Wykkyd may have bitten off a great deal more than he could chew, coming into Gotham and robbing a museum. As of now he crouches in the corner of a warehouse filled to the brim with beeping electronics and pitch-black otherwise, looking altogether a harmless and normal child drowning in shadows-- except for his eyes, balefully glowing coals, and his skin, gray in a way that even shadows can't give. He's not wearing his costume since he's not been with the HIVE and he doesn't plan to get caught or seen, just a band t-shirt and ratty jeans. No shoes-- closer inspection will reveal coyote-like claws pushing their way out from under his toenails, which is less a sign of disposition and more a sign of puberty but a warning nonetheless. Two horns push from his scalp, small enough to be lost in his hair. He doesn't have enough energy to teleport back to his hideout, he certainly doesn't have enough energy to walk there, and the tiny golden idol tucked in his pocket and wrapped with cloth can't help him now. He has just enough energy to teleport within the walls of the warehouse, not even that. He gives it a try. Instead of reliably spitting him out on a server rack, it deposits him neatly on top of a pile of boxes, and in short measure they all come tumbling loudly down. Wykkyd scrambles off, pats his pockets, pats his smarting knees, and then looks around wildly in the event it's called somebody.
Somewhere distant in the tangle of machines, a soft series of beeps interrupts a thought process.
The intruder alert isn't often tripped. The Batman has an obnoxious tendency to cut holes through his security during the rare times he's found out--more often than not, it's a stray animal or gangster. Something simple, something a hired hand could easily take care of with a prod--
--and then Riddler recalls, ah, tonight he's alone.
He turns from one screen to another and just catches a glimpse of something. Glinting eyes completely un-Batlike, unaffiliated clothing, and then it's gone.
Damaged cameras, someone knows what they're doing. He's on his feet with his cane clenched tight in both hands before an explosion of noise smothers the beeping of the alert, the hum of his computers. He remembers himself enough to slam a hand on the keys and sending electricity through specific, nigh-invisible squares on the floor, and then he follows where the sound came from.
"And what do we have here," he icily asks the wildly-moving shape in the shadows.
Thanks to bare feet and twitchiness he feels the spark a split-second before it hits and teleports onto a server rack, properly this time. He's definitely attracted attention, and it's not good attention if it's got this whole warehouse rigged to blow-- or shock, as the case may be. Wykkyd has about a minute to flounder and collect himself before lightly-padding footsteps join him down on the floor. A voice, that he's sure he's heard before but can't place, and he turns from his regal perch of beeping electronics to stare down the person he's disturbed. Illuminated mostly from below he looks more like a gargoyle, if gargoyles could move and blink. He does, briefly, one row of eyes shutting and the other opening. He feels twitchy and unsteady, unhappy with this turn of events, but not nearly jumpy enough to make a bad decision so far. Without a voice there's only so much he can do. With the risk of seeming impetuous, he simply waves.
The cane is up across his chest, a block (more solid than it looks) in preparation for an attack.
Riddler is tense. Riddler is unhappy and annoyed. These things come together to sum up as far from good, but not quite to the level of mind-blanking fury.
He allows his unwelcome guest a moment to declare itself. A wave is all he gets in return, and Riddler's eyes narrow.
Red eyes, unusual form. If it wasn't for the silence, he'd almost expect Karlo dropping in for a prank or a hired hit, but the man doesn't know when to shut up; he doesn't even have the intellect or interest to deserve that level of pride. No, this is something else. A different game.
"Do we have a monster straying too far from under the bed?" he tests, half-bait. Riddler's stopped exactly where he meant to, a pounce to attack would leave a shocking impression on three sides.
