rogueportraits

[rogueportraits]

For Zsasz: The scar with the story you regret the most? Even if you don't really regret it; just the one you think maybe you shouldn't have done, or could have avoided?

Oops! All truth!

Shouldn't have done? Avoided? Regret? Zsasz thinks about his body of scars. He remembers each one's progenitor, men and woman and children... Old and young, hearty and infirm, at the top of the world or the bottom of it.

"If I thought I shouldn't have done one, then I'd think the same for all," he says eventually. "Everyone has the same ability to live as they have the ability to die, you know. If I were to regret one, I'd be in violation of that fact."

He grows quiet. "I'd have to regret all of them, then."

[rogueportraits]

For Crane: What's your biggest fear?

Oops! All truth!

Crane looks one way, then the other. He taps out a staccato rhythm on his upper leg.

"The path not taken," he says eventually. "Who I would have been, if I hadn't let my hubris get to me. I fear he'd be a happier man than I, overall."

[rogueportraits]

For Ed: Ever met a puzzle you couldn't solve?

Oops! All truth!

"Oh, me." Fuck. "Definitely me. The broad strokes of why I'm such a screw-up are pretty obvious, but the detail work? Really beyond me. Probably a good thing I can't figure it out, too, because could you imagine me sitting around with everything solved? I'd go insane. Well, you know, more than I'm already court-decided to be."

[rogueportraits]

"Hey Ed! What do you really think of me?"

Oops! All truth!

"What do I think of you?" Buy time, buy time...

If this is magic, Ed's going to find whatever wizard cast this doozy of a spell and dangle him over a spike pit or something. He bites down on his lip. It doesn't help.

"Weeeeee-ll, I think that you. Are a surprisingly competent opponent in this game that my team plays versus yours. I actually do respect you, you know, and your brooding mentor too. If I didn't, I wouldn't do all of this. Probably wouldn't even be in Gotham. Keep it up, I guess."

He needs a smoke. And to disappear from the face of the earth.

[rogueportraits]

y'know what. stealing @volucerrubidus's truth-telling bit. come on in and ask any of my guys or gals questions. they'll have to answer truthfully. it'll be fun. you can also do the same at arkhamlegacy, i just don't want to log in to post that right now.

[rogueportraits]

The vigilante connects, but Zsasz doesn't even flinch. He takes the blow and settles over Red Robin in a crouch, drawing another knife from a sheath on his upper leg. It shines in the low Gotham light.

But he doesn't strike. Not yet. He likes conversation when he can get it, but doesn't mind its absence.

"I prefer 20th-century philosophers more," Zsasz says, and laughs deep in his chest. "I'll summarize: the animals in this world are ruled by their passions and fears. People-" he does a funny little smile at that, the type that says the word means something entirely different to him than it does Red Robin, "justify with their psyche their actions."

"But you aren't afraid, are you? No, a good little vigilante like you can't be... so why keep on?"

cont. @volucerrubidus

Zsasz goes with the kick, toppling over. He hits the ground hard and springs back up, knife in his left hand, and narrowly misses Red Robin.

"You're so close to understanding," he says, dodging backwards. There's a fresh tally dripping down from his collarbone. "It's aggravating to see."

Lunge. "Open."

Tackle. "Your."

Stab - the knife goes through Red Robin's cape, deep into the earth. "Eyes."

[rogueportraits]

cont. @volucerrubidus

Zsasz goes with the kick, toppling over. He hits the ground hard and springs back up, knife in his left hand, and narrowly misses Red Robin.

"You're so close to understanding," he says, dodging backwards. There's a fresh tally dripping down from his collarbone. "It's aggravating to see."

Lunge. "Open."

Tackle. "Your."

Stab - the knife goes through Red Robin's cape, deep into the earth. "Eyes."

[rogueportraits]

coughs lightly and directs you to my arkham containment blog. jerry and astrid will now be over there starting... soon. will move writing over as well.

[rogueportraits]

Gold, for Jeremiah?

A  MEMORY  THAT  IS  COLORED          .    .    .

