Chapter 50

From that moment onward, the mansion was encased in bedlam.

Oswald shouted orders at the servants, telling them to keep the place protected. The maids and manservants ran to and fro, trying to follow his orders almost as quickly as he could spout them out. Zsaz, among other guards, were chosen to accompany him and Edward. When Zsaz asked Oswald if 'his pet creature' was coming, too, Oswald punched him in the nose. With a bandaged face, Zsaz loaded on guns and ammo. Meanwhile, Edward looked up every detergent factory in Gotham and circled the ones that had been abandoned. Then, in a matter of minutes, he deduced that the Red Hood gang was hiding in one located in the Narrows.

"We should leave right away," he said, "before they can escape."

"Right," Oswald nodded, "But not without Butch. He's the soldier that I would trust most when entering enemy territory."

Edward cocked a brow. "What about Sinclair?" His tone held a hint of hope that fell on deaf ears. Oswald shook his head. "No. Ruby is much more to me than that."

The taller man scowled and pushed his glasses up. "Very well. You'd best call Butch before he deprives the city of its red meat supply."

"What's going on?"

Heads turned.

Ruby, still in a Star Trek hoodie and baggy jeans, was standing in the doorway. Looking at the set-up with big, concerned eyes. Oswald wasted no time in appearing before her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Ruby, you shouldn't be out and about. Please go rest."

Ruby quirked a brow at him. "You didn't answer my question." Her look grew even more worried. Her hands rested on his wrists. "Did something happen?"

"Yes." Oswald gave her a tiny smile. "We've located the Red Hood gang."

Ruby's eyes threatened to pop. "What?"

"Yes!" Oswald's smile grew a bit. "We plan on confronting those interlopers." Icy-blue eyes narrowed with wicked intentions. Up close and personal."

"I'm coming with you." Ruby said immediately.

"But your ribs-"

"To hell with my ribs!" She retorted hotly. "Yours are broken, too, and you're moving around."

"I hold many responsibilities." Oswald countered. "If I left these tasks undone, they would only multiply." Seeing the anxiety in those dark blue orbs, he released one shoulder and placed his hand on her cheek. "I will be fine, Ruby. I promise. I've got five bodyguards coming with me. Six, if Butch will have to decency to present himself."

Ruby stared at him for a long moment. Seeing that his mind was made, the decisions as thick and solid as cement, she sighed. "Okay." She relented. "But if you come home with one scratch, I'll duct-tape your wrists to the bedposts and lock the door. I swear to God I will."

Edward spoke up. "You have no authority to do that to the mayor."

Ruby's voice was so cold that it was amazing that vapor didn't exit her lips. "I'm the first deputy mayor, Nygma. And, I have all the keys of this house. Try and stop me from doing it."

"Is that a challenge?" Edward rose from his seat.

"Oh, this oughta be good." Zsaz murmured, his voice clogged by the facial gauze.

"Will you two please stop?" Oswald cut in. His voice was somewhere between annoyed and disappointed. Ruby looked away, embarrassed. Edward scoffed and crossed his arms. Oswald turned back to Ruby. "I promise I'll be alright."

Ruby gave him the faintest of smiles. "Okay, Oz. I'm counting on it." Then, without warning, she reached up and slid her fingers into his shirt's collar. When they found the chain, they quickly fished it out. The zircon, bright and glassy as a frozen tear, shone in her palm. "You have this, after all."

Tabitha shook her head at Butch. Wordless. It would have been better if she had yelled.

Butch was almost grateful when his cellphone began to vibrate within his pocket. Turning away, he flipped it open like an oyster shell and held it to his ear. "Gilzean."

"Butch, where are you?!" Oswald barked into the speaker. "The Red Hood gang is at a detergent factory in the Narrows. We're on our way."

With every word, Butch felt his stomach clench up more. By the time he hung up, it felt like someone had made a bow-tie of his guts. For a moment, he felt as though he would regurgitate his lunch. But no. He couldn't afford that. This feeling was nothing. He was above it. "Gotta go." He shot the words at Tabitha as he hurried through the Sirens' exit. Running as quickly as he could, with his destination clear as crystal in his mind.

The factory was a great, hulking structure of mossy bricks. Its two chimney protruded like fangs into the sky. Eveything was covered in grey dust, with every corner adorned with cobwebs. The lawn, whose grass was brown and dead, was littered with rubbish and shattered beer bottles. There was a barb-wire fence with a sign reading, 'KEEP OUT'. Its mesage would have been more powerful if it hadn't been for the crater-sized hole in said fence. Years of drunken teenagers and half-frozen homeless people had slowly contributed to it.

