Poker Night [Open to Rogues and Invites]

[Oswald Cobblepot - The Penguin]

([OOC note] Current pose order is: Oswald, Heather, Joker, Ivy, Two Face, Summer, Lola)

For the past week a message had been quietly circulating through out the underworld. Lost amongst the chatter of jobs and deals its coding almost seemed designed to be overlooked by the amateur rank of thieves and murders but to those who knew what to look for and how to understand it its meaning was clear, simply a date and 'Poker night at Penguin's. Usual rules apply.'

Rules was really stretching it of course. If anyone actually obeyed and didn't come armed they were as naive as those who thought everyone else wasn't cheating. The only real rule was not to get caught and accept that in a room full of career criminals a fight was not a good thing to start.

Oswald avoided personal invitations, it was easier to deny he ever meant someone to come that way and no one important could be missed but he expected the usual rogues to find their way and potentially a few others. If they weren't good enough to find the message Ozzy simply didn't consider them of a suitable level to attend. The security was still monitoring who got into the mansion though, it was an open invitation but Oswald wasn't stupid.

Everything had been set up in the games room for the evening, a room which was practically an entire bar within the Cobblepot mansion. It had pool tables, a suitably stocked selection of drinks, Ozzy had even brought in one of the card dealers and a barman from the club, one of the more reliable ones who were just as crooked as everyone else and wouldn't care about the conversation. Despite being a man who so rarely had house guests he still decorated as if such a gathering would be a regular occurrence.

Oswald had claimed his scotch and seated in one of the largest, comfortable chairs he was enjoying a moment of peace, one of those very rare ones where he wasn't even thinking about work. He had nothing to do but wait.

[Deleted]

In his current state, he truly shouldn’t be attending any social outings or events, especially with those that pried on weakness. After the incident, he had spent a month coddled up in one of his lairs, planning and plotting a way to escape this daily torment that horrible harpy and man had placed on him. He had only been driven out to handle the Scarecrow, but even then he kept interactions with other people limited to merely Allen and Deidre. It didn’t mean the rumors hadn’t already started to accumulate, and they were starting to get out of hand.

The other day he had heard someone call the Riddler a deadbeat idiot who had been destroyed by a little girl. Of course, that very same person was left with a bullet in his kneecap, but it didn’t subdue Edward’s frustrations any less. He knew it might take him months to find the cure to what the woman had cursed him with, and he couldn’t spend all of those months in hiding. People needed to understand that while he might not be able to speak or write, he still was a genius in the sense of the word, so when he came across Ozzy’s hidden message, he didn’t immediately dismiss the idea of stopping by his little poker night.

It would likely be filled with the top class minds of the criminal rogue gallery, the people who truly ran this city. He would show his face, show that he wasn’t defeated and put these horrendous rumors to rest, and if all failed in the process, he would at least have a chance to speak with the Penguin and find out if he would be having any upcoming business with Luthor.

The withdrawal of the Scarecrow’s drug had faded. He wasn’t naturally sweating or twitching anymore, he looked a bit more put together then he had a few weeks ago. People familiar to Edward would see him as the same man, but notice some underlining unstableness about his appearance and wouldn’t be able to place what exactly was causing it. His suit looked the same pristine, close cut, fitted. His tie straightened on his chest. It could possibly be caused by the way his suit jacket and sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, but that could also be attributed to the fact that it was summer. No, there was something different, and it just couldn’t be placed, but for those who truly paid attention, they would notice it was in his eyes. Since Edward couldn’t speak anymore, he had even more time to think. His eyes almost photographing everything that crossed his path. He looked calculated in his movements, almost robotic.

He knocked on the massive front door, waiting for someone to open it patiently. He clicked his tongue, finding any sound better then silence. A servant opened the door, and brought him inside. Edward didn’t take note of the beautiful and expensive objects in his home. It wasn’t the first time he had been here, and to be honest, Edward preferred his own collection. Edward’s was better, obviously. He walked into the large room, seeing the Penguin enjoying himself over scotch. It appeared he was the first one to arrive, other rogue’s truly lacked manners in these types of situation. Edward, however, considered himself a gentlemen through and through.

He had his mechanical invention hooked to his belt underneath his jacket. His fingers ran across the numbers in memorization. It had taken him two days to perfect it, and it almost seemed natural, even though the voice was cold and computerized. “Hello, Oswald. I do always find it interesting that you are so open to losing your money over cards,” the voice spoke as he walked over to him. “As you might of notice, I am without my voice tonight,” he shrugged as if it were merely a cold, “However, I have never needed it to fool the fools around the table.”

[Pamela Isley - Poison Ivy]

As troublesome as personal invitations may be to Oswald, Poison Ivy greatly prefers them them to the generalized message being passed around as gossip. On the other hand, it did reach her ears and since she assumes that it's a relatively informal affair she supposes she can forgive that.

But once she decided that the format of the invitation was acceptable, the question was whether or not to attend. On one hand, she's been very busy between her lab work and the various minor heists she's had to engage in to get this or that needed ingredient for the numerous concoctions she's been inventing and perfecting, and though she has some skill at poker it's not necessarily her favorite form of entertainment. On the other hand, though she's been out of the asylum for nearly as long as Crane has, she's spent the majority of her time holed up in her hideout and the rest of the time it's been very hit and miss seeing the various members of their little community. And before she was caught there had been so little opportunity to properly introduce herself to the others after she formally joined their ranks - in fact there's several very important people she has failed to meet at all, though she's made the news plenty of times to make them aware of her. If people respond to this invitation then it would be an opportunity to rectify that problem, and that's what eventually convinces her to attend.

Once she decides that she's going, the question becomes what she should wear. As it turns out, that's actually the hardest of all the questions to answer. Though when she arrives her outfit, as well as most of the rest of her, is concealed underneath a long, black trench-coat, a large wide-brimmed black hat trimmed with a polka-dot ribbon, and a large pair of movie-star style glasses that cover most of her face. But her legs are covered in a pair of high-heeled boots in dark green that almost, but don't quite, remove any hope of bare skin. But above them is a few inches of bare legs, though their green color could easily fool the eye into assuming that they're leggings or something. But no, shortly after escaping her skin turned green - though that's somewhat old news. Not very many people have actually seen her since then, though somehow the news media got wind of it so everyone knows even if they haven't seen it for themselves.

But being green does have a few advantages. When she arrived and the man at the door seemed about to question the anonymous woman, she only needed to lower her sunglasses so that they could get a good look at her face, and that was more than enough of an introduction for them to wave her right in. Her eyes scan over the interior, not coveting the luxurious surroundings so much as remembering when she too had such finery. Given up for a better cause, but she still misses it. Reaching the room itself, she grins as she catches sight of Oswald and a man she can instantly recognize whether or not they've been properly introduced.

"Mr. Cobblepot! It's a pleasure to see you again," she says as she approaches them, giving the man a large smile and holding out her hand in greeting. "Will Miss Marks be joining us this evening?" she inquires curiously as she removes her sunglasses and tucks them into an inner pocket of her coat. That done, her attention shifts to the other man, and she doesn't conceal the appraising look that crosses her features as she looks him up and down. "Edward Nigma," she says as an approving smile appears on her face, "I'd hoped that you'd be here." Which is a perfectly sincere thing to say - he is, after all, probably one of the biggest names that she's yet to meet.

