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Every once in a while the kings, generals and admirals gather at Queen Esmeralda´s court to do strategies and coordinate their defense and troop movements, The Wargame night was word that Henry first used when he was king that stuck and is still used by the queen...
- (Esmeralda) Ok, so now this is the troops of our factions in Günters army, here is the front
- (Albert) Aber mein Essy, why don´t my troops get a männer-token? *hiccups!*
- (Esmeralda) But my dear Prince and King each of these figurines represent 1000 men, your troops are less than 10, so please Imagine your troops in your head!
- (Albert) Aber my Franconian troops are very potent one of my men is worth 10 of your troops!
- (Esmeralda) so even if that was true, that would still only be a hundred troops, Oh Albert my dear, I think the Wine delivery-chart just arrived, would you be so nice and organize the barrels movement to the wine-cellar?
- (Albert) Jawohl Mein Köningin, I am already on My way!!!
Albert stagger off in haste!
- (Esmeralda) Oh great now there will be less obstructions, You Know guys, I had to have him here since he is actually the leader of an army and Kingdom in the alliance now, even though it is a minute such... So General Potter could carry on with your suggested plan now!
- (Potter) Sure Madame! where was I? Oh, yeah the valley, yes, the valley and the pass over here, I think we should make a trust through this valley is is soft and if we erect a tower here and then Repeatedly push on this line, I think we will be able to push deep inside and then release our troops into the bushy forest and then strangle her quick and and easy, ehm, I mean strangle the western barbarian section...
- (Esmeralda) Oh, Dear general,
Perhaps you recent divorce and your frustration is blurring your sharp strategic mind, perhaps you should take a months payed leave and either mend your broken marriage or meet someone new, Colonel Weener will temporarily replace you...
- (potter) Yes, My queen My hear is aching, I cannot focus on killing people when my heart is bleeding... I think I will help Albert unload the barrels!
Por favor, no use esta imagen en su web, blogs u otros medios sin mi permiso explícito. © Todos los derechos reservados.
© Alejandro Cárdaba Rubio/2013
El buitre leonado (Gyps fulvus) es una especie de ave accipitriforme de la familia Accipitridae. Es una de las mayores rapaces que puede encontrarse en la península Ibérica, superando en envergadura (hasta 260 cm.) incluso al águila imperial ibérica.
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The griffon vulture (Gyps fulvus) is a species of bird family Accipitridae accipitriforme. It is one of the largest raptors that can be found in the Iberian Peninsula, exceeding in scope (up to 260 cm.) Even the imperial eagle.
Más Información / More Information: es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gyps_fulvus
© Copyright 2013 Francisco Aragão
© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Use without permission is illegal.
© TODOS LOS DERECHOS RESERVADOS. El uso sin permiso es ilegal
© TODOS OS DIREITOS RESERVADOS. Usar sem permissão é ilegal.
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Portuguese
A Praia do Gunga é uma das mais famosas de Alagoas. Fica no município de Roteiro e às margens da Lagoa do Roteiro que encontra-se como mar bem em frente às tendas e bares do Gunga.
Logo após passar pela ponte sobre a Lagoa do Roteiro tem-se uma bonita imagem. Às margens da rodovia AL-101 estão uma infinidade de coqueiros que estendem-se por muitos quilômetros.
A Praia do Gunga fica no interior de uma fazenda de coqueiros e para chegar até ela é necessário ingressar pelos portões da fazenda.
Ingressamos na fazenda e seguimos até a praia que conta com muitas barracas de praia. Aproveitamos para almoçar em uma delas.
Após 500mts da entrada da fazenda existe um mirante de onde é possível avistar a Praia do Gunga, a fazenda de coqueiros e a Barra de São Miguel.
http://turismoeaventura.blogspot.com.br/2009/01/praia-do-gunga-roteiroal.html
Designed and drawn by Michelle Fung.
This should be the last kokeshi doll version for now. V1 used 2 squares (not bad, but difficult to balance the head), v2 was one square but inefficient, v3 was efficient but lacked shaping possibilities.
V4 is slightly less efficient than v3, but has simpler reference points and more possible variations. The center area can be a little tricky to collapse.
Folded models:
Using my PENTAX SF7 again loaded with ILFORD FP4+ which I processed in my Home-Made 510-Pyro 1:100
outside the Iceland Store with SMC Pentax-M 75-150mm f4v Manual Focus
One of my first digital SLRs was a Canon 40D. It eventually broke and wasn't worth fixing so I moved on to other systems. Instead of doing the sensible thing and selling my Canon fit lenses I kept them in a cupboard for years not getting any use.
A couple of years back I saw a Canon 5D in excellent condition for sale for about £250 if I remember correctly. I rationalised that I should buy it to use the old lenses (any excuse for GAS) so it duly arrived and it really was in near mint condition - very surprising for a semi pro camera nearly 17 years old. The serial number tells me that my camera is one of the early ones with the poor LCD and the mirror which is likely to fall off at any moment.
The LCD really is useless. It tells you that a picture has been taken but not much else and the Raw files look awful. However, the Raws are very easy to work with and getting a good result is not difficult. The camera has only 12.8 megapixels but they are quality pixels and I'm pleasantly surprised how good the images can be. These two photos have been cropped but I think they stand up to scrutiny well.
These photos show the Trotternish Ridge, looking from Staffin.
Testing out Kodak’s newest single use camera. It shoots on glorious B/W Tri-X film.
Subject: Eli's family. Eli is 6 years old and giving him a disposable camera to shoot with was perfect. His only instructions were to look around the viewfinder and make sure he could see everything he wanted in his picture.
Date: October 2021
Film: Kodak Tri-X B/W 35mm film
Camera: Kodak Single Use 35mm B/W camera
Processing: TheDarkroom.com
Image by: Eli
THE DISCOVERY by gleitzeit blog (the lost Interview in Rome)
I am using magnifying glass to be able to read a a PDF file of a very low quality.
My eyes are hurting. What I have found is something that is just not available…
I must say on the search for anything tagged “invisible” I find some pretty amazing
stuff I would never know about (later on that)
Paul meet me at the gate. He looked younger than I had expected. Dressed
casually.
As a host he cordially offered me to dine. While we entered the hall I had an urge to ask him, is this a museum? trying not to break anything as we passed by sculptures, paintings,
ceramics and a lot of other pieces of art which I had never seen before.
This unexpected excitement spoiled my appetite, and I was no longer hungry and
instead drank some wine.
He made clear that it is not any kind of a museum, but instead, his Paul’s studio. He lives not in Rome, but by the Terranian sea, where he was going shortly.