Pulling off the useless chains wrapped around the handle, Butch tossed them aside. He ran inside, trading damp semi-light for dark grey shadows. The place smelled of rust and sweat, forgotten moments and elbow grease. In the center of his vision, a lamp's wan luminescence burned through. Sitting around it were his old friends, playing cards and drinking like there was no tomorrow. Funny, how they could shoot so well even when they reeked of gin. Butch had never been one to indulge in alcohol, himself. Artillery and red hoods littered the small room.

In other words, it had 'guilty' written all over it.

"Get your things!" Heads turned at the resonance of his voice. "We're done. I'm breakin' up the band." Everyone rose, walking towards him. Too slowly. "I'm serious! Go! Get outta dodge!" Butch yelled.

"Hey," the leader piped up, "not for nothin', but you promised us a pay-day. And we're not leavin' 'til we get it."

In that moment came the screeching of tires. Butch's stomach churned as he turned to a broken window. Through the flapping strips of plastic, he caught sight of a familiar limousine. The Penguin emerged from the backseat, a black trenchcoat over his fine suit. His cane stomped against the pavement as though the cement had somehow offended him. His lackeys trailed behind him like smoke from a train.

Butch felt fear. But just for a moment. Grim determination took its place. Calmly, he ducked back inside. Walked towards a table, where a Tommy gun lay. He made his way back to his original spot. Where he had everyone on sight. "Well," he spoke to himself, "guess it was gonna happen, sooner or later." He held up the gun. The men froze. "Sorry, boys."

A storm of bloodshed, screams, and gunfire echoed within the room. Reaching the ears of Oswald, who hurried despite his bad knee. When he reached the source of the noises, a glorious sight awaited him: half a dozen men splayed across the chamber, leaking precious lifeblood from so many holes. Butch stood before it all, a smoking gun in his hand and a hesitant smile on his chubby face. "I did it, Boss." He said, slightly out of breath. "I got 'em for ya." He gestured for further emphasis.

Oswald stared at him, delight dancing in his eyes, when an inhuman moan broke through. All eyes fell on one man, still alive, trying to lurch for him. With one twitch of his finger, Butch silenced him forever. Oswald smiled at him, feeling more positively about his thug than he had in quite a while.

Night finally arrived. And with it, the dance.

The Sirens had been arranged beautifully for the occasion. Flashing white lights spun across the polished marble floor. The bar was fully loaded with every type of drink, alcoholic or otherwise. The furniture had been cleaned, the music lively. An ice sculpture of a ballerina overlooked the banquet table, where dozens of delicacies resided. The windows showed a magnificent view of the city below. Black buildings with twinkling windows were stark against a dark blue sky, with the occasional star winking through the pollution. The camera's constant flashing made one think of a great, blinking eye made of light. Great bouquets of silver balloons had been tastfully arranged on both ends of the stage, where the band played classical music.

The guests were just as gorgeous. They were like characters from a fairy tale: all shimmering dresses and stylish hair, polished shoes and glittering rings. The people laughed and chatted as they loitered on the bar, or sat upon the furniture. The light fell upon them all, like some heavenly blessing.

Among them, Oswald almost felt like an ugly duckling in a pond filled with swans. His bum leg was the main reason for this, but not the only one. Seeing all of these beautiful, important people only reinforced every fault in his appearance. His bad posture and hunched shoulders, which were so prominent even Cobblair had inherited them. His long, beak-like nose that was constantly dark with blackheads. His angular face that made people think he didn't eat enough. His gaunt figure. His long hands and yellowish fingernails, stained from a brief smoking habit that had infested his teen years. His pallid skin that brought a fish's belly to mind.

Usually, he could hide - or at least minimize - all of those unpleasant features with lovely clothes. Nobody would take notice of his fingernails if he wore expensive rings. No one would scoff at his ashen complexion if he wore colors that complimented it.

But not tonight. Hence the 'almost'. Tonight, he wasn't some geeky kid at prom, finding refuge in a corner with a nice, dense book. Nor was he a youngster waiting in vain for a woman that would never show up. No. Tonight...he was the mayor. The reason of this party. And he had done his best to look the part. He wore a cobalt suit, with a black bow-tie and a deep purple vest. The zircon stone rested on his heart, the chain looser than usual. Black leather shoes crowned with spats adorned his feet. Every inch of him was perfumed, prim, and perfect.

A leader.

Who had yet to see his date.

Oswald glanced at his diamond-encrusted watch before letting out a sigh. He was about to pop a few more mints when something...he wasn't sure what...fell upon him. It felt like the sensation one gets when they are being watched, combined with a warm breeze. Was it due to Cobblair? Probably so. He couldn't remember ever having shared such a connection, even with his parents.

