Gotham: Downtown

	Awe-inspiring. Or perhaps an urban nightmare. This part of the city is 
home to giants of brick and mortar, towering edifices with bulky foundations and 
heavily ornamented facades. Chimneys, girders, crosswalks mingle in the upper 
reaches of the gothic and art deco skyscrapers. Long shadows are cast over the 
seemingly minuscule sidewalks and intersections where most of Gotham's traffic 
merges, with statues of gargoyles and icons of civic pride looking down upon the 
passersby. Everything seems cluttered; advertisements protruding over rooftops 
in garish display, water towers and powerlines, windblown trash, even the people 
on the streets themselves. Amidst the traffic noises, one may occasionally hear 
the rattle of the elevated train that snakes it way above the darkened streets, 
or the distant foghorn from the harbor in the middle distance.

Sanderson Hawkins:
A tall young man of about 24, Sanderson is well built and quite weathered. His 
sandy blond hair is wiry and unruly; he looks like he could use a shave, and his 
bright cornflower-blue eyes are already crinkled at the corners. Instead of your 
standard heroic square jaw, the man has a moderately pointed chin; a distinct 
widow's peak at his hairline lets a stray curl fall onto his forehead.
	Covering his head and shading his eyes, presently, is a battered tan 
fedora - there're a couple of small pieces of wrinkled paper sticking out from 
the band. On his back is a beige canvas satchel, patched in places, and 
discolored in others. His jacket, too, is a worn tan color; his shirt's an off-
white, coarse linen. Actually, everything about him, except for his eyes, is 
rather sand-colored. Tough canvas dungarees cover his legs, and his feet are 
shod in brown steel-toed boots.

Gotham is bathed in the last bit of twilight before the night is universal. 
Strangely, the shadows are deepest then: the contrast with the light gives the 
illusion of complete blackness in doorways and down alleys. Sanderson is paused 
in front of one of these, one hand holding a lighter to his nigh-omnipresent 
cancerstick, the other crossed over his chest, seemingly to keep warm. It's 
hovering over his side holster, but he's doing a decent job of discretion.

On a rooftop nearby, an shadow departs the company of a smokestack and moves 
towards a ledge. The caped figure turns to a smaller shadow. "We don't have 
proof yet, Robin. Nothing substantial. I want to have facts to show Gordon."

The shorter figure of inky darkness slips to the ledge in step, it's form 
splashed with only a slight hint of color in the gloom compared the pillar of 
obsidian that is the Batman. Robin answers, "I'm not saying we should throw 
forensics out the window, Batman. Even the Commish must know in his gut who's 
behind this. I was just suggesting we not let the maniac leave anymore calling 
cards before we shake him up."

Batman hunkers over a ledge, preparing to swing to another rooftop. He says "I'm 
not going to debate my methods, Robin." He flings the batarang and swings across 
the chasm of urban airspace to land across the street behind a sputtering neon 
sign.

Glancing up at the roofline, Sanderson's eyes narrow. His gaze follows the 
masked vigilante as he swings through the air over the street and lands across 
from him, and he silently takes a drag of his cigarette. He *will* keep to 
himself, unless he sees Robin. Then, he might be a pain in the ass.

Robin duplicates the Dark Knight's feat, only a fraction of a second later. The 
glare of the sign makes him a flicker of brightnes against blackness for an 
instant until the Teen Wonder's cloak settles around him as he lands. "I'm not 
disagreeing, it's just my two cents. You're calling the shots."

Robin thinks . o O (But what will more 'dead Robins' do for -your- objectivity, 
Bruce? Do they have to start having white faces and rictus grins before we make 
a move?)

Why not, then, thinks Sanderson; he steps forward into the pool of light formed 
by the streetlamp above. So goddamn dramatic. He does have the grace to put his 
light out against the sidewalk...and the presence of Batman makes him 
irrationally toss it into a public wastebin, instead of just leaving it on the 
ground. He still says nothing.
    
