Edward got the idea after working with the Gotham City Sirens.
That alone should have been Jonathan's first clue to firmly refuse and walk away. Each Rogue had their own strengths, and forming teams wasn't usually one of them. The only reason Pamela, Selina, and Harley could do it was because there was actually a genuine sense of sisterhood underneath all that treachery and distrust. The others, well, it went without saying.
None of them really liked each other, except when it was convenient.
"Oh, late, late, late, late." Jervis wrung his hands nervously. Jonathan tried to ignore him, but it was hard. The Hatter looked small and out-of-place hunched over as he was in his orange jumpsuit in the middle of Arkham's excuse of a rec room. They were the only two category ten patients about the place, but the other inmates gave them a wide berth.
Jonathan's thin lips curved up in a smile even as he said coolly, "Jervis, will you please sit down? You're irritating me."
If anything, the command stirred up Jervis all the more. Jonathan watched with interest as certain inmates shifted away, keeping a nervous eye on the much smaller man.
"Can't sit down, can't sit down!" muttered Jervis, his voice rising on the last word. "We're late for tea and still no sign of the March Hare."
"Edward's being released from solitary today," Jonathan calmly replied, not stirring from his lone seat on the ratty couch. "He'll be here—and if not here, then on floor ten."
But Edward was eventually brought in along with his usual commotion. Nearly ten minutes remained before they'd all be herded back to their cells again.
The guard escorting Ed shoved him into the room, cutting him off mid-lecture concerning a string of asylum fires in the late 1800s.
"That's enough out of you, crazy."
Edward spun around, his face turning as red as a hot coal. "I am not crazy, you moron! I'm neurotic!"
The guard shut the door with a snap but didn't leave until he'd rapped a knuckle on the glass. His voice came through muffled but clear enough for everyone to hear. "Tomato, tomahto, Eddie boy."
"Says the amoeba willingly employed at hell on earth," Edward grouched, spinning back around and fervently straightening his askew hair.
Jonathan didn't even react when Ed plopped down next to him, stretched his legs, and cracked his neck in that obnoxious way he had.
"Did your time in solitary treat you well, Edward?" Jonathan asked casually.
The Riddler let out a loud, frustrated groan. "A week more in there, and my superior mind would have turned to complete mush. There're only so many times you can count the stones and keep it interesting. And to think, it's supposed to make us better, doctor."
Jonathan remained silent, waiting for Ed to finish his tangent.
"In any case, only a minor setback. I take it you've kept up with your end of the bargain, Crane?"
"With great reluctance."
Edward rolled his eyes. "Please. It's not like I asked Two-Face or Croc." He scrunched his face in great distaste. "Or Joker."
At that point, Jervis shuffled over. "Who else will be joining us for tea?"
Even Jonathan didn't know this detail, and he listened with great interest though he kept his expression blank.
Edward leaned back, practically lounging on the couch, and sent a smug smile to the ceiling.
"In 1873, ninety-eight women, four of them nuns, died in a widespread fire at the Longue Pointe Asylum in Quebec. Such a high death toll accumulated due to both the building's layout itself and overcrowding." Edward gave his two accomplices a meaningful glance. "So unfortunate, don't you think."
It wasn't a clear-cut answer. But it told Jonathan everything he needed to know.
They didn't kill the guard that unlocked their cells. It wasn't out of any great love or mercy that they spared him. It was simple logic. If they killed every guard or doctor who helped them, then soon they'd each find themselves without allies other than their fellow inmates. The Joker's far more complicated attempts to escape the asylum were a testament to that, as he tended to kill even his own long-term allies. These days, the only people who helped him—if Harley wasn't available—were the extremely stupid or the extremely desperate.
Fortunately, all Jonathan, Jervis, or Edward needed to exploit was a person's own greed or ambition.
If they had mentioned involving Firefly from the beginning, they would have found much greater reservation and resistance from the guard. But they didn't, which made ambushing him and stealing his card key to Lynn's cell that much easier, since they only had the numbers and nothing else. But having Firefly in their ranks evened the odds considerably as he somehow always managing to find the resources to make explosives with.
"Burn, baby! Burn!" Garfield released a laugh that was just on the edge of insanity and hurled another makeshift bomb at their pursuers.
The damage he'd been able to inflict single-handedly was considerable, but it was truly nothing compared to what it would be if he had his jetpack and flamethrower. But taking a trip to Holdings wasn't on the itinerary for the night. And if Lynns kept slowing them down to gloat and catch more of the asylum on fire, reaching the boat wouldn't happen for them, either.
