These last couple months have been garbage, but hopefully you guys aren't too miffed with me…*waves peace flag*
Onitsu Blackfeather: Thank ya! n_n I'm glad to hear that you think so, and I think a visit to the Ice Berg Lounge just might be in my plans for the future ;)
EricaDC-ComicsQueen: Thank you, I hope you enjoy this chapter! :)
~O~
The room was filled to the brim with people, nearly bursting at the seams, and Lillith couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of it all. Fashionably dressed waiters ambled gracefully about the room, carrying golden plates that balanced delicacies from foreign nations and sweet tasting wines. The stage was charmingly decorated, the grand piano she took to playing pushed front and center, polished, and inhabited by a grey haired man. A small symphony was squeezed therein, curving around the piano and a silver microphone. She recognized the music being played immediately, images of old flapper girls singing sultrily came to the forefront of her mind before she pushed it away to examine the rest of the splendor. Littered sporadically around the floor was reflective confetti, a casual but exciting touch, and in the corner a long strip of tables sporting a white tablecloth hosted a six tier cake, along with various pasties and appetizers. The room had been polished from the arched ceiling and bronze chandelier all the way to the marble checkered floor, so that everyone was lovingly reflected against its surface like a crystal pool. As an extra touch candelabras were placed elegantly in various openings within the walls, their warm flicker not missed, and the wallpaper no longer carried the heady smell of cigarettes and sweat. The cherry bar was expertly polished and waxed, and behind it glittering bottles of amber colored alcohols waited to be served, their golden glasses winking coquettishly in the light. All in all it was completely transformed.
And it was a perfect dream.
She heard a wolf whistle, and turning she met eyes with Frank, looking triumphant as he polished a crystal cup. He placed both hands on the bar, gave her a once over before lumbering out from behind the lounge, eager to greet his singer. He was sweaty and red-faced, but overall he looked better than she had ever seen him. The few wisps of hair that still clung to his head were combed to the side, his normal odor was replaced by the overpowering scent of sandalwood and though it made her eyes water it was admitably better than the normal eye watering smell that clung around him. Even more amazing he had managed to squeeze his gut into a tux, and a black bow tie was snapped around his gullet, the sweaty fat gathering between his chin and the tight collar. He flashed her a crooked toothed grin, gesturing to the room with a greedy smirk.
"Didn't think I could do it, did yah hon?" He snickered and Lillith gave him a wry smile, unwilling to admit that he was right. Luckily she didn't have to wait for him to continue.
"Well I did, and this baby is gonna put both our names in the paper, sweetcheeks." He gave a booming laugh, his large belly shaking as he did so. He threw her a sneaky glance, eyeing her countenance curiously.
"I see you finally dressed for the occasion too," he spoke finally, chuckling under his breathe. Lillith felt her cheeks grow hot.
"Well they have to have something to look at don't they?" she shot back, turning to view the people fluttering about the room. Frank turned and watched the men with jealousy, and the women with sad longing.
They were perfect, perfect little dolls in a pristine plastic life.
These were the people who would never know hunger, never even feel too cold or too hot. They had never done a day of real work in their lives and probably never would, and generously spent their large inheritances at a whim. Instead of collecting cards or shells they collected diamonds and rare gems, mansions and exotic pets.
Lillith didn't hate them as some, but she certainly could envy them. Her heart fluttered at the mere thought of the luxuries they abided, the freedom that came with never having a worry about the simple necessities; food, shelter, bills, all these things were taken for granted and served upon a glistening silver platter they could freely pick from. Lillith was not particularly greedy, but the idea of never having another worry about where she would live or what she would eat was more appealing than she liked to ponder. Her mind flashed to the news report that had baffled her before she returned her attention to her boss. She opened her mouth to question Frank but was cut off by a strong hand on her elbow. She glanced over, planning to tell this stranger to please unhand her, but was shocked into silence at the sight of the man before her. Edward Worthington III. He smiled graciously, dark eyes flashing caramel, showing such utterly white teeth that it put the marble floor to shame. Lillith flushed, casting a glance at his immaculate dark suit before raising a questioning eyebrow.
