Owner	Pose
Wu	There are, as the old show went, millions of stories in Gotham City. Unlike the old show, though, the real stories of Gotham are tangled, confused, and mostly inconclusive. Some cut off short, questions left unanswered and spinning away from them like shrapnel. Some play for too long, like a '90s-era Saturday Night Live sketch with the punchline hammered into the ground until every last vestige of humour is brutally stomped from it. As a result watchers of the human drama that is life in Gotham rarely have satisfaction.     Let us focus on on one of those watchers now. She's tall ... for her ethnicity. By local standards she's dead average. She's slim. She's boyish, with a slightly pixieish bent. And she's currently watching Zhang's Laundry almost unblinkingly from a block away, sitting cross-legged on a public bench that she has meticulously brushed clean and laid newspaper over.     Her fingers fly over a notebook, pencil dragging behind them, as inscrutable symbols scrawl almost of their own accord over the white paper interrupted only by two red margins and light blue lines spaced 7mm apart with mechanical precision.     At the head of the notes is a name. A Russian name underlined thrice, followed by two question marks. An unopened bag from Los Pollos Hermanos sits on the bench next to her.
Dick Grayson	It had been a celebration of sorts for the man known to some as Nightwing. Gotham, the big city, an old stomping ground that had been the proving of his youth. A few years ago he had broken away, leaving for if not greener pastures then different ones. But older age brought along with it some small measure of wisdom. Bridges that had been thought burned were rebuilt, and after touching base with some of the people of the area... the former Robin was covering the old beat once again.     Unlike Bludhaven, the rooftops of Gotham were immensely varied. The years of architecture created a backdrop that spanned several schools of artistic endeavour and in turn provided quite an effective obstacle course for the former circus acrobat. He rushed across the roof of an apartment building, skidding under a steam pipe and then rolling off the side of the building to fire a grapple line across the way. His fall twisted into a smooth arcing swing, bringing him up and around...     To land upon the lip of a billboard, crouching there and taking a moment to survey the surroundings. A few leads had sent him in this direction, some old informant who were at first squirrely to be dealing with a vigilante... but then at least he wasn't the Batman. Something about a Russian mobster? He stops to key in the night vision and observe the neighborhood.
Nolan Voight	Nolan is one of those million's of stories in Gotham and, like many of them, a rather tragic one. Not just because of his own story (which we will not get fully into at this exact moment because it is long and involved and blah blah blah) but because like the woman who is sitting at the bench with the bag of chicken, made transulcent by the delicious grease that was infused into the bird, he is also an observer of human drama.. and not just the drama of the living. The crippled psychic 'detective' exists , literally, in two worlds at once.. Two worlds inhabited by broken dreams, messy passions, covetous greed and, you know, the stuff of life (and after). So when he was enjoying a nice meal at his favourite diner and a dead hooker walked in and asked him to get back something stolen from her all while bleeding (metaphorically speaking since a ghost doesn't REALLY bleed) on the counter next to him and ruining his meal... well.. So now Nolan is at the news stand not very far away, leafing through a copy of Juggs & Ammo (for the articles) as he peaks over at the very same Laundry the woman is looking at.... and having his attention drawn FROM the laundry to said lady since in his mismatched eyes she glows with magic.. Curioser and Curioser..
Wu	Alice occasionally looks up from her notes and away from the laundry, her hand piously clutching at the jade pendant dangling from her neck from fine red silk. (Her magical glow increases.) First up: the Flying Wallenda wannabe himself. Her eyes peer straight up to where Nightwing is nestled, an impossibility for her to see from the distance and angle, yet her eyes are locked like lasers on his place. Then grown-up Cole Sear gets her black irises and pupils boring in on him. He gets a faint smile of greeting and a subtle hand gesture of ... is that a wave off or a summons?     "Universal" body language isn't, it appears.     Both identifications are followed by new notes on fresh pages. This soul seems to thrive on meticulous note-taking. Probably a teacher in a former life. Or a failed student trying to better herself in this cycle.