[Jeremiah Arkham - Black Mask]

_Sionis Steel Mill – 6:00pm_

He stood before the full length mirror, dressed already in his black slacks and crisp, white shirt. He seemed calm and peaceful in the act as he slipped on the dark, vest that would match his slacks and checked his Italian leather, Armani shoes. You see he had somewhere to be tonight and it had been ages since he’d been out to any public function. That was the politics of his organization, though. You had to show them who was in charge first and then you could start shaking flesh with all the guys and gals his position encouraged him to. Guys like Oswald Cobblepot and the crowd his poker game would attract. Not every rogue would be allowed there, but it was a start for him. He was so lucky to have men who knew Penguin’s message and well, some of the men the penguin thought he himself owned. But money didn’t gain all loyalties. Sometimes you just had to turn to other methods.

A set of wiry frames was set aside on the mantle, “Unnecessary,” he scoffed and picked up a black bolt of cloth—his bow tie. He smoothed his collar up and began to artfully tie it, though he did not miss the sound of the door opening. He didn’t even glance in the mirror to know who it was as he pressed his collar down over the finished tie. His coal, suit jacket was placed over his shoulders. Manicured and painted nails rested on his shoulders.

“I wish I could accompany you tonight. It wouldn’t be difficult,” she said and he gave a soft, affectionate sigh.

“Now, now, don’t be foolish, I’m going to be meeting with people who would wish to think they know me,” his lips pulled into a smirk, “and you, my dear, have a big mouth. Can’t have you giving me away, now can I?” He thread his arms through the sleeves and turned to face the woman he’d hired as more of a second-general. Though her expression was soft, it was her eyes that gave her way, hard and red as they glared at him.

Her mouth pulled down, “You know that’s a lie. Otherwise word be out that not only had you returned, but they would know that you’re—” Her voice cut off as he cupped her cheek. She leaned into the caress. “Please take me with you, Black Mask…I just neeed to see you in action. I only see you here.”

He turned his fingers and ran his knuckles against her cheek. She rested her hands on his chest. He shook his head. “Linda…My sweet, lovely snow…that’s enough of this juvenile behavior. I have to go alone, you know that. I’m only be courteous to our host. My appearance will be enough of a surprise don’t you think?”

“I’m not one of your lackeys.”

He chuckled as he turned and grabbed the mask from the vanity. “No, you’re not,” he pulled it over his head and when he turned back to her the human face he’d worn was gone, replaced the skeletal features he’d placed over them. “You’re an asset. You’re honest with me, but the answer is still no. And I’ll hear no one of it, understood?” He walked up to her and tilted her chin to stare into the eyes that peered from the mask. “Do you understand why you are coming?”

She said nothing and that was enough of an answer.

_Cobblepot Mansion – 7:15pm_

The attendee at the door paled when the back door of his car was opened and he stepped from the backseat. The mask and its owner grinned. Exactly the reaction he was hoping for. After all Black Mask was thought was be dead, Roman Sionis thought to have been killed in a raid over six months ago. Well, surprise, surprise. He smoothed his coat and stepped passed him and down the halls. If he had no idea where he was going, he didn’t show it. That’s because he knew exactly where he his final destination was.

He stopped in the doorway of the large, games room and took it in. Not the décor, though, it was nice, but the people thus far gathered. Again, the mask grinned.

“Cobblepot, this is just lovely,” he gestured around, “and I’m not the first to arrive.” The fact didn’t perturb him, in fact it seemed to please him. “Edward Nigma,” he nodded to the man. “And I am certain I have heard of you,” he gave Poison Ivy an appraising glance. “Poison Ivy,” he held out his hand to her. “Lovely to meet you,” he turned his head to Oswald. “So tell me…what’s a guy gotta do to get a drink?”

[OOC: Probably unneeded, but I did want to say just in case that I am keeping Jere's identity as Black Mask a secret for a while, so I'd appreciate if no one unmasked him. Thanks! Besides at this point in his plot, Jeremiah wouldn't have resurfaced yet, he'd still be considered missing lol.]

[Oswald Cobblepot - The Penguin]

Trust Edward to be the first to arrive to such an evening, even with the rumours flowing around about his speech problems that had caused Oswald to consider the possibility that he wouldn't show himself. Standing as Edward entered Oswald threw on a smile and automatically put aside his scotch, almost reaching to tip his hat, only to remember he wasn't wearing it because he was in his own home and that would be silly. He would simply be looking shorter and balder for the evening though his suit was no less fine than his usual tux.

"Finally the evening can begin, punctual as ever Edward" The robotic voice only confirmed the rumours and that Edward had naturally found a work around, there seemed to be little that could keep him down for long but Ozzy imagined it must be a very fitting torture all the same. Not being able to hear the sound of his own voice must drive Edward crazy. He pretended not to notice, or at least not to care, chuckling at the monotone words "Come now, we all know it was someone else's money anyway and tomorrow they will give me more" He replied as he ticked through his mental list of experts he could charge Edward to put into contact with. Parting people from their money was what he did best, he wasn't a bad enough poker player too but to lose enough to make a difference would be very unexpected.

As Edward brought up his voice and tried to make light of it Oswald was free to talk about it without the concern of causing offense. The rumours of what happened to people who made fun of it were also circulating "I had noticed, and heard many things on the subject. Do inform me if there's something I can do to help, you must be going quite insane. Perhaps I'll look into the problem a little" He genuinely wanted to find a cure because he knew Edward would pay through the nose for it. That his help came with a bill went without saying.

Any further thoughts on the subject seemed to be interrupted by the arrival of another guest and Oswald glances to the door in time for Ivy's entrance "Miss Ivy, how delightful to see you made it" He'd been less sure she would find the message but the newest rogue seemed to be fitting in nicely. He stepped forward to kiss the offered hand before answering the question with a laugh "Assuming she manages to find the right outfit and consider herself ready before the end of the night she shall attend" He was truthfully wondering what was taking so long but he found he did that a lot when Lola was getting ready for something.

He allowed the other two to socialize, these events were sometimes the most informative when you didn't interrupt and he wasn't sure if the pair had dealings before that he hadn't heard of.

Black Mask's arrival was met with less enthusiasm. Ozzy's smile sinks a fraction instantly and has to be kept in place by sheer will "Roman. I thought you were dead" From the sounds of things he'd rather it had stayed that way "How...unexpected" He couldn't bring himself to fake anything positive to the news.

Oswald didn't look away at the request for a drink, he was hoping he might see some sign of weakness at least. The man was supposedly dead, was it too much to ask that he at least have a limp or something? Ozzy clicked his fingers at the barman "You have but to ask, my friend" The barman had set about making Edward's and Ivy's usuals the moment they'd turned up but Black Mask had required a little subtle looking up on a tablet behind the bar. Even if Oswald didn't like them very much, they had a usual drink, got an entry in the club's list. Unfortunately it was the usual of Roman Sionis that appeared on the bar seconds later.

