Edward and Oswald are backstage together as they await showtime. People are making their way into the underground auditorium - underground because Jeremiah had blasted all the buildings around it, effectively burying it. But it was somehow still functional - and that was all that mattered.

"What better way to show Gotham that The Riddler is not only still alive, but treacherous? And certainly not someone to be trifled with," Oswald says as he fusses with the lapels of Edward's new suit.

"I like the sound of that," he answers with a toothy grin. And then he continues with a flourish, "My triumphant return to the stage!"

"Yes, and what a night it will be," Oswald says. "If only we can get your tie right."

Frustrated, he pulls off the tie that Edward is wearing none to gently and grabs another one.

"Owww!"

"Oh, sorry, your neck. I forgot that Tabby almost strangled you," Oswald says, his arms fluttering around it, desiring, but not knowing how to make it feel better. "At least you still have your voice. Not like last time. With Butch."

"Ha! Seems like I'm always sticking my neck out for you."

Oswald silently puts a new tie on him - gently, this time. He flattens the collar of his shirt and can't help but brush away what can only be imaginary flecks of dust.

"Oswald, you don't have to fuss."

"I know, but . . ." Oswald finds one more speck of something to pick off of his suit. "It's your big night. I want everything to be absolutely perfect!"

"It will be," Edward says. "You've restored all my props beautifully."

"That's because I need you to be inspired tonight. . ."

"I won't fail you, Oswald."

And he had no intentions to. Oswald had only invited his enemies and rivals to the event - secretly of course - they were all under the impression that it was some great honor, that only the elite, the select few, would be in attendance. They were the select few alright - just not in the way they imagined and they had been culled from the ever growing menagerie of Gotham's villains for slaughter and torture - Riddler style.

All except. . . him.

"If anyone can upstage you, it would be him," Oswald taunts, peeking out the curtain. Edward doesn't like the sound of his tone, so he joins his best friend, staring out over his head to watch William's dramatic entrance.

Four women adorned as priestesses of Isis dance down one of the aisles barefoot, swinging incense balls delicately, as if they were lotus flowers themselves. They release small puffs of colored smoke that smell like the famed flower.

Then two men in full costume appear at the top of the aisle. They look just like the Ancient Egyptians' depictions of Anubis, the jackal-headed god of the dead. Fearsome.

They part to the side and bang their staffs twice, making way for William, who, as Edward had recently learned is more commonly known as The Pharaoh.

He is majestic as he is carried high above the others on a golden litter borne by his men. His muscular chest is oiled and it gleams in the light of the auditorium. You can hear some of the women sigh as he passes them. Even Oswald's eyes grow bright.

After his litter is set down, William removes his formidable headdress and his entourage leaves. He throws his arms wide and bows to the cheering crowd before taking his seat.

"What a spectacular entrance," Edward says, his voice flat.

"He is something else, isn't he?" Oswald agrees, nodding, not even noticing that Edward isn't exactly pleased about that.

"Okay, friend," Oswald says, straightening Edward's tie and tugging on his lapels one last time. "Knock 'em dead."

"Oh, I intend to."

Please note: I'll be taking a couple of days off from posting this fic to celebrate the Christmas holiday. Take care everyone!