One word Edwyn “The Riddler” Nygma loves more than anything else — except, perhaps, anything quizzical in nature — is the word ‘press’. In the past, she’d preened for cameras in the aftermath of the lawsuit against’s Wayne Enterprises’ Competitron and once and only once had she ever denied an interview to an inquisitive journalist. But, the nature of her business at present had evolved to something more covert; a forced retirement from television ads and technological conferences. Like Steve Jobs living underground, it was a travesty the world around. Or, at least, that was how she saw it.
So, of course, contacts like those that can be found at the infamous Tattlecrime.com became rather invaluable in concept to the Riddler, who thrived on public attention and celebrity status.
An undisclosed location, set up for exactly twenty-four hours to have all the amenities necessary to facilitate the interview: coffee and bagels in the reception area and a desk that had taken three men to move into the building for Nygma, herself. Being a good host is, after all, paramount in the endeavor of any interview — but most of all when dealing with mudslingers like Fredericka Lounds, a woman after Edwyn’s own heart.
❝ Ms. Lounds, how good of you to come, ❞ Nygma smiled genially as one of her accomplices led the redhead into the room and retreated to the other side of the door. ❝ I understand your forté is psychopathy and serial murder. I’ve enjoyed what I’ve read of your articles — though, I must admit, the element of danger in your work is what I find most addictive. Please, sit down. ❞
Surprisingly, Freddie had harbored few qualms about interviewing a notorious criminal. She spent half of her time surrounded by psychopaths, after all - including people who bundled her into that category as well. After the incident with the Doctor Abel Gideon and Frederick Chilton, she figured that it could not get much worse - and The Riddler's M.O. did not revolve around murdering reporters, so far as she knew. Theoretically - it was much safer than stalking Will Graham, and god knew she did enough of that.
"It's a pleasure," Freddie said with a smile as she took the proffered seat, drawing out the word with excessive sweetness that sapped the genuineness out of the word, even though she was glad to be there, to get an interview. She needed something concrete to blog about, something with real drama and real answers that so eluded her in the case of the Cheaspeake Ripper. And she doubted that this interaction would lack drama.
"What would you like to discuss?"
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