[Heather Glass - VerMillion]

VerMillion is totally relaxed as she approaches the Penguin's house. She's the only one, though - even Jon looked visibly nervous when she last saw him, though of course he didn't admit to anything. And Heather's reminded her five bajillion times that she's only to say what Heather tells her to say. Which is lame and boring and she could handle it just fine without Heather's advice, but whatever - this should be plenty interesting anyway and if she didn't promise then Jon probably would have forbidden them to come. Which doesn't mean that they couldn't have come anyway, but it would have been a lot harder - especially since Heather would have balked at doing it without Jon's consent.

"Yes, yes, I'll only say what you tell me to say," she says to herself for the umpteenth time, figuring that it's her other half's nerves that are making her ask the same question over and over. It's ridiculous - everything will be fine! At least Heather let her decide what to wear.

As she approaches, the man watching the door frowns at her, but also gazes past her as if looking for someone else. But there isn't anyone, so his frown goes back to her. "What are you doing here?" he asks.

"I'm here for the poker game!" she says brightly, "I mean, I know that I'm not really one of the rogues, but I'm kind of a side member of the club now, so I figured I could come."

Of course the man isn't that concerned with her, so he asks, "Where's the Scarecrow?"

"Oh, Jon's not coming," VerMillion replies easily, "I mean, this kind of social thing - well, it's not really his thing. So it's just me."

Hearing that, the man frowns and hesitates for a moment. VerMillion laughs and adds, "Let me guess - Mr. Cobblepot told you what to do if Jon shows up, but he didn't tell you what to do if I showed up alone, but you know he's going to want you to do something, but you're not sure what?" The man doesn't confirm or deny that, but she continues without missing a beat. "I'd be careful with that. I mean, if you pick wrong then Mr. Cobblepot will blame you," she comments with a mocking grin.

The man gets annoyed by that and says, "I could tie you up and let him deal with you later."

"You could," VerMillion agrees quickly, but is just as quick to point out, "Of course, the last time someone took me Jon turned the Iceberg Lounge into rubble to get me back - are you sure you want to take the blame for whatever he does next time?" She can't help but grin at the uncomfortable look that crosses the man's face, and she continues, "Of course if you turn me away and Mr. Cobblepot finds out and he didn't want you to do that, he'd probably get really mad at you." The things that Heather's telling her to say are so ridiculous, and yet strangely enough they do seem to be working.

"So here's an idea!" she adds, bringing the line of thought to its conclusion, "Why don't you let me go in? That way when Mr. Cobblepot can decide what to do with me, and you don't have to guess and take the blame for what happens."

Unsatisfied with that, the man questions, "Yeah? And what if he doesn't want you in there? I get the blame for that."

"Well, yeah," VerMillion is quick to admit, "So then he grumbles at you and calls you an idiot, but that's the worst that will happen. I mean, I'm not armed, I can't fight - what actual harm can I cause? If he doesn't want me in there then it doesn't hurt anything but his mood. That's nothing compared to what will happen to you if you do something else and it's the wrong choice."

That line of logic has the man scowling, but eventually he sighs and waves her in, but thinks to send a man to escort her at least until they find out what the boss wants done with her. It shouldn't take more than one to restrain her if need be, after all, and there's enough security tonight to momentarily spare one for the task.

VerMillion certainly doesn't mind the escort at all. In fact she's quick to put him out of her mind entirely as she looks around at the decor and heads into the room where the poker game is being set up. When she sees the assembled rogues, her attention goes to them. All of those present she's met before - some on significantly better terms than others. She doesn't discriminate between them when she casts a bright smile at all of them, though it lingers overly long on Black Mask - she's clearly surprised to see him and gives him an amused, questioning glance. Though her attention turns to Mr. Cobblepot specifically as she asks, "Mind if I join?"

[Deleted]

Considering the line to Oswald, Selina easily busies herself elsewhere. Most notably, the bar where she can get a cool drink. She'd walked in easily, clad in a striking, figure hugging purple gown, an intricately decorated Masquerade mask done in complimentary purple, grey, and black rimming her wide green eyes. While skin-tight leather would have been easily donned tonight for such an event, she thought a bit out of the box, considering those who would be attending.

The message had been whispered for weeks, until she had finally gotten ahold of someone who had the full sequence. To unravel such a delicious knot had been exquisite, even with the end result being a poker game at Oswald's. An invitation she couldn't turn down. As she received her beverage from a familiar face at Oswald's club, she leaned against the bar, noting familiar faces; Eddie, Pam, and a few others she'd rather not see. But even as she sipped her drink her mild disgust at the few that did arrive is fully indecipherable as she leaves the bar and starts to mingle, her identify blatant enough, even if she's not clad in black. It's the black whip coiled about her hips that accentuate the dress that should be saying it for her, if not for the color of the gown, or the maybe overlooked headband that while intricate is still a very stylized version of cat ears.

[Deleted]

His eyes were hidden under the shadow of his green hat. His gloved hand fiddled around an item in his pocket as he watched the overly polite chubby man come towards him. He did have to respect Ozzy for the gentleman role he constantly played, though he knew the man was already fitting him into a box to be used or pulled out late dependent on the situation. All the criminal minds, especially the ones that would enter into this room, had one concern, and it certainly wasn’t in creating long lasting friendships. No, it was for themselves and their own personal agendas. Trust could only be counted on if it benefitted both parties, if it did not, it was cut and thrown away like leftovers to raging wolves.

Edward held his confident smirk, even though it had a slight darken hidden meaning as the Penguin asked how he could help. Oh, how could he help? Quite a riddle these days. The answer usually led to thoughts of pulling out the female doctor’s large intestines and wrapping it around sharp metal wheel. Each wrong answer would cause the large wheel to yank and pull out more. Blood. There would be blood, but when do red and green mix so well together? Could he have a Christmas in July? It was far to barbaric for a man like himself, a man of class, but oh how the image helped him sleep at night. His fingers moved swiftly across the numbered keyboard. “You could inform Luthor to stay out of my personal affairs,” he stated off handedly, let the statement travel through the underworld like the Ebola virus. He knew the man was playing on his chess board before his pieces were in place, and he did not take to kindly to those who cheated.

He turned and took in the woman who walked in, she had curves that could entice any man, but if the green skin wasn’t a hint enough to who this woman was, Oswald’s greeting was enough. Edward’s smirk faltered ever slightly. He had heard the woman had a talent for seducing men in a chemical way, and after being under the will of one psycho woman, he had no interest in getting trapped with another. He heard her lips could be a kiss of death. Was she safe to touch? He had gloves. He gave her a smile and nodded, opening to his mouth to say something only to close it again. He took her hand and bowed his head to it, though he was careful not to touch his lips to her skin. He pulled back up with a smirk. His machine working for him. “I do like you choice in colors,” he chuckled slightly, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Poison Ivy, correct?”

He didn’t even have a moment to process her expressions before someone barged in, and his eyes widened. Roman had been deemed dead, and yet here that arrogant loud mouth was here and alive in Oswald’s living area. It couldn’t be that surprising. People come back from the dead all the time in this town. More surprising is the fact that he thought he was welcomed into Oswald’s home. He knew the two had quite griddy past filled with turf wars. To reintroduce his new life here seemed flatly idiotic. Then again, they were dealing with Black Mask, and Black Mask to him was quite a babbling buffoon. He didn’t attempt to say anything, gave him a nod and grabbed his own drink and bringing it to his lips. It would be a long night.

