They emerged to what must have been the main upstairs foyer. As Cathy slowly entered the wide open space, the decor nearly took her breath away. The ceiling was held up by white Grecian columns, so tall that Cathy had to expose her throat to see where they ended. Red clay pots, urns, and vases on pedestals stood in corners or nooks, each depicting black-painted men and women wearing togas or armor, depending on what they were doing. Lighting was so low that Cathy almost missed the airbrushed, spongy clouds painted in a border hovering close to the ceiling.
Enormous two-storey windows gave an unobstructed view of the sunken, neon Amusement Mile outside and beyond. Even visible was the watery chasm she crossed earlier, ending at the collapsed freeway.
"Mount Olympus is a marvelous place, isn't it? The only worthy home for the gods," Maxie commented distantly in response.
Cathy walked faster to keep up, leaving the foyer behind. She didn't like where their conversation was going, if there was possibly anything more to dislike. She felt the beginnings of helplessness brew in her chest, a similar feeling to when she was stranded in her apartment. She tried to make sense of things, but those musings reached dead end after dead end. Maxie was so preoccupied with Greek mythology while in the middle of a crisis. Something about that didn't seem right. The Asylum answer came back.
She wasn't sure if there was a connection, but it wasn't becoming hard to believe that Maxie wasn't all there.
He continued through a larger arch-ceiling hall adjacent to the one they came from. Instead of a tunnel of darkness this time, the larger hall was well-lit by halogen ceiling lights, enough to see Maxie's face in brighter detail. His hair connected to a full, angular beard that grew a few inches past his chin. Scraggly, untrimmed whirls jutting out from his jawline told Cathy that he hadn't done much in terms of upkeep for a while. Not that she had anything to brag about, she'd been without a razor or tweezer for a month.
She slowed down. If she was able to notice all that, she was much too close.
Like suits of armor, marble statues lined the walls. One held a trident, another held a spear, an owl was perched on one female's shoulder - these were all of the Greek gods. The Greek theme was heavy in almost every aspect of decor.
At the corridor's end it veered to the right. Around the corner they came upon a beautiful, sweeping staircase with curled banisters. The neverending strip of royal purple carpet continued up, draped tight over every step. Maxie was already leading the way.
Cathy snuck a timid last glance over her shoulder, back through the lonely hallway they just passed through. Would she be able to remember how to get back to her raft? And her bag. She had no other choice than to leave it behind so as not to raise suspicion. She noted the purple carpet sharply angling to the left and disappearing around the bend. A white plaster bust of a woman's face and a fern stood in a corner at the turn. Committing them to memory, Cathy faced forward again and hopped the stairs two at a time to catch up with Maxie.
She began noting decoration with a keener eye.
There was no need to question for long why Maxie was situated back in his nightclub after a long absence: because even Asylum patients had been dumped into Arkham City.
Realization then hit Cathy hard, and she felt burning shame flare under her skin. How had that been so simple to forget when she gazed up at the neon lightning bolt not even an hour ago? She should have guessed, should have known that Maxie would have been the one running the club ever since Arkham Asylum was emptied. But her blinding need for warmth was so overpowering that it pushed everything else out of her mind.
Through a maze of two additional floors, more sidelong hallways, and more closed doors than Cathy could count, Maxie stopped at a set of oak double doors. An orange glow flickered underneath the cracks. Cathy felt discomforted again now that her energy built from walking was subsiding. This particular corridor wasn't lit at all. The only way she could tell they were at a set of double doors was the moonlight spilling in through a window to their side.
"Enter," said Maxie as he grabbed both handles and allowed the doors to part, revealing a room that Cathy could only call as a private dining chamber. It was large and also housed a fireplace—currently at work—and a long, darkwood dinner table that glistened in the firelight. Fifteen guests could be easily seated at it, but clearly there were less than that.
The word 'feast' usually entailed many diners; plausibly, by definition at least. However, just with a split-second scan did Cathy count only three people at the table—soon to be five once she and Maxie were seated. At the head of the table, a throne-like armed chair was pushed back at an angle—unvacated until Maxie returned.
Maxie held up a hand for silence, but he had no need. The table's patrons—a dark-haired woman in an airy, flowing white dress that fell like curtains, a red-nosed man with thinning sandy hair, and...an Arkham City prisoner—were already watching him with rapt attention. Cathy stifled a gasp in her nose when Maxie wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders.