Jeremiah fiddles with the picture frame. It's Art Deco in its stylings: an original from the era. Gold gilt, an angel-maiden reaching high at something beyond as her wings make the top of the frame. He wipes at a fingerprint (his own?) with the edge of his sleeve. Someone's at the door.

"Come in."

It's Dr. Jacosta Joy, the new psychologist. Jeremiah sets the picture down quickly, considers turning it face-down. But that's a clear sign of guilt, and he is not guilty. Not in this, at least.

"Is there something I can do for you?" he asks.

"You can explain the schedules you have clinical staff on," Dr. Joy replies, stepping into the room. Her arm is crooked around a stack of files - patient folders, judging from the embossed ARKHAM STATE HOSPITAL logo at the top one's corner. "Fifty-five hours a week on average, Dr. Arkham."

Dr. Joy's tone is nothing but professional. Jeremiah can, with the great practice he's been afforded, easily detect the venom in her voice. Two, of course, can play at that game.

"It is a hospital, Dr. Joy. Those hours are far from unheard of in residencies or in other institutions. I understand that you came from out-patient treatment, but at Arkham-"

"How many hours do you work a week?"

Jeremiah's eyes flicker to the photograph again. The gold frame almost looks like wax in the hazy afternoon light. "As medical director, my hours are flexible."

Eighty, sometimes, but he's not going to admit that to a new hire straightaway. He knows what the water-cooler gossip is. He'll go mad, just the same as his namesake relative. Or he's already gone mad, after the recent nastiness with Zsasz and the... changes in his personal treatment philosophy. Funny, that last one.

"Forty?" The venom's somewhat more obvious now.

He rubs at his temples and meets Dr. Joy's gaze. "Often nearing seventy, when I count. Are you satisfied, Dr. Joy?"

"Hell," she says simply, and looks shocked at the word loosed from her mouth. "Don't you have a daughter?"

Her eyes are on the frame too, now. Jeremiah wonders, idly, if she could see through the backing. But that's mad. He shakes the thought away with a twitch of his finger.

"Niece. But this hospital doesn't run itself, as you've realized. Nor does it fund itself, which is the reasoning for your shift schedule. If you have any more questions, Dr. Joy, you're more than welcome to bring them up at the staff meeting on Wednesday. But I have work to get back to."

Paper files from the basement levels. Incomplete patient histories. The former administrator, Cavendish, is long gone (and buried, Jeremiah remembers with a shiver), but he haunts this place in every "misplaced" file.

"A family photo?" Dr. Joy asks, not unkindly.

"Yes," Jeremiah answers, and looks to the door with intent.

Dr. Joy sees herself out.

Jeremiah looks at the photo. It's worn around the edges from the decades, the gelatin-silver print faded. Doctor, child, wife. Amadeus, Harriet, Constance. It looks to be spring in the photo, and for a moment Jeremiah can see a hint of green in the black-and-white foliage. A trick of the light.

He puts the frame in his desk drawer, careful to not scratch the glass.

[rogueportraits]

And orange for Astrid?

A  MEMORY  THAT  IS  COLORED          .    .    .

Astrid knocks on the door, peeking through the frosted glass and the text - 'DR. JEREMIAH ARKHAM'. She can see the silhouette of her uncle, lit by a desk lamp. He doesn't get up from his desk.

She knocks again. "Uncle Jeremiah?"

"Oh- come on in, Astrid."

She opens the door and leans in, her other hand feeling at the familiar chipped paint of the frame. Jeremiah is at his computer, glasses pushed up on the bridge of his nose. He's frowning. He frowns a lot.

"The sun's setting," she starts, and bites at her lip. Jeremiah's probably doing something pretty important. Maybe she shouldn't have interrupted. "Um... I was going to go watch it. And you could too. If you're not busy."

Jeremiah blinks once, twice, behind the reflected-light of his glasses lenses. He looks up, and Astrid has the curious feeling that it's the first time he's genuinely looked at anything all day. A wan smile crosses his face.

"That sounds nice, Astrid."

