"You got my diner number?" Alexandera asked, elbow deep in the farm style sink kitchen, washing up the plates she and Edward had used. The pot roast was pretty good, although being her favorite meal, even if it was bad, she'd have still enjoyed it. Edward was back on his laptop, typing away, it took several swats at his arm and threats for him to settle down. He cooked, it was only fair she cleaned up.
"Yes, I do." He kept typing with one hand, as he pulled his phone from his pocket, holding it over his shoulder. "It's under 'Delivery'." The Chef wiped her hand on her pants, snorting at the irony. She'd never delivered food before. Outright denied Marcus's suggestion for a delivery app.
"No one knows where this is, right?" Edward nodded.
"Only the girls know, and I had the gate locked. The only way in is to scale the fence, or climb the stairs."
"Stairs?" The Chef wiggled her foot into her work boots left by the front door.
"Yes, they lead down to the beach, it's a bit of a hike." The Chef opened the door. "Take the sunscreen!" She snorted at his pestering, but grabbed it, shoving the phone into her boot. Unlike the city, the breeze was warm, and The Chef had to raise her hand to block the blazing sun. She'd really acclimated to Gotham's cold and dark ways. The sunscreen was the lotion kind, and smell like coconut, she slathered her body as she rounded the tall building. The ocean looked beautiful and clean, and she could make out the crashing of waves below, she trekked down the steep stairs, slathering her skin with the sun screen.
It took a good ten minutes to make her way down the rickety groaning stairs, sweat and sunscreen dripping down her face, burning her eyes. There was a decrepit pier, half the wood was missing, sitting in the water. Not a single person walked the beach itself.
She was alone.
Tramping her way to the water line, Alexandera took time to watch the water. She'd never been to a beach. Lakes, and rivers in the past, and plenty of pools, but this felt different. It was so loud. The Water was soothing in a way she'd never heard before. Kicking off her boots, rolling her pants legs up, she fought against the waves, until the crested over her skinned knees. The salt stinging the healing wounds.
She stood there, grimacing at the feeling of her feet sinking into the sand, but happy at the cool water combating the heat of the sun.
This was nice.
She could almost forget about everything that had happened, but at the same time, her mind whirled at everything that had happened, but in a dizzying way that felt familiar. Almost like she had drank a handles worth of booze and was now standing in the shower, and the waves were loud enough to emulate her music.
Pulling the phone out, she clicked through the contacts, found her stores number, and called.
It took nine rings before there was an answer.
"Hodge-Podge, what the fuck you want?" Gary sounded winded and angry.
"That's how you answer the work phone?" The Chef scoffed a laugh, not mad in the slightest.
"Shit! Boss! Are you okay? What're ya doin' callin' the work phone?" She could hear the cash til close with a slam, and voices in the background calling out loud greetings.
"Lost my cell. Put Marcus on, and keep doing what your doing."
"Sorry for the-"
"If you greeting bitches with a fuck you keeps the goodie two shoes away, it's fine. Marcus, now." The Chef laughed, and waited.
"Where are you?" Marcus stern voice muttered over the phone.
"Is that your disappointed dad voice? If so, good work, now if only it was effective enough to keep the raccoon away." The Chef reached for her flask, and frowned when she didn't feel it. She must have left that... upstairs.
"Well at least your safe enough to be snarky, Boss."
"It's Chef, Marcus."
"Only when you're in the kitchen. Where are you? Mouse had to call in... a friend. Twitter is blowing up trying to find you."
"Who's with you?"
"Smokebomb" Ah.
"Put me on speaker." She waited to here Marcus give affirmation he'd done so. "I'm okay, safe and secure. Damien, you'd better not be harassing my staff."
"I was merely trying to ascertain your whereabouts, Lady Chef." Alexandera rolled her eyes.
"I know you better than that, brat. I'm okay. I had a rough night, and a friend gave me evac. I'm out of Gotham right now. I don't need to be checked up on." The Chef wiggled a foot out of the sand, it had sunk into up to her ankle. "Don't need another surprise visit, like with Gene." There was a lull in conversation.
