"Good morning!"
"Go away..." The Chef bitched under her breath, taking swig of her flask, ignoring the greeting as she trudged down the stairs. The fucking elevator was out of order. Behind her, she could hear footsteps speeding down towards her. Every morning for the past three days, she had to deal with the too chipper new neighbor. Always smiling and trying to chat with her as she was leaving early morning for work, and she assumed him getting home. She didn't pry, didn't care too. He was too friendly, with his stupid lopsided grin and perfect teeth.
Glitzy. Had to be. They could afford nice teeth.
"Wait!" The Chef didn't stop, still descending the stairs to the third floor, so close to freedom. "Wait I have your mail!" Alexandera sighed, finally halting. She turned, pulling another drag off the flask. Her new neighbor, Todd, came to quick halt, panting from the rushed exertion.
"Thanks." The Chef snagged the mail from his hand, skimming through the junk. "Word of advice? Don't be loud this early. You're making yourself a target." Todd seemed to shrink into himself, chuckling nervously.
"Yeah... uh, kinda got threatened by the guys in G9." He rubbed his arm, clad in a light grey sweater. "Is it... that obvious I'm not from around here?"
"Yes. You stick out like a sore fuckin' thumb." The Chef began her trek back down, and rolled her eyes in frustration when she heard his following her down.
"Where are you headed this early?"
"Work."
"Where do you work?" His voice was bright and cheery. The Chef resisted the urge to smack him.
"Didn't anyone teach you not to talk to fucking strangers?"
"Oh... well... I'm kinda from a small town... everyone knows everyone..." The Chef moved to the side as someone made their way up the stairs, nodding in passing. A hint of purple peeking from under their jacket. She watched as the possible goon sneered at Todd's happy greeting.
"Why are you in Gotham?"
"I'm starting my own business! It's going really well, actually, despite some minor setbacks." The turned the landing, starting down floor two. "So... How exactly do I stick out?" The Chef sighed.
"You're whole happy ass self. Your entire demeanor. From your smile to your clothes." The Chef checked her phone when she felt it buzz. Marcus letting her know he was outside, waiting with the Gary and Kyle. A quiet 'oh' from behind her.
"What's wrong with my clothes?" The Chef stopped, turning back, he was picking at his sweater.
"You're wearing bright clothes in a town that wear darks," she gestured down to her own ratty flannel and black leggings. "You're too clean, smell like expensive perfume, too friendly, too pretty with your perfectly white teeth that had to be bought from a dentist, and talk to fucking much to strangers."
"You think I'm pretty?" He smiled sheepishly, eyes crinkling to show off crows feet. The Chef bark a short laugh, honestly caught off guard.
"I just insulted you, and that's what you retained?" The Chef shook her head, turning to her pathway down.
"W-well, I mean, everyone likes compliments!"
"I wasn't complimenting you, dipshit."
"I'm taking it as constructive criticism do you have any tips?"
"Yeah, everything I said? Do the opposite."
"Umm... how do I do the opposite with my teeth?"
"Piss off the wrong person, they'll fix it for you." The Chef drained the rest of her flask, sighing at as the last drop hit her lower lip.
"Oh..." His voice was small, and The Chef cursed herself.
"What is your business?"
"Huh? Oh! It's a start up, I'm trying to break into fashion."
"And you came to Gotham?" She turned onto the last flight of stairs.
"I want to make opportunities for people, and I want clothes anyone can afford and wear." The Chef passed by another goon, twitching with bloodshot eyes. "With functioning pockets!" Oh god he wasn't just a goody two-shoes.
He was idealistic.
He was going to be eaten alive.
"You got any allergies?"
"No...?" The Chef snorted, he didn't sound so sure.
"Good. Come on, you need a reality check, and I need to get to work."
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.
