< AN OC ROLEPLAY BLOG FOR 'KISMET’ ── A CYBERTERRORIST & ONE OF THE RIDDLER'S MOST DEVOTED FOLLOWERS FROM ‘THE BATMAN' (2022)_ >
DIRECTIONARY:
< ABOUT THE MUN > // rules & general info about the author, @heartfluttered.
< THREADS OF FATE > // kismet's introduction page.
< EXTENDED LORE > // introductory prose-fiction about kismet's backstory.
< CORRESPONDENCE INDEX > // masterlist of roleplay threads.
> you're finally here.
> let's get to work, 01110011 01101000 01100001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01110111 01100101? ▌
god I'm such a slut for Chinese eggplant in garlic sauce *decides it’s inaccurate to refer to myself as a slut in light of my minimal sexual activity* if The Enemy discovered my ardor for Chinese eggplant in garlic sauce, they would gain a significant strategic advantage
The bar was tucked away in Gotham's shadows, hidden, but not untraceable. Few things truly were, Edward knew, and he was proud to have found it. The ability to dig these things up was a good medication for the ills of this world.
But just like any other drug, it had it's side effects.
He allowed his gaze to sweep the surroundings, careful to keep his hood on and his head lowered, lest he be found by an unwelcome, recognized gaze.
This bar — dim, but not dingy — was one of the few in Gotham without much of a security system. He had gathered that there was not even a single security camera on the inside, a fact which he might had judged it to be stupid in any other occassion. As of now, it served as a blessing. If he kept a low profile, he could be virtually faceless. Nobody would have to stumble upon the discovery that the Riddler was in their midst, now or later.
Putting faith in obscurity — yes, he and this bar had that in common.
He takes a sip of the soda, the sugary beverage beginning to water down with the ice melting inside it.
"Waiting for someone?" The bartender asked.
"Yes," He replied, setting the glass down with a soft clink. "...should be here any minute."
The man that Kismet had described had been here for a while now, sitting to the left of his peripheral view. For the time he had managed to observe, Edward found the man to be a few things: decently handsome, terribly drunk, but overall average.
The target's described past time of choice — "picking up women" — didn't seem to have much of a success rate here. Every time the man had tried, he had not even been close to entertained by the women he offered drinks and conversation to — most would quickly turn away from him or reject him with an awkward, polite smile.
Edward had been watching in the corner of his eye as the man attempted to speak to another woman again, only for the same kind of rejection to occur. He tried to hide the way the corners of his lips tugged up by taking another sip of his beverage, glancing away to stare at the door.
Unfortunately, embarassing behaviour would lend him nothing other than something to laugh about. Useless. There must've been something real — something substantial to reveal who this man was beyond the humiliating, yet ultimately harmless, behaviour.
That's when he watched the door open, someone new slipping into the bar. Eyes tracking every movement, the stranger slips beside him, her focus seemingly elsewhere in spite of the seemingly — at least, Edward would think so — purposeful seating choice.
He found his eyes narrowing with interest, even as his stomach churned with an anxiety from an unnamable source.
The stranger was a willowy, petite Asian woman in her early twenties, and very pretty. Wearing a plaid pencil skirt, a neat sweater, and quiet self assurance; everything about her was subtly elegant.
Her expression was one of deceptive disinterest, but her lightless eyes were unmistakably incisive as they brisked over the room, as if she was committing everything to detail.
Turning to the drunk man next to her, she intoned in a soft, whisper–quiet voice:
❝...Hello. You...come here often.❞
A brief pause. Then, like an afterthought, she extended a delicate hand out to shake.
In doing so, her frailty immediately became apparent—the milky skin on her wrist was upsettingly translucent, revealing rot–coloured veins lying underneath.
Still looking impressively impassive, she said,
The man repeated it slowly, intending to sound charismatic. At least, that's what Edward assumed, subtly eavesdropping in on the conversation. His hands gripped his glass a little tighter as he listened in.
After an appraising look — one that lingered too much for comfort, it became incredibly clear that there was absolutely no suspicion in this man. Not in the slighest. A beautiful stranger being presented seemed to be enough.
He was wandering into the web without realizing.
"Sharp?" He replied, amused, "You don't sound too impressed, sweetheart."
He didn't take her hand. He didn't even seem to consider it an option. Instead, the man opted to sling an arm around her shoulders firmly. The smell of liquor on his breath was made more evident as he leaned in closer, lowering his voice.
"No need to be so formal. Who're you trying to impress, huh? Me? That's cute."
He chuckled, shaking his head.
"C'mon. Loosen up. What'cha looking to drink, huh? You've come to the right guy."
