AN: Takes place when Riddler is on the phone to Penguin wondering about 'what did you put down there?'
OBSERVATIONS THUS FAR
1) Alfred is James Fucking Bond and you will not convince me otherwise.
2) You know what? Screw this show. What I really want is a sitcom of Penguin and Riddler where they murder their way through life and bicker about who's buying milk.
3) Little Bat needs to be grounded for his own protection. No cave, no seedy alleys. SCHOOL. HOME. THAT'S IT. Unless you make a normal, non-criminal friend. Then you can have them over like normal kids.
wickness-It was squishy and cute and he...did not set it on fire. I think it's still up there. Not like I can ask...and Superman? Ehh...at least our weirdos are normal and mostly not superpowered. I'll take what I can get.
The body is cold and stiff. So, for that matter, is Oswald. His new
Roommate?
Friend?
Ed.
killed him. With some careful coaching from a master, of course. But Oswald has been bedridden for too long and he's having trouble moving.
Damn this leg!
No matter. He promised to have Leonard ready to dispose of by the time his new
Roommate?
Friend?
Ed.
is home.
He drags the corpse to the kitchen sink, gets the head mostly inside, rifles through the drawers until he finds an appropriate knife, and gets to work.
It's slow going, hindered by his inibility to stand for long periods and the need to sharpen the knife on a regular basis. It refuses to cut through bone and he ends up using a paper weight to shatter the bones in the neck enough to just...pull the head free.
He lets himself pretend that this is Galavan, if only for a few moments.
He takes a break after getting the right arm off to make a sandwich. Mustard, mustard...there was spicy mustard here yesterday, where the hell did that
Idiot!
Roommate?
Friend.
put it?
Scowling, he dials the number and waits for him to pick up.
"What's going on?"
Is that worry he hears on the other end?
"Where is the spicy mustard?"
Hang on...
"You're calling me for that?" He sounds annoyed. Temper, temper. "Look, I-"
Ah! There is is, hiding behind the milk.
"Found it! Good-bye, friend."
He hangs up before Ed can say anything and prepares his sandwich on the small bit of counter that is sanitary.
Mm. Pastrami. It's not tuna,
Alas.
but it will do.
He finishes his sandwich, takes two ibuprofen with a glass of milk, and sets to work taking the arm apart. By the time he's done, it should be in eight pieces or so, to be scattered across Gotham. Lessens the risk. Sure, it's a bit messy, but normally it's not quite so time-consuming-the price one pays when one has insufficient tools.
He's just gotten a finger off when it slips through blood-slicked fingers and goes straight down the drain.
Oh. Um. Well. He'll just...fish that out, and...
Damn!
It's too far down to reach it-he can just brush the nail, though-and an attempt to wash it the rest of the way down leads to a small flood.
He calls Ed again.
"The sink is flooded."
"What? What did you put down there?"
"Nothing, a finger fell in, I can't reach it."
"Oh, dear...um..." He sounds flustered. That's not a good sound, it attracts attention. They'll have to work on that. "Just...just leave it, I'll...yeah. It'll be fine. Heheh, just leave it. Don't turn the water on."
He hangs up and Oswald scowls. How very unhelpful.
Oh, well. He may as well resume the dismemberment. His
Friend.
can deal with this when he gets home.
THE END