Post by Edward Nygma on Mar 19, 2009 0:58:31 GMT
'Electric' was the only way to describe the atmosphere in Club Mystery. Pulse-pounding music blasted from the expensive sound system, leather-bound dancers - male and female - gyrated in cages suspended over the green lit dancefloor, and a plethora of clientele in outrageous (and sometimes too revealing) outfits graced it's neon stage.
The DJ, a woman in a low-cut black PVC leotard with green fishnets, a choker, and wild gravity defying hair, amped up the volume. She killed the lights, and the dancefloor was illuminated only by the multitudes of neon green question marks which suddenly flared brightly.
In the East End of Gotham, Club Mystery was quite literally a shining beacon for those who wanted something better than seedy bars and run-down clubs to ply their trade. Drug dealing was one of those trades; the club staff almost openly encouraged it, though for the sake of public image and lawfulness, they acted as though they condemned it.
The back rooms were the primary breeding grounds for illicit activities. Curiously unwatched (citing under-staffing as a reason), the back rooms played host to everything from orgy's to drug hand-offs, prostitution to BDSM. Nothing was against the rules, unless the cops showed up. Nothing but murder.
Murder was something Edward Nygma would not tolerate on his turf, under any circumstances. He even chose -publically- to remain ignorant of the activities in the back rooms, though from time to time he would make a special appearance. Often, his appearances were unquestioned; whatever Nygma chose to partake in was his business, as long as he kept the club open.
Tonight, however, was not one of those nights. Tonight he remained in the basement, an area strictly off-limits to the customers. Here, in his hole, he was protected from the noise of the world above.
Here, he could keep an eye on the entire club (and an ear if he chose), and issue instructions to his staff without having to mingle with the 'little people'.
He had other things on his mind though. The club was running smoothly, as of his last check-up. And for some reason, locked in his basement, with his cameras and his security traps, he felt concerned. Concerned over recent reports, defiling the Batman and raising the late Harvey Dent on a pedestal that he no doubt deserved.
The man had the courage to put away half of Gotham's criminals. And the public is ]surprised [ihe was killed?[/i]
Something about the media scandal didn't ring true, but he'd had customers breaking down the doors all week trying to get information on the whereabouts of the Batman. Either they wanted revenge before the cops caught him, or they were hoping for a moment of glory and a get-out-of-jail-free card by beating them to the gold.
The door buzzed. Edward's eyes flicked to the security monitors, and he saw one of his entertainers waiting at the door.
"Come in Cherise" he spoke, releasing the lock via a switch in his desk.
"Mr Nygma, there's a customer complaining that his drink was watered down" she sighed. She looked almost comical; her green hair was twisted high above her head, and her make-up had been applied to resemble that of a gothic clown, masking her exasperation with a permanent black grin. It reminded him of the Joker incident that had recently overtaken Gotham, but he pushed that grim thought from his head.
"Very well, make sure he gets an additive in his next beverage" Edward muttered, loosening his tie. "Speaking of which, are we shifting those drugs?"
"The defective ones the Chechen loaded off on us?" Cherise asked, leaning against the doorframe.
"Precisely those" Edward replied; he'd have thought it was quite obvious which drugs he was speaking of.
"The back rooms are full of people freakin' out, Mr Nygma. Dunno what was in those substances, but it sure as hell ain't MDMA" she laughed.
"How observant" Edward muttered, and opened a newspaper; he skipped the dreary articles on the Joker, and the supposed man-hunt for the Batman. Such news was becoming old and over-hyped.
"Cherise, dear, have the affected patrons escorted from the club and keep it quiet. And make sure to use the back door" he said, not looking over his paper.
"Yes Mr Nygma" Cherise said quietly, and left the room. The door buzzed as it locked behind her.
Edward turned his attention to the monitors once more. The back rooms were, typically, dominated by fornication, and the dealing of substances. Most of the dealers were planted by himself, to shift a batch of defective substances left in his posession by the Chechen. Upon discovering the effects of the drugs, he'd attempted to contact te Chechen and demand reimbursement, but the foreigner had disappeared along with his dogs.