Edward couldn't control his grimace. He didn't know whether he was being more critical of the awkward "flirting" from her end, or the fact that it seems to be working on the other.
Whatever it was, it caused every cell in his body to burn with the urge to leave, or — more impulsively — find a way to end the interaction completely. Anything
This is torturous, Edward thinks to himself, hardly bothering to give grace to either party.
Being the Riddler gave him control. Power. The ability to carry out the things that most couldn't even imagine trying was at his fingertips with a mask and effort. But today, he was not meant to be the Riddler — anonymous and average, Edward was forced to sit and do nothing. It felt like surgery with no anesthesia.
Something like second-hand embarassment, sharp and destructive, wanted to claw it's violent path out of his skin — yet, Edward couldn't help but feel there was something more to this discomfort.
Only the keenest of on-lookers would have caught the way her eyes widened ever so slightly as the target's arm cinched around Kismet's shoulders.
Her discomfort may as well have been completely non-existent to the drunken man before her. Her distress seemingly dissipated as quickly as it appeared. Looking calm again, she spoke:
❝Impress you,❞ Kismet repeated blandly. ❝...yes. Was I that obvious?❞
Artlessly, Kismet proceeded to drop her hovering hand down upon the knee of the target. A painfully loud slap followed, resounding throughout the bar.
Those who turned their heads to look immediately averted their gaze at the overtly suggestive sight of Kismet slowly smoothing her hand up-and-down the target's thigh. If his strangled moan was anything to go off of, he was probably the only soul in the bar enjoying the moment.
❝Why, you seem like a very important man,❞ she mused, fluttering her eyes. ❝Well-dressed and handsome, sitting all alone...what's your name?❞
He laughed heartily. ❝The name's Simon Burrell, pretty girl. But I guess you can call me sir for tonight,❞ he drawled in condescension, flashing a smarmy grin.
Kismet's brow beetled as she took note of the way Burrell's half-lidded, lustful eyes were unabashedly trained on her soft, sheer stockings. Taking advantage of his weakness, she crossed her legs. Her mini pencil skirt hiked up enticingly in the process, giving him a glimpse of her thighs; smooth skin veiled beneath soft, sheer stockings.
The man swallowed, fully lured into the web she was weaving. She leaned in closer, her nose close enough to graze his cheek.
❝Well, Mr. Burrell... I think I'll take you up on your offer...❞
It became increasingly clear that Kismet excelled in bold acts of intimacy rather than words. Up close, her presence seemed to intoxicate the man, and her clumsy attempts at 'charm' bloomed into genuine acts of seduction.
Trailing a delicate hand up the lapel of his suit, she stared up at him through her lashes. She whispered, her voice sultry and smooth:
❝Buy me a drink, and maybe we can get to know each other better?❞
Burrell looked fully willing to sink in the depths of her dark, bottom-of-the-ocean eyes. He'd fallen for it—hook, line and sinker.
❝Oh, I like the way you think, sweet-cheeks.❞
The target's expression contorted into ugly, obnoxious entitlement as he swiftly turned to bark orders at the bartender.
In the midst of his drunken yelling, the target didn’t notice Kismet's nimble hand tracing the rim of his beer. From her fingertips, a nigh imperceptible powder fell into the liquid and dissolved in a matter of seconds.
Burrell chugged the drink down without noticing. For the next two hours, Kismet sipped on a White Russian, asking increasingly probing questions about his more... morally problematic work.
By the time Kismet had extracted the information she wanted, the man had grown sluggish and slow in movement, seeming moments away from passing out.
❝...You don't seem well,❞ Kismet noted. ❝I don't know that you're in the state to...do anything. With me. So...how would you like for me to walk you home?❞
Burrell mumbled something incoherent, sounding very much like a dying horse. He slapped a fat wad of cash on the table without bothering to look at how much.
Burrell put a hand on her waist. ❝C'mon, I'll show the way...ain't that far...❞
Kismet shuddered, her discomfort increasingly obvious. She seemed to angle her head in an attempt to look back towards the bar, but he'd moved forward before she could.
Then, they were gone, walking down the streets of Gotham.
< A MASTERLIST OF KISMET'S ROLEPLAY THREADS_ >
KISMET.EXE — @/justicedenied 's tag for kismet's threads!
online correspondences as 'KISMET' designated with (✦)
real-life, offline interactions as ██████ designated with (✧)
>> ONGOING.
✧ MISSION 02 — the bar. (mar 16 — )
✦ the dork knight. (mar 25, 2026)
>> COMPLETE CORRESPONDENCES.