I asked Paul how he earns a living. Paul thought a little and tried to find an appropriate explanation. He finally lit on: "I am of independent means and don’t have to earn a living" pouring me another glass of wine.
I asked him: “ Can I buy some of your paintings? How much it will cost me?”
This question Paul left unanswered but he said that commonly he paints his
pictures without the intention to sell them.
Earlier I noticed a little girl and a young woman moving about him.
OMG!!!! I am shaken up. NOBODY KNOWS ANYTHING ABOUT Paul Jaisini’s personal life! I don’t believe this. THANK YOU GOOGLE! this is like really mystifying. I am not an emotional person, rather someone who loves to work hard and get the job done. This turned into something other than working.
Google nowadays is not your “grandfather’s” google so to speak. It is tailored
around you, your daily Internet activity, So finding any news, any special
information is no longer an easy task. I guess because there’s too much of
everything and what one is looking for could be placed out of reach. So we sort
of live on a planet that is flat as in dark ages. I say that because if one is
provided the info that is tailored with limitation it implies that breaking
away is not something one would even comprehend! We are too used to trust our social functioning and think that we know everything, on top of all news provided to us by the honest practice of the broadcasting companies.
We don’t want to be those conspiracy freaks with no trust to anything or
anyone. But truth is, if you don’t want to pay high dollar for some expert
articles on the topics that could give more than the free info, you are really
up against a brick wall of the new unknown reality and a total incapacity to acquire
the needed info of high quality without spending your whole life learning all the crap on the net and beyond in order to find finally what you need.
So search is a tricky mother. If you are creative and sort of spontaneous you
might somehow find your own style of fishing out the essentials. But in my case I
often felt helpless and lost no longer willing to participate in this
undertaking trying to document Gleitzeit.
It doesn’t look like I had managed a short explanation. But this is my formula of
finding something that is not available on the tailored to fit google search.
I enter the variations of phrases and words from the gleitzeit context of emails, postings, essays and add some other words I find on my way of locating Paul Jaisini's links. Turning the tag in a sort of a potion number nine that had proven to fetch some impossible to find info on such a quick inquiry without opening thousands of websites where I might find or might not find anything at all. And the most effective findings are with the tag "invisible" added to other things, be it email abbreviations and so on.
“The other must be his wife”, I thought, because Paul called her with some pet name's asking for a bottle of wine, for a book, or an ash tray.
“Is she your wife? “ I asked just in case.
Paul looked me in the eyes and said: “She is not my wife, nor the mother of my daughter, she is my secretary. “
The secretary I sensed didn’t like me much.
She didn’t call Jaisini by his name, Paul, but she instead addressed him as
mister Jaisini. She seemed obsequious and perhaps didn’t like me for my unrestrained manner and direct questions. She said to Paul: “You should not waste your time on this interview. You need to return to your work. “
Paul said: “It will be few minutes." and spent a few hours with me. A self-ruling man.
Paul didn’t drink any wine but he behaved at times extravagantly, showing the
outlines of the silhouettes in his paintings and explaining what was happening in the pictures.
Paul said that the point of his art being hidden from the public is an
intrigue that engages press in constant attempts to uncover the ‘truth’ behind it all. Nevertheless it is very disappointing, that people don’t care about real art, as they do about private affairs.
We went upstairs and in a spacious hall I saw a large painting. I didn’t hide my
awe.
“Wow! Where did you get such a big piece of canvas? The art stores don’t sell
this linen in such sizes. “
“It is stitched together from pieces," answered Paul.
“How did you reach the upper parts of the painting"
"I climbed the riser. Do you see the nude black man up there, tangled with a
serpent?"
"It reminds me of Laocoön. Is it intentional?"
"No, he is a symbol of physical grace without intellect. Do you see a group of
female bodies intertwined in a threesome?"
"No, I don’t see it. Where is the threesome?"
"To the left, look there."
"I look there."
"There the three figures, here is one, here is another one and the third one."
"Third is not a female figure, it’s some animal."
"It’s a female, but there is an animal, a bit higher up. The clown in the center
tears his mouth in a bloody smile, carrying out his role of a fool, laughing when
he wants to cry."
"Is that a monkey?"
"You got it, she is another symbol of the fate, she stopped hitting the tom-tom,
her direct purpose in circus. When she stopped to play and started to think, she
realized that her life is pitiful and she wants to kill herself. It’s a second
symbol of the same meaning."
"Tell me about that threesome again."
"Well, they show the natural grace, as three graces would, the sensual concept of
procreation."
"This picture must be a depiction of a circus performance, I suppose. Is it ?
Why it is so dynamic?"
"It is a circus performance but is the personal trial of human character. The ball construction is an object: - Paulsen’s ball, it is also a title of the painting."
"This ball creates some weight and it seems to move the composition with it’s
size and position and it seems to be on a verge of rolling down."
"You’re right! I also sense this immediate impulse to prevent the clown to fall
off that ball.
We went to other paintings, whole series of paintings.
When I gathered all my sensations about the art that surrounded me, it was time to leave. Paul Jaisini escorted me to the door. I shook his hand saying:
"You are an interesting man!"
"I am not a man..."
(the last sentence was a good ending)
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Symbolism
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Symbolism_(arts)
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Invisibility
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fatalism
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gracefulness
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Impossible_object
Have to type as I read PDF file that can’t be copied
Have to type as I read PDF file that can’t be copied
I am using magnifying glass to be able to read a a PDF file of very low quality. My eyes are hurting. What I have found is something that is just not available… I must say on the search for anything tagged “invisible” I find some pretty amazing stuff I would never know about (later on that) Now I am sitting in my office instead of having night out. It really is an impossible task to just discern the text. I filled up a spray bottle with cold water to spray my face to frequently refresh my eyes, as they get tired from the magnifying glass. It’s totally worth it, the thrill of discovery is my ultimate high.
Subj: Re: any suggestions?
Date: 2/5/00 Pacific Standard Time
From: bcwoodward@bigfoot.com (B. Woodward)
To: Yustas61@aol.com
CC: Angela Ahermeign
The attached file with original text before translation can be used in all related your project on Paul Jaisini.
All my corrections are in () and sometimes they replace the words nearby, other times they get inserted or have comments as well. It should be clear. Angela, you had some trouble with colloquialisms, unclear constructions and misplaced verb tenses. You switched among various forms of the past with irregularity. I’ve brushed it up. It makes a good narrative, though. Very interesting :)
Original Message-
From Angela A, Sent Thursday, February 03, 2000, 4: 25 PM
to bcwoodward@bigfoot.com
Subject Any suggestions
My first meeting with Paul Jaisini in Rome
(was it your first meeting with him, or just first time in Rome… unclear construction)
Paul Jaisini’s appearance at the exhibition of his art made a lot of noise in 1995 in Rome.