"T'is yet another glorious day for all inhabitants of Mount Olympus," he announced with pride, holding his free palm in the air theatrically as if he were signalling to a more expansive crowd than present, making sure those invisible in the far back could see. "Rejoice. One and all. For our Hestia, Goddess of the Hearth and Home has returned to us." The people seated at the table acted as though this was normal protocol. Their expressions did not change or react.
Then, with a squeak of their chairs, they stood in unison and clapped heartily, though their expressions remained demure.
Cathy felt a burning sensation in her collar, ashamed for allowing her lie to come this far. She never claimed to be this Hestia girl, but not saying anything seemed to be just as good as additionally bragging that she could spin straw into gold, too. And now that three more witnesses were in the mix, things were getting even tougher. Each one of the strangers before her probably remembered a specific quirk of the original Hestia's, one that would certainly expose Cathy for the fraud she was. It wasn't like drama class in high school all over again, there was nothing to draw from to replicate who she was supposed to be playing.
While not exactly a banquet, the spread before the room's guests was quite generous. Slices of glistening roast beef were piled high on a golden platter, placed next to a tureen carrying boiled potatoes, and another with grainy, sectioned bread buns. In between the platters was a bowl of some sort of stemmed reddish-purple bulbs that Cathy couldn't place. Next to the bowl was a clear glass jug with a spout that appeared to be housing olive oil.
The pull in Cathy's empty stomach was hard to deny. She pressed her scratchy, parched lips together in restraint. The only thing that stopped her entirely from swan-diving into the beef platter was caution. The whole situation was bizarre, like she had stumbled upon dress rehearsal on a movie set. The question was who would be the first to break out in Shakespearian soliloquy.
Each of the three guests had an empty golden plate and goblet before them. They had been clearly waiting for Maxie's return. Cathy could have almost guessed that the food wasn't real and were merely well-made props, but the tempting smell hovering in the air didn't lie.
Maxie swept out his arm. "Be seated, sister. Our daybreak feast begins now, 'til Helios and his mighty chariot bring the sun." He gave her a guiding push, then made his way to his own rightful place at the head.
Cathy paused, eyeing a place to sit. The frozen, unfeeling, analyzing stares of the three guests made her feel a hundred pounds heavier. Their mouths seemed tight in subtle curiosity. Or could it be suspicion. She wanted to sit on the end of the table closest to her, to distance herself from their scrutiny. Although, that would put her at least three chairs away from the others who were seated down the opposite end. These were supposed to be her comrades; she had to act like it.
The fireplace was calling her invitingly. The tile floor's frigidness was seeping through the bare soles of her feet and began winding up her ankles like ivy. She decided on the empty spot next to the woman, closest to the fireplace, and gingerly seated herself. Maxie's face glowed in approval. Cathy paused for a split second, unsure of his motivation for doing so, but he had already walked away.
She was suddenly all too aware of the woman sitting right beside her. Her eyes were so set and unmoving that Cathy's heart revved in fear for a second, for she thought the woman might be dead. But no, the woman blinked just then, fortunately. She looked deeply into Cathy's eyes with such searing intensity, and then tilted her chin down so subtly, slowly, and stiffly that Cathy could have easily missed it if she wasn't paying attention.
Cathy was reminded of Mike the political prisoner's studious gaze when he discovered her at the courthouse. Did the woman know that Cathy wasn't who Maxie thought she was? Cathy just hoped that for the sake of consistency, she would consider them all having the same temperament as Maxie.
The brown blanket, originally only necessary for warmth, became her comfort, something to hold onto. To shed it would invite exposure and uncertainty. She concentrated on her knees to escape the woman's discomforting stare, crossed her arms in her lap and clung tight to the fabric protectively.
"Dye-on-Isus," commanded Maxie once he lowered onto his throne-like chair. The man with thinning hair straightened his posture dutifully. "A plate and drink for our newest addition."
Dye on Isus? Had Cathy heard that right? It appeared to be a name or title, because that was what the man seemed to be animated by. He nodded and left the table, disappearing behind another door off to the side. He returned seconds later with a golden plate and goblet that matched the other table settings exactly. It could have been noted that these people were clearly treating her like an equal.