✦ the first correspondence. (feb 4, 2026)
✦ "You want to ask the difficult things? Me too." (feb 5, 2026)
✦ "welcome. it's time for people like us to step out of the shadows." (feb 5, 2026)
✦ "you're here. that means something. feel like being an extra set of eyes?" (feb 6, 2026)
✦ Guess that leaves 'U' and 'I'. (feb 6, 2026)
✦ ISOLATION RIDDLE — SOLVED. (feb 6, 2026)
✦ commencing MISSION 01 — the fly on the wall. (feb 8, 2026)
✦ MISSION 01 — COMPLETE. "a clean job." (feb 8, 2026)
✦ valentine's day cards. (feb 10, 2026)
✦ catgirl bikinis; “i don’t think that’s supposed to be there.” (feb 14, 2026)
✦ an ailment and a kind gesture. (feb 17 – mar 2, 2026)
✦ "you're amongst the best of us, kismet." — a warm welcome back. (feb 24-7, 2026)
✦ TRIPTYCH RIDDLE — "glad you're having as much fun as i am." (feb 24-26, 2026)
✦ TRIPTYCH RIDDLE — penultimate guess. (mar 3, 2026)
✦ TRIPTYCH RIDDLE — SOLVED. "good job, kismet." (mar 5, 2026)
✦ commencing MISSION 02. (mar 11, 2026)
✦ hamsters—born to be eaten, but animals all the same. (mar 14, 2026)
The bar was tucked away in Gotham's shadows, hidden, but not untraceable. Few things truly were, Edward knew, and he was proud to have found it. The ability to dig these things up was a good medication for the ills of this world.
But just like any other drug, it had it's side effects.
He allowed his gaze to sweep the surroundings, careful to keep his hood on and his head lowered, lest he be found by an unwelcome, recognized gaze.
This bar — dim, but not dingy — was one of the few in Gotham without much of a security system. He had gathered that there was not even a single security camera on the inside, a fact which he might had judged it to be stupid in any other occassion. As of now, it served as a blessing. If he kept a low profile, he could be virtually faceless. Nobody would have to stumble upon the discovery that the Riddler was in their midst, now or later.
Putting faith in obscurity — yes, he and this bar had that in common.
He takes a sip of the soda, the sugary beverage beginning to water down with the ice melting inside it.
"Waiting for someone?" The bartender asked.
"Yes," He replied, setting the glass down with a soft clink. "...should be here any minute."
The man that Kismet had described had been here for a while now, sitting to the left of his peripheral view. For the time he had managed to observe, Edward found the man to be a few things: decently handsome, terribly drunk, but overall average.
The target's described past time of choice — "picking up women" — didn't seem to have much of a success rate here. Every time the man had tried, he had not even been close to entertained by the women he offered drinks and conversation to — most would quickly turn away from him or reject him with an awkward, polite smile.
Edward had been watching in the corner of his eye as the man attempted to speak to another woman again, only for the same kind of rejection to occur. He tried to hide the way the corners of his lips tugged up by taking another sip of his beverage, glancing away to stare at the door.
Unfortunately, embarassing behaviour would lend him nothing other than something to laugh about. Useless. There must've been something real — something substantial to reveal who this man was beyond the humiliating, yet ultimately harmless, behaviour.
That's when he watched the door open, someone new slipping into the bar. Eyes tracking every movement, the stranger slips beside him, her focus seemingly elsewhere in spite of the seemingly — at least, Edward would think so — purposeful seating choice.
He found his eyes narrowing with interest, even as his stomach churned with an anxiety from an unnamable source.
The stranger was a willowy, petite Asian woman in her early twenties, and very pretty. Wearing a plaid pencil skirt, a neat sweater, and quiet self assurance; everything about her was subtly elegant.
Her expression was one of deceptive disinterest, but her lightless eyes were unmistakably incisive as they brisked over the room, as if she was committing everything to detail.
Turning to the drunk man next to her, she intoned in a soft, whisper–quiet voice:
❝...Hello. You...come here often.❞
A brief pause. Then, like an afterthought, she extended a delicate hand out to shake.
In doing so, her frailty immediately became apparent—the milky skin on her wrist was upsettingly translucent, revealing rot–coloured veins lying underneath.
Still looking impressively impassive, she said,
>> EVERY SO OFTEN SOMEONE COMES TO ME TO PROFESS THEIR FONDNESS TOWARDS VERMIN AND I CAN'T IMAGINE EXACTLY WHY ANYONE WOULD LOVE THE DISEASE CARRIERS.
>> INVOLVING ME IN THIS CONVERSATION IS UNPRODUCTIVE.
