You would honestly be surprised how seldom it is that things are just as they appear to be, for with the sheer level of disregard for trust in the world out there, you would not be entirely baseless and paranoid to suspect a situation of having more to offer then its face value. This is the spine-influenced piece of extrasensory deduction that has aided detectives, and average busybodies alike for hundreds of years, and despite the lot of the negatives we have against us it is one of the brightest aspects of the human race. Have you ever asked someone about the things that plague them above all else? You know, those secret paranoid idiosyncrasies that seem to activate at the most inopportune of times, and maybe some would rather become tied down by social indoctrination trying to keep the truth of who they are from the rest of the world. What you might find to be a rather informative exercise is to find such people, and then honestly tell them those sweet nothings that our mothers may have just told our infantile selves to calm the nerves, and then report on just how effective your methods were. The reasons behind the slightly inept teens in horror movies repeating such mantras of self reflective protection is not because they are overreacting, but instead that they are just so enraptured in said trepidation that they cannot escape unless they lower themselves to the level of fear itself. Do you want to save yourself? Well, in the faded realm of moral ambiguity there lies a path to a power that cripples all towering mantles and sets all established dominance ablaze, but then again most of us are civilized enough never to stray so far from the shores of mental stability. I mean, you wouldn't want to burn yourself now, would you? But alas you may just never understand, the insane do not wish to be burned from the consequence of their tact, they simply do not believe in the world...they don't see the flame...they become it.
Evidence was all around us within the jewelry store, but most of it was nothing more than a fair bit of senseless conjecture, or in the very least it would be until we could have more concrete results backing our theories. A safe in the backroom had been wiped clean but had appeared to show no signs of forced entry, which was only further puzzling us as the culprit in question was willingly to shatter a pain of bullet resistant glass, but yet she had a foolproof plan to open the safe with ease. The whole thing seemed completely needless and off to me, and Gordon could sense it clear as day, but we left with as much as we could before we had been ushered off of the premises by more officers who had arrived to secure the scene. Incredibly late in doing so, might I add, but the two officers who had let us in the first place had informed us that as far as the department was concerned this was of a low level of priority. They had mentioned something about the brunt of the attention was being shifted towards the murder of which was supposedly tied to this incident, although as much as they claimed that the officers who had arrived last were in no mood for either of us and had even threw out the word "contempt" before I ducked back to disappear into a darkened corner. It wasn't exactly part of some sort of master plan to just up and leave the commissioner at the crime scene alone with them, but he was quick on his feet and had been one of them not so long ago, so his fate seemed to be without a shred of danger. The small zip-lock baggie I had procured from the shop was still in my pocket, as I had climbed up the wall of one of the buildings and shimmying from windowsill to windowsill it felt as though the small piece I had collected was jutting out and into my leg. Only slightly unpleasant an experience, so I pressed onward and made my way up to the rooftop and took a seat to catch my breath for a moment or so, the air was not coming in belated and taxed wheezing which had told me things were getting easier as I continued on. That being said, my body wasn't exactly at the Arnold Schwarzenegger level where I could carelessly bench press a car or even pull myself off of a mountain with my pinkie finger, so the idea of improving the situation and joining a gym was coming up every now and again.
"Lemme take a look at you..." I had removed the small piece of fractured glass from its container and held it in my gloved hand at a curious angle, then bringing it closer to my eyes for a better view, the odd sample exhibited an even more peculiar shape.
