UPDATE; Hi guys! It's been almost a year since I updated this so I thought I'd better say something. I would REALLY like to update this, but my computer's been broken for the past few months (half of the screen won't turn on and it can't access the internet) and I don't have the money to get a new one or get my current one repaired, so I haven't been able to post anything (I am writing this on an iPhone4 in desktop mode). I have a few chapters written down the old fashioned way, so I might try typing them down in the notepad app, copy and pasting them to the document manager and posting them that way; it might look weird, but it would work. So, that's what's been happening; I will update this as soon as I can; sorry for the delay and thank you for being patient!
This is my first attempt at a Batman fic, I hope it's okay!
I do not own Batman: The Animated Series, the Riddler, the Joker, or any other recognizable characters from the series.
Anyway, on with the story.
Prologue.
4:00 AM
The first orange streaks of sunrise have just begun to appear over Gotham city's smog-coated skyline, and though the occasional shout or screech of tires rings out through the streets, the city is otherwise silent.
I sit at a desk running a piece of green fabric under the needle of an old sewing machine which ticks and whirrs delightedly. I work diligently but carefully, not wanting to get one of my long fingers caught under the rapidly punching needle. Someone wraps three times on the door, "hang on a second!" I call out, I turn off the sewing machine, rush to the door and look through my apartment's peephole, I immediately recognize the face. "Two minutes, I just need to finish the cuff!"
"Be quick about it!" The voice snaps back. I rush to the sewing machine and put the final touches on the jacket's sleeve. I turn off the sewing machine and lift the needle from the fabric. I turn the coat right-side out and survey my handiwork. It looks good to me, the stitches are small and even, and they don't crisscross knot in any places, I, or rather my client, is good to go. I hang the jacket on a black hanger and place it inside a plastic suit bag. I open the door and hand the bag to the man on the other side, "Mr. N-" I quickly correct myself "Edward, here's your jacket, as promised." He had reduced the right sleeve to ribbons and almost torn it off entirely in some heist or another, and I had been hired to sew it back in place.
He retrieves the sleeve from the bag and inspects it, satisfied, he hands me a thick envelope with my name scrawled across the front of it. "Pleasure doing business with you Sarah,"
"You as well" I quickly reply before he shuts the door in my face. I almost chuckle, what, no riddle? Not even a quip? I think amusedly, you must really be in a rush, Eddie. I open the envelope and among the dollar bills a thin white slip of paper sticks out. I pull it out, it reads;
From the beginning of eternity
To the end of time and space
To the beginning of every end
And the end of every place.
What am I?
A small smile spreads across my lips "the letter 'e'" I mutter, counting the money in the envelope; three hundred dollars for a repair. "You haven't changed a bit, Eddie …" a great yawn escapes my lips, it's then that I realize just how tired I am. I pick up the cash and the note and walk to my room, stashing it in a steel safe in the corner along with the rest of it. I unbutton my blouse and unzip my skirt, letting them fall to the floor and, not bothering to change into nightclothes, slip into bed.
Yeah, that's right. My client is the Riddler, well, not my only client but my oldest. I've made costumes for other rogues as well but he's the only rogue I've gotten to know at all, as such he's by far my favorite; probably because he's one of the only criminals in this cesspool of a city who I know well enough to tell with reasonable certainty what his intentions are. All the same, I keep a baseball bat next to the bed for a reason, not that it would help much if the Joker decides to spray me with laughing gas.
Yep, I said the J-word. I've tailored a suit for the Joker as well, and I don't plan on doing it again; if I can avoid it.
I open my eyes; I know I won't be able to get to sleep today.
Brrrrrrring! I quickly pick up the phone "hello?" I groan,
"Good Morning, are you Sarah Valens?" Asks a throaty voice,
"Yeah, that's me. Sarah Valens, custom formal wear, may I ask who is calling?"
"You may call me… the Destroyer"
I stifle a groan, another wannabe Gotham-Rogue, I run into a lot of those in my line of work. Destroyer, huh? How original… "How may I help you, Mr. Destroyer?"
"I need a disguise" he says, "and I hear that you're the best of the best when it comes to disguises."
"What do you have in mind?" I ask, pulling out a notepad.
"Well, I deal in explosives, so I was thinking, lots of red." I scribble the word, red into the notebook. "What shape do you want?" I ask, pretending to be interested.