> Most people believe hamsters to be cheap, cute little things that are easily replaceable in the minds of many. But they can be ferocious, like all other animals.
> ...Did you know that female hamsters may cannibalize their offspring right after giving birth?
>> I WAS AWARE OF THIS. STRESS. NUTRITIONAL DEMAND. LACK OF RESOURCES TO PROVIDE FOR THE LITTER. ALL SITUATIONS IN WHICH IT WOULD EAT ITS OWN.
>> NOT AN UNCOMMON MECHANISM OF THE ANIMAL KINGDOM.
>> NOT MUCH DIFFERENT AMONG HUMANS EITHER.
>> EVERY SO OFTEN SOMEONE COMES TO ME TO PROFESS THEIR FONDNESS TOWARDS VERMIN AND I CAN'T IMAGINE EXACTLY WHY ANYONE WOULD LOVE THE DISEASE CARRIERS.
>> INVOLVING ME IN THIS CONVERSATION IS UNPRODUCTIVE.
> Most people believe hamsters to be cheap, cute little things that are easily replaceable in the minds of many. But they can be ferocious, like all other animals.
> ...Did you know that female hamsters may cannibalize their offspring right after giving birth?
> Could the answer to your riddle be ‘Triptych’? One made in thirds, three made as one—and triptychs were often made as altarpieces in Christian religion, out of worship, adoration, love…
- KISMET. (@latentdesires-404)
>> AND JUST AS I WAS ABOUT TO LOSE FAITH COMPLETELY: THE SEARCH FOR TRUTH FINALLY ENDS.
>> THE FINAL ANSWER HAS BEEN DEDUCED THIS MUST FEEL VERY REWARDING. GOOD JOB KISMET.
>> ANTICIATE MORE RIDDLES SOON EVERYONE.
>> WE'RE JUST GETTING STARTED.
>> I AM ONE MADE IN THIRDS. I AM THREE, MADE AS ONE. SENT TO THE TOMB, TEMPTED IN VAIN, A PARADISE FALSE, THE LOSS OF A SON. MY BEGINNING IS TO FALL, THE END TIMES I HAVE JUDGED. BUT TO CREATE ME IS TO ADORE, TO MAKE SOMETHING OUT OF LOVE.
>> WHAT AM I?
>> DON'T TELL ME WE'RE GIVING UP ALREADY? I'M DISAPPOINTED. I WOULD HAVE REALLY GUESSED THAT EVERYONE WOULD BE MORE CREATIVE THAN THIS.
>> I SUPPOSE IT REQUIRES A BIT OF AN ARTISTIC LENS.
> Could it be Bosch's 'The Last Judgement' triptych? One made in thirds, the 'paradise false' on the left panel, the loss of a son through the loss of Adam as he is driven into the forests...
>> THAT WILL HINDER YOU. BUT I COMMEND YOU FOR THE DETERMINATION YOU'RE EXHIBITING. THE WEAKER WOULD HAVE LET SICKNESS STOP THEM COMPLETELY. BUT YOU PUSH THROUGH WITH YOUR WORK ANYWAYS.
>> THE TASKS ARE IMPORTANT, KISMET. THE EVIL IN GOTHAM DOES NOT CEASE. WE WILL NOT EITHER. IT SEEMS THAT YOU UNDERSTAND THE GRAVITY OF WHAT WE DO. KEEP ON LOOKING.
>> I SYMPATHIZE. THE IMPENDING COLLAPSE OF GOTHAM CAN'T COME ANY SOONER.
>> I'VE NOTICED THAT YOU'VE MADE YOURSELF VIRTUALLY UNTRACABLE. CHANGE THAT. I'LL SEND SOMETHING YOUR WAY FOR THE ILLNESS IF IT'S STILL NEEDED.
> It wouldn't be wise for me to send my full address, but I've released snippets of information that'd give you enough hints as to deduce my location. It's unlikely anyone other than you will be capable.
> ...
>> THAT WILL HINDER YOU. BUT I COMMEND YOU FOR THE DETERMINATION YOU'RE EXHIBITING. THE WEAKER WOULD HAVE LET SICKNESS STOP THEM COMPLETELY. BUT YOU PUSH THROUGH WITH YOUR WORK ANYWAYS.
>> THE TASKS ARE IMPORTANT, KISMET. THE EVIL IN GOTHAM DOES NOT CEASE. WE WILL NOT EITHER. IT SEEMS THAT YOU UNDERSTAND THE GRAVITY OF WHAT WE DO. KEEP ON LOOKING.
>> I SYMPATHIZE. THE IMPENDING COLLAPSE OF GOTHAM CAN'T COME ANY SOONER.
