5208/Riddle You This

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Riddle You This
Date of Scene: 20 August 2018
Location: Unknown
Synopsis: Summary needed
Cast of Characters: Riddler, Batwoman




Riddler has posed:
Edward Nygma's newfound freedom from Arkham Asylum was being enjoyed splendidly, after Riddler met an underworld tailor to outfit him in his standard fashionable wardrobe of forest green and splendid purple. It was a pittance, the sum drawn from one of many of his investments or endevours in engineering, drawn from his bank accountant in Metropolis, at a small office that didn't ask any questions, and functioned with the protection of one of many random Intergang outfits. The Riddler was well aware of Intergang technology's impossible nature, but it bothered him little. Some things were beyond the human ken, but if you let that bother you, you'd never go into a strip club again.

The Riddler had escaped from Arkham Asylum for a singular purpose. He had noticed several mathematical security loopholes inside the Asylum's ground structure that might allow for an untidy mess in the event of a riot, escape, or hostage situation. The other criminals inside Arkham wanted these realities kept quiet, but the Riddler knew that tax dollars paid for Arkham to be in tip-top shape, and he couldn't accept a taxpayer liability. After all, he occasionally paid taxes, when his complex chain of IRS write-offs weren't in effect. And if there was one thing the Riddler couldn't stand, it was a cheat.

Riddler had been tracking events, and after his quiet inquiry into the Arkham contract agents indicated that the Euler Theorem disguise switch in the cafeteria - the riddle he used in his last escape - had been ignored, he had become enraged. And that is why he was inside the offices of licensed architext Prentice Hall, the city bureaucrat tied to his chair, with the Riddler sitting across Prentice's desk from him, cane in hand.

Batwoman has posed:
    Sometimes, the Bat comes through the windows. Rarely the vents. Often the front door, cape billowing behind him, bold chin out and ready to face down the Riddler 'ere he may be. Unfortunately, Bats has another appointment. Whether this bodes ill or well remains to be seen. Which means that in his place, comes... A phone call. The bureacrats desk phone begins to ring, disrupting what would otherwise be an immensely amusing silence filled with the occasional pitiable noises of someone who has only just discovered what power can actually look like.

    Because this one isn't like the other Bats. Atop the building opposite, her cellphone tucked against her ear, is a black-clad figure with an acre of red hair behind her, and their sigil splashed proudly on her chest. She leans against the utility box on the roof, probably visible if the Riddler decides to look out of the window and up a few levels.

Riddler has posed:
The Riddler has been discussing the particulars of mathematics and building planning to Prentice Hall, after Prentice Hall's complaint that Riddler's alteration to the cafeteria would remove the double doors from the kitchen to the serving area, and the kitchen to the pantry, making the cafeteria staff bump into each other during rounds to serve and prepare food. Prentice Hall was then gagged, with his own tie.

When the phone starts ringing, Riddler's face curls into a smile, his purple domino mask narrowing as he squints.

"Well well, Mister Hall," Riddler notes, looking down at the phone. "It looks like you start paying me. As a secretary, I charge rather shallowly. I'm a good looking man, after all."

The joke aside, Nygma scoops up the phone and turns to the side, kicking his leg up on another chair and reclining backwards. Crooked cane dangling beneath his left arm against him, phone in the gloved right hand, he answers.

"Hall Architecture Associates, Mister Nygma speaking. How may I direct your call?"

Batwoman has posed:
"And hello to you, Mister Nygma. I've heard - And read - So much about you." The voice is indulgent, seductive and rich, far from the gravelled tones of the Bat as well. Painted red lips almost kiss the phone as she begins to speak. "I'm to understand you're extremely fond of games, which doesn't put you too far from some of the men I've known. So why don't we start with an easy one, pet, and tell me how I found out where you'd been making trouble this evening."

As if her location wasn't easy enough to scry, she moves slowly to the edge of the building - A light hop casting her shape over the moon, and throwing a silhoutte into the office, and a delicate step down allowing her to sit upon the edge, leaving her cowl and shoulders outlined upon the floor and desk. "Forgive my being rude. I'd love to come down and have a chat, but you have something of a history with," An amused, rich laugh, "Shall we call them deathtraps? Or perhaps, lethal puzzles."

Riddler has posed:
"A fellow card player?" Nygma retorts, his smile growing sidelong into a smirk. "If you want to dice words into games with questions, I'm afraid I have no compunction to play. That's always the first trap in a crook's downfall, isn't it? The loneliness between letters?"

He swings around to stand up, his cane dragging alongside him as he slips his forearm beneath the question mark and pushes Prentice aside gently, to look out the window at Batwoman.

"Let's assume you've given me a riddle I'm capable of solving. That means I'm in the trap, not you. But I can't solve it, so at the moment, we are still crossing toes beneath a table. And I don't date anyone that can benchpress me. Although I am fond of prunes," comes a gently curling retort.

"Perhaps you, not Mister Hall, are interested in my riddle?"

Batwoman has posed:
Batwoman is polite enough to give a painted smile and a wave back to the Riddler, her armored, gloved hand showing that she might be less kind than she may seem. "I'd be lying if I said that plotting your downfall wasn't on my agenda, Mister Nygma, as there's a cell in Arkham that is sadly vacant an occupant, but right now I'm curious to see what your visit may have bought you. And although there's a temptation to break windows, kick down doors and see where that takes me, it's such a loud solution."