Usually, even with something as persistent as this glass, the pressure would slowly build and ripples would form and then the eventually break would leave a more uniform shape in result. But here it was not the case, this piece was broken much more like a normal pain of glass which would yield a million microscopic pieces, I shook my head at the reality that I had been spending my day's time prior to work involving myself with such nonsense. But yet again, it wasn't lacking in the fun department, the only thing that had been disturbing me was the mention of the item that had been left behind at both crimes...but my mind made quick work of my own conclusions being drawn when all we had known was that it was black lipstick. The winter was approaching and with it a far more ominously long periods of darkness of which Gotham honestly didn't need it was to be having any hopes of maintaining tourism or subtlety. Ten minutes would follow and I soon after found my way back towards where I had last left my car, whose days were numbered if the chirping in the engine and the parasitic amount of rust throughout its body were to be any consultation, and made my way to work in stride. I might not mention it much to you, but you know if you are asking me such a question to begin with I feel as though you might also be the target market behind the chia pet, and might just also paint your home just for the enjoyment of watching it dry. No offense meant to be taken, I assure you i'm not trying to be an asshole, but there's also the small tidbit where not even I can have much to say about my small base of operations in the ongoing battle against poor hygiene. Its just a job guys, it was then and it most likely forever shall be, but by god has it been a godsend at times when all I need is a place to stop being so heavy all of the time. I mean, some people might just accuse me of being the opposite at home, but there is a heaviness in my newfound hobby that has left me longing for the identity of an ordinary teenager who doesn't know the world so damn thoroughly. I remember that most days I would inadvertently find myself spacing out while staring out a small window by my station, and there would oddly enough be a small patch of flora that would grow through the crack of the pavement. At one point I had came to the understanding that not only had there been flowers growing from said crevice, albeit weakly, but one of them had been a slightly weathered rose. But most of the time when I shook my head and returned to work for a short while, it wasn't there any longer by the time I had returned my attention, leaving me to assume it was nothing more then just a pair of tired eyes.
So, if I have been so against the idea of writing anything in length about my workplace, why on earth would I spend the time I already have to set the stage so opportunistically? Patience, it can be a most wonderful virtue, if only you let it. At where I work there is this whole policy about employees and our supposed benefits, or lack thereof, and how you could eat something whenever we weren't busy but if you wanted a drink you would have to wait until after the shift was over. And yes, I am aware of the fact that I wasn't remotely close to the legal drinking age, but the thing you need to understand about Italians is that they are very traditional and might just offer you a sip or twelve of vodka. There's a basic sense that they will take care of their own and would maybe do a few things that aren't on the level, but as long as you aren't so clueless as to speak of it outside of the restaurant then everyone can come out of it without fault. My shift was coming to a close at about eleven o'clock, and my first instinct had just been to stay there for a little while and unwind from the lot of my life's events, and at about halfway between a fishbowl sized glass of pinnot grigio and the makings of alcoholism I was feeling amazing. From my forehead down to the very tips of my toes I was feeling more free then I had felt in ages, my mind had been more so affected then anything else as I continually made small talk with the people around me to assess whether or not my speech that been downgraded to slurs as much as Michael would after a night out. Or in the very least, the times where he actually said he had made it worth his while to go out, for he was a big guy and would often get frustrated at the amount of alcohol he would need to get him to the blackout state. So like I said, i'm there and now only a few sips standing from myself and the end of my glass which now that i'm spending more time on details is actually looking just as big as I had thought, and that is the moment when I hear the front door to the place swing open and a single woman enter and sit down at the bar beside me. At this point I probably wouldn't have minded so much if I had been sober, or at least somewhat coherent, but the most im moving at this point is to adjust my head placement against the bar and to possibly wipe up drool. So yes, not the smoothest of first impressions, although from the greeting I receive I quickly realize that I have met this woman before.
"Hey, valium." She started, giving me a brief nudge, my head lifting from its mahogany pillow to see that it was in fact Penelope herself, which might have caused a decent amount of awkwardness if the circumstances hadn't found that part of my brain sleepwalking through the moment.
"Shhh...first rule of the Irish, never interrupt a man when he's deep in thought, or drinking. And currently, I am in the middle of both." I reasoned with her, her eyes budging out further as she came to terms with the fact that I was intoxicated.
"Wait...aren't you...you know...underage?" She inquired.
"Shhhh...don't be a narc. But yes, I am underage, like...extremely underage." The spirits were finally sinking in to their fullest extent, and now it had become rather obvious to me that my balance and coordination had been severly compromised, but yet the euphoria backing it all was enough to will myself forward.
"Oh my god...i'm sorry to get in the way of...whatever it is im seeing right now." She tells me as she rolls her eyes into the back of her head, but surprisingly laughing at the situation all the same.
"No, no, no, no. Wait, listen I want to say that im...so-sorry. About the other night, you were trying to help me out and I kind've ruined the moment. Li-listen, the nights still young and I've taken my Midol, come on let me work some magic and try to make it up to you."