(caused a lot of noise, a lot of excitement, or was it just a noisy appearance?)
After newspapers published the (a) photograph of Paul Jaisini in the empty gallery, I read the article and realized how lucky I was to be in Rome. Nobody saw Paul Jaisini’s paintings. Yes, nobody… This what happened next. I called him once, then (a) second time. (,b)But Paul didn’t return my calls. Unfortunately I was not able to stay on guards (stand guard is the appropriate colloquialism) to catch him by the art gallery being (as I was) preoccupied with my (own) business. So I decided that I have (needed, not have) to find a way to see Paul Jaisini’s (hidden) paintings if he hides them. Such extravagance has (had) to be stopped.
I decided to offer him (no him here) to write a testament about (to) the existence of his art (, which would necessarily lead to him revealing it to me.) which will rise the necessity to see it.
I heard about Paul Jaisini before (that time) because he is quite a (reverse the a and quite) well-known contemporary artist. When I set up the appointment to meet (him) I easily found his cozy two- story town-house surrounded by (an) antique iron fence.
When I called (on) the intercom it took a while to explain who I was and why (I had come) did I come.
Paul meet me at the gate. He looked younger than I (had) expected. Dressed casually.
As a host he cordially offered me to dine. While we were entering (entered) the hall I had an urge to ask him, (“I) is it (this) a museum (?), trying to brake (break) anything, (no comma… as we passed) passing by sculptures, paintings, ceramic pieces (ceramics… drop the p word) and a lot of (other pieces of) art which I (had never seen before. drop rest of the sentence) was not able…
Gosh, I can feel how B. Woodward was feeling… WILL SHE REALLY SEE THE PAINTINGS by PAUL JAISINI?????? my eyes are punishing me for this thrill. I need to stop looking into the magnifier when I am now writing a comment without looking into unreadable copy.
Just waiting to get the courage to continue… my eyes need rest, I made myself some coffee with soy milk. But it surely means I want to prolong the suspense. I have no idea what is written in that text I located only god knows where or how.
I think that a gamer guru would understand me after he/she played hardest strategic games for a very long time and turned into a savvy thrill seeker.
medium.com/art-submissions/don-t-bother-901454f687cd The time has come to start making sense of things, of the world, of each other. We think we’re doing that, but we’re actually doing the opposite. We are complicating…EVERYTHING…tothe point of utter madness. Our world has become one ginormous madhouse, ESPECIALLY cyberspace — this alternate world we created within our world that seems to have created a world within itself — yet to be identified, recognized, and named. Making sense of things is not a bad thing. For example, let’s start with one major web enigma: Paul Jaisini and “Gleitzeit” which is this, uh, odd art movement the guy started in the 90s. If you simply google either of those names, I gaurantee you a good WTF moment or two. You’ll not just be scratching your head over this one. You’ll be scratching every part of your body like a delusional nutcase who thinks your skin is literally crawling with countless bugs. IT’S GONNA BUG THE HELL OUT OF YOU, let’s just say…maybe for a day or a week…or maybe, as for some folks, long after you’ve discovered it. You’ll be itching to understand what it’s about even just a little bit. Your mind will try to make sense of Paul Jaisini and/or Gleitzeit, it will want to, but will fail miserably. Frustration and anger will start setting in. I know because that’s how it was for me and every person that tried. The deeper you dig, the more you try to figure it out, the more confused, overwhelmed, baffled, and perplexed you’ll get. I guess for the people that attempt to understand the Paul Jaisini and Gleitzeit thing or debunk it, my advice is: DON’T EVEN TRY. DON’T GO THERE. IT’S NOT FOR YOU. The sleepless nights, the uncertainty, the questions and ideas that start invading your head, the horror of “waking up” from normality and regularity, the trauma of moving from one dimension to another… is not worth it. Well, for me it was worth it, but not for others. They claim it’s crazy and even dangerous for the mind, Paul Jaisini’s Gleitzeit. Well, sure, I mean you gotta break some eggs to make an omelette, dontchya? So, Gleitzeit is the omelette and all parties involved in GIG (Gleitzeit International Group) are the eggs. Makes sense. Speaking of which, “they” don’t want it to make sense, not even close. As a member of the group, I’m breaking protocol BIG TIME by writing this, by encouraging that you go out there, look this stuff up and figure it out, take away its shield of senselessness and defeat it… for the sake of a better world and future for us all. I hope someone out there hears me….one way or another, it had to be said…. Stelly Riesling
Please don't use this image on websites, blogs or other media without my explicit permission. If you wish to use this image, please, contact me through flickrmail or at vicenc.feliu@gmail.com. © All rights reserved...
John Ballendine built this finely proportined Georgian house, Rockledge, circa 1760. William Buckland, a premier colonial Chesapeake architect reportedly designed it. Rockledge is a rare example of a Tidewater Virginia stone dwelling. Several entrepreneurs who sought to maximize Occoquan's potential as a port and commercial center resided here over time.
Occoquan, Virginia.
This year I'm using a different film format each month, starting with the smallest and working my way up through the sizes. The format for September is 127 roll film which was introduced in 1912. Narrower than 120 film, it allowed for smaller more pocketable cameras to be made, perhaps most famously the Kodak VP (Vest Pocket) also known as the soldiers' camera because many of them were used during the First World War (1914-18). Today only a small number of films are available in 127, but it could have been worse, ten years ago it looked as if the format was finished forever.
My favourite 127 camera is the Voigtlander Perkeo which was made in Germany in the early 1930s. Back in the 1980s I picked one up for £1 and even took it on holiday in the pre-digital era when 127 was still a viable format. I'm planning to use the Perkeo again this month. In 1990 I bought two rolls of Kodacolor Gold film, but only used one of them, the other, with its Campkins of Cambridge £1.50 price sticker is still in its box. It expired in 1991, so the image quality is poor, but at least I got something out of it. Developed in the Tetenal C41 kit.
Webb Ivory 14-62-18
700 pieces, used and complete
21x17in
53x43cm
TED: "So 'ere's anuvver of them ol' shiny jigsaws wot Mum likes. They ain't very nice to put togevver cuz of the shine, but the pics is nice, like this one. It's birds an' flours... pritty. The box wuz ever so tatty so I'm serprized it wuz all there!"
2021 piece count: 49099
Puzzle 56
I used to know what these were called, but I have forgotten.
(Beautiful) Angry Teeth will have to do for now.
