There were a lot of words that could describe the hideout, Molly figured. Dingy, wretched, sub-par… The possibilities were infinite, really, but the word that effortlessly trumped all under the current circumstances was "lonely". It was a horribly damp place, certainly not the sort of area you'd plan to host a party in, given the choice - not so bad if you had something to occupy you, because time would go by quicker, making the experience of being left alone down there marginally more bearable, but when rendered bored or unfocused, the experience worsened.
Particularly when something was on one's mind. Simply put, Molly was hungry. A bite to eat earlier on and not much else was proving to not be very sustainable as that familiar sensation of being peckish nipped at her stomach, goading her to grab something else. It wasn't a feeling she minded, per se, but one that bothered her moreso when there really were not many options of things to eat. The morning's meeting had finished off most of the food in the small portable fridge and left nothing but a small, grainy snack item that she'd had herself about an hour ago. That much time having passed without her being able to think things through clearly was worrying enough by itself anyway; she'd been giving a list of tasks to carry out around the base whilst the boys prepared a different plan elsewhere, and due to her predicament she'd currently gotten about halfway through the first. Hunger was distracting, and it certainly didn't help that whilst there technically was something she could technically dip into to alleviate this, Harry that told her not to-
Speak of the devil, a double-click and the groan of something heavy on its hinges echoed distantly from somewhere up the staircase, indicating the door had just been opened. Bracing herself for a lot of yelling (not that she couldn't handle herself, things like this didn't get to her, but they were sure undesirable), Molly sighed and called up, "The list isn't even a quarter of the way done, Harry, so don't come down here expecting nothing."
"It's not Harry," replied an accented voice that she hadn't been expecting back yet. Their being in America meant that there was such a variety of places you could be from that everyone having a slightly different twang to them depending on a variety of factors was just part and parcel of living there, but that was something that had always fascinated Molly. She'd always loved to listen, which may be one of the reasons why she'd been enjoying working for such a talkative-whenever-he-was-excited boss, as it had given her something else to listen to than music, but regardless, she as a result had found herself rather good at pinpointing where people were from.
The man that bounced down the stairs onto the landing was no different, for the most part. She was pretty sure he had at least spent a good amount of time in Pennsylvania, if not from there, but the way he delivered his words had an almost foreign-like tinge to it that she couldn't quite figure, one that never ceased to endlessly intrigue her.
He continued teasingly, "And with his lack of brains, I should hope it remains that way."
Molly huffed out a laugh although she was more relieved than amused. Harry was in charge around these parts, but in all honesty she'd never really liked him -much less his attitude - so any quip toward him that she wouldn't get the short end of the stick for was a win in her book. "You sure are a card, Riddler."
"That I am, my pretty," he replied, removing his hat elegantly, which somehow amplified how satisfied with himself he looked, "and I do love hearing it."
She made a mental note to say it again at some point. "Back so soon?"
Making his way down the final steps and to the levelled floor with a subtle skip, he nodded before placing the bowler to one side. "I got a meeting with Mr Peale faster than I expected, and even then he accepted the cross without much hesitation - question: what do you do for a man who's missing his palms?"
Molly had never really been all that fussed about riddles. She'd crossed paths with one or two here and there on her travels, but never at such a scale as this, since she'd never really thought they of all things would have come into such big relevance. As it stood, they (and more prominently he) had, but she was not any closer to wrapping her head around the formula just yet. "Tell me, genius," she smiled, genuinely.
"You lend him a hand!" he revealed, following it up with a proud giggle and the shake of his own fist, "Or in this case, a cross - that sparkling little beauty's the only of its kind, and it just so happens it's exactly what he needed."
Now leaning against the central table, Molly looked the Riddler over, partially wondering just how he figured half of this stuff out, partially just interested in a more… general sense. He said words in such a satisfying way, yet had a tendency to move on at any moment to get to whatever he was previously planning, so it occurred to her to question him further before such a thing happened. "Well, how did you do it? Know exactly what he needed, and get a hold of one, I mean?"