Astrid's spent a lot of her afternoons exploring the hospital, darting in and out of rooms to avoid nurses and orderlies. There's all sorts of strangeness in the building - Jeremiah had showed her a chart of its history, once, the various expansions and renovations over the years that turned what had once been her great-great-uncle's home into a place people came for healing. But there's things that aren't on those floorplans, either.

She takes the two of them up a rickety staircase in one of the permanently-under-renovation (when there's funding again, Jeremiah had told her, and smiled in a way she found quite sad) sections into a room that was maybe used for storage once. The windows have heavy drapes over them and Astrid sniffles at the dust. She looks up, though, and spots the familiar trapdoor on the ceiling. It had taken her some creative furniture-stacking to reach the pullcord, and when she clamors up on the old chair propped up by old bricks she misses Jeremiah's worried expression.

The ladder swings down with a heavy clunk. Astrid grins and climbs up it, pausing at the crawlspace above to see if her uncle follows.

"It's not scary!" she promises. "You just have to sort of crawl a little bit and then there's another door to one of those balconies out front."

Jeremiah pushes his glasses up, shrugs off his white coat onto the chair, and follows. True to Astrid's word, they emerge out on the balcony a short time later. It's stable under their feet.

To the west is the sunset. The haze of the city makes it burn orange like flame, so brilliantly that Jeremiah shields his eyes. They can see for quite a distance here. Gotham lies across its land with its twinkling lights, something modern and foreign to the weathered-brick world of Arkham.

The two of them stay until the sun's dipped below the horizon, until the orange has gone rosy-pink and docile and then faded into the dark of the night.

[rogueportraits]

For Jon, a memory that's colored red?

A  MEMORY  THAT  IS  COLORED          .    .    .

The campus is festooned in red and black for the arriving freshmen, banners and ribbons flapping limply in the September wind. Jon hasn't been this far upstate before, nor in such a large city. He'd applied sight-unseen to the University of Georgia and been accepted on similar terms. His statement of purpose had done him well.

He has more purpose than most, looking at the meandering pace of the students around him. He's head and shoulders above most, including some of the men, and he curls his spine down at the occasional gawking look. It isn't fear that does it. It's a desire for anonymity. Arlen had been barely a community at all, the name existing mostly in residents' minds, and Brooklet had been larger... but everyone had known him as Jon, Keeny's boy. Here, he's just a passing face - notable only from his appearance.

Jon's fairly certain there's more people out on the campus walkways and in the adjoining buildings than in Arlen and Brooklet put together. He wonders idly about getting lost in them, or lost in Athens. Unknown in a crowd beyond split-second stares.

No, he decides, taking a turn towards the dormitory hall he's been assigned. He rolls his shoulders back with one sharp motion. I'll be known.

This city doesn't know his name. It will, one day, for all the right reasons.

He's lived in small-town shadow for too long.

[rogueportraits]

A  MEMORY  THAT  IS  COLORED          .    .    .

[  *  ]      writing prompt      )         :           send a number  1 - 10  to take a closer look inside this characters life.        /        below you will find a series of various prompts offering a look inside a characters memories,     +plus:   all the feelings that come with it!        these are meant to invoke character development   &     can also be altered as seen fit to better suit the character in question.         bonus if you explain why the memory is that color for them!

01.     red. 02.     orange. 03.     yellow. 04.     green. 05.     blue. 06.     pink. 07.     white. 08.     black. 09.     gold. 10.     purple.

[rogueportraits]

if I moved Astrid and Jeremiah to their own Arkham family legacy duo blog would you guys be maddddddd. I just realized that I should probably write up the extensive Arkham family lore that exists in my head + neither of them fit nicely into “rogueportraits” as a name

[rogueportraits]

❛ i don’t have time for distractions right now. ❜ — from Azrael to Astrid

an assortment of dialogue prompts

"It isn't a distraction," Astrid rebuts. "It's..."

Well, what is it then?

