Birds of a Feather (Oswald Cobblepot)

Enter Trickstress, Exit Edward

   The Trickster's van pulls up at an abandoned warehouse after having lost the police. I have to wonder, how does a distinctly decorated van escape the police? But somehow, the Trickster pulled it off. He giddily jumps out, scurrying to the back to collect the money.

“What’re you going to do with your newfound wealth Mr. Trickster?” I ask him, helping him carry a bag into the warehouse.

He kicks open the warehouse door to reveal a colorful wonderland of bright lights and strange contraptions, “Why, for my master plan of course, my dear!” he swivels around to face me. Dropping the bag of money, he paces toward me dramatically before grabbing me and pulling me close, “And you can call me James, baby,” he gives an almost comedic wink before him begins pacing forward, leading us into the warehouse.

“So...what’s your name sweetheart?”

“Trixie,” I tell him, seeing as that’s become my default criminal name.

He wraps an arm around my waist and squeezes me tightly, "Oh, Trixie! That's perfect! Twist the name around a bit and you get...the Trickster! But you’d need an original name, something that would signify our partnership, but also distinguish you from myself...the Trickster and...his partner in crime the lovely Trickstress! It’s brilliant!”

I smile, although I can’t help but have a little sarcasm in my expression. A feminizing of the Trickster’s name is incredibly unoriginal yes, but what else could he call me? Prank? Harlequin?

“You’ll also need a costume!” he realizes, dashing behind a set of funhouse mirrors, “I think I have something…”

While he rummages through all of his junk, I look around. Tools and electrical equipment mix with images of clowns and scattered toys. A central workshop bench is covered with wrenches, mechanical parts, and a framed picture of Jack from Fish Mooney’s. It’s a black and white picture with a signature on the bottom right hand corner, cursive words saying: “All the best! Jack N.”

“Ah, here it is! I knew I had something in a woman’s size,” the Trickster exclaims, presenting me with a blue leotard with polka dots.

He hands it to me, “Go on, go on, try it on! I promise I won’t peek.”

I dash behind the funhouse mirrors, but before I even think of changing, my attention is brought to a pristine, metal case. It looks so out of place compared to everything else, could this compared to everything else. Could this case house the stolen tech?

I walk over to the case, and feel around its edges. The use to be a lock on it, but someone blasted it open, probably Trickster. I open the case to find...it's empty. Damnit, if the tech was in here, then it's gone now. Did he sell it? Or is it hidden somewhere else?

"Almost done poopsykins?" the Trickster's cooing voice echoes through the warehouse.

"Almost sweetiepie," I respond, trying to sound cute.

I quickly close the case and get back to changing into the leotard. Amid his clutter, I also find a pair of dark blue pirate boots and matching fingerless gloves that work nicely with the leotard. I put the mask on as a finishing touch. As soon as I'm done I poke my head out from behind the mirrors, "You ready to see, baby?"

"Oh, I'm ready."

I step out into his line of sight, "Meet your new and improved, Trickstress!" I present myself in his silly sky blue leotard, trying to imitate his dramatic flair.

The Trickster whistles, before getting on all fours and barking like a dog. Meanwhile, I feel cold and exposed in this outfit. This tight, clingy one piece makes even some of costumes I've worn at Fish Mooney's seem decent.

"Oh baby! You look absolutely divine!"

I smile, "Why thank you," I slowly approach him wrapping my arms around his shoulders, "have to ask though, why do you have all of these women's clothes?"

He smiles back, "Let's just say I'm a collector."

Ugh, creepy.

He takes my hand and leads me to his workbench, where he grabs a handful of the many blueprints stuffed into his shelf.

"With all of the muhla we've acquired, I'm going to pull off the crime of the century!" he announces, pulling out the rolled up blueprints to reveal plans for several weapons and tools.

"What are you gonna do?" I ask.

He turns to me with a devilish smile, "I'll show you. Could you be a dear and hand me today's paper?" he points to a newspaper lying on the other side of the room.

I walk over to the newspaper and pick it up. The front page headlines read, “Man Convicted of Killing Wife”. Huh, so I guess Gotham City and Central City aren’t too different after all. I hand the paper to him, and he shuffles through the main section.

“Hmm...ack! All this junk! But by tomorrow, the papers will be filled with my name!” the Trickster declares, “Ah, here we are.”

He turns the paper around to display an article with a picture of a giant diamond, “Marsha’s Diamond. One of the largest and most valuable diamonds in the world is on display at the Central City Museum.”

“And you plan on stealing it?” I finish.

“Not me,” he reaches behind his back and pulls out a clear mask, the same mask in the picture Harrison showed me. He puts the mask on, and his face warps to become someone I don’t recognize, “but the mayor of Central City, young Hamilton Hill!”

I force a smile, “Framing the mayor for stealing a diamond? Why? Do you have something against the mayor?”

“His vision for Central City and mine are...well, conflicting. I get him booted from office, and then threaten whichever poor sap they get to replace him! The Trickster will run Central City’s politics! Anyone who doesn’t comply will suffer a similar fate,” he pulls something else from behind his back, “also when I stole this mask I got a little consolation prize as well. No idea what it does, but it sure makes for a pretty little paperweight.”

He holds out a cube made of a strange black metal. It seems to glow around the patterns etched into its design. This must be what Harrison is after.

The Trickster places the cube down on his stack of blueprints, while grabbing a singular blueprint and holding it out in front of us, “So, my dear, with this tech, my plan and your prowess, we are going to rule this town!”

   Ed walks into the GCPD records annex, where one Kristen Kringle is placing files in their proper category.

“Oh Ms. Kringle, I was wondering if you’d like to go lunching with me,” he proposes, leaning by the doorway.

“No thank you Mr. Nygma,” she replies bluntly, refusing to look up from her papers.

He chuckles nervously, “Well you see, the reason why I ask is because I was wondering if we could…” Kristen turns around, and Ed stops his sentence, as if her stare alone silenced him. He works up the courage to be begin talking again, “discuss matters of casual conversation.”

She turns back to her work, “Ed, have I ever accepted one of your lunch requests? Or any of your requests?”

He looks down, “Uhm...well…”

“Ed, please, just go,” she asks, carrying a tired expression.

Ed nods and closes the door behind him. That did not go as he’d hoped. Perhaps in a week or two?