Lamberton Conservatory - Where I purchased another $10 pass for 2019, Best $10 I will ever spend this year.
Used my white texture in this one.
Woke up this morning to a delivery man bringing me an unexpected parcel. It looked so good I had to document the grand opening! I had said to my neice Gemma that I adored this little sugar bowl I had seen on the net and bless her sole she bought it and sent it off to me. Complete with a little French card. I was so touched and excited. Thanks Gemma!
I dont know how I ended up with grey and white divides....maybe Beyond Layers is Beyond Me!!
Used the flash and caught the falling snow and the snow- covered trees from my back door. If you look closely you can see some colour in the birch trees, but is is pretty much a white world out there tonight!
Created using 4 photos and some different layers and backdrops blended. Used fx to create the varying bw effects top and bottom and topaz to get the final depth of sepia
Water skiing was invented in 1922 when Ralph Samuelson used a pair of boards as skis and a clothesline as a tow rope on Lake Pepin in Lake City, Minnesota. The sport remained a little-known activity for several years. Then, Samuelson performed shows from Michigan to Florida. In 1966, the American Water Ski Association formally acknowledged Samuelson as the first water skiier on record. Samuelson was also the first ski racer, first to go over a jump ramp, first to slalom ski, and the first to put on a water ski show.[1] He experimented with different positions on the skis for several days until July 2, 1922. Finally, Ralph discovered that leaning backwards in the water with ski tips up and poking out of the water at the tip was optimal. His brother Ben towed him and they reached a speed of 20 miles per hour. Samuelson also achieved the first ski jump on July 8, 1925 using a greased 4 feet (1.2 m) by 16 feet (4.9 m) ramp, making him the first water ski jumper.
I used to know just what I wanted and just where to go.
More than ever I could use a coincidence,
But now I walk alone and talk about it when I know.
Please don't use this photo on websites, blogs or other media without my written permission.
(c) Yago Veith www.yago1.com
-
Using a light strip and a little creativity, we were able to bring some life to the dark and quiet Stumphouse Tunnel in Walhalla, SC.
It used to be an annual event. We had a small but professional fireworks show in a field outside the city limits of Ferris, Texas.
This was shot on film, Canon Eo-1n, 16-35 f2.8.
I miss it.
#AbFav_MULTI_COLOUR_ 📱
Fishing nets have been used widely in the past, including by stone age societies.
The oldest known fishing net is the net of Antrea, found with other fishing equipment in the Karelian town of Antrea.
The net was made from willow, and dates back to 8300 BC.
The remnants of another fishing net dates back to the late Mesolithic, and were found together with sinkers at the bottom of a former sea.
American Native Indians on the Columbia River wove seine nets from spruce root fibres or wild grass, again using stones as weights.
For floats they used sticks made of cedar which moved in a way which frightened the fish and helped keep them together.
With the help of large canoes, pre-European Maori deployed seine nets which could be over one thousand metres long.
The nets were woven from green flax, with stone weights and light wood or gourd floats, and could require hundreds of men to haul.
Fishing nets are well documented in antiquity.
They appear in Egyptian tomb paintings from 3000 BC. In ancient Greek literature, Ovid makes many references to fishing nets, including the use of cork floats and lead weights.
Pictorial evidence of Roman fishing comes from mosaics which show nets.
In a parody of fishing, a type of gladiator called retiarius was armed with a trident and a cast net.
In Norse mythology the sea giantess Rán uses a fishing net to trap lost sailors.
References to fishing nets can also be found in the New Testament.
Jesus Christ was reputedly a master in the use of fishing nets.
Fishing nets have not evolved greatly, and many contemporary fishing nets would be recognised for what they are in Neolithic times.
I would have that on my wall... LOL
Thank you for all your words, time, comments and faves. Very much appreciated. M, (*_*)
For more of my work: www.indigo2photography.com
PLEASE RESPECT THIS: IT IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN (BY LAW!!!) TO USE ANY OF MY image or TEXT on websites, blogs or any other media without my explicit permission. © All rights reserved
nets, netting, abstract, harbour, industry, colour, horizontal, "Nikon D7200", "Magda indigo"
Using a hand built photogate to capture droplets of orange juice falling into a mixture of blackcurrent squash, vinegar and milk.
Original Caption: School Children, Were Forced to Use Their Bicycles on Field Trips During the Fuel Crisis in the Winter of 1974. There Was Not Enough Gasoline for School Buses to Be Used for Extracurricular Activities, Even During Dark and Rainy Weather 02/1974
U.S. National Archives’ Local Identifier: 412-DA-13048
Photographer: Falconer, David
Subjects:
Portland (Multnomah county, Oregon, United States) inhabited place
Environmental Protection Agency
Project DOCUMERICA
Persistent URL: arcweb.archives.gov/arc/action/ExternalIdSearch?id=555500
Repository: Still Picture Records Section, Special Media Archives Services Division (NWCS-S), National Archives at College Park, 8601 Adelphi Road, College Park, MD, 20740-6001.
For information about ordering reproductions of photographs held by the Still Picture Unit, visit: www.archives.gov/research/order/still-pictures.html
Reproductions may be ordered via an independent vendor. NARA maintains a list of vendors at www.archives.gov/research/order/vendors-photos-maps-dc.html
Access Restrictions: Unrestricted
Use Restrictions: Unrestricted
Using Lee Big Stopper + Lee 0.9 GND.
اس زخمِ جاں کے نام ، جو اب تک نہیں بھرا
اس زندہ دل کے نام ، جو اب تک نہیں مرا
اس زندگی کے نام، گزارا نہیں جسے
اس قرضِ فن کے نام، اُتارا نہیں جسے
اہل نظر کے نام، جو جوہر شناس ہیں
اہل وفا کے نام، جو فن کی اساس ہیں
ان دوستوں کے نام، جو گوشہ نشین ہیں
ان بےحسوں کے نام، جو بارِ زمین ہیں
ان اھلِ دل کے نام، جو راہوں کی دھول ہیں
ان حوصلوں کے نام، جنہیں دکھ قبول ہیں
ان آوازوں کے نام جو خاموش ھو گئیں
ان ھستیوں کے نام جو مٹی میں سو گئیں
اس غنچہ دھن کے نام جسے موت کھا گئی
اپنی ماں کے نام کہ جسے نیند آ گئی
اس شعلہ رخ کے نام، کہ روشن ہے جس سے رات
ہے ضوفشاں اندھیرے میں ہر نقطہ ءِ کائنات
اور حسنِ باکمال کی راعنائیوں کے نام
اور اپنے ذہن و قلب کی تنہائیوں کے نام
Six Years Ago: The East End
Perched on the fire escape, Eric Needham chapped gently on his apartment's window. “Linda, can we talk?”
