Cathy stirred. Grabbing a fistful of flimsy cotton bedsheet, she held it possessively to her chin, resting her sleep-itchy eyes for a couple extra seconds. Then she fluttered them open blearily to find the washed-out, cold glow of dawn stretching across the hardwood.
She sighed heavily.
No matter how much she willed it she never woke up back home. Obviously it wasn't as easy as clicking her heels three times, and she was accustomed to waking up still waterlocked in Olympus, but that didn't mean she liked it. She slid her cloth-bunched fist down to her neck, a tingle of cool air settling on her cheek. Rising every morning in Gotham City Olympus felt like wasted time. Truly though, if she had to think on it, it may have been a better idea to just stay put and wait for Arkham City to shut down and for relief rescuers to find her there. Maybe not just better, but smarter. But when? Cathy couldn't stand the waiting and not knowing whether she was just wasting her last reserves of hope.
Taking her chances out in the City again, though? It was suffocating to think about. It even made Cathy tense up, drawing her knees just an inch higher. She was suddenly at the camp again, staring at the stars after her rough takedown, that inmate crawling over her with ill intent. Then there was the icy pale stare of the man in the courthouse basement. She wanted to slow down her body and ease her overwrought mind by just succumbing to her new bed's comfort for one night, just one night to replenish properly and forget the responsibilities weighing her down. But she wouldn't allow herself to. Because if she did stop, or even lost sight of her target, she knew her resolve would putter out and she'd inevitably resign to her fate.
...Simultaneously the oldest and the youngest...
Cathy's binge-reading session came back fresh and full-form in her mind, the last thing she thought about before drifting off.
Without a clock she couldn't be exact, but she was certain she didn't get that many hours of sleep. Her mind was wide-awake despite, though, and there was no use in attempting to lay back down and capture another sleep wave. Besides, she knew what she had to do. Well, not exactly what to do, but more that she had to do something. A floatable piece of material to paddle away on wasn't going to find itself.
Cathy rustled herself free from her sheets and groggily pivoted to dangle her legs over the edge, hanging her head for a sudden yawn.
It was prudent to note that this was going to be her first full day in Mount Olympus. She'd slept away the entirety of the previous day so she didn't have a clue what the others busied themselves with for the remaining hours between meals. All the better for her. If none of the other tenants were forced to chaperone, then she'd be free to explore the building on her own.
All alone.
Under no observing eyes and no supervising ears.
Elation tingled Cathy's fingertips. The idea wasn't foolproof, or even able to be planned to perfection, but then again all of her ideas so far were akin to throwing spaghetti against a wall and seeing what stuck.
The floorboards felt soothingly cool under her feet. Lowering to her knees, Cathy blindly swiped under the bed for her shoes—the new ones. Her sturdy, dependable runners needed to be saved for when she obtained a guaranteed safe passage out. Until then, Grecian sandals were going to be part of the daily costume.
After fastening the last leather strap over her ankle, she reluctantly pulled her roomy sweater over her head, balled it up, and stuffed it under the bed. She smoothed down the skirt of her dress, but that didn't seem necessary, the material was too airy to crunch or wrinkle. A mirror would have been useful, but after what Cathy had read up on Hestia, the goddess didn't seem the type to indulge in vanity. The awaited Aphrodite's room must have been mirrors wall-to-wall, floor to ceiling.
After looking down the hall both ways like it was a street crossing, Cathy left her bedroom and carefully, silently pulled the door shut behind her, locking it again. It was then she realized her small dilemma. Unfortunately, her dress had no pockets to carry her key.
Damn, she thought shortly. She didn't need this right now. Small problems had a habit of snowballing, and right now it was the big picture she needed to focus on.
Suitable hiding places were in short supply in Mount Olympus. She glanced up and down the dim hallway for an inconspicuous nook or cranny. A sidetable carrying a sizeable, glossed clay vase was placed a couple feet ahead, but it wasn't good enough. The vase was too deep to reach in, and Cathy didn't think it practical to have to tip it over every time she needed to fetch her room key. What if she was in a hurry? No, it had to be somewhere within easy reach, but also a place no one would think to look.
She paced coolly, tapping the key into her palm in a very gentle rhythm as if it would spur an idea, but she was also mindful to keep the slapping sound minimal. Think, think, think, she repeated with each tap, scanning the hall simultaneously. The key's brassy color almost blended in with the wainscotting on the walls in this particular section of Olympus, but if sunlight should fall on the key, it could be easily found. Additionally, she feared rodents could make away with it while she was gone if it were left on the floor.