"So let's put the muscles aside, and the equipment, and the hostages. I'm not suggesting stakes, or punishments, or anything that might infringe on either of us. I'm curious to see whether incarceration has dulled that legendary weapon sitting just behind your eyes, and I can't help but assume you'd be curious too." Her legs cross, delicately, as she muses. "Because right now, you've got a hostage, which means I have precisely no time to play. In which case... Well, we're about three seconds away from seeing where that goes."

The cowl's eyes glint, bright red.

Riddler has posed:
"You're so crude at judging my intents, Batwoman," comes Riddler's reply over the phone in his hand, shifting his gaze to the bound architect in the chair near the window.

"You speak so much of the simple set of organs behind my eyes, that do so much for me, but you use your own grey matter so little. I'm an eminently qualified man to do so many things in this city, many of them notoriously despicable, yet here I am, instructing Mister Hall on the proper way to rid Arkham Asylum of a glaring security loop hole."

Riddler pushes Prentice's chair across the room, out of the view of the window with his toe on the lip of the seat, before backing up the other direction, leaving the window empty.

"I am charitable, Batwoman, so I will count on you to fix the many glaring oversights I've seen in Gotham City. Congratulations on your new patron."

"Riddle me this, Batwoman. If a chair has six legs, how does it lose two of them without falling over?"

With that, there's a clunk over the line, Riddler dropping the phone and the lights in the office cutting black.

Batwoman has posed:
"I don't doubt. You'll find that many of the more unique people in this city have a habit of thinking in absolutes. 'Only I,' 'Justice,' 'Good,' 'Evil,' 'Only you.'" Batwoman rises to a stand as the hostage is pushed out of the way, on the narrow ledge of stone that she has available. And when the Riddler disappears, and drops the line, it calls for a sudden intervention that some might see as diving headfirst into a trap. But of course, Riddler has never met this incarnation of Bat before, as she has suprises of her own.

Launching from the building opposite, her cloak spread out to give her a little more lateral travel - The Gymnast brings them in at the last minute, as she slams into the window and shatters pane and frame inwards, curling inwards so she can tuck and roll to make the landing without crippling herself. It hardly makes for the best first impression when that happens.

Her cowl automatically switches to low-light, as her fingers drum the metal contraption strapped to her hip. Stealth was optional for this, right?"

Riddler has posed:
The office is empty, with a laughing voice echoing down the hallway outside the door.

Prentice Hall, meanwhile, is beside Batwoman now that she's inside the office. He's in his suit, with his brown tie in his mouth, gagging him, his glasses skewed on his face. His arms are tied to the arms of his rolling chair, and his ankles are bound to two of the four legs.

He looks terrified, in the dark, unable to see.

There's a distant sound of a wooden board, as a window in an abandoned office, boarded shut, is temporarily opened, before bouncing back with a *BOOOING* against the frame, among five windows (four on the alley side, one on the front) in the vacant office.

And then, a crashing of Riddler's shoes on a dumpster outside, before a hop down and a huff.

Batwoman has posed:
Much as she'd love to show the Riddler just how much less friendly she can be than the Bat, her priority here was to secure the hostage. As the Riddler makes his escape, Batwoman approaches the captive slowly, observing precisely how two legs are going to be removed from the victim as she speaks into her cowl. "Track him. Retask SatObs, south side of my location, ten minutes."

Those painted lips are normally twisted into a smile of some kind are forced into a frown at the situation she's found herself in. "And if someone doesn't find out how he made his way out of Arkham I'll return him back there without his legs."

Gloved fingers whip the tie out of the mans mouth with a little less than tenderness, as she examines the trap.

Riddler has posed:
"Oh thank God," Prentice gasps as his gag is removed. "Nashton's crazy," Prentice says. "I've never met a man more hellbent on inconvenience in the name of form over function."

Prentice's ankles are secured to the legs of the chair, just above the wheel but below the leg, by razorwire, one wrap per ankle. It's already cutting into his pants and socks and shoes. If the line is cut, then the leg collapses and the other ankle is sliced into pieces by the razorwire.

Batwoman has posed:
Kate observes the razorwire, and the way it's all been set up. Logic states the best thing to do is to remove all the weight from the base of the chair, which can be achieve with one stepped, booted heel - But is probably nicer with her hands. The chair is eased back slowly, watching to see how it changes the situation as weight is taken off the base of the chair, and the architect's chair is laid down on the floor.

Riddler has posed:
As the chair is place on its back, with the two legs in back now moot, the feet are revealed with the razorwire binding them to the bases of the wheels, now easy to cut without removing the feet.

Batwoman has posed:
Kate tilts her palm back, exposing a thin cutting blade that shears through the razorwire easily, and her armored gloves easily enough unwrap it and discard it with a frustrated mutter. "Oracle. What's the word?" The armored vigilante seems happy enough to ignore the architect, while she deals with business. "You lost him. Right. Of course. Maintain a broadwave scan for him. I have a riddle for him to solve." She pats the metal contraption on her thigh tellingly, and then considers Mister Hall again.

"Mister Nygma is entirely insane, but he's far from stupid. You might want to consider his advice." She offers the advice, before she makes her way back out of the window, and around the building. She might not be able to find the trail, but damnit, she'll try.

Riddler has posed:
Edward Nygma is in the back of a Japanese sedan, driven by a man in an old leather jacket and a sneer.

Nygma opens up a bag, with an onion bagel toasted to the point of being black, spreading margerine on it with an expensive plastic knife, disposable however.

"Batwoman, Batwoman, Batwoman. If a cat could fly, would you be any more forward than a woman's lie."