>> I'VE NOTICED THAT YOU'VE MADE YOURSELF VIRTUALLY UNTRACABLE. CHANGE THAT. I'LL SEND SOMETHING YOUR WAY FOR THE ILLNESS IF IT'S STILL NEEDED.
> It wouldn't be wise for me to send my full address, but I've released snippets of information that'd give you enough hints as to deduce my location. It's unlikely anyone other than you will be capable.
> ...
>> I AM ONE MADE IN THIRDS. I AM THREE, MADE AS ONE. SENT TO THE TOMB, TEMPTED IN VAIN, A PARADISE FALSE, THE LOSS OF A SON. MY BEGINNING IS TO FALL, THE END TIMES I HAVE JUDGED. BUT TO CREATE ME IS TO ADORE, TO MAKE SOMETHING OUT OF LOVE. >> WHAT AM I?
God. 01011001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01100001 01110010 01100101 00100000 01000111 01101111 01100100 00101110
Of the Christian mythos, at least.
– KISMET. (@latentdesires-404)
>> THE ATTEMPT ISN'T ENTIRELY BAD. BUT YOU'RE GOING TO NEED TO TRY AGAIN, KISMET.
> "Tempted in vain" reminds me of Eve. The allusions to the fall of man and Lucifer are blatant, and difficult to ignore, though...
> I'm going out on a limb, here, but "Mankind?" Or, man?
> We are "tempted in vain" to live, sold a false paradise daily. We're all "sent to the tomb" by birth, as all living things are. Our beginning is to fall, and we know Death awaits us. "To create" a person is...sometimes an act of love, though that one's a stretch.
> I'm fairly certain I'm wrong, though, considering I can't quite fit 'the loss of a son' into this...
>> I'M BEGINNING TO NOTICE A PATTERN. INTERESTINGLY ENOUGH, A FEW OTHERS HAVE ASSUMED THAT THE LAST LINE WAS A REFERENCE TO COITUS.
>> BUT, REMEMBER: IF EVEN ONE PART IS LEFT OUT, THE PUZZLE REMAINS INCOMPLETE. THE LOSS OF A SON. THAT'S IMPORTANT AS THE REST.
>> TRY AGAIN.
>> I'M GLAD YOU'RE HAVING JUST AS MUCH FUN AS I AM.
>> SURELY YOU KNOW THAT I WOULDN'T USE THE WORD "JUDGED" IF IT WAS PART OF THE ANSWER.
>> THE PAST TENSE USAGE ALSO ELIMINATES THE POSSIBILITY OF THIS BEING CORRECT. LOOK AROUND. EVIL IS STILL VERY MUCH PRESENT. UNPRUNED. UNSOLVED. WE KNOW THAT BETTER THAN ANYONE.
>> I AM ONE MADE IN THIRDS. I AM THREE, MADE AS ONE. SENT TO THE TOMB, TEMPTED IN VAIN, A PARADISE FALSE, THE LOSS OF A SON. MY BEGINNING IS TO FALL, THE END TIMES I HAVE JUDGED. BUT TO CREATE ME IS TO ADORE, TO MAKE SOMETHING OUT OF LOVE. >> WHAT AM I?
God. 01011001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01100001 01110010 01100101 00100000 01000111 01101111 01100100 00101110
Of the Christian mythos, at least.
– KISMET. (@latentdesires-404)
>> THE ATTEMPT ISN'T ENTIRELY BAD. BUT YOU'RE GOING TO NEED TO TRY AGAIN, KISMET.
> "Tempted in vain" reminds me of Eve. The allusions to the fall of man and Lucifer are blatant, and difficult to ignore, though...
> I'm going out on a limb, here, but "Mankind?" Or, man?
> We are "tempted in vain" to live, sold a false paradise daily. We're all "sent to the tomb" by birth, as all living things are. Our beginning is to fall, and we know Death awaits us. "To create" a person is...sometimes an act of love, though that one's a stretch.
> I'm fairly certain I'm wrong, though, considering I can't quite fit 'the loss of a son' into this...
>> I'M BEGINNING TO NOTICE A PATTERN. INTERESTINGLY ENOUGH, A FEW OTHERS HAVE ASSUMED THAT THE LAST LINE WAS A REFERENCE TO COITUS.
>> BUT, REMEMBER: IF EVEN ONE PART IS LEFT OUT, THE PUZZLE REMAINS INCOMPLETE. THE LOSS OF A SON. THAT'S IMPORTANT AS THE REST.
>> TRY AGAIN.
>> I'M GLAD YOU'RE HAVING JUST AS MUCH FUN AS I AM.