No response. He figured that may have been the case. Since he had caught her using again, their relationship had been... Well, ‘strained’ didn’t exactly cover it. But with every dealer he took off the streets, Eric was certain he was making a brighter future for them, for their son. Mikey wouldn’t have to grow up like he did. Mikey wouldn’t have to do the things that Eric had to.
Behind the glass, he could make out his girlfriend’s unmoving silhouette on the sofa, his son sitting on the ground beside her.
No, not sitting… Lying; sprawled out across the ground. Eric’s eyes widened and a sense of dread washed over him. 'God, please, not them too.'
He punched through the glass window, paying no attention to the shards tearing his hand open as he entered the room. He rushed to Mikey first, his eyes drawn to an overturned bowl of cereal and the white powder on the ground beside him. ‘The cereal… He’d put the smack in the cereal… Must have thought it was sugar, I mean, why wouldn’t he?’
‘Please… Please God, let there be a pulse,’ he begged, shaking Mikey’s still body frantically. He turned to Linda next, his face twisted with anger and sorrow.
“Do you know what you’ve done?!” he shook her. “Do you know what-”
His lip twitched. Tears streaming down his fear, he huddled his family together and wept. Not just for his family, but for the death of a normal life.
Now:
Sionis Warehouse: South Gotham
Jenna’s head was spinning. She could just hear Franco arguing with Ferris. She tried to move but found herself unable to; her wrist was wrapped in cold metal: Handcuffs, pinning her to a steel pipe.
“You brought the girl?” Ferris was complaining. “Sloppy, Davey. Sloppy. Fortunately, I can work with sloppy.”
Franco ruffled his hair awkwardly. “They got Rosso.”
“Eh. No real loss.”
“You think? If they find out what he did for me, we’re both dead.”
“You’re dead anyway," Jenna spat.
“Ah! The sleeping beauty awakes,” Ferris cocked his head to one side.
“When Gar gets here-”
Ferris flicked his finger on her forehead. “When ‘Gar’ gets here, we’re gonna blast him full of lead. Heh. This girl of yours must be real handy with those lips, Davey, ‘cause I can’t figure out why else you’d let her keep flapping ‘em.”
Six Years Ago: Dixon Docks
The henchmen all wore grotesque masks, loading pallets onto a group of large semi-trucks. One, in a rubber elephant mask, was talking to the others. “There was some killing on Third and Milton. Nasty stuff: had the lieutenants real spooked. Strung him up like a fly.”
“Was it The Bat?” a henchman in a chicken mask asked.
“Was it the-? The Bat don’t kill, moron. Everybody knows that,” a third, in a pink bear mask, chided the second.
“Ain’t what I heard. Heard there was this guy; The KGBeast; a high-profile Russian hitman or mercenary or something? Bat trapped him in a sewer, left him to starve to death,” a fourth in an astronaut helmet chimed in.
“That’s horsecrap. He’d have let the cops know where to pick him up, the Commissioner at least. They’re tight,” a goon in a white rabbit mask stated.
“Nah, man. This Beast guy? Killed 130 people, good half of them were innocents. You don’t fuck with innocents. Not with The Bat,” the astronaut claimed.
“Bull! I’ve met the Beast. He works with the bosses now and then. You’re talking outta your ass,” the bear masked henchman frowned. “It’s probably that new guy, the-”
He didn’t finish his sentence. A strand of red webbing latched itself around his neck and raised him off the ground. His legs flailed helplessly for what seemed like an eternity and then, snap. The body went limp.
“What the fuck was that?!”
“Holy crap, he’s dead!”
The Rabbit fired his machine gun into the rafters, hoping to weed out the assailant. Screams echoed throughout the warehouse. “Come on out, you son of a bitch! You’re outnumbered.”
Something rolled across the ground towards him, shattering his confidence: A bloodied chicken mask, the head still inside. The Rabbit stepped backwards, colliding with an upside-down body; a disembowelled corpse in an elephant mask, pinned to the wall by that same red webbing. Before the Rabbit could call for help, a serrated blade tore his throat open.
“This is fucked, man!” the astronaut panicked. “There were at least twenty other guys in here, where the hell are they?”
He tripped over the chicken’s headless body, falling to the ground. A figure in an orange mask and several layers of body armour grabbed him by his lapels and pulled him close.
“Who are you working for?” the figure asked.
“I don’t-! I can’t-!” the Astronaut stammered.
“This warehouse is the biggest heroin plant in the city now talk!"
"I can't! He'll kill me!"
"I'LL KILL YOU! NOW, WHO ARE YOU WORKING FOR?!” the Black Spider roared.
"The Black Mask,” the goon spluttered. “We’re working for the Black Mask!”
Before the goon could divulge more information, an armoured fist intervened, flooring Needham. The assailant was dressed in a suit of purple and grey armour, a single red visor across his eyes. Their gloves buzzed with yellow sparks. Needham hadn’t met this one before.
“No-no-no-no, please! I didn’t tell him nothing! I swear to Chri-”
The goon’s shout of protest was muffled by the Lightning Bug’s hand around his mouth. The gauntlet crackled with yellow electricity and lightning shot through the goon’s body, burning them from the inside. The body glowed with brilliant light, and then with a final muffled shriek: the light went out. Lightning Bug slackened his grip, and a charred corpse crumpled to the ground, smoke rising from the mouth of the blackened body. Beneath his mask, the Lightning Bug smirked: now he could turn his attention back to the intruder
As he approached, lightning dragged along the grated floor and railings, every metal surface a death trap beneath the Bug’s boots. So, Needham had to stick to the air; narrowly dodging a blast of yellow electricity, he leapt off the narrow walkway, firing a web at the wooden rafters to keep himself airborne. Recognising the Spider’s strategy, Lightning Bug shot at the rafters; as the blast found its mark, the wooden supports caught fire, the flames carrying down across the walls.
Needham lost his balance when the Bug struck the beams and fell into a pile of wooden crates. Shaking the wooden splinters off his person, Needham fired another web, carrying him onto the opposite end of the gantry. Aiming for the Bug’s visor, Needham grabbed a machine gun from a fallen False Facer and opened fire. The Bug raised his arm out in front of his face and used his gauntlet to shield his eyes, aiming to outlast Needham’s ammunition. And sure enough, the clip was emptied before it could penetrate the Bug’s armour.