What exactly is asking an avenging angel about his hobbies or interests, essentially, if not a distraction? She tightens the leather straps of her left greave instead of continuing. The truce the two of them have is a tentative one. She shouldn't be pushing at it by trying to dig for information.

And yet...

"I have hobbies," she continues somewhat lamely. Used to is unspoken. "They're... nice. That's all."

Astrid dons her helmet. With her sword in hand, she feels more herself - or feels more someone else, someone better. Someone who doesn't ask pointless questions, at the least.

"I'm ready."

[rogueportraits]

&. 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬.

( this is basically just a very self indulgent list of various fluff, angst, and suggestive themed dialogue sentence starters. )

❛ i could keep you safe. they’re all afraid of me. ❜

❛ i’m trying to fix your hair, so hold still. ❜

❛ your heart is beating so fast right now. ❜

❛ promise me you’ll still be here when i wake up. ❜

❛ you’re not as bad as everyone says you are. ❜

❛ i thought you’d like some company. ❜ 

❛ clean yourself up. you're getting blood all over the place. ❜

❛ here, give this a try and tell me what you think. ❜

❛ you can kiss me, you know. ❜

❛ come back to bed. ❜

❛ you look good like this. ❜

❛ working together again, it’s just like old times. ❜

❛ how is it you always know what i need, huh? ❜

❛ you’re lucky you got away with only a scratch. ❜ 

❛ i can’t imagine losing someone like that. i’m sorry. ❜

❛ you know you can always talk to me. ❜

❛ the only one who gets to kill you, is me. ❜

❛ so, what do i owe this pleasure? ❜

❛ ah, so you aren’t heartless after all. ❜

❛ may i have this dance? ❜ 

❛ it’s okay, you can touch me. i won't break. ❜

❛ enemies make the best lovers, you know. ❜

❛ hold still. this might sting a little. ❜

❛ we can't keep doing this. ❜ 

❛ you look like you've got something to say. ❜

❛ just relax and let me take care of you. ❜

❛ thought you’d be lighter without all that blood. ❜

❛ i had it under control. you didn’t need to do that. ❜

❛ everything looks so beautiful from up here. ❜

❛ you treat all your ladies like this? ❜

❛ well? how do i look? ❜

❛ can’t sleep? ❜

❛ do you mind if i smoke? ❜

❛ i’m scared of ending up alone. ❜

❛ i don’t think i’ve ever seen you smile. ❜

❛ how long has it been since you've slept? ❜

❛ you are losing my interest, and that’s very dangerous. ❜

❛ i’d suffer hell if you’d tell me what you’d do to me tonight. ❜

❛ you look really pretty right now. ❜

❛ i’ve never cared for anyone the way i care for you. ❜

❛ i’m not wearing any underwear. thought you’d like to know. ❜

❛ just a few more stitches and you’ll be as good as new. ❜

❛ i’d say we make a pretty good team. ❜

❛ i want you to forget this ever happened. ❜

❛ i'm here for business — not pleasure. ❜

❛ if i didn't know any better, i'd say you were jealous. ❜

❛ you'd look better down on your knees. ❜

❛ fine, keep acting like you hate me. ❜

❛ kiss me again. ❜

❛ are you asking me out on a date? ❜

❛ just sit there and look pretty and let me handle this. ❜

❛ you okay? caught you staring off into space again. ❜

❛ well, i do feel better now that you're here. ❜

❛ i'm not drunk enough for this. ❜ 

❛ why is it whenever we see each other, you’re covered in blood? ❜

❛ i was wrong about you. ❜ 

❛ the first time i met you, i had no idea you'd mean this much. ❜

❛ you gonna be a good girl / boy for me? ❜

❛ i’m not afraid of you. ❜

❛ books mean more to me than people anyway. ❜

❛ i just wanted to say thank you for protecting me. ❜

❛ how about a kiss goodnight? ❜

❛ i don’t have time for distractions right now. ❜

❛ you shouldn’t be out here by yourself. ❜ 

❛ if i have to think about one more thing today, my head will explode. ❜

[rogueportraits]

Astrid as well :)

[rogueportraits]

who wants him.