The first thing Tyler did when he got to his office today was to fasten the head of Smoochy to the wall over his desk, like some perverse big-game trophy.

The second thing was to grimace and swallow a palmful of Tylenols. Stretching and hammering things in was not the brightest idea given his cracked rib.

But being able to glance up at ol' Smooch's disembodied purple plushiness as he did his paperwork totally made it worth it.

[OOC; Open office!]

Ross's men were everywhere. Bruce was faintly aware of Betty, somewhere, begging her father for something-- his freedom, no doubt. The loud chopping noises the helicopter made, the lights, the voices.

It all seemed dimmed. Muted. His mind was a mess, focused on just the one thing, like it had been for three years now, and everything else blurred at the edges. Except now, it came with something else, something like defeat that tasted a lot like he imagined relief would, something very, very quiet.

They led him into the helicopter. He searched for his seat.

( And something very, very strange punched ever gently through the haze, and he stared. 'What...?' )

[OOC: Preplayed with spring_lost and not_ironmaiden. NFB, NFI. Follows this and this.]