"Do you need something, sir?" she added the last bit quickly, straightening her back and looking him in the eye. The man looked taller on television.
"Why yes," He flashed a handsome grin, gently releasing her elbow and nodding his head in greeting. "I simply wished to meet the famous singer your employer was so enthused over." Out of the corner of her eye Lillith saw Frank wipe a meaty hand across his forehead, his eyes bright. His hand suddenly whipped from behind his back to snatch her hand, kissing her soft knuckles with a crooked grin.
"Edward. Edward Worthington the Third." His deep voice emphasized the last syllable, as if she could possibly not know who he was, and she could only imagine the places that name could get him. Like a golden key, the mere whisper of the name opened opportunities that likely haunted most Gothamites dreams.
"Lillith Arpeggiare." She gently retracted her hand, blushing awkwardly as he smirked.
"Lovely name, Italian?" He rose in eyebrow, taking in her appearance with interest. She shrugged in response, pleased when he did not question her further. She couldn't confirm or deny his statement, and for a moment her father flashed before her eyes, dark eyes and sandy hair, his skin grimy and tanned in the dark shade of their living room. She shook the image away before any party members noticed her dark expression. A waiter quickly strode by, carrying delicate crystal glasses of sparkling champagnes. Noticing the break in music she excused herself, shuffling past a bemused Edward to make her way to the stage. As the musicians rearranged themselves, some straightening their coats and sheet music, others taking a restroom break. She noticed the cello player on her left open his coat and toss back a flask, assumbably not filled with water. She had pre-acquainted herself with the music on the way over, several hurried, panic stricken calls to Frank had been highly reassuring, and for once she was highly thankful for the slovenly man. She glanced to the bar and noticed Frank beaming as he poured an older man a shot, and for a moment she saw him as a young man, buying a dead, broken down building, dreaming of money and a better life. Is that what she was in for? A lifetime spent chasing a dream she would never reach?
The lights were felt too bright as she cleared her throat, covering the mic and looking into the audience. They hardly seemed to notice the sudden addition, mingling and enjoying the sweetmeats while more joined their midst. The musicians quickly returned from their break, glancing up at her with a nod. Her fingers trembled with anxiety and she relaxed as the first eyes turned to look up at her. The first notes left her lips without trouble, and relieved, her voice burst into tender song.
~O~
The rec room was hardly worth the definition, and once the guards released him and sealed the door, he barely made it the worn sofa before his legs gave way. With nothing else to do, he stared at his surroundings, bleary eyes taking in the environment. Each wall was painted a different color, and the room contained one unadorned bookshelf, balancing several 'danger' proof board games, (once again the image of the Joker stabbing men with crayons and monopoly characters entered his mind, making him shudder), as well as a shelf full of worn (and likely untouched) self-improvement books. A chess board balancing on a single leg was nailed to the floor, and an old television shaped suspiciously like a box and surrounded with protective plexiglass was attached to the ceiling. None of the furniture matched, though Alexzander hardly cared to notice, and with a heave he rested his legs upon a scarred coffee table, dragging a hand through his thick hair. Save for the repetitive purr of air from the conditioner the recreation room was quiet, and it wasn't until he was thoroughly comfortable that he noticed the room was as uninhabited as he previously thought. One of the mismatched chairs had been pulled under the vent, and positioned stiffly within was a man reading a newspaper, completely hidden save for the tips or his orange-red hair. Alexzander watched with little interest as the air made the edge of the paper tremble, and his ears pricked as a gentle, irritating scratching could be heard. He tore his attention away however, when the TV emitted a loud, overly cheerful 'hellooooo, Gotham!', as Gotham News Channel 13 came on.
