(Chapter 1, coffee)
Fear is a tool.
It's what drives those who believe in their so-called good morals into becoming a weapon. Regardless if they knew it or not. It's what makes the irrational, rational. Fear corrupts the strongest of minds, infesting them with a parasite. It takes over, and before we know it, its got us in a chokehold.
Good is never the end product.
Gotham is just a city infested with this parasite. But, that never seemed to stop anyone. Why would it? It's an endless cycle that goes on, and on, and on...
Gotham is a filthy place full of filthy people. Crime flooded the streets. Dropheads walked among the every day citizen. It seemed as though Gotham had never seen the suns beautiful light. The gray, cloudy sky casted the city in a gloomy glow. Almost as if complimenting the corruption that made up Gotham. It rained nearly every day. And today was no exception.
She crossed the rope of an worn-out apron around her hip, cinching it around her waist and tying the ends into a knot. If you were to ask her younger self where she saw herself in her adult years, she would have never imagined this. Becoming a waitress at an old diner was never an aspersion of hers. But, it got her through rent each month. As a sophomore in university, money is tight. The young woman took practically every shift at the diner, and if she aren't working, she found herself studying. But, that never seemed to bother her. From the looks of it, she didn't have much of a social life these days. This life style doesn't exactly compliment it. She spends most of her free time alone. That is if she ever got the luxury.
She stood, leaning up against the dirty counter watching the coffee pot fill up with each drop. It was a slow day at the diner today. It was usually pretty dead, but something about todays atmosphere felt off to the girl. The radio muffled the lasted news in the background. She couldn't quite figure out what is was that felt off to her. She felt paranoid, but what for? Her mind began to wonder as a voice from the radio spoke.
"Crime rates are skyrocketing as the-" She muted the speaker. "The news is the last thing I want to hear right now." She mumbled as she repaired an order of coffee.
The sound the door's bell echoed through the diner. She turned to greet the customer with a gentle smile before she returned to finish her order. She only got a quick glance at him. She couldn't really decipher what he looked like as he had the hood of his coat tossed over his head. All she knew was that she's never seen this man before. He sat down at the counter and fidgeted with his thumbs.
She dusted off her hands and walked over to him. "Hey, how are you? What can I get for you?" The girl asked with fatigue laced in her tone.
He lowered his hood, and looked up at her. Their eyes met for only a second before he broke contact. He had a something awkward nature. His hair was messy and swiped to the side. He wore slightly rounded glasses with clear rims.
The man remain silent for a few moments, as if he were thinking something to order, but didn't have a menu.
"Can I get you a cup of coffee-" He cut her off.
"Yes, coffee would be great."
She hesitantly opened her mouth as if to say something but decided against it. Instead, she gave the man a small nod. Grabbing the pot from off the counter, she poured the last of the coffee into the mug and slowly slid it to him.
"Could I get your name?" In all honesty, she didn't actually care what his name was. Openly talking with customers is another way to make a few extra bucks. After all, that is the purpose of the tip jar.
He picked up the mug and pulled it closer to his face. The steam fogging up his glasses.
"It's Edward." He took a glance at her again. The girl met his gaze for just a moment before noticing the mans hands. The tips of his fingers were covered in smeared black ink. As if he had been writing with pen all day.