Wykkyd is not planning on attacking. He would, he tells himself, and quite gladly! But like every creature trapped in another’s territory, he’d rather beat a hasty retreat and save both his pride and his time. Unfortunately, the furthest he can teleport is within eyeshot and not too accurately at that. He doesn’t forget tumbling down boxes like a drunk racehorse. He really doesn’t forget the electrified floor. His body flickers like a full-body hiccup. He stands. With the light shining on him from below, he should consider himself fearsome. The light stings and he squints four eyes. Do we have a monster straying too far from under the bed? Oh. He snorts. Yes!, he wants to say. In lieu of that he shrugs and shakes his head, hands coming up to hover near his shoulders. It’s very flippant, if not aggressive, but he’s standing, looming over Riddler with his vantage point, and four eyes glowing like coals can’t make him look less threatening. For a monster, he’s not acting very monstrous, but perhaps he’s just waiting for the proper motivation.
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syntheid
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Date: 2018-03-13 06:41 pm (UTC)He doesn't have enough energy to teleport back to his hideout, he certainly doesn't have enough energy to walk there, and the tiny golden idol tucked in his pocket and wrapped with cloth can't help him now. He has just enough energy to teleport within the walls of the warehouse, not even that.
He gives it a try. Instead of reliably spitting him out on a server rack, it deposits him neatly on top of a pile of boxes, and in short measure they all come tumbling loudly down. Wykkyd scrambles off, pats his pockets, pats his smarting knees, and then looks around wildly in the event it's called somebody.
no subject
Date: 2018-03-14 04:59 am (UTC)The intruder alert isn't often tripped. The Batman has an obnoxious tendency to cut holes through his security during the rare times he's found out--more often than not, it's a stray animal or gangster. Something simple, something a hired hand could easily take care of with a prod--
--and then Riddler recalls, ah, tonight he's alone.
He turns from one screen to another and just catches a glimpse of something. Glinting eyes completely un-Batlike, unaffiliated clothing, and then it's gone.
Damaged cameras, someone knows what they're doing. He's on his feet with his cane clenched tight in both hands before an explosion of noise smothers the beeping of the alert, the hum of his computers. He remembers himself enough to slam a hand on the keys and sending electricity through specific, nigh-invisible squares on the floor, and then he follows where the sound came from.
"And what do we have here," he icily asks the wildly-moving shape in the shadows.
no subject
Date: 2018-03-14 05:23 am (UTC)Wykkyd has about a minute to flounder and collect himself before lightly-padding footsteps join him down on the floor. A voice, that he's sure he's heard before but can't place, and he turns from his regal perch of beeping electronics to stare down the person he's disturbed. Illuminated mostly from below he looks more like a gargoyle, if gargoyles could move and blink. He does, briefly, one row of eyes shutting and the other opening. He feels twitchy and unsteady, unhappy with this turn of events, but not nearly jumpy enough to make a bad decision so far.
Without a voice there's only so much he can do. With the risk of seeming impetuous, he simply waves.
no subject
Date: 2018-05-01 07:14 am (UTC)Riddler is tense. Riddler is unhappy and annoyed. These things come together to sum up as far from good, but not quite to the level of mind-blanking fury.
He allows his unwelcome guest a moment to declare itself. A wave is all he gets in return, and Riddler's eyes narrow.
Red eyes, unusual form. If it wasn't for the silence, he'd almost expect Karlo dropping in for a prank or a hired hit, but the man doesn't know when to shut up; he doesn't even have the intellect or interest to deserve that level of pride. No, this is something else. A different game.
"Do we have a monster straying too far from under the bed?" he tests, half-bait. Riddler's stopped exactly where he meant to, a pounce to attack would leave a shocking impression on three sides.
no subject
Date: 2018-05-02 05:08 am (UTC)His body flickers like a full-body hiccup. He stands. With the light shining on him from below, he should consider himself fearsome. The light stings and he squints four eyes.
Do we have a monster straying too far from under the bed?
Oh. He snorts. Yes!, he wants to say. In lieu of that he shrugs and shakes his head, hands coming up to hover near his shoulders. It’s very flippant, if not aggressive, but he’s standing, looming over Riddler with his vantage point, and four eyes glowing like coals can’t make him look less threatening. For a monster, he’s not acting very monstrous, but perhaps he’s just waiting for the proper motivation.