Slowly, he turned around. There, among the sea of strangers, stood Ruby. Oswald's eyes widened. His date - he still couldn't believe it - was wearing a silk gown the color of fresh blood. The bodice was tight enough to reveal her average figure, but below it the bountiful fabric rippled like waves with every movement. Two long strands of pink pearls had been sewn into the bodice's sides, lightly meeting one another. Ruby's blonde-brown-gray hair, freshly washed, was being kept out of her face by two small pins. Ruby, who normally never put anything on her face except for moisturizing cream at night, had put on mascara and lip-gloss. A simple black choker was tied around her neck. Long, red gloves covered her hands and most of her arms. Black slippers covered her feet, which peeked out from under the dress's hem.

Oswald had known her for a year and a half, spent most of every day with her since their first encounter, and he had never considered her beautiful. This was not out of malice but simple fact. Ruby was not beautiful by nature. No shame in that. By no means ugly, though. Okay-looking, usually; during the night of the campaign, he had considered her lovely.

Now...Oswald had no words.

Ruby approached him. Looking as nervous as he felt. Seeing his expression, she bit her lip. "Hi."

"Hi." Oswald answered.

"Do..." She winced, as though the words hurt, "Do I look okay?"

Oswald recuperated his vocabulary. "You look stunning."

Ruby blinked. She had been hoping for a 'great' at best. Grinning bashfully she looked away, blushing all the way up to her roots. Oswald gave a tiny laugh, not understanding why. He suddenly felt like a teenager again...but better. Ruby, looking both nervous and happy, looked around in awe. She looked like a kid in Disneyland. That was all Oswald needed to snap out of his shyness. Compassion took its place. He remembered that Ruby had spent most of her life locked up in a room, hidden from the world. She hadn't experienced the events that he had taken for granted. Going to school. Checking out books in a library. Attending dances. Eating a sandwich at Subway before returning home. She had missed all of it.

If he could have, Oswald would have traded his past for hers. If only to let her feel a mother's love, at least.

Ruby sensed his eyes on her. Blushing again, she laughed. "Sorry. I'm just standing here with my mouth open like a dolt." Her hand, wrapped in satin, took his. "C'mon, let's mingle with the fancy folk."

Ten minutes later, the tension had dried and broken away like terracotta. After helping themselves to some tiny club sandwiches (with Ruby deftly removing the bacon and ham from hers), the two split up and spoke to whomever looked important. Ruby was asked what it was like working with the mayor - indeed, being a first deputy mayor. She made sure to sing Oswald's praises. The journalists jotted down her every word as though she were Moses, and their notepads were to host the new Testaments. Oswald spoke passionately of the changes that he wanted to propel onto the city. He shook the hands of more gentlemen than he could count and shared many air kisses with the ladies. Throughout it all, he kept an eye out for Edward. To no avail.

In the midst of all this publicity, he didn't realize that he hadn't eaten in hours, and that small club sandwich had only made him hungrier.

He was about to lay siege to the banquet table when a voice called, "Mr. Mayor?" When he turned, a journalist with a camera around his neck was grinning at him. "A photo for the Gotham Gazzette?"

In response, Oswald grinned, brushed himself off, and straightened. The journalist held the camera over his eye, searching for the perfect angle.

Ruby's cheery voice suddenly tickled Oswald's ear. "Photo-bomb!"

Oswald turned to find Ruby hugging him from behind, resting her head on his shoulder. An impressive feat if one considered that she was a good five centimeters taller than he was - only seven less than Edward. He chuckled and covered her hands with his. "Photo hog." He playfully whispered at her.

"Aww, ain't that sweet!" The journalist cooed. "Here; the first one, you get to keep. Get ready!" Oswald and Ruby quickly shifted positions so that they were sharing a one-armed hug; her arm across his shoulders, his around her waist. There was a flash, and then a purr. The photograph emerged from the machine, gray substance slowly taking form. Ruby's greedy fingers extracted it. Held it up against the light. Bit by bit, the images and colors sharpened. Within seconds, she was holding the little fragment of time. Smiling, Ruby hugged it as a child would a teddy bear. Then, she handed it to Oswald. Winking at her, he carefully slipped it in his jacket's pocket.

Across the room, sheathed in shadows, was a tall figure dressed in green. There was a plan in his head and anger in his heart as he looked at the two. He watched Oswald and Ruby say something, followed by the former offering the latter his arm. Giggling, she took it, they made their way to the buffet table, loaded their paper plates, and sat down at one of the vacant tables. Scooting close to each other, they began to dig in and chat idly. More than once, Ruby amused Oswald by mutating her hands into flesh-based origami. Oswald laughed and clapped in delight. Edward couldn't tell if it was genuine or not. But he could recognize a handmade dress when he saw one. Poor thing. She had tried too hard with that stupid outfit. Pink pearls? Gloves? Wrong century, dear. She had probably squeezed out her budget on those stupid trinkets she liked so much. If he had to guess, her entire attire had cost less than his shoes.

Well, it didn't matter. She wouldn't be laughing for long. Not when he slipped an invitation to her estranged parents, who should be arriving any moment now.

His plan was perfect. And it had no room for Ruby.