The sour apple flavor consumed his taste buds until the next guest’s arrival.

His hand started to shake. He would not have Scarecrow’s bimbo here. His hand was shaking so hard, part of his drink dripped over the edges. He took a deep breath before placing the glass down and pointing his cane at the red head, his eyes closed tightly. “She leaves now unless she wants to answer a riddle,” the mechanical voice spoke. He finally turned a cold glare onto her that could make even the strongest of men question their judgment.

[Pamela Isley - Poison Ivy]

"An interesting form of invitation, I must say," Poison Ivy comments. It hadn't been that difficult for her to come across, though. Having learned of its usefulness in the past, she's come to very purposely make sure that she's always up to date on the latest gossip and her best contacts for that information proved their usefulness again by informing her of this evening's activity the moment that the rumor of it started to spread. As Oswald speaks of Lola getting ready, she laughs and removes her gloves as she comments, "Well, I hope you assume correctly - I'd love to see her again." Especially if, as can be assumed by the fact that Lola is attending, he took her advice and educated the lady on what she needs to know about the people attending this particular gathering. She'll have to check and make sure that he was thorough enough...

But for now her attention is on Nigma. She hadn't failed to notice that his smirk wavered when she came in. And that when combined with the polite but also notably careful way in which he treats her hand tells her a lot about the man and confirms a lot of rumors she's heard about him. Not only is he apparently very well connected to the rumors that have been circulating about her, he's also one that takes them seriously - her touch is somewhat toxic, but a handshake or a kiss hovers in that troubling area between being harmless and causing noticeable symptoms. And given the amount of caution he shows, she can only conclude that the man is secretly a bit terrified of her but has comforted himself with the idea that he's too smart to fall for her rumored charms - which would fit all the rumors about his ego she's heard. Somewhere deep inside that makes her laugh - the ones who don't think that they can be broken are the ones that break the worst. Fortunately for him, she has no reason to do such a thing. For now, anyway.

Especially if he's going to give her compliments. She almost laughs as he remarks upon her color, and as she responds to that she removes her trench coat, revealing what she's wearing underneath - a very short, dark green dress made entirely of carefully arranged leaves. "I've always looked good in green," she comments with a smirk. It fits closely enough so as to leave absolutely nothing about her figure to the imagination and yet completely covers those parts of her that your typical lustful male would most want to see - a bit of a tease, that. She lays her coat across the back of a chair, both to get it out of her hands and to claim it for herself. "And yes - Poison Ivy. A pun on my two specialties," she responds, about to say more when the expression on his face alerts her to the fact that whoever just barged in behind her is someone worth turning around for.

Doing so, her eyebrows lift in mild surprise. Mild because, while she'd heard that Black Mask was dead, she didn't really care about it. In fact she doesn't really care very much that he's alive now, though it may turn out mildly convenient later - she'd been grooming him to be a possible replacement for Oswald as her supplier, should something happen to make that relationship go awry. Which is why she's a bit taken aback when he greets her as if they're first meeting, but she's quick to realize that of course he wouldn't want Oswald to know that they're already acquainted. There's only the slightest of pauses before she politely shakes his hand and simply says, "And you."

Glancing over at the bar when Oswald draws attention to it, she sees the glass of absinthe waiting for her and smiles, giving the trio of men one last nod before opting to withdraw slightly from them in order to sit at the bar and prepare it to her liking - something she enjoys doing herself to be sure that it's just right. Placing the absinthe spoon on top of the glass and the sugar cube on top of that, she's pouring the water over it as Selina walks in and silently joins her at the bar. She gives a welcoming smile but remains silent preferring to eavesdrop on the tension in the room rather than adding her voice to it.

At least until another voice - familiar, but not belonging to someone already present - brings her attention to the newest arrival. It only takes her a glance to notice the complete confidence in the young lady's mannerisms for her to know which personality this is. Smirking, she turns to Selina and curiously asks, "Have you met Miss VerMillion yet?"

Though her attention is quickly distracted from Selina when she notices Nigma's reaction to the young woman. A surprised look graces her face for a moment, before she suddenly bursts out laughing at his statement. "You'll have to be more careful Mr. Nigma - it's difficult to tell when you're joking with that machine," she comments, but is quick to add, "Oh, but it's my fault - I apologize. I know we just met, but by sheer reputation I should know better than to believe for a moment that you'd take such offense to the mere presence of someone that innocuous." Or, actually, by sheer reputation that sounds exactly like something he'd do and in spite of the fact that his back was to her she could easily read the body language indicating that he was being serious. But she has her own reasons for reacting as she did.

[Lola Marks]

Lola Had made sure that she looked stunning tonight from head to toe. He dress was long and lavish, a pink pastel that was jeweled around the top. Bright stones littered her wrists, ears, neck and of course she was wearing the brand new bracelet Oswald had gotten for her. He had gotten almost everything she was wearing for her. The thought made he sigh happily as she checked the mirror one more time and reapplied her lipstick. She knew she was a bit late compared to everyone else, but a lady had to look her best. She didn’t think that the guests arriving would be there all on time anyway.

She came into the game room to see several guests had already sat down. Her eyes jumped carefully to each one as she approached. She recognized that Oswald had taken his seat and The Riddler had claimed one as well. She noticed that his voice had changed, an oddity that she wasn’t told about, but she was sure it would either come up or Oswald would mention it to her later. Her eyes ran across a woman she didn’t recognize, she was small and hair paled in comparison to the woman near her. As Lola approached she finally got a good look at who it was and let out a gasp of gleeful surprise. “Good evening ladies and gentlemen.” She greeted the group before her attention fell on Poison Ivy. Everything about her had changed! Her skin color had, tinted significantly. Oh what had they done to her at that place? But it didn’t matter, she looked positively radiant still. “I’m so please that place came to their senses, you look divine Poison Ivy. It’s so good to see you again.” She gave her a smile just before Selina’s presence caught her. She smiled again, happy to see the woman she had met before in the jewelry shop. “So many friendly faces have come.. It’s good to see you again Selina.” She greeted and finally walked around to her own seat.

She would have sat down, even if she had to pull it out herself, but she noticed something missing. Before she could turn around to get it the man in the black mask had caught her sights. She stepped back a bit unsure on what to say to him. She had been informed of problems Oswald had in the past with a certain man that fit this description. Was he on the guest list? She smiled and greeted him but before things could get anymore awkward she finally took her seat. The waiter came to her side quickly after and she ordered a rose wine for herself, something light to start the evening.

After a nervous smile her eyes caught with Edward’s across the table. After the experience they had prior at his home she didn’t know how tonight would go. Everything had gotten out of hand so quickly there, but it was something that she had to take with a grain of salt. She was still knew here and still adjusting to the way things worked. Oswalds business could be rough at times, and although he may have lost his temper, it must have been warranted. She turned to Oswald and gave him a sweet kiss on the cheek to slyly whisper in his ear. “The man in the black mask?” She spoke quietly, as the name slipped her mind. The last thing she expected of this evening was for a dead man to show up.

