[ The next three weeks do not set Bruce at ease. Gotham is quiet in that tense, uneasy way she is before something goes terribly wrong. And through those long, quiet nights, Bruce is vigilant. It consumes him, all those endless hours he spends searching Gotham's darkest corners for any sign of Scarecrow and the chemicals he's absconded with. There's nothing, not even a whisper of a rumor.
But there are breadcrumbs. Tidbits he pieces together to help him narrow his potential suspects. Not enough to confirm his suspicions, but it does point him in a singular direction. It's why when the quarterly charity donations came around, Bruce went with Gotham University. He wanted to invest in the psychology department. A gesture of goodwill and it would put his prime suspect in his crosshairs.
He mingles that night like he's not a man on a mission. He slips from group to group, weaving in and out of each interaction with a practiced kind of grace that seems almost effortless. Seamless. Like he belongs here. Like he'd rather not be at home, in his cave, monitoring his feeds. Checking his leads. Curating his collections of evidence. He spots Crane and slips free from a conversation he'd lost interest in long ago to stride across the room, plucking a champagne flute from a passing waiter's tray. That's practiced too. ]
no subject
But there are breadcrumbs. Tidbits he pieces together to help him narrow his potential suspects. Not enough to confirm his suspicions, but it does point him in a singular direction. It's why when the quarterly charity donations came around, Bruce went with Gotham University. He wanted to invest in the psychology department. A gesture of goodwill and it would put his prime suspect in his crosshairs.
He mingles that night like he's not a man on a mission. He slips from group to group, weaving in and out of each interaction with a practiced kind of grace that seems almost effortless. Seamless. Like he belongs here. Like he'd rather not be at home, in his cave, monitoring his feeds. Checking his leads. Curating his collections of evidence. He spots Crane and slips free from a conversation he'd lost interest in long ago to stride across the room, plucking a champagne flute from a passing waiter's tray. That's practiced too. ]
Dr. Crane. Enjoying the party?