4chan has trolled Omegle far too many times for this to work, really, but it still yielded some lols. Here are Somarium's too.

Also, the most recent dare meme.

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<fiasco> Is Omegle what Darkseid uses to chat?

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[02:05] leah: hush/slade
[02:05] leah: watersports
[02:05] leah: no wait that's ic

Ever since I started playing at capeandcowl I have been completely distracted. Here are some hilarious DC-related links from our spam comm.

Dating Chart meme - look for Batman's, I think on the third page.
Like a Boss - okay, fine, this is totally about Iron Man and not anything to do with DC.
Tags relevant - in which we talk about the Riddler.
Cry Wolf - the game also known as werewolf or mafia. Watch who dies! See who is a wolf! O, the drama!
Trailer Triplets - what would happen if Bullseye, Carnage, and Black Mask lived together in a trailer park? They get drawn as cats, that's what.
Moar kitties - what it says
Demotivational Meme - "Breasts: Because you can't motorboat personalities".
The Disneyland Meme - everyfuckingbody goes to Disneyland, all right?
Liefield GTFO - I just died in your arms tonight. Bonus Marla Elliot.
Mystery Drink Meme - search for all three instances of Batman trying to kryptonite-punch Smallville!Clark.
Things that matter in life - Duh.
Slow motion you guys - sslloowwmmoo
Buy Shamwow or I'll blow things up - as it says
Thomas Elliot insults Bullseye and Carnage - that's right, THOMAS. ELLIOT.
Best Spidey app ever - Now this is a story.

     Technically, I work for a civilian organization that temps me out to the GCPD, so I'm not actually a city employee. But in reality, I work in the Major Crimes Unit, doing reception and computer work. And more importantly, I turn on the Bat-Signal. when it needs to be turned on, I mean. That's really why I can't be a city employee. A few years ago a case got thrown out because the perps claimed the police sicced Batman on them and violated their rights. See, the GCPD has never acknowledged Batman as anything other than an urban legend, and they claim the signal is just a deterrent. To scare the bad guys.

But the judge on this case had actually seen Batman once, so he threw out the confessions, and since then, no one on the Force is allowed to touch the Bat-Signal. Because if the police turn it on, they're saying Batman is their agent, and they can't do that.

Funny how in a bureaucracy it's not okay for the Police Commissioner to flip a switch himself, but it's okay for him to tell me to.

01 — 02 — 03 — 04 — 05 — 06 — 07 — 08
     [...] And I think stuff like that, going the extra mile when they don't have to, that makes me really feel like I'm part of something good here. Something important. That's probably why I've stayed here so long. Because sometimes you just look at this city and wonder how it could've gotten so bad. And I think I like knowing there are people working to make it better. I like seeing the progress, even if I know each arrest is just another drop in the bucket. It's still nice to watch murderers and rapists get taken off the streets. And it's nice to know there's still some justice in this world.

Because a lot of the time it doesn't feel like there is.

It feels colder at night because it's so open: there are no structures, not even mountains, that would let the air collect and sit quietly. Inside, meat sheltered by meat, he is still 98.6 degrees. He'd feel better if he could cut himself open and crawl in.

(He couldn't, wouldn't do that to the burro. It has eyelashes, which isn't shocking so much as unanticipated and uncomfortably human.)

Speaking of cutting.

Tomorrow, he knows, the same wide open scrubby zen that's freezing his ass off right now will play host to the lowslung sun. The light will blaze, strong as a river, and yet with no capacity to move him. He'll want the rest of his water. He'll want to stop dragging Trickster's smartass corpse around.

Piper doesn't look at him, as such actions tend to "wake" James up, but now more than ever, the other man seems asleep.

It occurs to him he hasn't actually seen James's eyes since the funeral. He doesn't want to see them now.

Besides, there are wolves in Mexico. He's seen the documentaries. He just heard one, for chrissake, and if it wasn't a wolf, it was probably a coyote or a feral dog or whatever. He keeps this up, he won't need the damn flute to draw animals in. It'd taken a surprisingly long time, but the vultures had started to show up before sundown...

