I Hope This Was Okay! - Tumblr Posts
✧
Send me a ✧ and my muse will tell yours the first thing they notice when they look at them
As much as he hated being incarcerated at Arkham, there were one or two sunny places to be found within the depressing asylum walls. One of those places was the library, at least on those rare days when staff allowed him inside to read during leisurely periods. It was one of those small comforts Roman was glad to get, lowering his chances of acting out lest he ended up on ‘time out’ for the foreseeable future. Sliding his fingertips over countless worn spines, Roman selected a book - Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, ignoring the puzzled glance a nearby orderly shot him. Of all the books he might have expected ‘Black Mask’ to choose, an old romance novel probably wasn’t one of them. Roman didn’t give a fuck what anybody here thought and sat down on the most comfortable chair avaliable, flipping through the pages as he began reading the familiar words... He sighed. He’d read Pride and Prejudice more times than he could count but there weren’t many other novels he felt like reading today. Perhaps he could sneak one back into his cell for later, when it all got a bit too boring and he had nothing else to do? Roman’s eyes flickered over the text; the orderly assigned to babysitting him seemed satisfied his patient was busy so he wasn’t a concern. Probably wouldn’t say anything anyway; Arkham didn’t hire orderlies to think. Turning over the page, a flurry of movement from the corner of his eye caught Roman’s attention. One of the staff working here, a woman he thinks he’s seen before, is currently hard at work. He’d never managed to get a good look at her face until now, Roman blatantly ignoring his book as he watched her perform her librarian duties. What was her name again? Kraven he believes he heard one of the inmates mention, but not so craven she couldn’t handle working in a shithole like Arkham Asylum. She moved closer, fully revealing herself at long last and Roman had to admit, the library could do a lot worse not having somebody like her here. Briefly he studied her appearance, the love and dedication in which she handled her books, even the ones that hadn’t been treated so kindly by his fellow inmates. "Miss Kraven, I presume? Or is it Mrs? I hope you can forgive the impertinence but I just wanted to say you have beautiful hair. That particular shade of red is quite stunning.” Roman inquired politely before returning to his book. He’d always liked the colour red, especially how it reminded him of other beautiful things such as fire and blood.
“slurred words” about Bruce Wayne. The reclusive billionaire.
Send “slurred words” to hear my muse describe yours whilst ridiculously drunk.
“Bruce Wayne? Never fucking liked him from the day we met! Would have made my year if he’d ended up the same way as mommy and daddy dearest back when they got shot full of lead but hey, can’t win ‘em all!” Roman jeered, his tongue full of spite as much as there was whiskey in his system. He knocked back another mouthful, relishing the burn of alcohol slipping down his throat before he contemplated on the nature of the reclusive billionaire. Of all the people he hated, Bruce Wayne took the crown like no other. The so-callled ‘Prince of Gotham’, as the man had been so endearingly knighted by the city’s elites and media tycoons, looked upon the surviving Wayne as a tragic, albeit mysterious figure. He hadn’t always been so secretive, shut up inside his big old mansion doing god knows what. Before the murders, before the city streets had grown as dark and dangerous as they were nowadays, Bruce Wayne had been just like any other upper-class child with too much money and a family name to fall back on. Roman had met a few given his parent’s connections as wealthy CEO’s but it was Bruce they’d gushed over, despite all the nasty things they’d said about the Waynes behind closed doors. Roman had never been able to understand it, how his parents could have wanted to emulate such boring people yet held them in such contempt behind closed doors. As far as he was concerned they were one and the same, wearing masks to hide their true nature from one another. Bruce was surely no different, every bit as high and mighty as the filthy politicians and old money currently lording it over Gotham. "The fuck’s his problem anyway? The day my parents died was the greatest day of my life! He didn’t have to wait long for them to pop their clogs before inheriting all that wealth and everything else in their will. If I were Bruce Wayne, I’d be partying it up every single night but boo hoo, instead he hides away inside his home so nothing else gets to him ever again! What a loser.” He swallowed the last mouthful left in his glass but there was a bitter edge to the taste now, dark and cloying upon his tongue. It burned more too, the searing sensation in his stomach matched only by the anger he felt inside his chest whenever he thought about the reclusive billionaire, feelings of envy and hatred still burning so strongly even though it had been many years since they’d last met. "Shame the Riddler’s bomb didn’t get him too. Some peoeple have all the luck.”
☠ - slam my muse into a wall (daredevil, feel free to ignore)
The scuffle had been as violent as it had been abrupt, fists flying in the darkness as bullets and yells ricocheted off the walls. Roman cursed angrily as he strained his eyes to see where his gun had dropped amongst all the chaos, one of his idiot men having shot out the overhead lights when somebody quite literally dropped in on the group unannounced. "Down to three... what's wrong with you idiots..." He spat at a nearby body, ignoring the unconscious figure as instead his fingers reached towards a metallic glimmer he hoped was his missing firearm. This wasn’t his first rodeo dealing with a nuisance getting involved in his business. Roman had been through similar experiences before, it was only natural being a criminal in Gotham but few opponents he’d faced had been nearly as relentless or hard-hitting as whoever this fucker was. The ache in his hand was proof of that, a solid whack from the newcomer somehow forcing him to drop his weapon but Black Mask was nothing short of ferocious when it came to an all-out brawl. A third henchman dropped, and seizing the opportunity, Roman jumped up and rushed the figure. He fully intended on delivering a solid beatdown as payment for his hand, for the whole goddamn fucking mess he’d caused but underestimated just how well the newcomer could see in the gloom, able to tell he was coming even with his back turned. The world span as criminal and stranger struggled, ending with Roman’s back slamming solidly against the wall. He breathed heavily, both from the exertion of the struggle and having the wind knocked out of his lungs as he finally stared at the face of whoever this vigilante was.