As predicted, several of the back rooms were full of people in the throes of a full hallucinogenic panic attack; not too dissimilar from those affected by the attack on the Narrows a year ago.
Rolling his eyes, Edward returned to his newspaper. How predictable.[/color]
The DJ, a woman in a low-cut black PVC leotard with green fishnets, a choker, and wild gravity defying hair, amped up the volume. She killed the lights, and the dancefloor was illuminated only by the multitudes of neon green question marks which suddenly flared brightly.
In the East End of Gotham, Club Mystery was quite literally a shining beacon for those who wanted something better than seedy bars and run-down clubs to ply their trade. Drug dealing was one of those trades; the club staff almost openly encouraged it, though for the sake of public image and lawfulness, they acted as though they condemned it.
The back rooms were the primary breeding grounds for illicit activities. Curiously unwatched (citing under-staffing as a reason), the back rooms played host to everything from orgy's to drug hand-offs, prostitution to BDSM. Nothing was against the rules, unless the cops showed up. Nothing but murder.
Murder was something Edward Nygma would not tolerate on his turf, under any circumstances. He even chose -publically- to remain ignorant of the activities in the back rooms, though from time to time he would make a special appearance. Often, his appearances were unquestioned; whatever Nygma chose to partake in was his business, as long as he kept the club open.
Tonight, however, was not one of those nights. Tonight he remained in the basement, an area strictly off-limits to the customers. Here, in his hole, he was protected from the noise of the world above.
Here, he could keep an eye on the entire club (and an ear if he chose), and issue instructions to his staff without having to mingle with the 'little people'.
He had other things on his mind though. The club was running smoothly, as of his last check-up. And for some reason, locked in his basement, with his cameras and his security traps, he felt concerned. Concerned over recent reports, defiling the Batman and raising the late Harvey Dent on a pedestal that he no doubt deserved.
The man had the courage to put away half of Gotham's criminals. And the public is ]surprised [ihe was killed?[/i]
Something about the media scandal didn't ring true, but he'd had customers breaking down the doors all week trying to get information on the whereabouts of the Batman. Either they wanted revenge before the cops caught him, or they were hoping for a moment of glory and a get-out-of-jail-free card by beating them to the gold.
The door buzzed. Edward's eyes flicked to the security monitors, and he saw one of his entertainers waiting at the door.
"Come in Cherise" he spoke, releasing the lock via a switch in his desk.
"Mr Nygma, there's a customer complaining that his drink was watered down" she sighed. She looked almost comical; her green hair was twisted high above her head, and her make-up had been applied to resemble that of a gothic clown, masking her exasperation with a permanent black grin. It reminded him of the Joker incident that had recently overtaken Gotham, but he pushed that grim thought from his head.
"Very well, make sure he gets an additive in his next beverage" Edward muttered, loosening his tie. "Speaking of which, are we shifting those drugs?"
"The defective ones the Chechen loaded off on us?" Cherise asked, leaning against the doorframe.
"Precisely those" Edward replied; he'd have thought it was quite obvious which drugs he was speaking of.
"The back rooms are full of people freakin' out, Mr Nygma. Dunno what was in those substances, but it sure as hell ain't MDMA" she laughed.
"How observant" Edward muttered, and opened a newspaper; he skipped the dreary articles on the Joker, and the supposed man-hunt for the Batman. Such news was becoming old and over-hyped.
"Cherise, dear, have the affected patrons escorted from the club and keep it quiet. And make sure to use the back door" he said, not looking over his paper.
"Yes Mr Nygma" Cherise said quietly, and left the room. The door buzzed as it locked behind her.
Edward turned his attention to the monitors once more. The back rooms were, typically, dominated by fornication, and the dealing of substances. Most of the dealers were planted by himself, to shift a batch of defective substances left in his posession by the Chechen. Upon discovering the effects of the drugs, he'd attempted to contact te Chechen and demand reimbursement, but the foreigner had disappeared along with his dogs.
As predicted, several of the back rooms were full of people in the throes of a full hallucinogenic panic attack; not too dissimilar from those affected by the attack on the Narrows a year ago.
Rolling his eyes, Edward returned to his newspaper. How predictable.[/color]