"Come on!" Eddie yanked Garfield backward by the collar of his jumpsuit, nearly causing the man to lose balance and fall to the floor. The pyromaniac recovered just soon enough to lob his last bomb and follow suit with the others.
Garfield let out a shout of joy, easily overtaking Jervis but keeping pace with Eddie as Jonathan led them onward. "I haven't had this much fun in ages!"
"You really need to get out more, Gar!" Edward shouted back.
The boat was waiting for them as promised, despite the wail of sirens that ripped through the air and the spotlight that landed right on it. Jonathan practically fell over himself getting into the boat, and Edward instantly got into an argument with the helmsman over the best escape maneuvers. This gave time for Jervis to gingerly board the vessel, as was always his manner whenever he was uncertain with something—which was most things. Garfield collapsed in the middle of the deck, breathing heavily, just as the boat finally took off with Edward at the helm.
The fire didn't reach their sights, but a warm orange glow colored the deep, starless night sky. Garfield honed in on it, taking it in. A slow smile curved up his scarred and burned visage, which looked more like uncooked meat than a human face. But Firefly's concern was never with his appearance; it was with the flame. This one he looked at with the same appreciation as one does an artist on stage that was reaching the crescendo of their performance.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" he breathed to the air.
The others didn't answer him, but Garfield didn't really need or want answering.
Edward wouldn't stop trying to come up with a team name for them, when—in Jonathan's opinion—there were much bigger concerns they needed to address. Such as who was going to make the Godforsaken phone call.
"The Fearsome Foursome!" Edward exclaimed, pointing triumphantly into the air. He'd been obsessed so far with alliteration.
Garfield barked out a laugh, slapping his leg. "I'll be dead before I have a foursome with you ugly fucks."
Jonathan knew he wasn't conventionally handsome—or any kind of handsome—but Lynns had no room to talk.
"Can we please get back to business and discuss this after we get our finances back in order?" Jonathan bit out, rapping a finger on their dinky apartment's kitchen table.
"Yes, yes," said Jervis, swaying slightly in his seat with interest. "'The time has come', the Walrus said, 'to talk of many things... Of bears and snakes, and clever crimes. That spring from circus rings.'"
"Circus rings?" Garfield said, not quite understanding Jervis-speak yet. "We're not inviting Joker or Quinn here, are we?"
"No," the other three said in unison with equal derision and force.
They all had things they wanted, and to achieve those ends, they needed a considerable bit of capital. For Jonathan, it was his research. He needed to get back to his fear experiments, and for that, he required a lab, his chemicals, and above all his mask—to say nothing of his test subjects. Edward, for his part, needed to create the perfect puzzle, the riddle of all riddles, the uncrackable conundrum. But first, he had to best Batman, and for that he needed his death traps. Jervis was the easiest. He simply wanted to find his Alice. And as for Garfield, well…
Garfield was the most vocal of all of them about what he wanted.
"'Goethe's Faust is coming to the Monarch Theatre'," Lynns recited, reading from page three of the Gotham Gazette. "'An enthralling story about the human condition,' blah, blah, blah, 'sells his soul,' yadda, yadda, yadda—a-HA! 'Slight pyrotechnics used throughout'. Slight." Garfield jerked the paper, agitated. "Slight?"
"Oh, here we go." Edward sighed.
"Surely, they realize what could make this little play better?" Garfield said, his laugh sounding like the scratches of a needle on a record. "Just lemme set the whole stage on fire. Then, they'll get a show. The audience goes in, imagining they'll see a show of hell." He gestured a hand over his scarred face in an almost loving caress. "And get a taste of heaven instead."
"You won't be doing anyone any favors by burning down the Monarch," Jonathan pointed out.
Edward laughed. "And I don't think many would agree with him on the heaven bit, either. Take a certain former District Attorney, for example."
Garfield pounded his fist on the table. "Dent got acid thrown in his face! That's not fire. Not even close. He got short-changed on that deal."
"Short-changed," Edward laughed again, attempting to muffle it as he thought about the man's obsession with his two-headed coin.
Jonathan tried, once again, to get everyone back on task. "Edward, you're certain your well-placed source is correct about Senator Evans?"
"Of course I'm certain" Edward declared with offense. "Do these look photoshopped to you, Scarecrow!" He waved a small stack of photographs, the most visible of which displayed the senator in a compromising state with another man who was not his wife.
"Then who's going to make the call?"
"Well, the Hatter's out," Edward said. He took off his hat and bowed slightly in deference to Jervis. "Sorry, old friend. Between your rhyming, reciting, and other gibberish, Evans won't be able to piece anything together. He's an idiot."