Dick Grayson	From his perch, Nightwing is casting his gaze down upon those far below. He frowns and brings a fingertip up to touch the visor beside his head, keying the magnification and focuses on small tell-tale points of interest. None of the usual track-suited thugs running around, none of their usual automobiles. Nothing for now. But there's something. Something that has him on edge.     The acrobat abruptly drops from that perch and falls the distance to the rooftop below, arresting that fall with a hand catching a cross-pole, allowing him to swing around and then kick off back and forth between the two sides of a building until he's able to turn the corner to another rooftop.     This angle... however, might be more productive.
Nolan Voight	Yeah... Nolan doesn't notice anyone above because he doesn't look up. Even if he was, it's not like there aren't lots of people on rooftops these days. Right, so no, he doesnt notice Nightwing yet. ANd Nolan would be insulted if he knew she was thinking of him as a character from an M Night Shyamalan movie. Twist indeed. He'd figured out the whole Bruce Willis was dead thing before the end of the scene between Willis and his daughter.. bah When she waves in his direction, and yes he notices it is a wave because He's not a moron. "F@#$!ing magic..." he gripes, then looks to the empty space next to him. "Shut up. I know!" he rasps, which makes the old guy TENDING the stand stare at him, though Nolan waves him off. "Wasn't talking to you, gramps." he says, picking up a chocolate bar and paying for both the candy and the skin mag with some crumpled bills and, grasping his cane-like-crutch, he limps over to the bench. He doesn't even ask if he can sit. He just sits down on the opposite end from her, kicking out teh leg that is in a brace and setting the cane aside.. then flips open the magazine and pretends to read.. or maybe he isn;t pretending. It's like a twisted Gotham version of two spies sitting at a park with newspapers. He unrwraps the chocolate bar as he reads, not an easy feat since one of his hands looks pretty scarred, and munches on a bite as he examines a picture of a voluptious redhead in (very few) stars and stripes holding uzi's in strategic places... But doesn't say anything.
Wu	"Haunting or seeking help?" Alice asks, gesturing vaguely to the empty air beside Nolan once the man sits down and settles in. "If the former, I can help if you desire or need it."     Her eyes are locked still on the laundry.     "I have a riddle, however, that you may be able to shed some light on. Especially since we appear to be looking at the same place. Since when is Sergei Vladimirovich Marakhov a Chinese name?"     A brief note.     "Because that's who owns 'Zhang's' Laundry."
Nolan Voight	Nolan Voight grumbles and straightens his magazine a bit with a flick of a wrist, looking a bit annoyed. He takes anothe rbite of his chocolate bar, mulling it for a moment, then swallows and gives the woman The Look. "Just casing the place, like you are." he says, then shoots a new look at the empty space between them, furrowing his brows more and looking like he wasnts to say something but.. shakes his head and returns his attention to Alice again. "It's not. But The Bratva and Triads have had an on and off again relationship in Gotham since.. well.. a long time. It probably helps that Sergei was born in Tajikistan, on the chinese border.. and his first wife was Chinese as well..."
Wu	That appears to have been the sticking point. Alice's pencil flies fast over the paper, spilling characters behind it in its wake. A few bullet items are added, each ended with question marks. She snaps the book shut and carefully slips the elastic ribbon around it before secreting it in her vest's inner pocket.     "And with that," she proclaims with a smile, "you have answered a question that's placed me in this bench for 13 hours. Thank you."     She extends a hand.     "My name is Detective Gulliver. I wear a badge," she says deadpan.     Beat.     "I wear two, actually. It's complicated. But the one that counts here is the GCPD badge." She flips the lapel of her vest briefly to reveal said badge. "And I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that you're Gotham's mystic protector?"
Nolan Voight	Nolan Voight winces.. more inwardly than outwardly... That was a smooth move. He thought that because of the magical aura she wasn't officially affiliated with.. well.. anyone official. Especially not GCPD. If he had known she was GCPD and not some random magical type he wouldn't have been so free with his knowledge..Oh boy. Major flub. He sighs, shoulders slumping ever so slightly as she goes on to ask about his position as a mystical protector.. Which is true and all but /not/ official in any capcity.. he just sort of fell int it when he was paroled last year. No, thats nt true. He sought it out, just not directly. "Detective Gulliver.." he repeats after her, sounding a bit more exdhasperated now and stares at her hand. Does he take it. Does he reveal who he is? Crap, she could just look at old log books at the department and find out who he is by his description.. Not that HIs identity has EVER in ANYWAYS been linked with what he is, THANK GOD. But now... if she put two and two together already... HE sets down the cocolate bar and magazine, wipes his hand on his knee, and takes hers with a sigh. "Nolan Voight." he says, because he doesn't know her abilities and doesn't want to be caught out lieing more than he has to. "And maybe we could ixnay on the otectorpray thing? I mean, I'm already uncomfortable knowing that there is a cop with some sort of mojo on the force.." Especially a police force that has lots of records on him from before he went to prison for from 18 until last year.. 13 years.. and his pre prison record was extensive.. Runaway. Addict. Pickpocket. Dealer.... Yeah, long list.