Batman returns the batarang and line to his belt, the only noise made the 
shifting his cape. He peers across the skyline, mouth set in a grim fashion, 
eyes somehow more distant behind the white slits of his cowl. The figure in the 
lamplight draws his attention abruptly, however, breaking him from his reverie. 
He squints an eye and sizes up the other man, placing the face, analyzing the 
posture and outfit. "Hawkins."

Robin turns his head to follow Batman's gaze. "What do you know, " he says in 
mild surprise. "Yeah, that's him - Sanderson. He was one the one who helped me 
and The Question trash those bikers last week and bag Alderman McFalsten."

Sanderson gestures widely and expansively, almost...oh, man, it *is* like what 
the Fonz does. Except there's no 'Eyyyy...' to go along with it. His arms drop 
to his sides. "Batman," he says, then nods to the smaller figure, "Robin." Then 
he grins slightly. "Oh, sure, go and tattle on me." His thumbs hook into his 
pockets; arms are loose; he looks relaxed.

Batman doesn't too terribly happy to see Sanderson, but he nods by way of 
greeting anyways. "So; what brings you to my city, exactly? Or were you just 
passing through?" There's a faint emphasis on 'passing through'.

Standing a quarter-step behind the Batman on his right, Robin is partially 
obscured by his partners shadow, but his expression is still visible to 
Sanderson. A mix of 'hanh hanh!' and 'oh, no, not again.' Maybe Batman sees it 
if he's paying attention to his peripheral vision and not Hawkins, but even 
Robin can't see through the white eyeslits of the cowl.

Sanderson's genial tone doesn't change, but he tenses *almost* unnoticeably. "I 
don't know. I usually pass through most everywhere I go, but Gotham has a 
certain charm to it. Atmosphere's edgier than Chicago, even. And the apartments 
seem to be reasonably priced." He smiles a little coldly, now. "Do you object to 
people moving into 'your' city in general? Or just people with histories?"

Robin thinks . o O (Oh, I'm sorry, the correct answer was 'Just passing 
through'. Thank you for playing. Batman, tell him what he would have won.)

Batman looks dubiously at Sanderson, his cowl crinkling a little around his 
narrowing eyeslits. "People with histories are welcome in Gotham City, but I'll 
keep an eye on them. People with histories who get in the way of my work here 
will be made uncomfortable by more than just my attention." He looks idly 
towards the wastebasket as the last curling line of smoke from the dead 
cigarette snuffs out. "Thanks for not littering."

Sanderson raises an eyebrow. "Just doing my civic duty, as always." He fails to 
elaborate, knowing he doesn't have to. He also supresses the urge to stick his 
tongue out at Robin.

 
Robin's eyeslits round briefly in contrast. 'Hoo hoo! I bet he got off easy 
'cause I'm here.' he thinks.

Batman looks to Robin. "He got off 'easy' because he assisted in the arrest of a 
major felon, Robin." He looks again to Sanderson. "I'm never happy to see an 
uninvited guest operating in Gotham, but I do appreciate helping Robin out. Just 
don't make a habit out of it. He's got to learn to take care of himself."

Robin starts, and then re-affixes his poker face now that it's obvious Batman 
can see his expression at this angle. .o O(Suck it up, Tim. You're letting 
Sanderson make you punchy. His sarcasm is as infectious as 
Impulse's....impulses.)

Sanderson nods, crossing his arms. "Understood. And I'm not in the habit of 
taking major defensive action, either. My past, however, makes it difficult for 
me to stand idly by when twelve big mooks on even bigger motorcycles are making 
life difficult for a whole crowd of people and a couple All-St-...martial 
artists." Then he laughs softly, "And I *am* just passing through."

Robin's eyeslits flicker almost immediately, and he almost opens his mouth .o 
O('Has to learn to take-! *fume*). He says, "Thanks again, though Sand." 
grumpily.

Adjusting his own stance somewhat in response to Sanderson's arm crossing, 
Batman lets the front of his cape fall at an angle across his chest and rests a 
hand on his belt. "All-Stars. Hmn. I assume you've heard about Ted Knight's 
son?"