The wiry man stuck a fork into the beef platter, impaling two slices. He slid them onto Cathy's plate, and then went back for more. He continued the action in an efficient, routine ease, like some sort of butler, and was quite generous with the portions.
She looked up at his face hovering over her, she couldn't help it. He had to be around mid-forties, possibly early fifties. Rounded, protruding cheekbones jutted from his face, creating a sunken cheek effect lined with shallow folds. A bulby red nose looked squashed onto his face. He didn't even make eye contact with Cathy, though he must have been aware that she was watching him out of the corner of his eye. His concentration on transporting the meat to her plate made it clear that he was purposely avoiding eye contact with her.
He stopped at seven slices, then added two boiled potatoes. Gathering a large wicker-wrapped jug into his arms, he poured a dark, runny liquid into her goblet. A strong sour-sweet smell rose into the air. Wine. The man righted the jug again, letting a solitary last drop fall into the cup, then he nodded his head in a short bow to Cathy and returned to his own chair on Maxie's right-hand side.
Dye on Isus, dye on I sis, die on eye suss... Cathy repeated questioningly. A name from her sixth grade Greek mythology textbook popped into her mind. Dionysus? It took time to form the spelled equivalent in her head, but she finally realized who Maxie meant. She'd never heard that name said before, only written. Dionysus, she recalled, had something to do with grapes and wine. Or at least that was the matching mental image from her weak recollection. Maybe it was his mobster codename. Cathy now wished regrettably she had researched Greek mythology more recently. Perhaps these names were chosen specifically or were somehow tied to these people's personalities. Maybe they were hints, or even inside jokes that could help her find out more about them, and subsequently, Hestia.
Before they could dig in, Maxie raised his goblet, and everybody followed suite. Cathy caught herself and quickly raised hers too.
"To Olympus," toasted Maxie grandly, holding his sparkling goblet forth. "If the Fates be kind, we shall find ourselves in more numerous company soon."
"Here, here!" barked the Arkham prisoner, executing the toast gesture and then tossing back his wine with fervor. The woman and Dionysus were more refined as they both drank. Cathy did so delicately, almost scared to actually drink what was poured into her goblet. Raising the rim to her lips and risking a droplet sip she found that the liquid did indeed taste like wine.
"And now," said Maxie, eyeing each of them one by one with an anticipative smile, "we dine."
On Maxie's command everybody's postures slackened as they dug in. All except Cathy of course. She timidly wrapped her cold fingers around the fork on her right, starving but scared to take a bite of her generous helpings. If the food was tainted they wouldn't have placed it on a shared platter, would they? Cathy glanced at the Arkham prisoner sitting directly across from her. He sawed into his beef with gusto, savoring as he chewed, and he was already cutting again just as soon as the fork was free.
Cathy turned her attention back to her own plate. She took her knife in the other hand and gently cut into the roast beef. Juices gushed and spread. Cathy brought the fork to her mouth and bit down gingerly, letting her tongue have a taste first. An explosion of delicious flavor electrified her taste buds. It was nearly too much to handle, the intensity almost made it taste sour. How she missed a warm, hearty meal.
When she swallowed, her stomach suddenly turned monstrous. Mimicking the Arkham prisoner, Cathy cut with more enthusiasm, as if it all could be taken away from her at any moment. The image of Phil and Mike, cold and wandering Arkham City's dirty streets, materialized in her head. I'm sorry, Cathy tried to project to them mentally as she took another guilty bite. She almost attempted to stop stuffing her face out of respect for them, but the excruciating want of food was too much, her mind was not in control anymore. I'm so, so sorry!
She snatched a bread bun and sank a large bite into it. While a little yeasty, the middle was fluffy, tasty, and soothing to her palate. Tears of relief burned her eyes. If it was poisoned, so be it, at least she was able to remember what it was like to have a satisfied stomach.
She wasn't going back on her promise to the political prisoners. Perhaps she could still somehow get away from the watchful Maxie and his accomplices later on. Maybe there was a working phone somewhere in the building that she could use to call someone in Gotham. The police, or her dad, even. He'd get help, she knew he would. He would kick down the Arkham City wall, guns blazing, if it meant getting his daughter back.