With a bored sigh he sunk into the sofa, the cushions engulfing him and the armrest scratchy under his fingertips. His glazed expression turned dull as he half listened to the dark haired man prattle on about some man and famous birthdays. His interest peaked however when the camera switched to a party, bright lights and sparkling champagne the made the cement walls of Arkham feel far away. He stared engrossed as the video moved to show twirling dresses and long curls, a man in a wheel chair blowing out the candles on an enormous cake, and then, perhaps the most delectable image of all, a tiny symphony with a plethora of instruments, strumming and plucking and striking. He closed his eyes and felt a dry sob rise in his throat, utterly silent, as the tiny tv strained to capture the tangible licks of music, and he gaped as a voice rose to accompany it. He sat up quicker than a man with bruised ribs should be allowed, his nails pinching the textured upholstery as he glared at the tiny screen. Though the image was slightly blurry, he made out the singer easily enough, and he eyed her form hungrily. Her hair was long and softly curled, pulled up enough to reveal her pale neck and shoulders, her dark lips forming the words as she sang. She was exquisite, and despite the flaws only a master like him could hear, he was completely besotted. The canary was no match for the loveliness, the sheer potential in the young woman's voice. It might have been hours he sat there, raised in his chair, utterly engrossed in the tender notes that made him shiver with anticipation, awaiting the crescendo of song like a beggar. He sneered with disgust when the clip finally changed, the news anchors obnoxious voice like nails on a chalkboard compared to the sirens voice. Perhaps he was giving her a bit too much credit-but that delectable taste of song, that gentle caress of music stitched his broken soul back together, sealed the cracks of his heart and refreshed his mind and body. It was enough to sustain him.
For now.
But he wanted out. He wanted her. He needed out. Now.
The news cast ended and with a silent growl of disapproval as Alexzander sunk back into the cushions, his fingers making an annoyed thump on the armrest. A flutter signaled the man in the corners movement, and the Music Meister peered over the edge of the sofa, surprised when the man rose and folded the paper into a neat rectangle. He stood and dusted imaginary dust of his orange jumpsuit, his bright green eyes passing over the fellow redhead before turning to the Jeopardy program on the TV. The man ignored the Music Meister's blatant staring, but he could hardly pull his attention away from the man's face. His right eye, which likely once matched the effervescent left, was swollen and purple, the skin on his sharp cheekbone split and blotchy. It was painful to behold, and as the man walked gracefully to seat himself next to his fellow patient, he caught a glimpse of more bruising, hidden by the collar of the jumpsuit and his folded sleeves.
"I'm not the only one then." The Music Meister mused. The man situated himself comfortably, one leg thrown across his lap as he waited for Trebek to announce the categories. Alexzander stretched, scanning the man's suit for his label.
000372905: E. Nigma
It took only several moments for the Music Meister to realize the man's alias as the Riddler, and he frowned as he tried to remember everything he had heard about the fellow. He needed allies, of the different sort than the Cajun, Killer Croc. He needed someone with subtlety, and most importantly, brains. He was pulled from his thoughts when he heard a snort, and he glanced at the rogue to catch his sneer as he muttered under his breathe.
"Too easy…"
With a scoff, Alexzander returned to his thoughts, trying to remember what he had heard on the news and in papers.
The Riddler is rogue who centers himself around his ability to deduce and create incredibly complex riddles, he possesses a vast array of esoteric knowledge, as well as a-
A guffaw broke his concentration as the Riddler mocked Trebek, and the Meister nearly rolled his eyes in annoyance. In a vague hope of communication, the Meister tapped out a message on the armrest, a series of thumps and tapping that he prayed the man who knew nearly everything would understand.
"You're good at this game. Might I test your knowledge?"
The Riddler stiffened, his eyes never leaving the television, and inclined his head just enough that Alexzander could understand. The Miester frowned at his strange behavior but nonetheless continued.
"What do you have when you throw a piano down a mine?"
