Anything that Ophelia says in italics is a quote from Hamlet.
Chapter One.
Ophelia smiled around the warehouse. Now it was hers and she had made it pretty. The room was filled with flowers and ribbons adorned the walls. Water flooded the floor, ankle-deep, flower petals floating on the surface. Water, water, everywhere. Lots and lots of water. The thugs she had got hold of - Francisco and Barnardo, she called them and she didn't care at all what their real names were - whined about how the water was leaking into their shoes and making their feet all wet. Ophelia ignored them, she didn't care how soaked their socks were. Ophelia walked barefoot when inside and when outside wore nothing on her feet other than a pair of dainty black slippers.
"What hour now?" she asked Francisco, skipping over to the table littered with vials. This was where she conducted her experiments and in those vials were a variety of different solutions, all guaranteed to make the recipient fill as though they were drowning but only a few of them would actually kill the victim. Ophelia had refined the liquid until in no longer had to be consumed - she could just throw the vial at someone and it would soak in through the skin.
"Ten to nine," Francisco replied awkwardly. For him, this job really wasn't worth it. The boss was creepy, with her little songs and strange smiles and obsession with water. He only stayed because the pay was good. Unlike him, Francisco darted a look in Barnardo's direction, who stayed because of some weird attraction to the boss. Sure, Ophelia was ethereally beautiful with her large dark-blue eyes, moon-pale skin and her head of long white-blonde ringlets - but she was always sopping wet! Besides, say one word out of place and she would chuck one of those vials at you and then you'd be in trouble. The sooner he got enough to money to pay off his gambling bets, the better. And then he could get away from this job and find a towel. He took a step towards the cupboards - they were set high up on the walls so the water wouldn't get in - and slipped, falling her headfirst into the water.
"They say the owl was a baker's daughter!" Ophelia called mockingly and Francisco cursed her inwardly. Barnardo snickered but moved to help the other man get up. The wet floor was treacherous, especially as some of the flower petals had sunk and littered the bottom, and the two hired goons often lost their footing. Somehow Ophelia never fell.
Ophelia was bored. She had to lie low at the moment as Batman was after her and, besides, if she did too many heists in too little time a few choice members of the Rogue Gallery would come after her and teach her a lesson about taking turns. And Ophelia couldn't afford to get beaten up badly this early in her career. Or ever, really. Although dark purple bruises would look suitable dramatic and would almost fit, a broken leg would definitely stop her from gliding smoothly across the flooded warehouse floor and crutches would in no way fit in with the image she was trying to create.
And it was true, Ophelia always was soaking wet. Damp curls cascaded down her back and the hem of her dress was permanently saturated; Ophelia made sure she always looked like she'd just been caught in a particularly heavy rainstorm. A girl had a reputation to uphold after all - and moreover, she rather liked the feel of cold water trickling down her spine. It was comforting.
"He is dead and gone, lady,
He is dead and gone,
At his head a grass-green turf,
At his heels a stone," Ophelia sang in a light lilting voice as she prepared a new bottle of her drowning-liquid. She completely failed to notice the looks the two men exchanged behind her back. Francisco's said something along the lines of why are we working for this lunatic while Barnardo's was more she may be completely insane but she sure is gorgeous. If Barnardo had known what was about to happen he may have revised his opinion of his boss.
Suddenly the girl spun around, a malicious look on her face, and threw a vial straight at Barnardo. It shattered as it hit him, glass marking his face. The clear liquid inside ran into the cuts, making the process work even faster. Barnardo collapsed onto the floor, thrashing - which made water fly in every which direction - attempting to reach the surface of river that only existed inside his mind. He died in full view of Francisco but there was nothing that his friend could do to help him.
"For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy," Ophelia sighed a little and turned back to the table, "It wasn't diluted enough. It is common."
Francisco found himself wondering yet again why he wasn't running away from here as fast as he possibly could.