“Just who the hell are you getting involved in my business? You ain’t no Bat...” Roman growled lowly, teeth bared in a blatant refusal to submit.
He shouldn’t have been surprised that somebody would find this spot eventually. Gotham was crawling with vermin, both the four-legged and two-legged variety and somewhere deep down, Roman knew he couldn’t have expected his makeshift ‘storage’ to have remained undiscovered indefinitely. Unfortunately the pigs had been making life difficult as of late, combing the city bay for missing persons, forcing him to seek alternative dumping grounds for his unwanted trash. Abandoned buildings like this were a dime a dozen here in the area. Derelict shadows of their former selves, these long-forgotten places provided the perfect refuge for dropheads and other sorts of homeless scum. Weeks had gone by, allowing the pile to steadily grow in size as Roman waited for the heat to die down, the evidence of his crimes becoming too spoiled for anybody to be able to determine their causes of death let alone deduce Black Mask’s guilt. Roman suspected he might have had a visitor when he heard odd sounds echoing from down the hallway. His men shuffled awkwardly, looking to their boss for a signal but Roman quietly raised his hand, indicating for them to be quiet. The sounds continued, strange and almost surreal in nature - somebody was definitely here, or an animal at the very least, prompting them to delve deeper into the shadows with a fresh corpse in tow thinking that if another had discovered this location, adding their body to the pile would only save them the hassle of having to find yet another dumping ground. The light of a torch cut through the darkness, illuminating the fetid tomb. Time had not been kind to the bodies, though the seasonal chill had slowed down their rot somewhat. Roman expected to see an animal amongst them perhaps, drawn here by the stench of carrion or maybe some drug addict who’d spaced out, losing his way in search of a quiet place to shoot up. What he hadn’t expected was to find somebody eating the corpses. One of his men gagged, doubling over and vomiting the contents of his stomach all over the filthy floor. Roman elbowed him out of the way with an idle mutter of “pussy” before turning his attention to their unwelcome guest. His gaze held firm, lingering in disgust on the decaying flesh that the man had wiped off his lips.
”Glad you ain’t gonna insult my intelligence with a bullshit line like that. Would be hard to buy even if I hadn’t just seen you chowing down on a week-dead corpse like a starving man at an all-you-can-eat buffet.” Or smelled him; the freshly-open body was particularly ripe. Roman’s eyes narrowed as they scanned Jules - his surprise upon having stumbled across the morbid scene had made quite him forget about shooting whoever he found in here, at least for the time being anyway. “I’ll be frank. What in the ever-living fuck is wrong with you? Can’t be that down and out you need to eat my goddamn rotting bodies. What’s your name, freak?”
Well then. Jules knew it had to be too good to be true.
His nose drew him to this isolated place, the thick scent of human decay luring him like honey lures a bear. There were bodies here- more than one, although the most recent one was within the last week. Bodies of men with dark thoughts, traitors, violent actions... violent ends. Before Jules had even thought it through he was on his hands and knees, his teeth sinking into a corpse's arm as he chewed through rotten flesh and snapped through bone.
Then someone turned their torch on and Jules' head shot up, the detached arm literally hanging from his mouth. At the very least, they certainly weren't cops... not with one of them having the head of a black skull.
Jules let go of the arm and he wiped off the sloughing flesh from his lips. "Gentleman," he rasped. "I'd tell you it's not what it looks like. But that'd be a poor lie, wouldn't it?"
@masquenoire
"Well isn't this a pleasant surprise?" - @umbrellamedic //it won't let me send the image on anon I'm sorry x.x
Type Bingo || Accepting!
"You can say that again. It's true, you don't disappoint..." Roman says, and it's almost a purr as he studies the results. Bertha was a relative newcomer in his life, Roman at first imagining her to be some petite little thing that wouldn't say boo to a goose. Oh, how wrong was he. Instead of opting for an easy life acting like a blonde bimbo, Bertha was one of the iciest women he'd ever had the pleasure of watching her work in his torture chamber. She was cold, calculating and cruel in her actions as she inflicted maximum pain on restrained subjects under his orders, obeying his orders with almost seeming devotion. Not once had she been swayed by tears or pleas for mercy from those unfortunate enough to be at the end of her scalpel, merely carrying out his will to the letter and didn't even do it for the money. Such dedication was a rarity even in Gotham and he'd been impressed, which was no small feat. "Though I'm curious as to why you've got no taste for the finer things in life. With skills like yours, you could be living the good life but if nobody else appreciates them, you can be sure as hell I do. There aren't enough people who understand the beauty of pain, what a gift it truly is and if you stick around, mark my words, I'll see to it you end up a wealthy woman indeed." He leaned back in his seat, appraising Bertha in all her blood-soaked glory. Gorgeous, smart and colder than a Gotham winter, every bit of her how he liked them.