Death In Gotham

Chapter Two

The next morning, Morrigan awoke early with a crash. Clearly early mornings did not agree with her nor her neighbours if the profanities emitted from those above and below her were any indication.

Stumbling into her kitchen, she made sure the coffee maker was working its magic before even thinking about breakfast. However Morrigan encountered a pitfall in her quest for sustenance. Since she had only been living here a few days, Morrigan hadn't had the chance to go to the supermarket and get actual groceries, having lived off of Chinese takeaway and pizza to get her through the last couple days. Looking at her living room clock, Morrigan had enough time to make a trip to the local supermarket and stock up for her indefinite stay in Gotham before she had to leave for her morning ballet class that she signed up for a few days ago.

The thing is Morrigan had been enrolled in ballet since she could walk, her foster parents realising that the rambunctious child they had taken in needed an outlet for all the extra energy she had, despite sometimes acting with no energy at all.

Morrigan walked back into her bedroom to change out of her pyjamas and into suitable clothes for being in public. She decided on a cuffed pair of black mom jeans, with a thick knit cream sweater and brown Jordan's. To finish the look off Morrigan wore a thin silver chain necklace with a small scythe pendant and a charm bracelet with a multitude of charms, not limited to a sword, bow and arrows and a small skull and crossbones charm.

It was safe to say Morrigan never left her apartment without making sure that she had all of the necessary protection. Not including the hidden weapons she carried on the chance she ran into monsters from the godly world, Morrigan had a small handgun tucked into the waistband of her jeans and a small knife sheathed on either forearm.

And no she isn't paranoid.

She just lives in Gotham.

Grabbing her small shoulder bag that had her small purse in it, Morrigan left her apartment, locking her door behind her. Heading down the rickety brown stairs that had a scary amount of rotting wood on the bannister, Morrigan left the building and headed down the street to the nearby supermarket.

Hopefully, it wouldn't just be a front for some drug ring or human trafficking or something, Morrigan thought to herself, praying to the Greek goddess of luck, Tyche.

Walking through the surprisingly working automatic doors, Morrigan grabbed a basket and headed down the scarcely stocked shelves. Well apparently working automatic doors meaning nothing to actually buy in Gotham City. Not trusting the meat on the shelves as they were slightly off colour, Morrigan instead headed for the food that had a life expectancy of years, like pot noodles, the life blood of college students, and tinned soup. Honestly, if Chiron and the nymphs saw what I am going to be eating for the next few months they would be horrified, Morrigan thought to herself, internally chuckling at the thought of Chiron's face.

Filling her cart with an unhealthy amount of noodles, pasta, crisps and about every other carb there is, she turned to head for the checkout.

However once she turned out of the aisle she was met with a lovely surprise.

A gun pointed at her forehead.

Morrigan, unfazed, merely observed the probably-robber in front of her. Under the fluorescent lighting that all local supermarkets had, the robber was decked in the cliche robber outfit. Black from head to toe, literally. He, or she?, wore black straight leg trousers with a black turtleneck, covered with some sort of armoured vest with the cut out ski mask on their face.

Without a care in the world, Morrigan simply bl9nked at the gun in front of her and walked around the robber to the checkout, where the cashier was shaking behind the counter, who couldn't have been older than 18 at the very most.