capeandcowllogs | don't turn out the lights;

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don't turn out the lights;

WHO: HARVEY DENT, TOPHER BRINK, WHISKEY, MATT MURDOCK/DAREDEVIL, and VIC SAGE/THE QUESTION.
WHERE: Second Home Hotel.
WHEN: 2/2/11, a bit before 2 PM and onward.
WARNINGS: Violence and death.
SUMMARY: Two-Face makes good on his Mad-Libs and kidnaps four unfortunate victims. Only two will leave! And then other stuff.
FORMAT: Whatever's easiest; para to start, then quickpara?

The room was sparse, secluded; essentially perfect for Two-Face's purposes. He'd set up the chairs in pairs, two on each side of the room, the two men he'd kidnapped on one side, the two women on the other.

He liked the illusion of symmetry.

On the bed in the center lay a large stone he'd procured from Central Park, along with a sharpened stick, painted black. One by one he ticked things off; it was much easier to plan this way, fill-in-the-blank details. He tossed the book aside, not needing it any longer. The stage was already all set.

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His head hurt. Actually his everything hurt, but mostly his head. Topher tried to raise a hand, make sure the pain didn't come with a physical gift, but he couldn't. Huh, strange. Blinking he attempted to get his barrings; this was not brunch at that cafe near the park that served the perfect strawberry milkshake, this was a weird room that he'd never seen before. Again he tried to move, but nothing. This time he realized with a certain amount of dread that he was tied to a chair.

"Oh, God, oh, god... Not good," he mumbled to himself as he wiggled in his seat. "Hey! Hey! I'm, uh, I'm kidnapped, which you probably know since you kidnapped me, but, uh, hey! Someone..."

Whiskey was bothered by this. By all of it. By being kidnapped, by being tied up, by her head hurting, by the fact that she couldn't get loose. Every part of her was bothered by it, ever personality.

It was a struggle to keep them together, from seperating into a panicking mass. To keep herself calm. It didn't keep her voice from shaking. Not at all. "I don't understand why I'm here."

Two-Face leaned on the wall on one of the opposite walls, able to watch both of them at once. He let them wake up, casually checking his watch. Ten till two. He had some time still; not much, but probably enough. The other man and woman, two strangers he'd found by the names he needed, were stirring and panicked. He smiled.

"Afternoon," he said, waving his good hand. "I'm sorry the accommodations are not as comfortable as they could be. Cheap hotel, you get what you pay for." He shrugged, moving toward the bed to pick up the rock. He held it in his palm, fingers curled around its sides.

The only one of them he knew personally was Topher; a belligerent guy from what Two-Face recalled of their conversation, which was why he'd been selected to play one of the male roles. Divine justice, that.

"Try not to be too impatient. Our guest won't be here for another ten minutes." He checked his watch again. "If at all."

That voice, he recognized that voice, but the specifics were blurry thanks to the increasing panic.

"Guest? Are we guests? I don't feel very guest-like." In fact he felt trapped and it was sort of dark. He hated the dark.

She didn't recognize the voice at all. At least she was used to the dark. Ten or so years underground would do that. "I think you have us mistaken for other people." She can hope.

"Guests sounds better than 'hostages', I think," he said, tone rather sincere. He stepped through the darkness, footsteps quiet, though the ticks of his watch marked his movements like the crocodile from that old animated film.

He plucked up the discarded Mad Libs book and tossed it towards on of them. "Your names are on the list. I came to collect."

Topher looked at the book and swallowed hard, his mind, his brilliant mind, unable to completely grasp what was happening.

"Th-that was a game. A joke. Fun." This? Decidedly not fun.

She glanced at the book in confusion, and then at Topher with just as much confusion. "I don't understand."

"Let your boyfriend explain it to you," Two-Face said disdainfully. He checked the time -- 1:58, getting close. He stepped closer to the other man, Frank something-or-other, a blubbering, angry mess of a man.

"We're still playing. The pieces are all in place, but there's still time left on the clock."

The coin came out of his pocket, cool against his thumb. 1:59.

"It's nothing personal. You were unlucky. All of you -- unlucky. It happens. Fate's a game. You never know what will happen to you when you wake up in the morning. Or if you will wake up. Two of you get to win the game," he said, readying the silver dollar. He sounded vaguely apologetic, but only slightly. "The other two will have to lose."

Vic had been trying to keep a bead on Harvey all day, but he proved a hard man to follow despite Vic's abilities. He was still getting used to trailing a moving target, but luckily Harvey hadn't been for some time now, and Vic knew if anything would be happening, it would be in this next hour. The location seemed obvious in hindsight once he saw the sign.

He hoped he wasn't too late as he let the gas flow over him and seal the mask to his face.

2:00, on the dot. According to Two-Face's schedule, that was the deadline. Harvey's lips curled into a sneer that almost matched the lipless grimace of his face's bad side as he let the coin flip for which of the men was going to live.

