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.
>> 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.
> 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.
>> 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.