"You did not correct me. Ukhti, are you safe?" Damien's voice was soft, as if he was trying to whisper. He sounded worried. The Chef was taken aback. She was supposed to worry about him, not the other way around.
"Kid, I'm alright, I promise."
"Prove it." He demanded. Alexandera sighed.
"Robin, I'm okay." She wished she could see their faces. Both Marcus and Damien had alluded to being... in the know, so to speak.
"Very well. Do you have a timeline as to when you will return? Alfred has been asking for you."
"Maybe a couple of days, not too long."
"By your leave. I will see you soon, Ukhti." Marcus took over after a moment.
"Shit, Boss. Sometimes I wonder who I'm more scared of, you, Baby Bird, or J."
"Me, I would hope. How's the diner?" Marcus filled her in on the day and delivery at the diner, word on the street in regards to the recovery of of certain gangs, rumors about the red headed jackass, and some details about the police.
"There is one thing that needs to be handled , if your back by Sunday."
"What's that?" The Chef rubbed more sweat from her eyes, waddling out of the water to grab her boots, the sand hot.
"There is... a meeting of goons, who would like to speak with you." Marcus said haltingly.
"Oookay. Why don't they just meet up at the diner? It's where they usually bother me?"
"This is a bit more formal than that."
"What aren't you telling me?"
"Boss, you ever heard of the Goonion?"
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"You're tracking in sand!" Edward fussed, grabbing a wicker broom, vigorously sweeping out the entry way. "Leave your shoes outside, you heathen!" The Chef laughed, chucking her boots out the front door, barely missing Edwards thigh and shoulder.
"Is the beach private?" The Chef placed his phone on the table as she passed by, grabbing the half empty bottle of whiskey as she passed, the lid already screwed off suspiciously.
"Technically, not anymore, but there are still signs posted from when it was, the town inhabitants don't know any better, from what I know." Edward closed the front door, clucking his tongue as he saw her feet still had grit stuck to them. "You are covered in sand! Did you roll around in it?"
"I'm gonna call it nature's exfoliation. My callouses have never felt so soft." The Chef kicked her leg back, wiggling her foot teasingly, as she rummaged in the fridge. "I want to do a bonfire." There was a unopened back of hot dogs and some chicken thighs. Not much in the way for making any sauces, she closed the fridge and took stock of the spices above the stove. She'd have to talk to Edwards girls later about what she expected during her next disappearing act, because The Chef just knew there had to be another one day.
"I suppose there should be enough driftwood to burn." Edward called out from the little closet adjacent to the stairs, pulling out a vacuum. "I'm going to be wrangled into helping you prep?"
"That or you can head downstairs and gather up the firewood, we got a few hours before nightfall, and the chicken will need time to marinate."
"If you don't mind, I would prefer to do the cooking." The Chef looked over her shoulder. "You should take the time here to unwind."
"I...suppose." The Chef backed away from the cabinets. "I'll just change into some shorts, then head back down. You got lighter fluid?" Edward's lips quirked up briefly at her acquiescence.
"Under the sink. Query also brought you a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, they are in your coat pocket." Edward jerked his chin to the hooks by the front door, her maroon coat hanging next to his own green. Well at least they took initiative on that front. "Reapply that sunblock before you head back out."
"Yes, Mom." Alexandera laughed at his offended scoff.
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Alexandera ended up napping on the couch, falling asleep watching Judge Judy reruns while Edward flitted around the kitchen. By the time she woke, the sun wasn't as scorching, those she still rubbed more lotion on her arms at Edward nagging behest. Her trek down the stairs was a little halting, as she dragged an old car tarp she snatched from next to the front door, it snagging here and there on splintered wood and the occasional nail.
