Post by Deleted on Feb 1, 2014 3:40:56 GMT -5
[Before the current circumstances with Dr. Stenet.]
Edward Nigma had not gotten out much since his return from Northern Africa and his adventure to the Lazurus Pits. He had spent many nights in, using his new found realization to plot the perfect strategy to destroy his greatest adversary. The only reason he found himself outside his office was because he had completed the perfect game of chess. He had fifteen to fifty steps planned in advance, he merely needed to put his pieces into place. Everything was set, and tomorrow would be the beginning of a new day. A new day that introduced Edward Nigma, aka the Riddler to Gotham City, a criminal that most certainly was the most talented and intelligent person in the city.
Tonight, however, would merely be a simple celebration of his own genius. He normally toasted himself over a glass of champagne that he kept in his warehouse, but the bottle he had kept stock had somehow been emptied, likely during one of his many late nights. He went to the refrigerator only to find it completely empty. His lip had pouted out in annoyance. His OCD nature nagging at him that if he didn’t toast himself like he always did, the plan would ultimately fail. He needed to toast the success that would occur, which is why he found himself outside a bar that seemed somewhat decent, but overall shady like most of the bars on the East Side.
His lips turned into straight line, debating whether touching such diseased infested items would be worth the tradition, but slowly he found himself taking the steps up the stairs and slipping inside the bar. It was only three blocks from his warehouse, so he could easily escape to sanity if the disgusting bar proved to be nothing more than a waste of time.
He glanced around the bar, easily catching the deranged and criminal mobsters that spoke, drank, and smoke in the bar, a juicebox in the back of the bar playing the steady music of Queens in the background. God, it was like they had never seen the inside of a shower.
Edward, always quick to catch the subtle sign of interaction, caught notice to the way every man’s eyes in the bar kept darting to someone sitting on a stool at the bar. His eyes followed there’s to see the only female in present.
Interesting.
He walked up and took a seat in the stool next to her, making sure to note her appearance. She seemed strangely familiar. He had definitely seen her before.
“A glass of champagne,” he stated when the bartender came to him. As he requested his order, his eyes widened as he reached the conclusion. She might have been leaning over the bar like some whore off the street, and dressing fairly unprofessionally for her career of choice, but he knew who she was. Did she think that was a good undercover costume? She needed work, if she expected this to pass.
He shifted in his seat to face her. “How much are you charging?” he smirked, his eyes shining with humor. If she wanted to dress like a prostitute for whatever undercover story she was after, he didn’t mind playing the game.
Edward Nigma had not gotten out much since his return from Northern Africa and his adventure to the Lazurus Pits. He had spent many nights in, using his new found realization to plot the perfect strategy to destroy his greatest adversary. The only reason he found himself outside his office was because he had completed the perfect game of chess. He had fifteen to fifty steps planned in advance, he merely needed to put his pieces into place. Everything was set, and tomorrow would be the beginning of a new day. A new day that introduced Edward Nigma, aka the Riddler to Gotham City, a criminal that most certainly was the most talented and intelligent person in the city.
Tonight, however, would merely be a simple celebration of his own genius. He normally toasted himself over a glass of champagne that he kept in his warehouse, but the bottle he had kept stock had somehow been emptied, likely during one of his many late nights. He went to the refrigerator only to find it completely empty. His lip had pouted out in annoyance. His OCD nature nagging at him that if he didn’t toast himself like he always did, the plan would ultimately fail. He needed to toast the success that would occur, which is why he found himself outside a bar that seemed somewhat decent, but overall shady like most of the bars on the East Side.
His lips turned into straight line, debating whether touching such diseased infested items would be worth the tradition, but slowly he found himself taking the steps up the stairs and slipping inside the bar. It was only three blocks from his warehouse, so he could easily escape to sanity if the disgusting bar proved to be nothing more than a waste of time.
He glanced around the bar, easily catching the deranged and criminal mobsters that spoke, drank, and smoke in the bar, a juicebox in the back of the bar playing the steady music of Queens in the background. God, it was like they had never seen the inside of a shower.
Edward, always quick to catch the subtle sign of interaction, caught notice to the way every man’s eyes in the bar kept darting to someone sitting on a stool at the bar. His eyes followed there’s to see the only female in present.
Interesting.
He walked up and took a seat in the stool next to her, making sure to note her appearance. She seemed strangely familiar. He had definitely seen her before.
“A glass of champagne,” he stated when the bartender came to him. As he requested his order, his eyes widened as he reached the conclusion. She might have been leaning over the bar like some whore off the street, and dressing fairly unprofessionally for her career of choice, but he knew who she was. Did she think that was a good undercover costume? She needed work, if she expected this to pass.
He shifted in his seat to face her. “How much are you charging?” he smirked, his eyes shining with humor. If she wanted to dress like a prostitute for whatever undercover story she was after, he didn’t mind playing the game.