[Deleted]

"Hey, hey, hey! BRING IT DOWN!"

The Clown screamed, frowning as he did so. He leaned over from his seat and pushed the barrel of his revolver into the Helicopter pilot's temple, who in turn, was panting like a cat in heat and sweating like his father in a sauna. Horrible analogies. I know. The Helicopter twisted and turned high above the ground. The pilot was obviously stressed, frightened, couldn't make sense of why this was happening, all the usual motions a random victim goes through when something like this happens, though The Joker didn't care. He never cared. 

"What're ya trying to do? Kill me!?"

At that, The Jester let out a long howl of laughter, tears welling up in his eyes as The Pilot brought The Helicopter down to land. He was just having so much fun, but, he was sure he'd have more tonight. After all , this shindig was sure to kick ass. He was sure no one would want him there, they never did. These days, whenever a cryptic message went flying out the door, there was generally specific instructions to keep said message out of his pasty white hands. Not that it ever worked. After hearing the whispers of a poker game, Joker immediately knew he would be in attendance. He would be a fool not to show up to such an important and prestigious event for Gotham's most Hated. 

So naturally, he wanted to put on a show and arrive in style. He put on some nice threads, oh, who was he kidding, he was always wearing nice threads. His classic purple suit, a black shirt and green tie, and, a dark purple over coat to keep him warm on a chilly night. And to top it all of? A yellow flower, pinned to his lapel. Promptly, he had made his way down to The Helitour station in West Gotham and forced one of their pilot's at gun point to bring him on over to Ozzie's mansion, which brings us to now, where the helicopter is trying to land on a large lawn in front of one of the most powerful men in Gotham's many locations of residence. 

"C'mon Roxy Rocket! I don't have time for this! I've got mingling to do!"

The Pilot took a noticeably deep breath and landed the 'copter on the lawn, ripping up some grass in the process. At this point, Joker undid his seat belt, still holding the gun in hand. The Pilot looked over, smiling nervously. 

"I brought you where you wanted to go. Y-you said you'd let me go now. Man, I've got a family. Please."

He wasn't in the mood. Not tonight. He wanted to join the party, but he thought it was unfair to just shoot the man and not give him a chance.He asked himself, WWTFD? The Clown fished around in his trouser pocket before pulling out a quarter. He grinned and turned the the man, flipping the coin, he promptly caught it and held the coin within his closed hand. 

"Call it."

He barked, smiling. 

"Heads?"

The Joker opened his hand and looked at his palm, heads. He looked over at the man, who was now rejoicing, thanking god. Pitiful. 

"Oh, what the hell?"

With one fluid hand motion, he raised the revolver towards the man's head, pulled the trigger, and painted the pilot's window red, before tossing the coin onto the man's now slumped body. He hopped out and sauntered across the lawn, approaching the door where a large man stood, panicking.

"Sir, I'm gonna have to ask you to stop-"

Joker never stopped walking, merely reached up towards his lapel and squeezed the flower pinned to it, a light green fluid sprayed onto the man's face, roasting his skin completely, and forcing the behemoth to scream, drop to his knees and scream some more.

"I've got some facial cleansing cream that'll work wonders for that!"

He called back over his shoulder, opening the front door and entering, closing the door behind him.

"Honeeeeeeey! I'm HooooOOoooOOooome!"

He giggled, walking down the hall, coming upon the games room soon enough. He entered, throwing out his arms as if for a hug from someone in the room.

"Can't have a part without me!"

He looked around the room. Not much of a reply. Tough crowd. His eyes scanned each person in the room, he was familiar with all of them,all but the brunette who wouldn't shut up. Obviously an acquaintance of Ozzie. But the real surprise was Black Mask. That grin of his widened as he saw the mob boss, and he quickly lumbered over to him, giggling as he did so.

"Roman...?"

He raised a green eyebrow, poking the man in his abdomen a few times.

"For a dead guy, you look good!"

A cackle leaped from his throat. Something wasn't right, but he wouldn't outright say it. No. Wouldn't ruin the fun.

"But for an alive guy, you look like crap. What happened to all the muscle a' yours huh? Heh."

He turned to Oswald, biting his bottom lip and narrowing his eyes.

"But enough about Masky, who's a Clown gotta cripple to get a Shirley Temple around here?"

[Deleted]

Subpoenas. As Harvey’s van pulled up to the back entrance of the warehouse that they would be staying at, he remembered that word. A word so critical to the law process and so damning in the hands of the a good prosecutor, the right prosecutor– him. He licked his lip and scratched his nose lightly before getting out. The instructions were as followed: No bodyguards, no guns. Only the former would be followed. Explosions, deaths, destruction, and chaos. They may be the most frequented plans to achieve the law’s results and ascertain the might and ruling order of Two-Face. Harvey would like to socialize, Two-face would rather throw these chumps in the oven and bake em’. He accidentally bites his tongue. Maybe he deserved that, nto that cannibalism was the “popular” thing. It was a taboo that society and the law has deemed inhuman and primitive. But primitive executions send the messages.

He didn’t forget his cigars this time, especially after the last incident when he didn’t have any. He killed four of his men in his rage. Big fire, lots of blood. It is unknown if his rage will make the debut. It was now his signature, the platitude of the evening. Someone saying something idiotic or crude and getting a finger cut off. That made him smile and grimace at the same time. He wasn’t worried about something happening, what he was worried about was if there was some information that was going to be given out at this meeting regarding Gotham’s future. All of these self proclaimed “rogues” were full of great ideas and executions worthy of Two-face. But many of them were nothings. Plucked up or turning to a life of crime because of a personal transgression. They’ve subpoenaed the demons of their own fears to take over. Harvey liked the bad in all people. It was sexy, different, and entertaining.

Accepting the invitation was easy, dealing with the “rogues” would be a different matter. His brown Italian shoes slid on the wet pavement as he entered the back door. It must have rained here. It had rained for some time in Gotham, Mother nature was having a biological time bomb attack, either that or she was having a storm of epic proportions. He checked his weapons before he reached the door, with a tall, muscular henchman opening it for Dent. The boy knew his manners, but flipping the coin started his process, it eased him and frustrated him. Fate agreed and Harvey took out six hundred dollar bills, he threw them on the ground. A man should be paid for being respectful and treating the judge to his obstreperous courtroom.

Two .45 guns, two knives, two brass knuckles. Like Christmas, Dent always brought new gadgets with him to threaten or inspire envy among the rogues. They never commented but he knew some of them were intimidated. Who wouldn’t be, Harvey is in better physical condition now then when he was younger. He’s faster, more agile, better shot, and better at many things. The coin flipped four times, like someone counting the number of people in a room. As he entered, wearing the custom Armani suit, he noticed that to the side there had been a weapon screening with two guards. Harvey muttered, “You’ve got to be shitting me right now”. His gruff face tightened, but he breathed. Many of the rogues gave the weapons that were less likely to be harmful. They always had backups. This was simply a precaution against anyone exploding the place, not like the idea hasn’t been tried.