As the fire intensified, the sprinkler systems kicked into gear; the water sizzling as it battered down onto the Bug’s armour. Needham discarded the gun, and firing two more webs, he brought a large crane down on top of the Bug. ‘The roof was going to cave in any minute,’ he realised. 'And soon the cops would be here.' Needham fired a web up at the open skylight, and swung out into the night, hoping the flames would finish the Bug off. But as he left, an armoured fist broke free from the debris.
The Gotham Royal Hotel
Lobby: Ground Floor
Time went on, and the remaining Misfits reunited in the lobby. The group’s attention was momentarily drawn to the window; the reporters had started to gather outside, taking pictures and forcibly extracting statements from the irritated witnesses and handcuffed prisoners. From inside the lobby, Sharpe stuck his tongue out at Jack Ryder, and pulled down the curtains. Mayo was slowly waltzing around the lobby. Bridget, who had arrived with Chuck, Kuttler and Ten, kept her distance from the group.
Chuck’s head was resting on the check-in desk, his arms sprawled out in front of him. Beside him, a sorrowful Rigger lay the broken hilt of his katana on the countertop, lamenting the weapon’s loss. Ten sat on his right, wearing a sling around his injured shoulder. Blake joined them last; a series of white bandages wrapped around his bare chest. Smiling, he plopped a quartet of glasses down beside them. “Drink,” he encouraged the trio, pouring a generous amount of dark liquid into each glass.
Chuck smiled back. “Cheers,” he toasted his teammates.
As they drank, Flannegan approached the group, dressed in an ugly, dark green raincoat.
“You’re leaving?” Chuck asked.
“Job’s done, isn’t it?” Flannegan challenged him.
"Unbelievable…” Chuck voiced his disapproval but knew there was little point in keeping Flannegan here against his will. Flannegan saluted the group, and took the remainder of the bottle for himself, tucking it under his overcoat.
Kuttler was sitting at the bottom of the staircase, pressing an ice pack against his bruised forehead. He lowered the ice pack from his forehead and rolled his eyes: Sionis was strutting down the marble staircase, Li by his side. Needham stood at the entrance, his arms folded and his back leaning against the door in defiance of the new arrival.
“What a dutiful bunch you all are. Can’t imagine how anyone got past you,” Sionis addressed the room of downtrodden C-Listers.
“That said..." he cleared his throat as if the words were painful to admit: "Thank you.” Clearly, he had been prompted by Li.
Mayo scratched his forehead as he struggled to make sense of the unexpected compliment. “But we ruined everything. A bunch of people died. The damages to the hotel-”
Sionis flapped his hand at him dismissively. “Oh, I know. But I’m insured on all of that. Well, not the men, but those are replaceable. Good work people, I hope I never have to see any of you again.”
The latter comment seemed to be directed at Kuttler specifically, as Sionis came to a stop at his side, paying no attention to the Black Spider's judgemental glare. “Oh, elevator’s back online, yeah?” he growled at him.
“They’re pre-programmed to shut down in the event of a fire,” Kuttler claimed.
“While occupied?” Sionis asked.
“It’s your building,” Kuttler challenged him, lowering his purple-tinted glasses. “We had no way to know Carson was coming,”
Sionis eyed him up and down, unsatisfied with his response. “Smartass,” he snarled, shoving him aside. "And you, kid, you on their side now?" he examined Bridget.
"Play nice," Needham warned, a hand rested by his sheathed blade. For the first time that night, Sionis noticed him.
"That's right, I forgot we had a Bat-Chaperone with us,” he raised his arms in the air. As he made a beeline for the check-in desk, Chuck looked down into his glass, avoiding eye contact.
“Doubt there’s any point asking the blind man…” Sionis stood intrusively close to Chuck. “So, how about you? You see Tiger Shark pass by here, Kite-Man?” he asked.
Chuck’s back straightened, and he turned to Sionis stone-faced.
“Who?”
Sionis took a step back. If he had eyebrows, he’d have surely raised one. “Well, aren’t you a grumpy little bastard tonight... You hit your head? Maybe fly into my desk headfirst?”
As tensions began to mount, Li stepped between the pair, handing Sionis his tablet. “Sir, you’ll want a look at this. The security footage from the 13th floor.”
As Sionis glanced at the recording, his eyes narrowed. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”
“Just keep watching,” Li said calmly. As the footage played, a familiar man wearing a wolf-like helmet and purple suit walked into focus and pressed a button on the nearby keypad.
“Ferris-?” Sionis grimaced. “What the hell was he up to-?”
As he finished inputting the code, the wall slid out, and Ferris disappeared behind it, the wall closing back up behind him.
“I told you it wasn’t Day,” Li finished, his tone suggesting he felt vindicated.
“I wish I could say I was happy for you…” Sionis murmured. “Wait a minute,” he gestured to the corner of the screen. “The time stamp… This happened two hours before Day attacked,” he glared at Li, waiting for his explanation.
“If I might suggest something... Kuttler is a tech genius. The only way someone; Krill, Day; could bypass his systems is if they already had the security codes. Or knew someone who did.”
“And?”
“Ferris knew something was going down. That’s why he left the party prematurely.”
“Well,” Sionis scoffed. “It’s a hell of a theory.”
“It is. But I do my research,” Li spoke, swiping his fingers across the tablet to another photo. “This was taken outside the Thompkins Homeless Center. And that’s Ferris, sat across from Abner Krill.”
Sionis gritted his teeth. “Is there anyone who doesn’t want to kill me?” he snarled.
“Nope." Needham’s arms stayed folded.
Sionis growled, as he swung back around. “Hey, Misfits, maybe I could still use you.”
“Are you serious?” Chuck asked. “Drury’s gone. Have someone else do your dirty work.”
“Well, that would be nice, Kite-Man. However, you may not have noticed, but all my employees seem to be betraying me!"
As if on cue, the stairwell door swung open, and Garfield Lynns staggered into the lobby; his shirt drenched in sweat, his face bruised and swollen, and covered in still damp blood.
Joey's eyes widened. "Gar!"
"Here, take it easy, Garfield," Reardon advised him, offering him his seat at the desk.
"Woah," Sharpe whistled. "You look like shit! Like, more than usual. Like, think how bad you must look now if on your best day, you look like a shaved testi-"
"Gar, what happened?" Chuck asked, expressing concern as Lynns collapsed onto the stool beside him and drank his half full glass of alcohol.
"Gar, where's Jenna?" Joey asked anxiously. "Gar?"
Gar didn't respond. His eyes appeared to stare off into nowhere. “He took her," he said finally, his jaw slackening. "I tried to stop him, but he took her."