Frustration frothed at the base of Cathy's skull and she didn't like it. Not one bit. She didn't come all this way through Arkham City just to be done in by a key. If someone, like Dionysus for example, just happened to be exploring this particular wing and just happened to see the invitational key waiting snug in its hole and decided have a little look around and found some of her stuff...
Cathy started to pace, like the energy would warm up her mind. Her new footwear felt strange, she hadn't worn a pair of sandals for a long time now. Though not exactly foreign, the season was winter and she was unaccustomed to the straps tightening and releasing with her step, and it was distracting.
She halted. Her sandals!
Cathy doubled over so fast that her dirty-blond hair maneuvered a complete arc. Bunching her dress hem up against her shin, she pinched and stretched her ankle strap outward as a test for its accommodation threshold. The space was satisfactory. Hurriedly shoving the key through, she let the strap snap back. It held. Not ideally, it would sway with her movement, but the ankle strap's waxy texture helped the key stay against her skin.
She let her hem tumble back to the floor and took a couple test walks. Nothing but her exposed toes poked through the dress. She even ambled in a circle and stomped once or twice for good measure. The key shifted, but it did not slip though. Cathy relaxed in the successful aftermath. That was one less thing to worry about.
Then, a distant slap of sandals, ones that did not belong to Cathy, bounced down from the hall's opposite end. She snapped to attention and straightened, having completely forgotten to be vigilant.
Not even a second later, statuesque Calliope appeared like a ghostly figure in the dawn, emerging rightside from an adjoining corridor. From Cathy's angle, it seemed as though Calliope had glided right through the wall. Cathy wouldn't have doubted this power, the woman seemed to know the building from inside out, so much so that she was an extension of the architecture itself.
"Good, you're up," Calliope said shortly. Cathy noted the tone of suspicion. Had the other woman heard those stomps? "Come on, we're all sitting down to breakfast." She then turned on her heel and disappeared around her corner again without even looking to see if Cathy was following. But of course Cathy was going to, it was a given.
The cool metal was gradually warming against her ankle. By the time she reached the dining chamber and strolled in, she couldn't feel the key's temperature anymore. All that notified her that it was still there was the weight.
Like always, she took her spot in front of the fire. While she carried herself inside with a new, goddess-like air, she policed herself to not appear too haughty. That was reserved for the prideful appearances of Maxie and Calliope. Hestia was of a slightly lower tier, though more for the sake of modesty, not ignored or unworthy. All she had to really do was straighten her posture and carry herself demurely.
Maxie, Hephaestus, Dionysus, and Calliope were all present, and Cathy hoped that she hadn't delayed their meal proceedings due to her absence, but they made no inclination that breakfast was off-schedule. Gold-accented plates and cutlery were already set, and Dionysus served the platters onto the table. Sausages, eggs, pancakes, and bacon didn't exist in this realm cut off from the rest of the world. In the stead of traditional breakfast fare was the usual boiled potatoes with an olive oil dispenser nearby, rather bland-looking pork slices with rings of fat left encircling them, barley bread pre-segmented on a cutting board with a small terracotta bowl of whipped butter at it's side, and the constant white-wicker encased jug of wine.
Cathy wouldn't be fazed by the heartiness; food was food, and habits of the outside never applied here. Adapt and learn. She had more pressing concerns, anyway.
At home at the head of the table, Maxie was admiring his lightning staff, holding it up to the firelight and angling it with his thumb. "A fine job, Hephaestus! My bolts blaze brighter than the sun itself!"
It seemed as though everybody's seating arrangement was set in stone—Hephaestus remained across from Cathy while Dionysus and Calliope were Maxie's right and left respectively.
As breakfast drew to a close, Cathy was using a pinched-off puff of bread to mop up her remainders when Maxie acknowledged Hephaestus amiably. "Dionysus has informed me of our dwindling stores. At meal's end I request of you to deliver another to Oswald in exchange for specific supplies. Send him my regards."
Hephaestus nodded dutifully. "At once."
Screeching his chair back, he rose, headed for the dining chamber exit. Cathy couldn't help but notice his unique step; he was walking with a minor limp.
Oswald? she wondered briefly. Was there one more god that went unaccounted for in their ranks?
After Hephaestus shut the heavy, lumbering door behind him, Maxie directed his attention on Cathy. "I wonder perhaps, Hestia, if you may join me for a stroll."
