Twenty-one across

A three letter word for a speakeasy patron.

Twenty-two across

A frisky feline.

Five down.

Fifteen across

Sixty-nine down...

Eyes focused and concentrating solely on his game, the man at the end of the bar scribbles frantically in his little pad of crossword puzzles, not paying any mind to his fellow patrons as he fills in each and every square with the precise answer.

Taking hold of the glass tumbler before him, Edward Nigma slams back the remainder of his drink, letting the smooth and velvety liquid coat the back of his throat as he stares down at his masterpiece in triumph. Only one question left, it's nearly complete. Lifting his ballpoint pen to paper, he prepares to deliver his master stroke.

"Well, hello there handsome."

The sound of a familiar purring drawl breaks his concentration, making him stop mid answer. Looking up from his puzzle, Edward scans the room for the source of his distraction.

He needn't look far.

Standing across the way, he spots that oh so familiar silhouette. Those long legs. Those dangerous curves. Dressed to kill, she's hell on heels.

Looking around, he notices every damned eye in the whole gin joint is staring at her. Like dogs, they pant and drool into their drinks. Sighing, he returns to his puzzle.

Since when did the entire male population become such mindless fools? So easily distracted by a pretty face and a miniskirt, that they're led to think with their privates rather than their brains. It's no wonder society is going down the toilet. Hell, their minds are already in the sewers anyway.

Again, he lays his pen to paper, eager to finish his puzzle.

"Do you come here often?"

And again he finds himself distracted.

Angrily glaring up from his work, he stares hard across the room at her, nearly burning a hole through her paper thin dress with his eyes.

That voice. Why is he letting her get to him? Why can't he concentrate with her here?

With a deep breath, he calms his mind, willing himself to think straight. After all, the name of the game is mind over matter and he has the greatest mind of them all. Surely he can not and will not lower himself to the same standards as the rest of these hormonally imbalanced cavemen.

"So, what's your sign?"

That's it. Slamming his hands down on the bar, Edward abruptly gets up from his seat. He pockets his pen and unfinished puzzle before tossing a couple bills on the counter and walking away.

Head down, he makes his way through the crowd, desperately trying to avoid her line of sight. It's not that he doesn't like the Cat or the particular company she brings, it's just that he doesn't feel like being social tonight. After one particularly hellish day at the office, all he had wanted to do was have a drink and think. Alone. Now with that plan ruined, all he wants to do is curl up in bed and wait for this day to be over. Trouble is, when a black cat crosses your path, sadly you get no such luck.

Out of the corner of her eye, Selina Kyle spots that trademark hue of forest green she knows and loves so well. That color scheme that just screams 'Riddler'. Catching a glimpse of that infamous bowler and that three piece suit, she follows him with her eyes much like a predator to prey as he makes his way across the room.

"Eddie."

His ears prick up to the sound of his name, making him stop mid stride.

Damn.

He feels like he's been caught red-handed leaving the scene of a crime. With a heavy sigh, he turns around to face her head on. Best make this quick.

If it were even possible, her Cheshire-like grin begins to stretch ever more as Edward makes his way towards her. Why does he get the impression that he's going to regret this? She looks like the cat that swallowed the canary, and he's about to be desert.

"Well hello, Selina dear. How are you this lovely evening?"

She proceeds to introduce him to the two shaved apes clinging to her arms, but Edward's not listening. He's sure their names are somewhere along the lines of Hans and Franz, but for the sake of argument, he'll refer to them as Thing One and Thing Two.

They're absolutely enormous. Complete and utter meat heads. Nothing more than testosterone fueled eye candy and absolutely her type. However, why she chooses to pick up such primitive animals is beyond him. Just another riddle about women that he shall never be able to solve.

Obviously she does not give herself enough credit. She's far beyond just another pair of titts, not that there's anything wrong with her titts, they're absolutely sublime. The point is, there's a mind hidden somewhere behind those thick black lashes and those haunting emerald-green eyes. Not a great mind such as his, but a rather good mind just the same. A mind that has in fact bested him on more than one occasion. It all boils down to the fact that she could do so much better than these overgrown baboons. Perhaps an intellectual type. Someone who can converse with her and appreciate her for so much more than her outward beauty.

Thing One is growing impatient. Crossing his arms in front of his rather large chest, he flexes his muscles as he stares Edward down. Thing Two looks just as menacing, if not more. They obviously perceive Edward as an outsider and are not at all too happy with him stealing Selina's attention away. Perhaps now would be a good time to leave.

"Well... This has been exhilarating, as always, but I really must be going." Edward says with the tip of his hat.

"Ohhh... But we're having fun." Selina replies with a pout and those big, sad eyes. "Don't go."

Before he has a chance to react, she throws her arms around his neck and pulls herself closer to his body. His eyes grow wide and his body grows tense. He can practically feel the heat radiating off her skin as she rubs her silky-smooth cheek against his stubbled chin.

"Stay."

She whispers in his ear and for a brief moment, he actually feels like giving in to her request. With her body pressed so tightly against his, he wants so badly to believe. And that's when it hits him. Since when has she ever sought out his company? He can't even count on one hand the number of times she's been nice to him. Why is she suddenly so interested in him? Why would she want him to stay? So many questions. So many riddles. But just one answer comes to mind.

Edward can practically hear Thing One and Thing Two growling as Selina clings to his awkward frame. Dislodging her arms from around his shoulders, Edward pries her from his body.

"Selina?" Edward coos, his hand cupping Selina's face ever so gently. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Nothing."

"Hn. Of course."

He stares down into her great, big lovely eyes and notices their dilation. The blush to her skin. Her quickening heartbeat. Leaning in closer, he whispers in her ear.

"Have they drugged you? Blink once if-"

Swatting at his chest, Selina begins to laugh.

"No!"

Every instinct within him is telling him to walk away. She's a big girl, she can take care of herself. In fact, drunk or not, the cat in her can probably kick everyone's asses in this very room in five minutes flat. Still, he supposes she's his friend or at the very least not his enemy. It would only be chivalrous and right of him to preserve her good name and not let her walk out of here with these two slobbering dogs. He can't help but curse himself. Damn him for being the good guy. Surely if he were still stuck in his villainous ways, this wouldn't be happening.

"Selina? Why don't I take you home?"

With an ever so mischievous glint in her eye, Selina nods her head and smiles.

Upset that their plaything is about to be taken away, Thing Two make his presence known. He reaches for his gun, but Edward is too quick. Grabbing hold of the seemingly inconspicuous cane draped along his forearm, he slides open the hidden compartment and draws forth a rather long blade.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you? Never bring a gun to a knife fight." Edward quips with a rather smug smirk as he presses the blade against the thug's neck. "En garde."

Wide eyed, both thugs stare at the slender man with the blade in shock and disbelief. Perhaps the rumors of his reformation were incorrect. Best to be cool and give up the girl than to play ball with a madman.

"I-I-It's ok. W-We're cool. Didn't mean n-nothin'. She's all yours, m-man." Thing One stammers, eager to see the blade taken away from his brother's throat. With his hands in the air, he surrenders for the both of them.

Sheathing his blade within the confines of the cane, Edward returns his cane to his arm and commences fixing his cufflinks. Turning his attention back towards the rescued damsel hardly in distress, Edward extends his other arm to which she accepts.

"Well. Shall we?"