As he walked over to get his weapons screened, he decided to put one of each in the grey, plastic bucket. Since when did these poker nights entail TSA like security. Before he was to be screened, the guard said that his coin had to be put in the bucket. Harvey’s eyes narrowed, fire as his pulse began to beat. “That won’t be necessary asshole, put me through” responded Two-face with an impressive tone of volatility. The ugly blonde haired, middle aged man, responded with “I’m sorry Mr. Two-Face but we have orders to screen all metal”. This was such bullshit and before he could even flip the coin the man grabbed the coin, without hesitation Two-face grabbed his neck and squeezed, lifting the man up. The other guard jump over the table and pointed his semi-automatic weapon at Dent. Dent turned around and grabbed the man’s gun, pulled him in and elbowed him in the face and kicked him in the stomach, then he grabbed the man’s head (while still strangling the other guard, who’s face was now bright red) and walked over to the table and slammed his head in two times. The other guard could barely say anything, so Harvey pressed harder, the man’s words were stifled and his eyes rolled back as Harvey then broke his neck. The coin dropped and landed on tails. He picked up the coin after it had spun. He passed through the scanners as they beeped and retrieved his weapons. He clasped his hands as he stepped down the stairs to meet the rogues.

He took out his cigar and lit it. He won the poker night last year. He was anxious to see if he could repeat his success. Wining doesn’t mean anything unless it’s been doubled. He noticed Pamela (the whore bitch), Ozzie (the reigning crime lord of Gotham, the one who had a crow in Dent's incarceration, and the one who will be "taken care of"), Eddie (the brilliant but annoying man, he didn’t look well, karma’s a dragon bitch). As he finished his drink he noticed one person of critical interest. Roman Sionis, back from graveyard. If Jesus came to Gotham he wouldn’t be celebrated, the citizens would just walk past him. Resurrection has been done before, a good many times by many of these rogues. Maybe they seem to have some good luck. He didn’t go over to Roman to chat, he was more lenient to Roman than he was to the Joker, who when Dent thought about seemed to arrive immediately. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, but what if he’s already arrived? This was going to be interesting, let’s see who comes on top. Harvey flipped his coin and relaxed in his victory. He walked over to Edward, ignoring Pam, and said, “Stephen Hawking called he wants his voice back” said Dent in a jovial manner. 

[Jeremiah Arkham - Black Mask]

Roman’s usual. For Jeremiah, his palate had been easy to please. He enjoyed a simple snifter of brandy, letting his hand warm the alcohol while he swirled it easily in the hand that encased it, but of course Roman would have his own tastes and no one knew he wasn’t Roman so he’d just play along. He easily moved to the bar after the greetings, paying no mind to the rest, though he didn’t ignore them. No. He couldn’t ignore them even if his sagging back and the way he leaned on the bar seemed to announce that he saw no danger in this situation. He was more than aware of what these men and women were capable of. Intimately for some. His whole life had revolved around knowing each of them and their tricks and sometimes it was experience that was the best teacher.

Jeremiah watched the bartender as he pulled out the classic, old fashion glass. A little ice was raked in and then came the vodka, five parts he estimated followed by two part of coffee liqueur. It was then served to him with a dead of Guinness stout. He picked up and as if he’d had it before brought it to his lips for a savoring sip. It was smooth and dark. Delightful and new, but he could give Roman a nod for it. It was good taste. Besides it helped him to seem either impervious or rude to the feelings of the others in the room towards him. Ivy had been making under hand deals with Roman before his tragedy and her feelings were neutral about him—as neutral as her feelings could be with him being a man and one of those wasteful creatures who used the world like an endless resource and dumping ground. Edward, Penguin, and Penguin’s little trophy woman were easily read. He hadn’t take the shoes and slid them on without knowing just where they had been. He knew about their feelings. When didn’t Edward think anyone but himself was a buffoon? That was nothing to worry about, and as for Penguin? Of course he and Roman had a turf war and it wasn’t as if he wasn’t continuing that. No, he had plans for it, plans that would shadow Roman’s. He licked his lips with a grin. If he had been himself, that arrogant sod who didn’t know how and when to shut up he’d have waxed poetic about his near death, well Roman’s near death.

He’d have said something about how his life had flashed before his eyes and it hadn’t been some metaphor to draw sympathy like so the rhetoric tool it was. No it truly had and when he had awakened he’d been a different man. Couldn’t they let bygones be bygones and start afresh? But he wasn’t himself. He had awoken a new man. So he refrained from commenting about Penguin’s face and instead turned to watch as another person walked in.

He knew that fiery hair and that confident stance. He grinned as their eyes locked and then he looked to Edward. Beneath the mask he rose a brow at him. Such a sore, sore childish man. He really needed to have a near-death experience. It did wonders to the heart, mind, body, and soul. He chuckled. “Mr. Nygma I have to agree with Ms. Ivy. She looks harmless as a mouse to me, a rather petite thing too.” He turned to VerMillion once again and lifted a hand. “None of that detracts from how radiant you are, though. Why don’t you join me? An inferno such as you deserves an escort who knows how to treat such a woman.” He waved her towards him with a glance at Edward.

He was not touching her.

Outwardly that was it for him. He didn’t even react when Joker came in and he became the clown’s first target. He simply raised his glass to his lips and his brown eyes slid to the bartender. Where was his muscle, indeed?

Be not mistaken, however, they were definitely around.

[Deleted]

He was dressed in a Guy Fawkes mask that covered his face almost entirely, the hat was a little excessive, but it went well with the suit. Frankly he wish he could say his motivations for coming were unclear to anyone who didn't know Bivins well. The spirit gum would keep the thing in place, he left his badge at home, he brought his cellphone, the spare one. He had a few. A man as paranoid as Leo Bivins was wont to do those sorts of things, and frankly this hadn't been the first time he'd played cards in places he probably shouldn't.

Leo Bivins liked to get out at nights, it helped that he almost never slept. Two to three hours a night living in a shoebox over Crime Alley, sharing a one bedroom apartment with ten thousand oversized cockroaches that he liked to call "Lennie" . . . he got out at night a lot, wandered the streets like a ghost. . . tracking, watching, a silent testament to the city. Leo Bivins was a lot of things, but before anything else he was a middle child. He blended into a lot of places. Bivins had to go out of his way to call attention to himself sometimes, growing up overshadowed by awesome, his brothers, the doctors, his dad the Hero, his mom the scientist. And dumb ol' Leo kept in the background dickin' around. He'd had nightmares, vicious ones of the Pyramid and the Circle since he was 4. . . and he never knew why. He almost never slept anymore, he dreamed, though. . . vividly. And he saw the truth, the inevitable overarching march of THEM, in the background, a force guiding things.

He marked his days in the dull buzz of florescent lights at the station, the nights with a twisted maze of neon and flickering lights in run down places. Some nights Leo wondered if he'd ever really be clean again. He'd taken up to cards with the Falcones on Thursdays, they didn't know who he was at first, but his money was good. Not a lot of people knew that Leo Bivins had money, he didn't trust credit cards. Sure he had a few, it would be too suspicious not to, but Bivins didn't make his major purchases with them, just groceries, weekly. Just gas, at one gas station. . . the Roxxon on Fifth and Kane. Every three nights, like clockwork. Predictable. He didn't use cash either, it was paper backed by the word of their oppressors. An imperfect solution for the Global Overseers, too hard to track, but not impossible.