"Classic." He replies, I write the word cat-suit on the page. I spend the next hour asking him about details, such as measurements, whether or not he wants a hood, and many others. When he's finally finished jabbering about how he's going to outdo the Joker, I ask him when he wants it ready, to which he replies "take a week if you must" and hangs up. I look at the basic sketch on the page; he essentially wants me to make him look like a pot-bellied stick of dynamite, complete with thin black wires on the hood. I'll get working on this one later, I think, staring up at the ceiling.
I know you're probably wondering how I got into the business of sewing elaborate costumes for renowned criminals; I'll tell you one thing, it wasn't by choice, but I don't entirely regret it. It has made my life very interesting. My life wasn't always this way of course; I had a steady 9-5 job, a tiny apartment and a normal life, until that day when my former boss got a call asking for a green blazer. I'll never forget it for as long as I live.
Chapter One:
Unusual Colors
It was a chilly Thursday morning in Gotham City. The little roadside shop where I worked was pleasant, in a vaguely familiar but utterly forgettable sort of way. It was a cozy, white-washed building with tall, square windows, a blue roof and a sign tacked above the door which read;
Hallward's;
Formal wear, consignment, and alterations.
The shop was located in the southern end of Gotham; it wasn't in the best part of town but it was by no means the shadiest, and we had only been robbed twice that year; by Gotham standards, not too shabby. Business was, as usual, slow, and I was measuring a plus-sized woman for a dress while my boss, Roscoe Peabody, continuously counted the profits and occasionally answered the telephone.
I circled the measuring tape around her left arm, "watch it!" She snapped, swatting me in the shoulder. I hurriedly muttered "sorry, Mrs. Merkle" before jotting down her measurements on the clipboard. Over Mrs. Merkle's string of complaints, I could hear Mr. Peabody schmoozing over the phone. I tried to hide my annoyance.
Mr. Hallward's name might have been above the door, but Mr. Peabody had been in charge of the shop for nearly six years. Cyrus Hallward was Mr. Peabody's father-in-law-by-second marriage, or maybe it was his fourth or sixth marriage, I had never been able to keep track of all of his brief, unhappy marriages.
I stared distastefully at his black suit, Louis Vuitton, I thought, he barely has enough money in the till to give me my paycheck every Friday, but he can come to work in a designer suit. Either he had inherited a large sum of money, won big in the lottery, or had earned the money illegitimately. I was going with the third choice. I considered my own attire, a light pink, pleated maxi skirt and a pale blue button-up blouse. It was from the consignment section of the store and even though I had gotten an employee discount it was still overpriced.
"Well Mrs. Merkle, I think we're finished here!" I said, jotting down her waist measurement, and being careful not to let her see. Mrs. Merkle stepped down from the platform and handed me a one dollar bill, "thanks, kid." She grunted, before walking to the desk and waiting impatiently for Peabody to get off the phone. He finally did and she paid with a hastily written check. She placed a dress bag on the table before walking out of the shop, she had asked me to let the waist so she could wear it again. I pulled the dress out of the bag, it was a floor length evening gown made of black fabric with zebra print sleeves and an empire waist. It looked as if it at least had some elastic in the waist line, it shouldn't be that hard to let I thought.
"Sarah!" Barked Mr. Peabody as I went to hang the dress in the back room,
"Yeah?" I replied, cringing at the state of his breath.
"Have you finished with John Burke's order?"
"Repairing a tear? Finished it yesterday." I replied from over my shoulder,
Mr. Peabody grinned, "Good girl" he cooed as I left the room.
I shut the door to the walk-in-closet behind me. Good girl, I thought, shaking my head: Mr. Peabody could go from being your best friend to your worst nightmare in two seconds flat; it was a bit of a bad habit of his. I slotted Mrs. Merkle's dress into the section marked M and began to walk out, it was a good thing we weren't getting too many customers, as at the moment I was Peabody's only employee. I checked my watch; 12:00, time for my lunch break, I thought gleefully. I opened the door from the back room and stepped back into the store. Mr. Peabody was on the phone again, but this time he wasn't just chatting.
"A blazer?" He asked the caller, clenching and un-clenching his fist, "well of course I…how much money!?" Greed flickered before his eyes; I retrieved my coat and bag, pretending not to listen. "Great, how do you want it to look?" He pulled out a note-pad, "mhmm…yep…uh-huh… green?" He asked, my head shot up on impulse; green? It's not every day someone asks you for a green blazer, I thought, intrigued.