The Riddler did not immediately respond, instead he stretched, a smirk turning his lips upwards and his foot tapping against the cold tile.
"A flat minor."
The Meister nodded in mock approval, glancing at the television before another question entered his mind. His fingers drummed out his question decidedly. It felt good to be able to converse with another person, despite the circumstances.
"Where is the camera?"
Again the Riddler did not dare answer, but he nodded his head in the direction of the TV, the epitome of casualness. He followed his line of sight, squinting as he tried to notice anything peculiar about the television set. It was normal from what he could see, and he shifted, filing away the knowledge for later use. He glanced at the rogue and was abashed to see already his attention had shifted away from him and to the screen with the promise of knowledge. He had solved the riddle, proven his own superior intelligence and now he had no desire to waste anymore time with a complete stranger.
How irritating.
The man was like a child, his attention span only lasting as long as there was something interesting to toy with. Alexzander felt a headache reforming. He needed to be free of this place, he needed to hear that angelic tune of that woman's voice for himself, and the brief memory filled him with determination. When all this was over he'd pay her a visit, and it would be far different from his experience with the Canary. He would sing her her very own song and she would be so filled with the same appreciation for his voice that he held for hers, she would never dream of loving another. He would be her whole world, her confidant, her lover, her mentor. She would lovehim more than any woman had ever loved a man, and he her, he was certain of it. He would escape this hellhole, even if he had to tear his way out brick by brick, if it meant spending time with his darling nightingale.
But first, he needed to get this git of a man to pay attention.
"Who did that to your eye?" He was pleased when he noticed the Riddler's reaction, the immediate clenching of his jaw, the tightening of his fist. So there was someone of trouble, that gave him a little leverage. He noted this information, and struggled to think of something to capture the man's attention.
"Do you know Doctor Strange?"
He inwardly cursed and shuddered at the name, and was pleased to see the Riddler's brows furrow, his lips turning down in a frown. That was a yes.
"I have reason to believe he is holding a patient prisoner."
The Riddler snorted, as if to say "Why should I care?"
"His name is Jervis Tetch."
He was disappointed with the Riddlers reaction however, when he gave a careful shrug and tapped his answer against the floor, the rubber soles of his white slippers dull.
"I was aware of this predicament."
His answer was curt and unfeeling, and Alexzander could feel himself losing all signs of garnering the Riddler's aid, he was grasping at straws.
"If we work together we can get out of here."
It was a final attempt at gaining the man's help, and he was rewarded. The Riddler looked at him directly for the first time, his eyes scintillating despite the bruises as he analyzed Alexzander carefully. He seemed to decide something after several horribly long moments; and he surprised the Meister with his answer.
"What closes gates and opens doors, is overzealous and produces sores, and above all, needs to be taken down a few heads." The disgust evident in the man's voice was blatantly apparent, and a loud buzz sounded almost immediately, partially blocking out the rogues confirmation, but Alexzander heard it nonetheless. The Riddler stood and expectantly turned to the guards that came to escort them out, leaving the Meister to puzzle over the man's retort. If he could figure it out, then he would know what to do to gain the rogues cooperation.
~O~
It's not that Eddie doesn't care, he remains cold about the subject because at the moment, there is nothing he can do to assist Jervis (and ultimately thwart Strange), without risking himself. Of course being who he is he's going to go with the logical path, and remain relatively 'safe,' although we see in this chapter that there is *someone* is harming him and the other patients.
Lil' will reappear next chapter! How do you guys feel about the Meister's interest in Lillith? I hope it didn't seem to out of character, but I imagine him as a mix of the Phantom from Phantom of the Opera, and the hopeful obsessive character he was in Brave and the Bold.
And…to everyone who has been waiting for this update, my sincerest apologies. I'm going to be in court for the next week, so I won't be able to answer any pm's, questions, or reviews right away!
Reviews make me update faster. True fact, I can't ignore a story when people tell me to continue!