He'd found it before, when he first rifled through the bag of tricks. It's a glorified exacto knife. It's not. It won't— he's going to have to break through bone after he's cut through the flesh. James seems to be okay with that, or maybe it's just Piper who needs to believe James is okay with that, but this all started when the asshole clone of a kid who could run faster than light decided to lie to a bunch of costumed morons about stopping time: he's allowed to entertain the notion that James is talking to him. Allowed, hell, he has a damn license. He's a Rogue, because being a Rogue isn't about commiting stupid crimes or upholding stupid traditions, it's about being a first class fuckup, and nobody, nobody can argue that he doesn't fit in, now.

"Not gonna hear any arguments from me," James says. "Hey, if you're not gonna start cutting, then you can let go of my hand. Don't give the donkey— sorry, burro— strange ideas."

"Worst friend ever," Piper repeats, and he doesn't recognize the emotion in his voice. And he doesn't know who he's talking about, either.

His hands are cramped, but surreal as it'd been... he feels a lot better.

"Not to diss you, buddy," Piper looks up from the weird little device. "But you're not the greatest conversationalist right now."

He'd found the PDA-type thing in James' bag, and wasn't that really the weirdest part of it all? Because while it wasn't like James was computer illiterate, he was still an old-school conman. More up to date than Mirror Master, that's for sure, but why would he have a PDA Piper can barely figure out how to use, never mind that he's never even seen it before? Maybe it was in his bag of tricks for a reason — maybe it's all an elaborate kind of trick — ...

That would certainly explain someone claiming to be the Flash. The Flash. What, so this thing could send texts messages through time? Not to mention, what the hell would he be receiving them on?

Never mind. He doesn't have time to think about that right now. He should be thinking about what he'll do when the train stops. Where he'll go, what he's going to do about the fact he's carting around a dead body. Speaking of which, rigor mortis was hardly going to improve the situation, or ... no, would that be easier, actually?

"... god, I'm sorry, Trickster." He slumps off of the crate, scrubbing at one side of his face. "I don't mean to be so ... you know. You know me."

Yeah, he had, hadn't he? All those stupid jokes. Okay, he doesn't have time for this either. (When will that be?)

"If I were dead, you'd probably have gotten these off by now, I bet. And you'd be gone. Hah. Probably across the border. In a porsche. I really am gonna kill Deadshot."

The bravado could only fall flatter if someone were actually here to hear it. Trickster, of course, doesn't laugh. Doesn't move, except for the constant jostling of the train, but that stopped being unnerving hours ago.

"If I don't blow up, I'll find your kid. I don't know if you'd want that, or ... maybe he won't. And whoever the mom is, I'm betting that's a big fat no." He almost smiles at Trickster, but he's got a better handle on that kind of thing now. "It's important, though. You're still — he's still your kid. And who fucking knows if they're gonna bother to tell him? Apparently nobody'll miss us, James, apparently it's fine if we just die in the middle of nowhere instead, cause it's not like Cold and the others are up there on whatever planet — Space Australia — going, 'Hey, where'd Trickster and Piper go?'"

Pause.

"No, sorry, that'd be —" He puts on the voice. "'Hey, where's Trickster? And the poof?' Or ... no, heh, they'd probably just, your greatest fear. Heh. If he asks, I'm not gonna say a word, James, I'm just gonna show him pictures of your old costumes."

His smile doesn't falter so much as simply turn off, fold itself up and put itself away.

"But I am going to get out of this. So I can do that. I will."

He watches increasingly rockier scenery go by. Maybe the train had been headed West...?

"Yeah, and after that, I'm going to ask Barry Allen to to drop by." He says quietly, leaning back against the crates and sliding down a little. It's not more or less comfortable. It's just a difference. "Maybe Wally would forgive me for Bart. And — yeah, you're right, maybe Batman would shit rainbows and daisies, right after Deathstroke falls over dead, in a tutu."

He snorts, and it's. Not amused, but not ... to say he's whistling in the dark wouldn't quite be accurate. He'd been doing that his entire life.