Kicking her boots off once she reached the sand, The Chef started grabbing bits of wood that littered the ground, tossing it on the ever weighted tarp, and tugging it along to the next spot. It took about two trips before Alexandera felt satisfied by her haul. It took much long to get the fire going, some hunks of wood still water logged, the bit of wind cooled her sweat off also blowing out her meager attempts to light the smaller bits of wood, and in the end, she had sacrificed one of Edward's borrowed socks to use as kindling, and now the the wood smoldered and cracked, slowly growing in size. Happy with her work, The Chef plopped down on the sand, and simply existed. Watching the waves roll in and out, the water seeming further away now, small mounds of seaweed lining the view. The sun sinking further down, getting closer to where the water met sky, everything the same burning orange of the fire next to her. She'd never been a fan of the colour, but she couldn't help but think it was beautiful, mixed in with lovely pinks and yellows.
"Did you know!" Edward's voice called from behind, startling her revelry. "That there are legends of a flash of light during an ocean sunset, called The Green Flash." He had a small cooler hugged in his arms, old plastic grocery bags hanging from his wrists.
"I call bullshit." The Chef said, brushing sand off her hands as she stood to grab the cooler from his hands. "That sounds a little too much like drunken sailor legend." Edward sighed once she grabbed the weight from his hands, smugly grinning.
"Well, you would know." The Chef dropped the cooler a ways from the fire, side eyeing him.
"You calling me a drunken sailor?"
"A past life, perhaps?" He laughed when she rolled her eyes.
"Didn't take you for a guy who believed in that stuff, Puzzles." Edward spotted the tarp, and pulled it a bit closer to the fire, sitting on it instead of the sand.
"Admittedly, not in the past, I still have my doubts about invisible higher powers and the like, but I also doubted magic and demons, yet we have people like Miss Zatana and Scarecrow running amok." Edward unburdened his wrists, and opened the cooler, offering Alexandera a bottle of water. "If they can exist, why not a beautiful green sky?" The Chef took the bottle, gulping down half of it.
"Hyde, sure, but who's Zatana?"
"She's a hero outside of Gotham, a contact of mine has had encounters with her. She calls herself a magician, though to keep with the theme, I'd say she's more a witch." Edward reached into the pile of driftwood, pulling a few long sticks out, shoving them into the flames of the fire.
"When you say encounters..." Edward gave a half grin.
"I mean he has fought, and lost to her... many times." He pulled the smoking sticks out of the flames, and waved them about, trails of smoke rising and floating away on the breeze.
"You know, I've never asked... Why do y'all do the whole... villain thing?" Edward, who had been rummaging in the cooler, stopped a moment, looking as if he were formulating a response, as he pulled a zip lock bag with red sauced meat out. He stayed silent as he slipped a rubber glove on his hand, and skewered meat on the sticks.
"Would you care for a beer?" The Chef was surprised.
"Didn't take you for a beer drinker." She was more surprised when he reached into the cooler, and pulled a six pack of cheap beer out.
"I'm not... This was my father's preferred beverage." Alexandera grabbed the cans from him, tugging one of the plastic netting, cracking it open. It smelled bitter, and tasted awful, but booze was booze.
"Never heard you talk about your dad before." Edward sneered at her words.
"He was an unintelligent lump of fat and flesh, more prone to using his brute strength to bully people into his controlling ways, than using his brain, or lack-there-of, to solve his issues." Edward's wrists twitch as he slowly turned his make shift skewers in the fire. "His death was of no consequence to me, yet... a faint twisted feeling of longing persists."
"You wanted a father," The Chef grunted, sipping at her can, burping softly, "and got a fucker instead."
"Exactly. I realized too late my intelligence wasn't something he cared about, made him hate me more and more as the years went by." Edward sighed heavily. "And that leads to your previous query... I realized too late that my attempts to get the world to recognize my genius has burned any chance of gaining their admiration. No matter how smart I am, no one will care... My ledger is red."
They sat in somber silence, the juices of the meat dripping into the coals, the sizzling the quiet air.
"Why not just work under a pseudonym?"