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It was slow for the day, with a surprising string of sunny days so uncommon for the city. She'd even sent for diner boys home for the day, Marcus thanking her quietly when she shoved the wrapped baked goods into his hands, winking. Kyle and Gary were quick out the back door, giddy for their unplanned sun day. Todd was out in the lobby at her insistence, talking with the few patrons about their clothing preferences. Many hesitant at first, both with the stranger, and the questions, but one stern look, they answered. Todd was sketching in a notebook, he had shed his light sweater, leaving him in a muscle tee, showing off the muscles he certainly did have. The Chef wasn't ashamed to say she stared, lazily chopping onions.
The front door opened, and The Chef flicked her eyes up, expecting one of her people.
It was a women, long black hair layered with fashionable blonde highlights, a small beauty mark gracing her face, and dressed in a professional pencil skirt, a lovely white blouse covered by a black blazer. The Chef felt her brow dip. No one save for Al and The Kid came to her diner so well dressed. The woman gave a kind smile to the glares sent her way from Alexandera's patrons.
"Good morning! I am looking for... Mama Chef?" The Woman's smile didn't drop as she scanned the lobby, before her sight landed on The Chef. "I work for the Dream Maker's Foundation, and I was told you might be able to help."
Dream Maker's Foundation was an organization that went to sick kids and made their dreams come true. What the hell was she doing here?
"Come on back." The Chef set her knife down, giving a look to Mouse, who nodded. He'd keep an eye on things. The Woman strode confidently through the lobby, ignoring the stares with her back straight. Her entire demeanor screaming she wasn't from the Narrows. The Chef nodded to her when she crossed the threshold of the kitchen, leading her to the tiny office The Chef hardly used. Reaching behind the old computer screen, she pulled a new bottle of whiskey. "Want any?"
"No, Ma'am, I don't drink while on the clock." The Chef shrugged, cracking the seal and taking a swig. "I was hoping you could lend assistance on a case I have."
"A kitchen is a little too dangerous for a dying kid." The Chef responded blandly, sitting in her rickety chair, making some standing room for The Woman, hand tightening on the bottle as said Woman closed the office door behind her.
"It's not a request for you... It's... Danny Williams is seven years old, Leukemic, and adores gardening. His dream job is to be a gardener."
"Then why the hell are you here? Reach out to Wayne Botanical Garden, I'm sure they'd love the publicity." The Chef sneered the Wayne name out.
"His wish from us isn't a visit to The Gardens... He..." The Woman hesitated, before squaring her shoulders. "He wants to meet Poison Ivy."
Silence...
"Then why the fuck are you here?"
"There are rumors. I have spent two weeks following these rumors, asking around, trying to gain trust just to do my job." The Woman clasped her hand together, knuckles white. "All roads led to you, The Mythical Mama Chef. The safe place in the Narrows where you can have a moment of peace and a good meal..."
"Still doesn't answer why your here."
"One of the rumors is you have... contact... with... Them." The Woman's face pulled, forlorn and pleading. "I promise I won't let anyone know, your secret is safe with me, it took so long just to learn about you. Please, it's all Danny wants!"
"The fuck kinda kid asks to meet a criminal?" The Chef laughed, on guard and desperate to deflect.
"Kids don't care about criminality, they care about whats cool, and Danny thinks Miss Ivy is the coolest." The Woman reached into her blazer, pulling a Polaroid from a lining pocket, holding it out for Alexandera to look at.
Bald kid, deathly pale and covered in wires and white, gaped tooth smile wide as he wore a flower crown, bedside window laden with potted plants. In his arms was a newspaper, Poison Ivy on the front page.
"Miss Chef, My job is to make kids happy, nothing else matters to me as long as they are safe. If you think... that this could be done, safely, wonderful! If not, then I was never here, and I will never say a thing." The Woman placed the photo on the desk, dropping a business card on top. "Should you need to reach out, I've written my... burner phones number on the back." The Woman closed the office behind her when she stepped out, leaving The Chef to pick up the card.
Kayume Seon-u
Dream Maker
The number under her name didn't match the neat script on the back.