It seemed her worry about him potentially moving on had been unwarranted, as he was perfectly content to continue. "I'm so very glad you asked! Mr Peale chose such a theme at the written request of a dear, adoring fan, who wanted a show with class and respect, themed around the little item he was in need of. Now, Pealey's a smart man - I'm sure he couldn't turn down such a large offer of money in return, to be paid upon delivery, of course. And, would you look at that, I had the perfect mold to make one!"
Piecing the puzzle together, a smile spread across Molly's face. "You wrote the letter? And don't intend to pay him?"
"Precisely, my sweet!" he exclaimed with a small leap, "Played into my ploy! Fixed! Set-up!"
As he burst into cackles once again, Molly allowed her smile to grow slightly wider. She'd never met someone quite like the man before her, dancing around the room in his own glee as he was, and despite his lunacy, she'd also never met someone that could balance this and sensibility so seamlessly.
Speaking of seams, it was the very thing he'd been planning to work on next, and that much was obvious once he calmed down some and bounded over to the long table on the left side of the room, and his sewing machine sat atop it, with a few different brightly-coloured fabrics folded neatly nearby. Without the Riddler's chattering to distract her, Molly's mind began to wander, winding back up with her prior appetite, rendering her inattentive, to the point where she hadn't even noticed her name being called.
"Molly?" Riddler repeated, for the who-knew-how-many-th time, "What's the matter?"
"Oh, uh, nothing… Nothing much," she lied, blatantly.
Too blatantly, apparently. "Molly, my dear, I can tell that you're not being completely honest - I hope you did not think you could slip a secret by me of all people?"
Because he was a genius, of course. Really, she should've known it would be futile, and there probably wasn't any harm in it. What did he care for something that didn't actively concern him, and even if it did, what worse could he do than Harry's go-to spell of raised voices?
"I was just a little hungry," she admitted, "But caviar's the only thing left."
"Do you not fancy caviar?"
"No, I do."
Tensing, Molly braced herself for the blow. The same old sigh, the same old grunt, the same old complaint, and the same old dissatisfaction she was doomed to live in a loop of for all eternity, or as long as she was deemed useful enough to stick around with these goons.
"Have some then," he shrugged, "It's not my money buying it."
Silence. A blink. For a moment, she was sure she was hearing things. Harry would've snapped, groaned and ranted about the knock-on effect to her figure, and she would've bickered right back, but accepted the slight, and not gone any further. Most of the men she'd been surrounded with in recent years either sided with him or said nothing, and she didn't know if it was because Harry wasn't here, but she'd expected Riddler to act in a similar way. Part of her wondered if he would've kept to himself in the face of the other, but at the same time she could equally see a scenario where he stood up, hands on hips, and told him what for. A good old "you may be leader of the Molehill Mob, but right now, I do believe you're working for me?", and what he would say would therefore go.
"What?" he snapped her out of her thoughts again, "You are staring at me as though I said something heinous. I didn't say anything - yet. Why are you so shocked?"
Watching him shake out the long red fabric and fold it back in two, Molly debated the best response, before giving in and speaking exactly what was on her mind. "It's just that Harry would've sai-"
"I'm not Harry," he stated, stopping his previous motion to look at her with something in his eyes she couldn't quite decipher, "I said this already."
That was fair enough, but it was still rather surprising. "Yes, of course, I should've considered that."
It had been a while since Molly felt unsure. Then again, she couldn't be certain that whatever it was rushing through her right now was unsureness, but that in itself was exactly the feeling, just not in the way she'd initially anticipated. For one, her heart, for lack of a better phrase, was fluttering, small jolts of electricity shooting out through the rest of her body, tingling her fingertips and sending a shiver up the upper portion of her back that had to be shaken away. Briefly considering it was the hunger, she hoped the spoonful of caviar she proceeded to eat would do something to ameliorate it, but yet the feeling stayed, and only got stronger when she turned around.