He slapped it on his palm. "Well. It's your lucky day." He pressed a finger to Topher's head, indicating which of them he was speaking to. Frank, however, found himself subject to the rock in Two-Face's hand. He stopped screaming after two hits, stopped moving after three -- but he was hit one more time for good measure.

The rock was allowed to drop, and he crossed the room, stick in hand. Time to flip for the women. He wasn't trying to leave them time to react, he wanted to move quickly. Time was of the essence.

The coin smacked his palm softly.

"Ohh." He hissed through his teeth, hefting up the stick. "Sorry."

He swung.

"I-I'm not her boyfriend. We work together, that's it." Because explaining it that way makes so much sense in light of everything.

He didn't understand what this guy was after. Mad Libs. Who used Mad Libs as motivation to kidnap people? Topher tried to think, tried to remember what is was he had said as answers to the stupid game.

Stupid.

Wait? Was-was this guy talking about killing them? No, no, kidnapping important people like Topher and Whiskey meant ransom not killing, because damn it they were important! His line of thinking continued in this fashion even as the coin flipped in the air and landed.

"Wait, wait!" Smash. Goodbye Frank. He couldn't look, not even when he felt the warm liquid hit his face. "No, no, no. This isn't right. You did it wrong."

The guy was saying something else. Not Frank, no, Frank wouldn't be saying anything ever again. Topher cracked open an eye and cried out, "NO! WAIT!"

Whiskey.

It reminded her of Alpha, this. What was happening to them now. The madness of it, the strangeness. She didn't understand what Topher had to do with any of it. Why they were there.

When Frank was hit, when Frank was dead, she froze. Staring and then closing her eyes because it reminded her too much of what happened with Alpha. And she remembered what had happened to her then.

She didn't even see the stick, but she heard Topher shouting. And she felt it.

Vic was climbing the fire escape when he heard shouting, sounds of a struggle above him. He had been hoping he might have two more minutes, maybe even twenty-two, but his luck had run out. No time for stealth now.

He ran up the steps to the source, a second floor window, and kicked in the window with everything he had. A shower of glass preceded him into the room.

He was too late.

Matt was running late. Not by more than a minute or so, thanks to an incompetent cabbie who managed to take the most indirect route to the motel possible. Either way, it was just past 2:02pm when the taxi rolled to a stop in front of the Second Home Motel.

The sound of breaking glass from the floor above was his greeting, and it sent him immediately on edge. A second later, he could smell blood.

Tossing his fare to the driver, he sprinted into the building and up the stairs, following the sounds and scents to find the room.

Two-Face had meandered towards Topher again, still holding the stick in hand. He was done, so he smiled at the intrusion, one and then another as if on cue. He hadn't even invited two. A lucky coincidence, perhaps.

He ignored them for a moment, looking at Topher. "I didn't do it wrong. You won fair and square. Don't be a sore winner. Your friend wasn't a sore loser." He slid his hand into his pocket, hiding the coin from sight. "The Mad Libs were just the stage, not the game."

And then he turned to Matt, then Vic, smile crooked. Two-Face grinned at them, Harvey frowned.

"Glad you could make it. I started without you, I hope you don't mind."

He couldn't respond to the man as he came closer. Hell, even if he had "lost" at this point he couldn't respond. Instead Topher's eyes on Whiskey's unmoving body willing her to blink, to do anything just for a moment.

Topher didn't feel the tears running down his face or hear the the others make some sort of grand entrance. This, all this, was his fault. That stupid game...

Why couldn't he have ignored that message?

Vic's feet had barely touched the ground when the full horror of the scene sank in. This failure was all his, he should've tried harder, guessed better, never let Harvey out of his sight. And all of that boiled at the bottom of his gut, just aching for a release, and he couldn't deny it this time.

He rushed Harvey before he even knew what he was doing. "What did you DO?"

How many heartbeats were supposed to be in this room? Two fewer than what Matt could hear, if his radar wasn't lying to him anyway. The metallic scent hit him like a ton of bricks, it was honestly overwhelming to be around that much sweat and blood and fear.

Matt set his jaw, moving past Harvey and whoever was trying to tackle him to check on the two other people whose heartbeats he could still hear. No sense in touching the other two when it was plain to see they were dead, even to a blind man.

Topher didn't want to be touched, not even if it was to save him. He should be smashed; brain matter on the end of a stick. It was his game wasn't it? His game -- his fault.

He didn't move once he was untied. Shock probably. Guilt definitely. Someone was going to have to tell Boyd and then Boyd would have to tell Adelle. Oh, right, she wasn't here anymore, just him and Boyd now. And Bennett, but she wasn't really part of them.

Topher hugged himself and stared at Whiskey's corpse. They'd need a new Clair. First they had to get her to the chair. Downloads when the person was unconscious were tricky. He slid from his chair, past the fighting, and right to Whiskey untying her and sliding her onto the floor next to him. They had a chair now, a better chair which could download from an unconscious mind. A flick of a switch and Whiskey would be back. He should call Boyd, call for a clean-up.