Wu	Alice shakes gravely, then withdraws her hand. Being the model of courtesy she doesn't wipe her hand off on her jeans surreptitiously as she talks.     "The force?" she asks, then pauses. "Oh, right. Sorry. I should have let you look longer. I'm not on the GCPD. I'm deputized. That's a deputization badge they issue to affilates. I'm Detective Alice Gulliver of the Hong Kong Police Department."     "I'm guessing," she continues, leaning back on the bench, "from your demeanour, that you're nervous of dealing with me. Rest assured, Mr. Voight, that I honestly know nothing and care even less about what you may have done, are doing now, or may do in the future." Her face turns to iron. "Unless, of course," she adds as an afterthought, "you have anything to do with Mr. Marakhov's organization. Then I will, naturally, take a very large interest in what you're doing."
Nolan Voight	Oh! Yay. Flub up number two! Damnit, he is RUSTY. First he thought he was being all sly and crap but then she saw him. Then he thought she was GCPD but turns out to be an exchange cop or.. whatwever it is you would call it. Damnit, get it together, Nolan. This is no way to work! He does, however, relax /a bit/ and also leans back on the bench. "Hong Kong Police? Well thats a first for me." he says, then in very passabele Cantonese adds. "Your english is excellent.. Barely an accent. I mean /barely/." Shaking his head he switches back to English. "And It's not so much nervous as.. wary. I ain't a crook. Not anymore, anyways. Lets leave it at that. And I don't have any affiliations with the Bratvah /or/ the the Triads." He /did/, as a teen.. running errands for both but.. all street kids did that. "I'm here at the request of a.. client.. Looking for something."
Wu	"Looking for her murderer?" Alice guesses, switching to Cantonese for a bit, although in this neighbourhood this is not a safe way to dissuade listeners-in. "I've heard things about Zhang's; about how more people enter it than leave."     Sly sidelong glance. "You're not the only mystic protector. I know the duties and drills. Our styles differ is all. Revenant or completionist?"
Nolan Voight	Nolan Voight 's eyes narrow a bit now. Not just that she knows his client is a her but that the client is.. well.. dead. Damn. "I'm not even sure what you mean by that. I understand the terms, more or less, but they aren't one I use." He isn't classicaly trained, after all. He is mostly self taught, through the school of hard knocks and dead teacher.. He's seen the dead since he literally could remember. You make it sound like what I do is official. It's not." He has has had LITTLE interaction with other mystical types and that is obvious. Part of the club by default of his abilities but not by choice or inclination. "And yes.. Looking for /her/ murderer.. A Prostitute who was killed four years ago. Apparently something of hers is in a safe under the laundry. A necklace. A A pendent."
Wu	"Ah, you're self-selected. That's ... well, that's very impressive, really," Alice says, switching back to English. "It's not the life I would have chosen for me. Cop was the life I chose for me. My other life was selected for me by virtue of being the daughter of the August Wu of the Coral Island." A smile flirts with her lips. "I've updated the title somewhat; I hated how grandiloquent it sounded. But I had, essentially, no choice in it. For you to tackle what you're facing of your own volition is commendable."     She takes a deep breath.     "Revenant: a spirit of the dead coming back to set right a wrong. Usually a revenge-motivated spirit. Completionist: the spirit of someone who left something incomplete that they want finished."     Her eyes flick over to Nolan rake over him appraisingly.     "You've been of notable assistance in this matter with Marakhov. Please allow me the chance to assist you in return."     Terse smile.     "Going in by yourself and snooping around would be suicide. I can provide two things: diversion as they panic with a cop in their midst. Protection in case of discovery."