As she sits at the small circular table, staring at a seek-a-word puzzle but not really focusing on actually working on it, she reflects back on today's rather discouraging events. The same events that have led her to seek refuge here, in the break room. The same events that have made her start to regret having joined the League.

A whole day has passed and still no one has even once made the slightest attempt to come talk to her… Except, of course, to ask her why she's Mad Hatter. Is it really her fault that her superhero name is the same as one of Batman's villain's? She hadn't even heard of 'Mad Hatter' the supervillain until Batman had pointed it out to her.

She wants to go crawl under a rock.

She's stubborn, though. She isn't about to allow something as minor as a shared name make her change her own. The same name she had been operating under since she first began her extraordinary escapades of daring do.

'Let the villain change his name. From what Batman told me, I've had the name longer. Besides,' she reasons with herself, 'nothing else really works with my powers. There's nothing else I could even choose…'

"You're the new hero, right?" comes a soft, monotonous voice, tearing her from her thoughts.

She looks up from the seek-a-word puzzle that's as blank as the vacant stare she had been directing at it for the last hour.

Sitting across the table from her is a man wearing a fedora, blue trench coat, and yellow dress shirt that complemented the blue slacks and vest. His attire is not the most interesting feature about him, though. No. That distinction would have to be given to his face… Or more accurately, lack thereof.

"Hello…?" she says, the greeting coming off as more of a question than what it was intended to be. 'When'd he get here?' she thinks as she looks around at the nearly empty break room of the Watchtower.

The man leans back in his chair, "Hello," he replies, seemingly unfazed. He removes his laptop from under his arm and places it on the table the two of them would apparently now be sharing. After an awkward silence, in which the only noise is the click click click of keys being pressed on the strange man's laptop, Hatter thinks it safe to return to her yet to be started puzzle.

She had thought wrong.

"So, you are the new hero, right?" he repeats.

"Oh… Sorry. I thought you were busy…"

"My fingers are, but that has nothing to do with my hearing."

"Sorry…"

"No reason," he responds, not looking up from his laptop.

"What?" she asks, not following his line of thought.

He finally looks up at her— at least she thinks he is; the no face thing does make that difficult to know for sure.

"No reason to be sorry."

"Oh…"

"So will you answer the question?"

"Oh! Yes. I suppose I am the new hero."

"Mad Hatter, yes?" he says, returning to whatever he is working on with the laptop.

Hatter sighs, dreading what she believes to be coming next. "Yes. That's my name."

"Huhm. There's a supervillain named Mad Hatter, you know."

Yet another sigh, "So I've been told."

"Why name yourself Hatter, then?"

"He named himself Hatter long after I had named myself Hatter. So he shares MY name not the other way around," she replies curtly, clearly annoyed.

Without looking up, he responds, "I meant why did you name yourself that? What are your powers?"

"I am so sorry," she says, immediately feeling guilty. It wasn't his fault that today was horrible. "It's just—"

"Everyone's ignored you or talked about you when they thought you weren't looking?"

"Yeah… But… How would you know that?"

"I am the Question. I know a lot more than anyone wants me to. Even the government."

"So… I guess you must know a lot then."

"Too much for my own good, some might say," he replies as he looks around with a true sense of paranoia before settling his gaze (possibly) back on her. She really isn't sure, but she supposes he does because for a moment he seems to kind of relax. "You must be tired by now. Get some rest."

"What time is it?" she asks, her eyebrows furrowing.

He glances at the clock on his laptop before returning his attention to her. "Supposedly 11:36 PM."

"11:36? Is it really that late?"

"Unless the government has a temporal displacement device, which I suspect that they do, yes it is."

"I had no idea it was so late," she mutters. "This whole no sunset up here in space deal is really messing up my internal clock."

"Happens to everyone," he says, once more typing furiously on his laptop. "Eventually you'll get used to it."

'If I'm even here that long…' she thinks before forcing herself from such pessimistic thoughts. She looks at the faceless man.

"Thanks," she smiles, closing her puzzle book and standing. Just as she is about to walk off, Question feels compelled to say something to her.

"Nice to meet you," he somewhat mumbles.

Her smile widens at his remark. So simple, but it showed that at least one person is happy that she is here on this monolithic tribute to what might have previously been thought of as science fiction.

"Nice to meet you, too."