Taking a step back, Two-Face's back pressed against the wall when the Question charged him. There was a gun in his coat, but he didn't reach for it yet. Instead he furrowed his eyebrows, glancing over the other man's shoulder at his handiwork. He raised his eyebrow.

"Can you not see it?" He asked, with a touch of sincerity, but also a touch of derision.

"I know that he can't appreciate the symmetry," he paused, speaking about Matt, "but I think it played out successfully. I wanted it to be perfect. Remind everyone that not everything can be justice. My trial was justice. Some people may disagree with me, but maybe they just aren't looking at it with the right eyes."

He dropped the bloody stick, eyes drifting to the dead woman for a moment, then to her friend. "This wasn't justice at all. There's a difference. I think people forget that I'm capable of telling what that it. Maybe Frank and Whiskey deserved to die. Maybe not. I don't know." He looked over at Topher. "No hard feelings."

Vic loomed toward him, balling his fists so tightly he could feel his nails through the gloves. "Don't talk to me about symmetry, about justice! Are these people's lives nothing but a GAME to you?!" He didn't even hesitate to take the swing.

Matt could appreciate the symmetry, the same way he could appreciate the bullshit about justice and the right eyes and all of it. He'd heard those speeches before, from people just as insane but not quite as messy as Harvey Dent. This wasn't his first time being faced with murder for the sake of some twisted demonstration, and while inwardly he was horrified, he still had a job to do.

"No more fun and games, Harvey." His voice was as emotionless as he could make it, definitely not the voice of Murdock the lawyer. It was unmistakably the tone of Daredevil. "It's all about justice now."

Ignoring Topher and Margery and the corpses in the chairs beside him -- he would be grieving and angsting and obsessing over them later -- he readjusted his grip on his cane, twisting it to reveal the tidy little clubs and cable stored inside. His unfamiliar ally could get a few punches in, Matt didn't care. The carnage in the room was already done. The sole blessings of this scenario were two living witnesses.

Blessing? No, that wasn't right. Like everything about this day it was wrong.

Topher held onto Whiskey, whispering to her that everything would be alright once they got to the chair. She would be alright, and maybe he would too. There was a back up in his office; a back up that never experienced this day.

Normally the idea of tweaking his own memories was just not up for discussion, but today he would make an exception. Of course then he would forget Whiskey and would forget that this was all his fault. Did he deserve to forget that? No.

The punch hit him hard, making him smack the wall and slump, just slightly. Harvey's eye narrowed, though Two-Face's was still large and stared forward with its milky pupil. He looked at Topher again, then back at the Question, almost disrespectfully.

"Sometimes. Just as much as anyone's life is a game. Don't you know sometimes fate is just a gamble anyway? There's good luck and bad luck, no in between." He gestured with a hand, still not withdrawing his gun. "Speaking of which, you should untie the poor boy."

His eye darted, eyebrow low and calm, and then Harvey spoke again.

"What now, Murdock?"

"It wasn't fate that did this to them, Dent," he shouted, throwing a hand back toward Whiskey without turning away from Harvey. "That was you!" He balled the fist and brought it back forward for another hit.

"Enough," Matt said coolly, eyes narrowed behind his shades, hand slipping into his pocket and emerging a moment later with his phone. Between the shouting and the screaming and the broken glass and general noise output of the room, it was a wonder the cops hadn't already been called to the scene.

"You can save your justification and excuses for your trial, Dent. I'm sure a judge and jury would love to hear all about your point of view, but this isn't the time or place." He flipped open his phone and started to dial, speaking to the Question now, "Keep an eye that he doesn't go for the gun in his pocket. Last thing we need is another body in here."

Topher's eyes never left Whiskey. He had done this, all of this. His words.

It should have been him.

[[ooc: he's very shocky, so we can skip his tags since they're going to be fairly repetitive. I'm going on the assumption that he was eventually taken to the hospital to be treated for shock.]]

"Fate always -- hhnnngh." His face whipped back again on impact, and he whipped his hand out to swipe back at the Question. His hand balled into a fist.

"He's making it the time and the place," he spat, sliding his other hand into his coat. This could have been easy. But no one ever seemed to want to learn from Harvey or Two-Face's lessons.

He rested his fingers around his gun, but then made a face of annoyance. He didn't draw it out, pulling out his coin first.

He stepped to the side and caught the punch at the wrist, twisting it with him as he moved behind Harvey. Vic closed the hold with an arm around the neck, his thumb jammed under Harvey's jaw. "Take responsibility for once, Dent. You're the one who created this situation, not me and not fate. Just you. Everything after is consequence."

He put more pressure on Harvey's jaw as he hissed into his good ear. "Now drop the coin."

He spoke to Matt without looking away from Harvey. "He should have trouble going for it as long as he's in this position, if you want to come take it. But he hasn't flipped for that yet. Isn't that right, Dent?"

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don't turn out the lights;

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/sneaks in here

HEY GUYS

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sorry folks! CRAZY weekend

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