Riddler wasn't facing her, but it didn't matter. She could see enough of the way he looked in that suit and the unique, hypnotic way he moved whilst focused quite easily from behind as he threaded the fabric through the machine to get it exactly where it was needed. He was so skilled, having made his own outfits himself, now working this one to perfectly fit her for their later scheme, and even been chivalrous enough to accommodate her own needs, her preference of fittings, the likes of which were usually done by one of Harry's professional tailors in a few weeks, that he'd planned out and would probably have ready in a few hours.
Where Harry would tell her to follow him to the next room, Riddler would request and hold open the door, where Harry would walk straight past, Riddler would give her a nod and a smile, where Harry would scowl and ignore, Riddler would frown and ask "what's wrong?".
He truly was something that Molly never thought she'd come across in this line of work. A gentleman.
It was just a shame that the Molehill Mob planned to betray him after all was done.
Conflicted and not wanting to unpack those emotions at the current moment, Molly made her way closer to him, drumming on the glass of the jar with her fingernails in a bid to gain his attention. When he did turn, he was met with a spoon.
"Fancy some?" she offered.
"I…" He squinted at the offending food item as if it had been the one to ask him. "I don't like caviar. I've not tried it."
"If you've not tried it," Molly rebutted playfully, sitting on top of the table before him, "how do you know you won't like it?"
"I do not… I won't."
"Oh, go on - it's nice," she affirmed, drawing the moment out by nearing him slowly, only to teasingly break off what could've been by popping the previously presented caviar into her own mouth and eating it, continuing with what she was saying upon half-lidding her eyes with an added ribbing tilt of the head, "See?"
Riddler's gaze flickered between her eyes and the spoon and back again, settling back at her's with a small smirk. "Question: what do you call a bad paper?"
Anyone else might be deterred or plunged into the wrong mood by his bringing up a riddle, but not Molly. It was just another of his unique, confusing, endearing traits that she would happily grow more accustomed to. "Answer?"
"Tearable."
She huffed out a laugh. Terrible. And it was so dastardly, her little trick. But she was a member of the Molehill Mob, and if you weren't a little awful then you wouldn't be around long. The reminder of them brought back the thoughts of their end goal, and the very second that happened, she was scooping out some more caviar for him to actually try.
"Now go on," she prompted, holding it out to him.
Sighing like he knew he couldn't win, Riddler rolled his eyes. "I won't like it," he called in advance, contrary to his actions as he gently removed the utensil from her grasp to do as requested, taking the smallest amount possible and scrunching his nose up into a disgusted wince once it settled on his tongue, "I don't- I do not."
He shook his head unpleasantly, furrowing his brows slightly when she giggled at the reaction, but shoved the spoon back to her anyway. Clearing his throat but not the look of discontent upon his face, Riddler brought a hand up to press against his lips, and tapped the jar with his free one. "Yes, that… that is all for you, have as much as you like, because you won't catch me in it, that's for sure."
She hadn't giggled so much at something so trivial in a long while. Harry would've snapped, Harry would've pushed the jar out of her grasp, Harry wouldn't have even humoured her. Riddler made her laugh.
He wasn't Harry.
From there on out, he got back to business, explaining certain steps of his process to her when she asked or when he was able to pull himself out of his hyper-focused state enough to remember to give her an update, and all the while she watched his amble hands work with great interest, analysing his knack for the craft as he turned the from loose old primary and secondary-coloured fabrics into a near-perfect replica of Robin's costume, and as he tolerated, no encouraged, her verbal input and presence all the way. Something finally, thankfully, nice.
There were a lot of words that could describe the Riddler, Molly figured. Enigmatic, perplexing, egotistical… But as odd as she was, she was glad that he'd been the first back to the hideout rather than anyone else.