Cathy straightened her posture and attempted to resist the instinctual urge to glance at Calliope for some sort of facial cue for what to do next. She knew she couldn't make a habit of that, she had to get used to relying on herself.
"Of course," she replied evenly.
The two vacated their seats and side by side departed, leaving a silent Dionysus and Calliope behind. Cathy preferred not to risk looking over her shoulder to discern their expressions.
Maxie led her down a particularly sunny, peachy corridor, now that the sun had risen. "I have been meaning to ask," he said now that they put enough distance between them and the others, "how has your time been these few days?"
Cathy judged his words, and subsequently hers, carefully. She didn't hear anything malicious in his tone. On the contrary, Maxie sounded quite interested and optimistically anticipative toward her answer. She felt safe enough to oblige.
"Your gift of a hearth for my use was generous and gracious. I only hope my thanks is evident everyday, brother."
Speaking so elegantly still felt foreign on her tongue no matter how much historical fiction she devoured in the past. As a result, she spoke slow and methodically, and could only hope she sounded serene to the outside as opposed to insincere.
Maxie's resulting smile was calmly joyous. His lips were near invisible under his bushy, brown beard, but Cathy could see them spread, stretching his facial hair. "Such zeal warms me. Mount Olympus under my rule only inhabitates the best for its kin. Indeed you are home forever now, where you belong."
Cathy didn't know where her sudden pang of guilt came from. Something mildly nauseous stirred in the pit of her stomach, and she had a few guesses as to why. Taking advantage of Maxie's hospitality felt like taking advantage of the man himself, a man who was doting on an impostor masquerading as his imagined sister. It was very clear to her that he cared for these people as if they were really his own family.
But from the magazines, newspapers, and gossip rags that Cathy couldn't escape when she used to work in the bookstore, she knew Maxie was not right in the head. Did that really cancel out his virtuousness and sincerity, though?
She was beginning to feel like she was the morally-corrupt one in that moment. All because she was doing what she had to do to survive, fraud or not. There was no way to win, no way to come out on top completely guiltless. She always said to herself at the beginning of Arkham City's onset that she would never devolve into the monsters she saw everyday. And that was true for the most part, she halted the transformation into a foaming, violent animal that tore competitors to shreds. What she had failed to consider, however, was the inevitable cost to her morality because of her alternative route. Something had to give, and if it wasn't by abandoning her humanity, then it had to be the mental strain. Normally she could never take advantage of the sick and deluded, but here she was, doing just that.
Even though Maxie threatened her with death when she broke into the Olympus Club, was he actually going to do it?
Calliope told her he was dangerous, though. She remembered those words very clearly. Death threats were better to be taken seriously than to risk inciting them. And yes, as long as Maxie still had that lightning rod clutched tight in his powerful fists, he would be a figure best given distance, but Cathy couldn't deny that ever since the incident's pass, Maxie had been quite well-behaved and cordial. Would Calliope have a reason to lie? Cathy recalled the supposed Persephone and her fate. 'Supposed' because Cathy had never witnessed the girl for herself to confirm her existence. Maxie was temperamental to be sure, but did he really have the capacity to kill? Persephone must have existed once, for Cathy recalled Maxie mentioning her briefly.
"Imagine, a mortal having the gall to impersonate a god. None shall dare pull the wool over old Zeus's eyes ever again." That was what he'd said.
He never mentioned anything about killing her. Was she simply chased out because she refused to play pretend? Banished by being cast out into Arkham City? Though that option would be cruel—it basically condemned the girl to death anyway—Cathy had no proof that Maxie had done the deed himself.
And that was only if any of that was at all true.
Killing someone was a serious claim, though. Not something to take lightly. While Cathy knew it wasn't smart to jump to conclusions, she didn't know these people. Calliope, Dionysus, and Hephaestus didn't simply pop into existence when Cathy happened upon them. There was a story buried underneath all this.
Ultimately, though, Cathy didn't want time to choose sides. She just wanted to leave.
"Hestia?"
Cathy shook her head, glad to have remembered her adopted name even when she wasn't paying attention. "Hm?"
"You have grown silent."
"Ah. So I have. Pay no heed, brother. Musings come and go."
Maxie hummed agreeably. "Then it is fortuitous you now have something to occupy you, for I must depart. I hold business elsewhere for a small time. I shall leave you to your fancy for now. Fare well for the day's duration, we will meet again for our noon feasting."