"And you're out, too, Crane," Garfield said with a shit-eating grin. "Over the phone, you sound like a woman."
Jonathan was too affronted to be able to formulate a response. Instead, he made a mental note to approve Lynns as a possible future test subject.
"So then, naturally, it falls upon me," Edward said, placing a hand on his chest. "Well, we all know I'm no stranger to blackmail and extortion, and though Evans will hardly be a challenge—"
"You're not making the call, Eddie," Garfield said, his voice somewhere between a rumble and a growl. "I am."
"…Excuse me?"
Garfield came to stand at his full height, which wasn't impressive by any standard. But anyone covered in burns like he was, looking like something hell had spat back, could appear intimidating, no matter their stature.
He stared Edward down as he said, "Batman's looking everywhere for us. He knows all our funds got seized during our last arrests, hell, he probably orchestrated the whole thing. No doubt he's waiting for us to make contact, and your little tendency to leave behind your clues and riddles will land us back in Arkham faster than you can say," Garfield raised his voice to sound grand, haughty, and all too mocking, 'Riddle me this, Batman!'"
Jervis covered his giggles with his hand. A thin smile found its way on Jonathan's face. Edward looked blindsided then blinked, coming back to himself in full force.
"I do not sound like that!" He exclaimed, turning red in the face and—yes, sounding exactly like that. Garfield barked out a laugh just as Edward said, "And I suppose you sound oh-so tough and in control over the phone. Big talk for a guy that hasn't been a major player in Gotham for years."
"Ouch, you wound me." Garfield's enunciation made it clear how utterly unperturbed he was at that fact. "But it's really not that hard to figure out, Nygma. Can't you see it?"
Jervis and Jonathan kept looking back and forth between the two like spectators at a tennis match.
"Leave the riddles to me, Lynns. They're not your forte."
"Alright, then, Mr. Ego, I'll just tell you. I've got something that the three of you simply don't, and that's a voice that sounds like gravel on sandpaper. It's right up there with Mask's and Two-Face's, I'm told." Garfield waved a hand. "So, yeah, when I call this dickhead, he'll do exactly what I say when I say it, because I don't sound like a complete nerd."
"I don't sound like—"
Jonathan interrupted. "You think you can get thirty grand out of him?"
Garfield lifted one of the photos, studying it. "If this guy's as big on his family values and anti-gay platform as you say, I'm certain I can get even more. If not now, then during our future calls."
Jonathan was satisfied. Jervis had long since lost interest and started a pot of tea. Edward, however, was standing at a slight hunch, his arms crossed petulantly.
"Fine. Make the call, and while you're at it, meet up for the money, if you please. If this fails, we'll all know it was because we sent a bug to do a mastermind's job."
"Spectacular." Garfield slumped back into his chair, his long legs spread, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Now someone hand me the damn phone."
It was the three of them who met up with the senator to ransom his photos while Edward monitored the situation from afar. After the argument the night before, Jonathan half expected the Riddler to betray them, but it looked like the promise of payment was more important to Edward than petty revenge. Garfield managed to intimidate Evans with his pyromania, and Jonathan felt he himself looked suitably threatening, despite his lack of burlap or fear toxin. Sleep deprivation and typical contempt for humanity could do wonders for a person's look. Jervis topped it all off with fashioning the man with one of his special hats, and though not as effective as his usual supply, the hat provided Jervis with enough control over Evans for them to make their escape before the cops or Batman could be called.
Now all that was left was their plans for Gotham, namely whose plans they would follow and which modus operandi they would use: riddles, fear, control, or fire.
All it amounted to was yet another argument.
"I will create a new, more powerful fear toxin that I will unleash upon Gotham—"
"—by, let me guess, poisoning the water supply?" Edward concluded, waving his hand through the air in a grand fashion. "So innovative, Crane. I bet they've never seen that one before."
Jonathan's eyes cut like ice. "I don't appreciate the superior tone, Nygma,"Jonathan replied, "especially not from a man who has yet to grip the entire city in a mass panic."
"Well, panic, as you know, isn't really my cup of tea, Jonathan. Doesn't get my fire going."
Like clockwork, Jervis hoisted his broken teapot in the air and asked, "More tea?"
Quickened footsteps sounded from the hallway until Garfield burst through the door again.
"Did somebody say fire?" he asked with an air of adoration. "Are we gonna do it? Are we gonna burn down midtown?"
Jonathan put his head in his hand and groaned.