Birds of a Feather (Oswald Cobblepot)

The Underworld

   The Flea still exists, located in an abandoned warehouse in the heart of the warehouse district. Since I was last here, they’ve gotten somewhat more sophisticated, at least as sophisticated as street kids can get. Numerous old wooden tables crowd the majority of the warehouse, with vendors selling stolen objects and little knick knacks. There’s loud music playing from two large speakers up on the walkway. The term “street kid” must have expanded sometime while I was away, since I spot at least several individuals who look well into their thirties, and in a natural way. I glance over at Ed and see that he’s been fidgeting nonstop, his hands folded into each other and his fingers moving nonstop.

“Don’t do that,” I discreetly tell him, my eyes darting around, “you’ll come off wrong.”

“I...I can’t...perhaps it’s best if I were to return to the car-”

I take his hands, pry them apart, and stick them in the pockets of his leather jacket, “There, you’ll look more laid back,” I look up at his timid, nervous expression, “also, keep your head up, you look insecure.”

“Why such a large emphasis on appearance?” Ed asks, as I browse the various stalls set up around the Flea.

“Appearance is everything, no matter where you go. It telegraphs how you’re feeling at that moment, or at least, what you want people to think you’re feeling,” I explain.

He nods, as we approach a vendor selling small trinkets in wooden boxes.

“I was thinking of getting something for my place,” I tell her, “you got anything that sticks out? You know, like, a conversation piece of sorts?”

The vendor looks through one of the boxes, and takes out a small, green ring, a slightly green glow radiating from it, “I got this recently. Seems pretty cool.”

I gingerly take the ring, examining it, “Hmm...I remember a friend of mine owning something similar to this a while ago. But I haven’t seem them in quite some time,” I place the ring back into the box, “in fact, I haven’t been seeing a lot of my friends lately. You know what I mean?”

The vendor shrugs, “Yeah, but I mean, it happens all the time.”

“But never on this scale, it’s like everyone’s suddenly skipping town or something.”

“Is there a problem here?” I turn around and see a tall, muscular man in his early twenties. He has a confident, snarky grin on his face, and from the corner of my eye I see the vendor shy away.

“Just some small talk is all,” I assure the man.

“If you’re not going to buy anything, then I suggest you leave,” the man threatens, and from behind him two other men walk out, both armed with wooden planks.

“What makes you such an authority?” I challenge, placing my hands on my hips.

He leans back, crossing his arms, “This part of the Flea is my turf. And if you’re gonna have that attitude…” he gestures to the men with planks, and they step in front of him.

I reach for my daggers but hesitate, I should avoid killing if possible, although, when push comes to shove, it’s still an option. Three guys, two if the leader decides to hang back, and I have a feeling he will. As long as I can keep this fight contained, things should be fine.

“It was just a question,” I roll my eyes, silently challenging him.

“I think you need to learn a lesson in respect, little girl.”

I quietly chuckle to myself at the idea of him calling me a “little girl”. The man scrunches his eyebrows in confusion, but that confusion quickly turns to anger.