“Who? Franco?” Joey asked. That got Sionis’ attention, whose previous reaction to the conversation had been one of pure apathy.
"Franco did that?” Sharpe gestured to Gar’s wounds. “I’ll be honest, between this and the car crash, I think you might be losing your touch.”
"No, not him... His assistant… bodyguard. He is… was a metahuman. A blood monster. Took him out with a Molotov but... By that point, Franco had already sealed the upstairs passage."
“Cool,” Sharpe and Mayo nodded in admiration. The former, stuck his head around the door Gar had come through, hoping to catch a glimpse of the 'blood monster.'
“That tunnel, where does it come out?” Gar asked Li frantically.
“One of our old warehouses, South Gotham, I think. You said it was a blood monster?” he asked Gar.
“What?” Gar asked, failing to see the relevancy. “Yeah, some kinda bloodbender. Like, from Avatar. Have you seen Avatar?”
“No.”
“Well, I have. Blame Rigger.”
“I shall.”
“You shouldn’t, it’s a good show!” Joey interjected.
“It’s fine," Gar conceded, realising he was getting off-topic. "This guy made me beat myself within an inch of my life, made Jenna watch, healed Franco’s injuries… Bloodwork, he said his name was.”
“And where is he now?”
Gar paused. “He’s splattered across the east stairwell.
“Aw, that’s not a monster!” Sharpe complained loudly as he re-entered the lobby. “That’s just a pile of blood.”
Li and Sionis looked at each other.
Li swallowed. “Sir… You don’t think-?”
“I want Franco's blood tested," Sionis ordered. “Dig up any files we have on Blackgate, including his connection to Gaige, and find out when his correspondence with Ferris first began; I need to know if they were conspiring before we lifted his exile...”
"That may take time," Li stated. "We'd need to find an uncorrupted blood sample, run it against the one we received from Blackgate."
"Franco took a polka dot to the stomach earlier," Gar stated. "I'd start there."
"Hmff," Sionis grunted. "Richardson's still on the take," he reminded his assistant. "Have him swipe a sample from upstairs. While we wait, I want you to surround the South Warehouse. No one in or out, capiche?”
“That may prove difficult. If Franco indeed got to Ferris, while he was exiled on another continent, he may have also enlisted your captains. We’re talking about a full-scale power play.”
“Then we’ll do it.”
Sionis tilted his head back. "Hm?"
Gar had risen from the stool and stepped between Sionis and Li. “We’ll take the job,” he clarified.
"Now, Gar, wait a minute-" Chuck protested, following him as he offered Sionis his hand.
"Bookworm’s right. You can't trust your own guys. Franco could've already bought them off. But you can trust me, because there ain’t nothing I wouldn’t do to protect that woman.”
“Well, aren’t you the romantic.” Sionis smirked as he accepted the handshake. “You remember Iron-Hat Ferris, I take it?”
Behind them, Blake laughed. “’Iron-Hat?’ What does he do, haunt abandoned fairgrounds for the insurance money?”
“Didn’t realise we were taking pointers from the Catman.”
“You’re not coming,” Gar shook his head. “Not with that stab wound. Ten neither. And Mayo... Not Mayo."
“Hold that thought,” Sionis’ phone buzzed, and he rolled his eyes. “Penguin.” He turned his head to the quarrelling Misfits. “I have to take this. Mingle among yourselves," he said patronisingly, as he left the room, followed by Li.
As Sionis departed, Joey shook his head. “That man deserves a fiery death...” he muttered.
“Yes,” Reardon murmured in agreement. “And for some reason, we prevented one.”
"What's your problem?" Gar glared at Chuck.
"My problem?" Chuck squinted.
“Franco has Jenna. Jenna! This might be my only chance of getting her back. Why are you trying to mess that up?”
"Why? Because we're not his personal kill squad. Look, Julian was one of us, as were the rest of the Outcasts; to an extent, but I draw the line with Franco and this Ferris guy. That's mob business and I don't want to see any more of us caught in the crossfire."
“And you'd leave Jenna to die instead?” Gar spluttered in indignation. "Isn't she one of us?"
Chuck sighed. “That’s not what I’m saying! But God, Gar, at least think it through. You do what you’re planning, if you kill Franco, do you really think she can love you? You’re being used. You’ll be little more than Sionis’ executioner. Again.”
"You don’t understand! I love her!”
"Of course, I understand, but she’s a grown woman. A grown woman, who, I might add, managed to hit Carson with a car.”
“To be fair though, who hasn’t,” Sharpe interjected.
“Just have faith in her! Give her some credit, please," Chuck urged.
"It's not just mob business."
"What?" Chuck stared at Bridget.
"It's not just mob business,” she repeated, a little unsure of herself.
“Go on," Needham encouraged her. "It's alright."
Bridget turned to Gar. “Dad followed Carpenter home one night. He was looking for you; must’ve thought that she’d lead him to you and Walker. But he found Franco instead. I guess they developed some kind of understanding, because, well they’re both still breathing. Tonight, Franco phoned dad out of the blue. Said he knew where to find Drury. And his friends.”
“Franco phoned him? Not Jules?” Blake asked.
Bridget scratched her arm. “Uh-uh. Day thought Dad was beneath him. He was always bragging about these secret partners of his. Seemed to think they were going to take over the city.”
“Drury,” Gar whispered. He looked ashamed, disgusted that he hadn’t noticed his best friend’s absence. “Where is Drury?”
The Misfits looked at each other guiltily. Ten swallowed. “You don’t know?”
Six Years Ago: Dixon Docks
Roman Sionis stood by the harbour. Smoke was still billowing from the charred warehouse. His warehouse. “30 men dead. 30. The East End operation is fucked…” he gritted his teeth. “What the hell happened exactly?” he asked, rubbing his eyes tiredly.
A man in a violet mask and a red suit and cape stepped forward. “Per the Bug’s account, this was the work of one man; calls himself Black Spider. He’s been active for a couple of years, never been worth our time; went after street dealers, the small stuff,” he explained.
“And? What changed?”
James Carter lowered his notepad. “We’re still working on that, sir. Still, it’s not uncommon for these types to get reckless, or cocky. Take down one street thug and they think they’re invincible all of a sudden. The Bug said he likely died in the blaze. We’re checking the river for a body. It’ll turn up soon enough.”
Sionis reached into his pocket and opened a bottle of his prescription heart medication. “30... Shit. You’re the PI, right? Gaige’s,” he inquired, swallowing a handful of orange pills.
“Incognito,” the red suited man introduced himself.
Sionis snorted derisively. “Yeah, with that cape?”