The Chef looked at the kids toothless smile.
.
.
.
'Hey Harls, you got Ivy's number?'
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.
.
Mouse drove to the Goon Bar at the Docks, leaving a crudely drawn fox face on the back of the business card, letting Ivy know she trusted the situation, with Frank the Plant, who guffawed, roasting the kid until The Chef threatened the plant with weed killer. Harley stated Ivy wasn't picking up, but that was normal for the sunny days. Staying for a few drinks, arm wrestling the bartender for free drinks and losing, Mouse drove her home, letting the car idle, waiting for her to come back. The sunny day had dipped into a cloudless night, the moon bright and full, illuminating the streets along with the yellowed streetlamps. The climb up the stares was hell on her calves. She had forgotten to refill her flask back at the diner.
Once at her apartment, The Chef forwent a shower, simply changing into the white dress gifted to her by Jervis, and filling the flask. The Chef debated on heading down the stairs without the heels on, but didn't feel like picking out stray glass from her feet. Once she sat in Mouse's car, The Chef shot a text to Damian, telling him she'd be out again, text her when he was off the clock, then a text to Crane's number, letting them know she was heading out.
The drive took some time, leaving the Narrows, passing through the congested streets of Upper Gotham, then watching as high rise luxury apartments turned into sprawling mansions. Mouse laughed as The Chef made a rude gesture to Wayne Manor when they passed. Soon, they were cruising the winding turns into the outskirts of Gotham City, trees darkening the scenery.
"You sure, Mama Chef?" Mouse leaned over the center console, giving a worried look out the passenger side window as Alexandera closed the car door.
"Calm you tits, Mouse. Just... If I don't text in a couple hours... Have Marcus call Riddler." Mouse grimaced, but nodded, reversing the car and leaving The Chef behind. Alexandera sent another text to Crane, sipping off her flask and waiting for a response.
...Snap...
Off to her left, something cracking. Turning her head, towards a dark cluster of trees, she saw a gangling form, a hand outstretched towards her. Rolling her eyes, The Chef began walking forward.
"Very atmospheric. Ten outta ten, would chase after half naked camp councilors with a chainsaw." Alexandera tucked her flask into her bras cup, heels sinking into the soft earth. "What have you got set up? Occult summoning? Ouija Board?" As The Chef got closer, she slowly realized Crane didn't have his glasses on... His face was covered by a roughly sewn sack, a long duster hung limply on his frame.
"...Spooks..." Alexandera stopped short of the outstretched hand, arms crossing.
"I did say I wanted a date. Johnny Boy is takin' a... nap." Crow's voice was muffled, and his fingers twitched.
"Crow, cut the bullshit, why am really I here?" He didn't respond, but the mask shifted as his head lowered, the smell of sulfur strong and a chill cut through the air.
He lunged for her.
Lanky arms wrapping around her body, her own crossed ones pressed tight by a chest, The Chef fell to the ground, grunting at the impact and the digging of Crow's fists balled at her spine.
"What the fuck?!" The Chef thrashed, bucking her hips and trying to twist out the tight embrace, pinned down as she was straddled. Scarecrow chuckled, the sound warped and reverberating in a way she hadn't heard before.
"You an' me, baby, we're gonna have some fun tonight" There was a sliding sensation against her back. "We're gonna play hide n' seek."
The Chef opened her mouth to hurl insults and threats at The Scarecrow.
She tasted an acrid sting.
Her nose felt stuffy with humidity.
Her vision was clouded by a fog.
She was released.
Her heart started to thunder in her ears.
"You better run bitch, I'm givin' ya a ten second head start...
One...
Two..."
The forest was dark, trees twisted and imposing. A panic rising, clogging her throat and making it hard to breathe. Alexandera struggled to push herself onto her feet.
"Six...
Seven... Better run, little sacrifice..."
Something cold and foreign scratched at the back of her neck, and she bolted into the dark forest.
"Nine...
Ten...
Ready or not!"
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