Every bill larger than $20 had the tracker wire in it, Bivins knew this, he also knew it was why ATMs only gave out $20s, and why coins were becoming so much harder to use. The cash was traceable, the numbers on the sides and the tracker wire, mixed with the national database of purchases and expenditures. But even so, the sheeple had reacted unpredictably for Big Brother, the traded the cash under the table, didn't put all of the transactions on the books. That's why there was such a push for credit and ATM cards. It was an obvious ploy. As real wages stagnate, costs rise, people sold themselves into indentured servitude to make ends meet in an ongoing race to mass slavery. Escape required subversion, thinking outside the box. Leo Bivins had cash, he had credit, he just preferred to keep his real money in something less obvious.

They didn't know about the krugerands, at least Bivins didn't think they knew about the Krugerands. How Bivins had scrimped and saved and put his money in gold buried in the back yard of his childhood home, stored in the edge of a tree growing in central Gotham park, put there at 2 AM after a cheap dinner of Pho while he was still in high school.

They didn't know about the bitcoins, Bivins had been a proponent of them when they first came out, bought over three thousand dollar's worth of them, and then another three thousand. He had the money to do so, from the Krugerands, a quick sale, he could find the right fences to sell the gold too, it was his job to find them.

And as more and more people swallowed the red pill and woke up to the reality of a democratic society falling towards global conspiracy, they wanted out more. Like rats from a sinking ship, they rushed now, not as much as they would, but now they rushed, trying to find the same avenues that Bivins had found years before. It's said that there were costs to being an early adopter, but Leo Bivins found that the more that THE TRUTH was seen, the better his plans had been. Still, he'd need out sooner, rather than later. Their eyes were on these sources now. The Bitcoins would be brought under control soon, and he'd need new options before the conspiracy clutched their hands around the anonymous resistance.

Bivins had Credit. Bivins had cash. It would be too suspicious not to use it. He had facebook too, he had ten, although he kept that on the down low. He'd made friends with the circles around the edges of the Mob Life, it wasn't hard for the Bivinator. . . or JParr5432, or Lukbalaydee, or the other names he had. . . He was hardly a stranger to the deep web. On the right forums online quiet whispers he could keep his finger on the pulse of things. The phones were top of the line, jailbroken with aftermarket parts put in, a little harder to find than drugs online, but not by much, and it was so easy to find drugs online. A few quick instruction manuals and some of the right forums (LURK MOAR) and he could fix things up the way he liked. He thought about modifying a LexMark phone, but he was convinced that Lex Luthor was part of the Conspiracy, ties to the League of Assassins, the Illuminati, and the secret masters than ran the world. Ties to Gotham's own Wayne Enterprises too, Bivins knew obsfucating stupidity when he saw it, and Bruce Wayne had a lot to hide, and the backdoor functionality of all Wayne subsidiary phones to allow them to be centrally controlled and transformed into a gigantic dragnet to allow sattelite telemetry to create a realtime surveillance state in which every man, woman and child could be tracked using a combination of sound and cameras to create a computerized sonar image? HA! Like he'd contribute and be part of THAT thankyouverymuch.

So he bought a Kordless. . . Ted Kord had his own secrets, but he was a true believer. Bivins wasn't sure why he thought that, maybe instinct, but most of what he found seemed to back that up.

Bivins did a lot of his work on that phone. Sure it looked like he was playing Candy Crush, but really the combination of RSS feeds, proxy servers and social media swarms, the right deep web forums. He was a talker at the station, online? He lurked moar. He'd heard the rumors, he heard the messages, and a crazy part in the back of his head wondered. . . why not? The puzzle wasn't too hard.

A quiet rumor during Thursday cards with the boys down at the bar from Jimmy "The Gleek" Gambino (redditor: piacetartarughe) who shared Bivins love for Paperinik New Adventures, and who was a cockmongler of the greatest order who preferred David Tennant to the obviously superior Christopher Eccleston (Fan-tastic) but who was luckily a fan of Harley Morenstein (redditor: HarleyMore) so there was some common ground for conversation, even though the other goombas didn't have a clue what they were talking about. . .

A whisper in the Triad run noodle shops from Paul Kamaguchi, legitimate businessman's son (redditor: PM_ME_YOUR_NOODLE) who needed a fourth for Majong and who shared a love of Chirachi that Bivins could relate to, and again, another fan of Harley Morenstein.

A message on the Deep Web, a rumor. Some questions, some discussions, some crowd sourcing with the right group of /b/tards and some of the folks on the old usenet servers (Project Mayhem, hamsterwatch, HailEris). Bivins had volunteered to go for all the Anonymous web folks (PICS OR IT DIDN'T HAPPEN! OP WILL SURELY DELIVER).

The Guy Fawkes mask stuck to his face with the spirit gum with a lot of ease, he wore it during the protests, the glue would keep it from coming off too easily, and it would provide a nice poker face. It was a little pretentious, a little flashy, but then again on nights like this he preferred to remain Anonymous. The voicechanger was a thingamabobber from Radioshack, twenty bucks. Common, easy. The bomb. . . well, ironically that was even cheaper. It fit in his shoes, let's never say that the TSA was scared for nothing. Didn't even require a lot of metal parts, and security here wasn't doing the swipe of the shoes or hands for residue. The Kevlar under the suit wasn't that hard either, amazing what you find at surplus stores when you're focused. And frankly, Bivins could be very focused. He kept the kevlar near the gas masks and the guns.

The guy at the door looked him up and down, beefy, big with no neck. Young and 21, he had a broken nose and the look of someone who got a lot of pain, and liked to spread it around for a living. He glared at the scrawny man in the fedora and suit and trenchcoat. The mask caused him to smirk a bit saying "Are you serious?"

Bivins shrugged and said "It's okay. I'm from the internet!"

The big palooka cocked his head as much as he could. His gut was already sore from the whole mess with Dent earlier, the body had been cleaned up, and frankly he didn't have a lot of patience for getting killed tonight. "Who are you?"

Bivins nodded as he said "My name is Robert Paulson." The palooka laughed again. Holy crap, one of us, one of us, geeble gobble we accept you. He then shook his head, then nodded to the body. "Nah, he's Robert Paulson. . . "

Bivins nodded 'Kinda bullshit, isn't it?"

The older middle aged man looked up at the new guard, "You know this guy?"

The guard looked at Bivins for a moment "You're 23apples, right?"

Bivins shrugged as he said "I'm Anonymous tonight."

The guard nodded as he said "Yeah, it's okay. He's supposed to be here." The guard winked and said "I'm Lucadoormat" (redditor: Lucadoormat, /fit/izen, and /g/entleman. Also a Goon on Something Awful.)

Bivins smiled under the mask and said "Oh fuck! Really? No shit! You got some wicked gains."

Lucadoormat was Italian, but was a fan of El Santo, and mexican Luchadoor wrestling. Once an 80 pound weakling, he'd started bulking up (OATS AND SQUATS) posting progress photos, although the steroids helped a lot. Also, a fan of Harley Morenstein (redditor: HarleyMore)

Bivins looked at the body of the other guard, "Hey, that sucks, sorry about that."