As she walks off, Question returns to his research. Unfortunately his task of diligently trying to find a link between the government missiles program and Oprah is interrupted when two people sit down at his table. And it is his table, he just hadn't minded the new kid sitting there.

"Thou hast spoken to the new hero?" asks a knight in shiny golden chainmail. But not just any shiny golden chainmail, Question's mind calls up the random fact. It's magic golden chainmail.

"Yes," he responds absently, "suppose I have."

"What was she like?" questions the other man with a thick Southern twang. This man is a cowboy with a cowboy hat and a red bandana covering the lower portion of his face.

"Upset," Question states in a very matter-of-fact tone.

"What hast upset her?"

Question finally looks up, clearly irked despite his lack of face, "Am I being interrogated?"

"Just' tell us wha's upset tha lil lady."

"Well, Vigilante," begins Question, "suppose I would be upset, too, if no one talked to me. Oh wait… No I wouldn't."

"Why hast no one spoken with her? We hath just returned from a mission and only caught a glimpse of her, but I could spy naught wrong with her."

"What?" Question asks, addressing Vigilante. Truthfully, had he been paying the slightest bit of attention as the knight talked, he would have known what he'd said. But security codes on high level governmental files don't crack themselves and he had needed to focus on that.

"In other words," Vig says, "Sir Justin hur thought she was hot."

"Why would she be hot?" the knight asks, entirely confused. "Hast the air machine once more set up its rest that it shalt not work?"

Vigilante smacks himself in the forehead, nearly knocking his cowboy hat off. Justin had been here in the present day forever, but he still didn't have a clue when it came to modern language, which had created many an awkward situation. Too many for Vig's liking.

"Sir Justin, 'hot' has two meanin's nowadays. The way I was usin' it meant you thought she was 'attractive'."

"Then why not simply say that at the first?" Justin he questions before turning back to Question once more. "Yes… Then I suppose she was rather… 'hot'."

"Rather hot? Please!" exclaims Vig turning to the faceless man. "I thought his eyes was gonna fall out of his skull."

"I wast not ogling!"

"Nope. I'll give you that. You was just flat out starin'."

"You lie! Twas you who could not take thine eyes from her!"

"You callin me a liar?" yells Vig, standing up from his seat.

Question rolls his non-visible eyes. Why did this always happen with these two?

Justin jumps to his feet as well, "What is it thou hast said? 'If the boot doth fit, wear it'."

"If the shoe fits, wear it," Question corrects. "Besides, you were both staring at her."

"Well," Justin sighs, reseating himself. "I noticed it not if I were."

"Funny thang is," starts Vig, "ain't nothin' incredible bout 'er. Jus' ord'nary. 'speshly compared ta Wonder Woman, Vixen, Fire, an' all them other pretty ladies."

"Nay," the knight disagrees, shaking his head. "Far from it. She is beautiful in her own rite. Were ye ignorant of with what grace she walked. With what pride she carried herself?"

"Tha's not exac'ly what I's payin' attention to, Sir Justin," Vig smirks behind his bandana.

Justin shakes his head once more, this time with a mix of disbelief and disdain. He can't help but wonder at times why he is friends with Vigilante. "Ye besmirch thine order."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Vig chuckles before looking to the trench-coated detective once more. "So whatcha thank of 'er? We figur', you give 'er tha thumbs up, she mus' be okay."

At this, Q seems to start muttering more to himself than attempting to answer Vig's question. "Seemed alright… Tired, but alright… Not everything as appears, though… Need more information…" he mutters as he closes his laptop, puts it in his satchel, and walks off. As he does, he mumbles, "Trash outside doors tomorrow… Investigate further…"

Justin and Vig watch as he leaves the room and then exchange puzzled and slightly disturbed looks.

Okay... I'm trying to write in a different style for once. I haven't written in third person omniscient for a long time and I'm kind of out of touch.
If no one likes it in this format because they think it doesn't work, I may try to switch it over to first person, but that would mean swapping POV every now and again, like that little segment with Q.

Anyway, as always, I'd love to know what everyone thinks. It really does help me as a writer to get constructive criticism and build my skills from it.

Well, I hope everyone likes this chapter. I've been wanting to write a JLU story for a while and I stumbled across this when cleaning out my closet.
(Which was very scary by the way. I almost got eaten by something. O_O) This story was originally from several years ago (sixth or seventh grade I think) and I simply reworked it to better match my current writing level.

Like I said, hope everyone enjoyed, constructive criticism is most welcome.

~Kanae~