"…Okay, what shade of green? …Pants as well? …Gray slacks, alright. And when can you come in to get measured?" ...You can't? …Well, I suppose you could tell me your measurements but I can't guarantee it will fit just right…" Peabody muttered to himself as he jotted down a string of numbers. "Wonderful…three days!" He shouted, at this point he saw me waiting for him, he apologetically mouthed the words "one moment" at me before returning to his conversation. "…Sure, she's good, but I'm short staffed and I'm not sure about…fine. I'll have your order ready for you as soon as possible." He abruptly hung up the phone.
Mr. Peabody massaged his temples, "Sarah, my girl" he said flatly, I nodded my head expectantly. "Do you know how to sew a blazer?"
"From scratch?" I asked,
"Yes Sarah, from scratch" he said, unblinkingly. "A customer has offered us a fair sum of money to make him a custom suit in, erm, unusual colors."
"Hang on a second; you want me to sew a green blazer and gray slacks in three days!" I shouted, exasperated,
"Listen Sarah" he fumbled with his cufflinks "this customer is a…friend of mine, and I'd really hate to let him down."
A long pause followed by the word "friend"; Gotham-speak for "dangerous person who I happen to know personally."
"Understood" I finally muttered, no sooner had the words come out of my mouth than a shopping list was stuffed into my hands, "before you come back from lunch, go out to the fabric store on McLaughlin Street and buy everything on this list, bring me the receipt and I'll reimburse you." He pounded his fist on the table, "this will be your only job for the next three days, I'll handle fittings and everything else, you'll just sit in that back room and sew, understand?"
I nodded, "good, now head off to lunch, you'll be working hard this afternoon." He said, practically shoving me out the door. I thought I heard him mutter, "I hope I can find another set of hands." I strode down Dennison Avenue, a frown plastered onto my face, wondering, what kind of person would urgently need a green blazer in three days?
…
The back room of Hallward's was stuffy, claustrophobic, and dark. A tiny window on the left wall was the only view of the world outside, and led out to a dark, smelly alley; a little white analog clock hung from the wall next to it. Plastic poles for hanging articles of clothing were nailed to each wall; most of them were nearly empty. At the back of the room was an antique Singer sewing machine and a naked light bulb hung from the ceiling on a thin piece of wire.
Mopping the sweat from my brow, I looked up at the clock, 3:45; I had been sitting at the sewing machine for nearly two hours. Next to me was a black trash bag filled with supplies; a large bolt of emerald green fabric, thin black fabric for the inner lining, gray cotton for the pants, spool after spool of thread, pins, needles, a tape-measure and portions of a pattern. I ran the delicate black thread under the sewing machine, careful not to tear it. Click, click, click, went the tired old machine, humming along placing stitches into the fabric when suddenly, zzzt! Zzzt! Zzzt! I looked down to see what was wrong and groaned; the thread was tangled. Brrrring! I sighed, fishing my cellphone out of my purse and raising the boot of the sewing machine with the other. I answered the phone and, setting it to speaker, got back to work "can it wait, Vikki?" I asked, all the while carefully trimming the thread so the needle wasn't stuck anymore, "I'm really busy."
"Is that slave-driver Peabody making you work overtime again?" Asked the husky, female voice.
"Shh!" I scolded "you're on speaker!"
"Oh, sorry" she said, lowering her voice to a barely audible whisper.
Vikki Cummings was my roommate; she worked at a hotel on the other side of Gotham. Despite our differences she and I had been good friends since High School. Needless to say, Mr. Peabody was a topic of great discussion in our small household. "It's actually a strange job, I'll tell you about it later. What's the matter?"
"Oh, it's just…Dylan."
I tried desperately not to groan, Dylan was Vikki's deadbeat boyfriend, they had been dating for nearly a year and she always had some problem with him or another. "Did he propose to you?" I asked, trying to sound hopeful.
"If only" sighed Vikki, "I don't know what to get him for his birthday, and it's in two days! What do I do?"
"He's your boyfriend, hon" I said, gritting my teeth as I turned the piece of fabric. "Listen Vikki, I'm really, really busy. I'll explain later, can we talk about this once I get home?"
"…Okay" said Vikki,
"See you later!"
Vikki was the first to hang up. I sighed and went back to my work, 4:00 I thought, looking up at the clock. I was nowhere near finished, not even with the lining. What have I gotten myself into? I thought; zzzt! Zzzt! Zzzt! I groaned; the needle was stuck again.
So, what do you think? Constructive criticism is always welcome, but please, no flaming.
I included the first chapter and the prologue here, but from now on it will be one chapter per page.
By the way, I have no idea what color the lining of the Riddler's suit is, or if it even has a lining, but let's assume that it does for this story.