"I have, in the past, but surprisingly, many cities and associations outside of Gotham do detailed background checks." Edward's voice was heavy with sarcasm, the meat on the stick smoking as he pulled it from the fire, his eye critically inspecting it. "I was almost caught twice, there will not be a third time."
"Going legit is hard, after a record I know, but someone's got to be desperate enough to hire you." The Chef murmured, thinking to herself.
"Thank you for the vote of confidence, Madam." Edward snarked, rolling his eyes as he handed a skewer to her.
"I'm just saying! You're fucking smart, someones bound to look past your ego."
"Ego! 'Ego' she says!" The Chef rolled her eyes at his insulted tone, taking a bite of the meat. Chicken, garlic and lemon... not bad. "Is it really egotistical to want to show the genius you have?"
"It is when you insult someone because of it. You did the same damn thing when you first snuck into my diner."
"That! That was the second time!" Edward pouted, crossing his arms. "How's the chicken" He abruptly asked.
"Good. Don't change the subject." Alexandera sipped at the beer, the flavor dulled by garlic lemon. "Your smart, no doubt there, but you're so caught up in proving it, you don't give people a chance to see it. All they see is a know-it-all asshole. Hell, I literally had to beat you until you calmed down enough to learn something from me. Now look at you, I'd trust you in my kitchen!" Edward startled at her admission, his cheeks darkening.
"...Really?"
"Well... maybe not my lunch rush... That takes experience, being in the fucking weeds." She laughed, biting more off her skewer.
"I'm inclined to agree, I've seen how busy you get!" Edward smiled, reaching his hand out. "Pass me a beer?" Alexandera complied.
"If you weren't a legendary criminal mastermind, what would you want to be?"
"Oh! A video game programmer." Edward answered quickly, Alexandera coughed up beer foam as she laughed.
"Wait, seriously? Not a rocket scientist?"
"Heavens no... pun not intended. Don't forget, I am 'The Riddler'! Video games are an excellent way to showcase my intellect with puzzles!"
"You could do that now!"
"I have! But I still crave the recognition! I don't want it be some unknown, faceless programmer people suspect lives in his mother's basement. I want the adulation of it all! The masses clamoring to hear me speak at a panel, interviews, praise!" He spoke rapidly, hands gesturing with vigor. "As it stands, the few games I have put out there have received good reviews, but it's not the same."
"What were they called?" Alexandera leaned back, propping herself up by her elbows.
"Perceptive Containment is a more popular one." He supplied, The Chef's eyes widened, and she beamed her empty can at him.
"Fuck You! I'm still stuck in the prologue!" Edward flinched when the can hit him, blinked, then threw his head back, laughing hard.
"It's not funny!" The Chef growled, glaring at him, he had tears in his eyes.
"Oh, but it is!" He wheezed, holding his stomach. "You- You've played my game! L-let me guess, the sewers?"
"You fucking dick! Yes! The damn sewers!"
"I'm not telling you the answer!" His laughter lessened into deep breathes, giggling now and then.
"Ugh! Dick." The Chef cracked another beer open. "How about a hint?"
"Not a chance." The sipped at his beer, shoulders bouncing. The Chef grumbled insults under her breath. "What about you? What would you be, if not a chef?"
"Fuck if I know... Dead?" Edward grimaced. "Really though, I've never really thought about it, I guess I've always wanted to be a cook."
"Not even a TV personality chef?" The Chef raised a brow, and gestured to herself, sand falling from her elbow.
"Do I seem like a TV personality to you?"
"Gordon Ramsey." Edward answered.
"Okay, sure, but he's a nice guy outside of the kitchen, and people like that. I'm still a bitch when I flip my closed sign."
"I don't think you're a bitch outside of your diner." Edward mused. "Abrasive, perhaps, but I find your company delightful." The Chef felt her ears heat up, and covered her small smile by her second beer can.
"Shut the fuck up, Puzzles." She looked out towards the ocean, the sun finally slipping into the sea. "Well look at that, no green flash." Edward hummed, turning his head to look at the water.
"Next time." Alexandera smiled wider.
"Sure, next time."
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