Lucadoormat shrugged and said "Yeah, it kinda sucks. I mean, the money's okay in this line of work, private party, bouncer, but sometimes these guys. . . it's just enough to get me pissed off. Ya know? We're just here, trying to make a living, do what we're told, we get shot by some crazy asshole with a gun. Try to keep ourselves alive, we're shot by some crazy asshole with a gun. Hell, the Joker just hosed a guy down on the lawn."

Bivins looked over his shoulder and the helicopter and the goons trying to clean up the body.

Luchadoormat shrugged "You'd think we'd learn, start to wear face masks like that thing, but ya know. Gotta keep the professional standards."

Bivins nodded "So why keep doing it?"

Lucadoormat shrugged "In Gotham? Not a lot of jobs available, and the money's good. I work one or two nights a week, make enough to pay for classes and keep myself comfy, I get the suppliments I need to work out, and it's hard to get into the wrestling business without connections, ya know?"

Bivins nodded and said "Yeah, I get that. It's tough all around."

Lucadoormat shrugged and then said "Meanwhile these fatcats go around playin cards, killing their own men. It's a gamble, but then again for every one that gets shot, and everyone that gets taken by the Bat or the Cops, another gets rich. I knew a guy who worked for the Joker once. . . wore the clown makeup, the whole thing. . . part of the Jokerz gang originally, because in Crime Alley, if you don't grow up part of a gang, you grow up dead. . . so anyway, he's working for the Joker. . . and Mr. J literally just hands him like, five hundred thousand dollars. Just . . . for the hell of it. Middle of dinner, he shoots the guy next to him, hands him a sack of money"

Bivins adds "You mean like, with the dollar signs on the side?"

Lucadoormat nodded as he said "Yeah, with the dollar signs on the side, whole thing filled with cash. Just randomly. . . then he forgets about it! Ya see? My guy sat near it for like two days, looking at it, expecting it to be a bomb. Finally gets up the guts to open it with like. . . a string thing. Sure enough, no bomb, just a little note that says "BANG" and five hundred thousand dollars in unmarked bills. . . it's a gamble, but sometimes. . . it pays out."

Bivins nods and says "His name was Robert Paulson. "

Lucadoormat nodded "His name was Robert Paulson. . . can I get a picture? The Karma'll be amazing for it!"

Bivins smiled and then extended his arm around the back of Lucadoormat as the big guy pulled out a cellphone and took a selfie. The middle aged man rolled his eyes, he didn't get these damned kids, and he had a body to clean up.

And that's how Bivins found himself inside about to play cards with some of the most dangerous freaks in Gotham. The suit and mask in place, the gloves comfortably worked out. 

There were some heavy hitters here, Joker, Riddler in bright green, Dent was over there seething around . . . in the back of his mind Bivins wondered what Montoya would do here. . . and there was . .  Selina? What the hell? 

He straightened his tie, checked the voice modulator underneath it.

He spoke:
 "Gentlemen"

"Would you like to play a game?"

There, good memetic overload in that. He should blend right in by standing slightly out. . . just another freak in the freak business. He stood quietly and moved towards the edge of the room, keeping his mouth shut and keeping his eyes open. 

[Oswald Cobblepot - The Penguin]

The guard accompanying VerMillion seems just as unhappy as the one at the door, he's hoping the boss isn't in a 'shoot the messenger' kind of mood and after a few seconds eyeing her he presses a finger to his earpiece "Someone check on Spooky" he doesn't trust that the Scarecrow isn't outside lurking in the bushes somewhere. Nor does he want to be confronted by the boss without knowing something. The answer comes back fast anyway, though he has no idea how they know.

The response Heather gets from Oswald is amazingly even worse than the one he gave Black Mask. The smile drops completely and a slight sneer forms as if he's smelt something rotten. His eyes immediately flick to the guard who jumps in before he can question "No Crane, it's just her" as if being prompt with information will save him. It was Edward's reaction that did that, his expression gaining Cobblepot's attention even without the tone to show his anger. Oswald thought very little of her really and still considered his business to be with Jonathan, she was just a pawn in the game and one he would be more than happy to throw into the basement if Ivy hadn't spoken up.

If she weren't so good for business he'd be less inclined to care but he had to at least pretend he cared about both their opinions. Black Mask wanting her to stay didn't help either, now there was the concern if they knew each other or if Roman was just latching himself onto things Oswald didn't like to irritate him. Edward at least provided an option and a fair chance to throw her out anyway "Perhaps then it shall have to be the riddle. If she completes it she may of course stay" He didn't stop to listen to objections, merely gestured to Edward to carry on and stepped out the way before he got caught in the middle of that mess. He was sure he'd find an excuse to turf her out sooner or later, either that or a chance to ensure she never left.

He moved to greet Lola "Beautiful as ever my dear" That she was the only one on the expected guest list without a background in crime was a slight concern but once more he'd chosen to test out how things would work, forever looking for that event that would seal the entire relationship as doomed. It was through her though that he finally noticed Selina had done what she did best, namely snuck her way in without him noticing "Nice of you to join us" he nodded to the woman until Lola's question regained his attention and he looked back to the other group and lowered his voice a little "Imaginatively enough he goes by Black Mask" he replied dryly "He's supposed to be dead but alas has chosen tonight to disagree with the known status of his existence"

He might have gone into more detail but that's when he heard the helicopter and immediately thought the cops had come to crash the party. Moving to a window to check it didn't look like a police chopper. He squinted out into the night at the figure getting out when it landed and then sighed when he heard a gunshot. It was just as well he'd got rid of the nosey neighbours years ago but he'd still have to get someone to clean up that mess. The screaming from the front door didn't help and the giggling only confirmed his suspicions. Joker. It would have to be.

Oswald did not look impressed. He could even hear more fighting going on as he stopped Joker at the door, lightly tapping on the clown's chest with the end of his umbrella and pausing just long enough for Dent to turn up too who he reached out a hand to halt. He eyed the pair "Joker, Dent. I charge for damages" he said very purposefully. Killing his men came under the same category as breaking his furniture. Though given this was his home the furniture would probably cost more. He let them both carry on again as he offered a smile to the room "Excuse me one moment" he said, politely excusing himself while the barman quickly made the new arrivals drinks and then moved back to a safe distance.

"Get me a helicopter pilot and clean up" He snapped on his phone the moment he got out the door, heading straight for the front door to stop the screaming man with a face made of acid "Shut up!" The screaming stopped, just after what to the knowledgeable ear would know to be someone getting hit in the head by an umbrella handle. The guards were already being replaced, medical was on its way for the one still alive. By morning there would be no evidence left. Oswald took a deep breath before heading back in. It was easy to tell when the truly chaotic made an appearance.

He pointed at the card dealer the moment he got back "Start dealing" Get the game going and people sat down before everyone tries to kill each other.

He snatches back up his drink and tries to brush back off the thoughts of business when someone else arrives. Someone he actually doesn't know. It was always a possibility with an open invitation. Oswald even saw it as a good way to discover new criminals trying to make a name for themselves with the big boys and from there decide if they needed dealing with first. He doesn't ask who it is, that would give the impression he doesn't already know, he merely politely nods and gestures to the poker table "You have good timing, the game is about to start"