Then again, what made her so sure Phil, Mike, and the others were still alive? Cathy's heart lurched for a frightful second. The only way to find out was to persevere and reach Gotham to send a rescue team. And fast.
Breakfast (though it felt more like dinner) went more smoothly than Cathy could have expected. Maxie conversed mostly with Dionysus and the inmate in the orange jumpsuit who sat directly across from her, a bulky, strong-looking man with wide shoulders. The seams of his jumpsuit were under some stress. He wasn't fit, but there was definite muscle beneath his solid mass. A long, thin, purple scar, starting from the hairline, continued down through the brow and ended at his chin. The scarred side had a lazy eyelid as well.
Cathy vowed to distance herself from him the most. The horrible memory of the inmate who pounced her in the prison camp flashed in her mind. In this place, orange was bad news.
She didn't catch much of what they were talking about, their voices merely buzzed in her ears as she focused mainly on eating. The sound of her chewing in her inner ear muffled most things. The woman beside her remained stoic and exceedingly polite, smiling up to her cheekbones whenever Maxie's humorous stories called for it. She never looked at or acknowledged Cathy again.
As the meal was winding down, so did the whistling, violent snowstorm outside. When the greyish tinge of dawn smeared the horizon, Maxie suddenly broke away from his associates and glanced in Cathy's direction. She couldn't avoid his eye, he caught her too soon.
"Well then, tell us of your travels, Hestia," he said cheerfully while gathering the last meaty remains of his meal onto his fork. Dionysus was refilling his goblet unasked. Maxie watched Cathy patiently, anticipating her answer, his beard bobbing up and down as he ate.
Cathy's stomach squeezed in an invisible fist. She was being prompted to speak...
And she had no idea what to say.
The entire table turned eyes on her. The room shrank. Anxiety thickened her throat. Was she supposed to go along with this? When she barely even knew who Hestia represented?
Just to buy a few extra seconds, she acted as though she was meekly chewing the last of her food, though there was nothing in her mouth. The silence dragged for an awkward, overly drawn out second. Miming a delicate swallow, she knew she was out of time. There was nothing for it.
She breathed in to speak.
The woman interrupted. "Her journey to Mount Olympus has been long and tiring," she said gracefully to Maxie, a sympathetic grin lighting up her regal face in a soft glow. "I suspect that once she has been satisfied with drink and rest, perhaps later she may regale us with her tales."
"Ah, of course, of course," agreed Maxie obligingly, his sight staying trained on Cathy. He smiled apologetically. "Forgive me, sister. In my excitement for your arrival, I had forgotten."
The air in Cathy's lungs released like a balloon, but she clenched them to let her breath out slowly, unsuspiciously. She dipped her head low and nodded her thanks.
What was going on here?
A/N: WARNING: Sorry for the super-long author's note this time, but I feel like I must say some things. Feel free to skip this if it ruins the flow of chapters for you.
I apologize for the late update. I was on vacation for a couple weeks in Brazil for the FIFA World Cup. To any readers of mine who live in Brazil, thank you for inviting the world, and myself, to your country. It's difficult to host and accomodate so many visitors to a world event, but you all pulled it off quite well, and I went home with a good impression. Don't worry, I cleaned up after myself and left your country the same way I had entered it xD
I also can't believe this! A Bolt Out of the Blue has already surpassed 3,000 views! *stands on tippy-toes and shields eyes* Where are all of you? Where are you so that I can give you all the biggest, bear-huggingest hugs of your lives. Okay, yeah, so maybe the majority of the views were curiosity clicks, but still, that's a crazy lot! Incredible. I keep my Guest reviews open and unfiltered for a reason, I want everybody to have their chance to say something.
As everyone who has reviewed my story knows, I personally send a message back to each one in thanks, but unsigned reviews are so tough because I can't contact the person back. So if it's okay with everyone, as long as this new section doesn't distract or take away from my story, I shall answer unsigned reviews here so that those people too can know how much I appreciate them. Signed reviews will still continue to receive personal thanks from me.
ectoBiologist - That's so nice of you to say! It's hard for me to be proud when I still see so many ways in which I could improve, but I'm still doing the best I can with what I've learned, so I can say that I'm at least proud of my effort :D Your comment made me feel great.