Cathy nodded acceptingly. "Good day to you, then." With that, Maxie treaded back up the hall they'd just come through. Cathy watched him over her shoulder until he turned the corner. He made no indication of returning.
This was the chance she'd been waiting for.
Purposefully, Cathy ambled forward. She felt comfortable quickening her step, for the centered strip of royal purple carpet muffled the sound of her footfalls. It did nothing to silence the springy slap of soles on her heels, though, so she couldn't break into a full-out jog. Still, she was finally alone, and she was going to take full advantage of it.
Exploration was key, first and foremost. She felt it necessary to map as much of the building in her mind as she possibly could. Floors and floors of corridors, and rooms of varying sizes had the potential to turn labyrinthine during a crisis, and Cathy didn't want to be caught at a dead end at any point. If she needed to run somewhere in the future, she was going to run. Might as well know where to run to.
Lifting her dress hem, she descended a double winder staircase at corridor's end. The purple rug didn't stop, it unfurled onward, conformed to each marble step, and led her to the level underneath that matched it's upper one almost perfectly. Cathy doubted she'd discover much on this floor, but she traversed it's entire length and snuck peeks into its few rooms just to be safe. Most were just office board rooms, maybe at one point available for rent to outside businesses. The Olympus Club was a high-end caterer to the rich, afterall. It was doubtful the rooms had been in use, however, likely not for some time since Maxie's asylum incarceration.
So the exploration continued. Her tried and true method of remembering certain art pieces was helpful. Luckily, each floor wasn't a complete copy of the last. Bit by little bit, a foggy map formed in her mind, growing wider and clearer the more she traveled. Not every floor was a maze of halls, some had lobbies, though never as large or as elaborately decorated as the main one that looked out into the Amusement Mile.
If the bedrooms were on the topmost floor, then the dining room was one floor down. By Cathy's estimation, Olympus's three bottommost levels were entirely flooded. Therefore, on the night she trespassed, she must've entered through a window on the fourth. At the moment she was positive she was at Floor Seven.
"...don't go breaking that trust."
Cathy froze to the spot. A voice was floating from somewhere near. A stern, female voice. And she knew exactly who it belonged to.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," replied a second voice passively. Hephaestus.
Cathy followed the hall's singular path. The voices were getting louder the closer she was getting to it's end. What were the others doing down here? Not that Cathy knew what any of them did outside of sitting down to eat.
A heavy-duty door with a jutting metal hinge at its peak loomed near, bearing a sign that read "Employees Only". And it was wide open. Well, if they didn't want anyone to drop in they would have closed the door and lowered their voices, wouldn't they? Cathy thought momentarily about listening in on their conversation just out of sight, but she could only imagine the fallout between them should she be caught. No, it was better to alert them and have them aware of her presence. Show them that she could be honorable. She wasn't going to hide or show them that she was their weakest, most disposable link.
Meekly standing before the doorway to look inside and appear like she wasn't sneaking about and eavesdropping, Cathy, mildly puzzled, watched as Hephaestus loaded a white marble statue of a Greek-robed woman onto a chafed dolly. He minorly grunted from the effort, but in a way that still gave the impression that he could easily handle the exertion. He and Calliope appeared to be in the middle of some sort of disagreement, with Dionysus as the solemn bystander just two feet away, watching the two go back and forth. He noticed Cathy and nodded that it was okay for her to enter.
Calliope was glaring. "I'm warning you," she said in a dangerously low voice, pointing a finger under the inmate's nose when he straightened. "Maxie's trust in you doesn't mean a thing. You bring any of your cronies back here, you're going to pay."
Hephaestus scoffed, effectively brushing off the threat. "Cronies, eh?
Calliope did not back down. "This isn't a joke. You do what you've been ordered to do, no detours, no dealing or conversing with anybody besides Cobblepot, and you return promptly."
Hephaestus concentrated on adjusting the towering supplies onto the dolly. "I heard you the first hundred times you said it. Come on, you really think I'd share a sweet gig like this with any of those punks out there? Get real, lady. The less the better."
Cathy hoped this was some dark humour the two had exchanged before. It didn't sit well with her if that was truly the only reason Hephaestus hadn't betrayed them all to Maxie or all of Arkham City yet. The Olympus Club was still a secret for now.
So they were all in on it, Cathy concluded. None of them spoke the same way with eachother like they did with Maxie. And it begged to wonder, why were they going along with Maxie's fantasy? Even before Cathy joined their ranks they still outnumbered Maxie, they could overpower him if they wanted to.
