with other humans, whose eyes worked better in the slightly reduced Coruscant night than its day...

The rooftops had seemed like a good place to get some alone time in.

But there was some asshole dressed up like god knows what with a cape doing some kind of ropey fuckery right across everything.

"The fuck are you doing?" he growled from a shadow when the masked figure hit his roof.

[So very sorry about this. He's mister cranky pants.]

[ex_isthenig]

Bruce turns to look at Mister Cranky Pants and raises one eyebrow behind his mask. "Equipment tests."

And that's really all he's going to say right now. If there's any more questions as to what he's doing the answer "patrolling" isn't exactly the best, considering the current political situation on Coruscant.

[last_furyan]

There was a long, dubious, silver-eyed stare that said bullshit.

Riddick was a fighter, an animal in a corner, and he read body language like it was his first language. This guy wasn't military, definitely wasn't corporate-- was a fighter. If he was R&D, he was muscle for hire R&D. At least that was what the convict took away from the suited man.

"They sure dress their scientists different here."

lsdjflls. wrong account.

[ex_isthenig]

He straightens and pops open the grappling gun, messing around inside a little, to prepare for the next jump that will hopefully be a little smoother this time.

"I'm not from here just like you're not from here," he says, voice all gravelly and Bat-like. What he would give to have his cape, cowl and utility belt here.