Robin perks up again at the shift in topic. "Yeah, what's up with Starman and 
this arson rap?". You almost hear the memorization centers of his brain flip 
into receive mode.

Sanderson grins slightly at Robin for the thanks, then nods to Batman. "Mm. 
Yeah, I'm rather well acquainted with him." He pauses. "I'm also fairly certain 
he didn't torch his own store."

Batman tilts his head. "A frameup, presumably, yes. A rather well-constructed 
one."

Robin puts his right elbow in his left hand and rubs his chin with a finger. 
"Anyone in his neck of the woods looking into it? The Titans? I'd guess it's one 
of his father's enemies out for revenge."

Batman inclines his head perhaps a quarter of an inch as Robin makes his 
suggestion. "...possibly. Though I imagine Starman's earned some foes of his own 
over the past year or so. The M.O. doesn't strike me as terribly typical of any 
I'm familiar with, however."

Sanderson's arms fall to his sides again, now that he's not on the defense. He 
reaches up and rubs the bridge of his nose. "Honestly, I couldn't tell you. I 
really don't keep up with the groups. I only know Jack because he was around, 
albeit /strange/, when I got back." He pauses again, looking skeptical. "I don't 
suppose anyone's ready to entertain the notion that it could be a competitor in 
the business or someone who has it in for Jack as a businessman, or personally, 
rather than someone he's gone against heroically?"

Robin thinks . o O (Holy Occam's Razor!)
 
Batman shakes his head. "I doubt it. However jealous or greedy his competitors 
were, I doubt any would be so foolish as to attempt to frame a part-time 
superhero and the son of one of the first and most well-respected heroes in the 
country." He frowns contemplatively. "But, this is irrelevant. I'm not going to 
be much use to him for a while; too many loose ends to tie up here in Gotham to 
even attempt a perfunctory investigation."

Robin tilts his head. "Strange how? Like mind-controlled?" .o O(Maybe this ties 
in with the phony CDs). "Didn't the original Starman fight a villain with a 
hypnotic violin?" He looks at Batman and back to Sanderson. "Yeah, Batman's 
right. We are swamped here. Someone should tell Nightwing and the other Titans 
to check into it."

Sanderson corrects automatically, "That was Jay Garrick. The Fiddler-" he stops 
himself, starting to smile lopsidedly. "But no, strange like...new wave, did 
they call it? Or 'punk', maybe? Strange in a normal way." He's silent for a 
moment, then he sighs, briefly covering his face with his hands, then running 
them through his hair. "I guess that's me, isn't it. Nuts. This is the last sort 
of thing I want to be involved with."

Batman's brow crinkles, as if incapable of understanding the language Sanderson 
is speaking. "I imagine your old comrades might appreciate the assistance. 
Unless, of course, you'd prefer to keep 'moving through' every place you go."
 
Robin says idly. "Jay Garrick, hmm." He looks at Sand. "So I guess you know 
Sentinel, and Black Canary, then too?

Sanderson nods. "Yeah. Generally, if someone's connected with the JSA or the 
All-Stars, I at least know *of* them." He looks a little frustrated, shaking his 
head at Batman and putting his hands in his pockets. "I don't know the Titans at 
all. They're not my 'comrades'. But I suppose that's going to change." He 
straightens, eyes narrowing slightly. "I've kept you from your work long 
enough." A beat. "And now mine, damn it."

Robin thinks . o O (I can't believe in the 'Golden Age' sidekicks were this 
grouchy. The way you hear the veterans tell it they were trading cookie recipes 
while they boxed Nazis by the Queensbury rules.)

Batman nods faintly. "I was referring to the JSA and All-Star 
Squadron...but...you're right." He turns on his heel, moving towards an alleyway 
on the other side on the building. "Come along, Robin."

Robin melts into Batman's wake. Reduced to a sliver of yellow and white in the 
darkness, he turns and looks over his shoulder. "'Night, Sanderson." he says 
quietly, before disappearing after his partner.

The corner of Sanderson's mouth quirks up. "'Night, Robin," he says equally 
quietly. Sidekicks.