The grubby room was certainly less pretty than the rest of the Olympus building. The air smelled chalky due to the floor and walls being solely smoothed-over, unpainted concrete. It was just a maintenance area, not meant for the eyes of Olympus's main clientele.
Hephaestus pressed in a four-digit code into the number pad panel. A mechanical whirring hummed from behind the wall, and then a slit opened to reveal a dingy freight elevator. He wheeled his cargo inside its generous width, the doors slid shut, and Hephaestus was gone.
"Where's he going?" Cathy asked as innocently as was believable.
Unexpectedly, it was Dionysus who answered her. "Trading," he explained. His voice was gentle, but his arms were crossed almost bracingly as he continued watching the elevator doors. There was unease in his ruddy face. "Oswald Cobblepot has supplies we need at the museum."
That was more than anything he'd said to her so far. He never spoke this freely to her before.
"Why would he need to do that?" she followed up with. Cathy felt like a child between two adults from asking such inquisitive questions, but she wanted to know more. These people knew things about Arkham City that she did not.
Dionysus faced her sidelong, looking mildly sympathetic like he felt sorry for her, and suddenly Cathy really did feel like a child. "Money has been made worthless in Arkham City," he said, and then shrugged blankly. "Just natural circumstance when there is no more order. People here have adopted the primitive method of bartering for goods. It's more useful to us. The Penguin has a flowing business from it due to his pipeline to the outside, and since he asks for things that are now useless, such as art and jewelry, they're traded for food, warm clothing, and bandages or medicine."
The Penguin? Oswald Cobblepot? Cathy suddenly understood who Maxie meant when he mentioned an Oswald at breakfast. She felt rather relieved that there wasn't a fifth person in the building she needed to keep track of.
"To keep Olympus stocked with food," Dionysus continued, "Zeus occassionally trades a Greek statue, urn, or painting with Penguin. He's basically keeping us afloat."
During all that time, Calliope likewise had her arms crossed and was watching Dionysus with sharp eyes, like she were ready to cut him off at any moment. She didn't say anything, though, so Dionysus must've not have revealed too much, or at least anything Calliope didn't want heard.
"But what would The Penguin want with art? He can't sell it here, no one's going to buy," said Cathy like it was the most obvious thing in the world. But the fact that it was so obvious clearly meant that it was not the correct answer.
"He's a collector," barged in Calliope. "Far be it from us to question his motives when he provides us with what we need to survive here."
The woman had a habit of making Cathy feel sheepish due to the type of questions she asked, like Cathy should have known better somehow. Now that she was on her current line of thought, though, why stop there? "So, just how is this elevator working? How is this place still running with electricity?"
Dionysus's smile was well-meaning but humorless and lifeless. "What were you expecting from the god of lightning, child?" But he understood what Cathy meant and gave her a break. "He's practically got an army-surplus of back-up generators. They could power Arkham City for miles."
"Maxie's had to start over since his return," interjected Calliope pensively. "He used to have more toys at his disposal. You can guess their inspiration. After they forcibly carted him away, his weapons were seized. Somehow they were never able to find his 'thunderbolt', as he calls it."
"That weird lightning stick thing?"
"Exactly. To my knowledge it's an altered cattle prod, but still just as dangerous. Don't go near it."
Cathy recalled the sparking, glowing blue orb just inches from burning her nose. "Trust me, I never want to be staring down that thing again."
It appeared that the other two were done there. They didn't wait for Hephaestus to return and instead left the room, assuming that Cathy would follow them, which she did.
No matter, she thought as she trailed behind them, she'd just have to revisit the room at a later time. There was no need to arouse suspicion right now. Neither of her hosts seemed to express notice or even acknowledge the critical design flaw when it came to secrecy: the elevator's number keys individually glowed when pressed.
3 - 7 - 8 - 1
Even if that number sequence was forgotten in seconds, Cathy could still recall the pattern of light like it were a round of Simon.
She'd found her traction again.
A/N: Dang, when I started this fic I'd been hoping I could finish it by the time Arkham Knight released. Alas, I've still got a lot to tell and the ending isn't coming anytime soon. Ah well, if you're still all with me on this, we're gonna keep going :)
I've got a question for you all. Did Cathy accept Maxie's madness too easily? I've been rereading my previous chapters and I couldn't tell whether I built it up too much only to reach an anticlimactic conclusion, or if Cathy's weariness just makes her accept everything more easily. Should I rewrite or leave it as it is? Would love to know your opinions on this.