The Gotham Royal Hotel:
Room 792: Floor 25
A lone GCPD officer, Richardson, shone a torch at the wall. What looked to be Walker’s signature cocoon formula was peeling off the wall. A good chunk of the residue appeared to have been removed somehow, eaten, the cop suspected. And whatever the webbing had held, was gone
Six Years Ago: Sionis’ Penthouse. Diamond District
Sionis poured a bottle of scotch into a pair of glasses, offering a tumbler to his guest first. The guest declined, instead retrieving a thin cigarette from a pouch in his dark grey utility belt. Sionis shrugged, and after chugging down his whiskey, got down to business: “You come highly recommended from a… mutual friend of ours. Can’t say I’ve ever held his opinion in high regard, but my boys vouch for you. That kid, Joseph, he’s the one who set up the initial meet between me and your... manager.”
“He’s not my manager,” the guest frowned, flicking his lighter on and off compulsively.
“Well, he hyped you up plenty.”
“That’s just Drury. He exaggerates.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Sionis inhaled. “Joseph... is getting cold feet. Guess that mess in the East End was too much for him to handle: bit of a softie, that one... I take it you saw the news?”
The guest, dressed in a dark grey jumpsuit and a bandolier lined with explosives around his torso, smiled thinly. “Saw your warehouse up in smoke, if that’s what you mean. Helluva blaze. Wish I’d been there in person.”
“You and me both,” Sionis glared at him. “That little... accident cost me a dozen of my best guys. High earners. I need someone to pick up the slack, recoup our losses. That gonna be you, Lynns?”
The guest closed his lighter suddenly. “Please, sir. Call me Firefly.”
The Gotham Royal Hotel
Lobby: Ground Floor
Gar sat back down as he processed this. Franco sent Carson. Carson, who Drury had sacrificed his freedom to take down. He remembered the look Drury gave him in that hallway, a non-verbal plea to find Jenna, to be happy. And his hand formed a fist.
“That settles it.”
The Misfits looked at Gar.
“Franco’s just given me two reasons to kill him.”
“I’m in,” Rigger patted him on the back, tucking the broken katana into its sheath. “A guy’s gotta have his wingman.”
Gar nodded appreciatively, then turned to Chuck, gesturing to Blake and Reardon. “Those two need a doctor. Can I count on you to be their designated driver?”
Chuck nodded hesitantly. “Sharpe says he knows a guy.”
The two stared at each other as realization washed over them.
“The lizard?”
“The lizard.”
Gar scoffed, then turned to Joey. “Suit up.”
“Already have!” he beamed back as he ripped his shirt open, revealing the red and yellow fireproof spandex beneath.
Needham’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been wearing that the whole time?”
Gar scratched his scalp. “Christ. You must smell like an old boot...”
“Like my pop’s old flip flops!”
~-~
“Oswald, this had better be good,” Sionis drawled into his phone. As Cobblepot spoke, Sionis’ eyes widened. “What?” he snapped.
Li watched from the side, concerned.
“Where? Yes, I’ll be there. Tell White to meet me there.”
“Sir?” Li tilted his head to one side.
Sionis didn’t elaborate. Instead, he swung around, placing a hand around his assistant’s arm.
"You still got that gun I gave you?" he asked. His tone was one of uncharacteristic concern.
Li nodded, gesturing to the bulge behind his tweed jacket.
"Good,” Sionis’ head swayed from side to side. And without another word, he stepped into the awaiting black limousine.
~-~
Li re-entered the Royal alone, his coat damp from the snow outside. “Have we reached a consensus?” he asked the group.
“Chuck here is gonna take care of our wounded,” Gar stated, “So Joey and I are all you’ve got.”
...
“Very well,” Li said, although he was clearly disappointed with this turn of events. “But be aware: Henry Ferris is not to be underestimated. He is a ruthless, unrepentant monster."
“Yeah, um, your boss is Black Mask. All things considered, isn’t that a little hypothetical?" Blake scratched his head.
"Hypocritical," Kuttler corrected him.
“You don’t understand,” Li shook his head. “Upon his return, I did some digging; research into the circumstances behind his exile, behind that mask he wears... Six years ago, Henry Ferris increased the potency of our drugs, and distributed them among poor neighbourhoods. Black neighbourhoods.”
‘Six years...’ Needham thought to himself, as he was filled with dread. ‘It wasn’t an accident...’ He remembered little Mikey on the floor, an overturned bowl of cereal at his side. Linda, her face white, stained with vomit. The still hot spoon on the table… The bag of heroin spilled across the sofa and along the floor...
‘It wasn’t an accident.’
Suddenly he leapt to his feet and grabbed Li by his collar. “Did you say six years?”
Six Years Ago: The Monarch’s Court
“Henry Ferris. You stand before the High Table, today, on July 14th, 2013, accused of the reckless endangerment of our assets and of drawing unwanted attention to our East End operations. How do you plead?” the red-suited man at the end of the table asked.
“How do I plead?” the accused repeated, a bewildered look upon his chiselled face. “This is a joke, right?”
“Hardly,” the man in the striped scuba suit snarled.
“Uh, should I repeat the question-?” the speaker asked his superiors.
“I heard you fine, Incognito,” Ferris responded. “I’m just confused. Confused why I’m on some sham trial and not shaking hands with the big bosses; No offense, pirate; in the Falcone penthouse.”
Ferris ran his finger along his crooked nose. “If I’m guilty of anything, and I do mean ‘if,’ it’s of maintaining the high standards that you’ve all let slip in Falcone’s absence. If the Roman were here-”
“He’s not,” the scuba-suited enforcer spat.
“If the Roman were here, I can guarantee you all that he’d be thanking me for purifying that disgusting, dirty little corner of Gotham.”
“Enough.” The man to Carter’s right raised his hand, a golden crown atop his head. “I’ve heard enough. 30 of our own men dead. 42 of our buyers dead from a modified supply of heroin you approved without our consent.”
“Drugs kill, who knew?” Ferris whistled.
“Enough!” The Monarch spat. “If you want to draw attention to yourself like a demented court jester, to hue and cry, then so be it. But you shall do so on my terms.”
The large man behind Ferris placed his hand on his shoulder, forcing Ferris to his knees.
“Rhino, you sack of shit-” he protested, spit flying from his mouth. “What the hell is this?!”
The Monarch rose from his throne, holding an iron mask in his hand. It was green in colour, with pointed ears attached to either side. “This, is a mask of shame. Rather popular in the 16th century… It’s also known as The Gossiper’s Bridle, used to punish women accused of witchcraft and so forth. It’s archaic, barbaric, needlessly cruel… And I’m sure it will fit you like a glove.”