#verse 02. welcome to the rodeo

[capricesofchance]

Gotham City, New Jersey. Often agreed to be the most corrupt, foul of cities (Detroit and Chicago didn’t even hold candles to it), the name of it alone left a bad taste in your mouth.

The crime rate was something of a near-myth-- everywhere you looked, seemingly, was some sort of crime taking place. It was a hot spot for illegality. Anything from petty thievery to white collar crimes to serial killings was almost seen as regular. Organized crime had the city in a choke hold. Half the officials were bribed into complacency, and most others were just too afraid to dare to challenge the big names like Carmine Falcone, Sal Maroni, and Rupert Thorne.

However, there was a scarce few that stood steadfast against the filth of the city. The famous police commissioner Jim Gordon, so well known for his fight against both crime and the corruption of his own department; the vigilante Batman, a cautionary tale for those daring to harm the innocent citizens of Gotham, and a symbol of hope for said innocents; and the district attorney, Harvey Dent, known as “the Bull” for his stubborn drive, looked up to for his sense of justice.

He had shaken up the hornet’s nest, even as a lowly prosecutor, and only made things more frenzied in the underworld as he rose in the ranks-- until he made it to the position of top dog. From there, he tore down and rebuilt the prosecutor’s office from scratch. If you had done something naughty, Harvey Dent knew, and sooner or later, you would face the consequences of going dirty.

His hold on his position was tenuous, due to the suffocating grasp the mob had on the city, but he managed. Somehow, despite all the trickery behind the scenes, what the people wanted was what they got, and what they got was him.

Now, he was on a warpath. The Bull was out for blood, and until he had Falcone, Maroni, and Thorne’s heads on a stick, he wouldn’t be able to rest. And, finally recognizing the magnitude of the organized crime up in Gotham, D.C. sent federal help to aid in the destruction of the felonious emperors and their vast empire.

And so, that was how Norman Jayden was shipped off to Hell on Earth, New Jersey-- granted, it was in some aspects better than say, dealing with serial killers.... then again, the damn place had those too.

A meeting with the legendary D.A. had been set up, as the man was working closely with the police commissioner; spearheading a veritable war effort against the kingpins of Gotham. Thus, there Norman was, sitting in the office of a man whose reputation had very much preceded him. If not back in D.C., then certainly in the city he vowed to protect-- it was difficult to not see one of his numerous campaign posters, bumper stickers, and billboards, put up like warnings for the predators that stalked the concrete jungle.

The assistant had told him to go ahead and wait inside (’Mr. Dent will be with you shortly,’ the mousy little man had said, ‘he’s currently in a phone call.’), giving him a few more minutes to himself. Dent’s voice drifted down the hall even then, hushed and too low for words to be made out, but present.

His office was one of someone that had an unquenchable work ethic-- stacks of papers on the desk, the floor, some on top of the filing cabinets.. a tackboard, with pictures and newspaper articles pinned to it, string connecting various faces to various crimes, scribbled notes underneath the papers on sticky notes and so forth.. A picture of the face Norman had been seeing all morning sat on his desk, joined by a woman, both of them smiling lovingly at the camera. Another featured them, plus a strong-jawed man that looked overwhelmingly familiar; then a third, of just Harvey and said man, the D.A. in graduation robes, their arms slung around each other’s shoulders, grins on their faces.

Only a couple minutes had passed before Harvey’s voice dropped off, presumably as he hung up, and hurried footsteps approached. The doorknob turned, and the door cracked open to reveal the man of the hour.

Harvey had to duck his head a smidge as he entered his own office, shutting the door soundly before turning his gaze to Norman with bright, amicable blue eyes. A friendly smile played at the corners of his lips, and the path that took him to the chair behind his desk gave Norman ample opportunity to experience the pure presence the man exuded. He hadn’t even spoken yet, and already he dripped with charisma, but that of an honest, genuine sort. His broad frame seemed to take up the whole room, and he radiated an air of joie de vivre.

And they didn’t call him the Bull for nothing-- if not his hardheaded determination, than it was for his ridiculous stature.

“Hey there, killer.” He went to sit, but then remembered his manners and stuck his hand out to shake, leaning a bit over the desk. Callouses and scars decorated his palm and knuckles, the hand of a fighting man. His hand, also, dwarfed poor Norman’s. “I’m Harvey Dent-- though, uh, you probably already knew that.”

He ventured on in his smooth, deep tones, “It’s nice to finally get help around here. No offense, but D.C.’s been sittin’ on their hands about this for way too long, now.”

@overindulges ​