Gotham: Panic Attack

Winter's Bloom

'Serial killer expected to be on the loose. Three people were found, seemingly kicked to death, last night.' The television hisses put into the room - poisoning the air.
I turn it off and look at Winn's wide eyes.
'Mother Panic will fix this, right?' He pleads; fiddling with his Rubik's Cube all the while.
'Yes. I don't know really - though I'll try. There are so many bad people in my life at the moment, Winn.' I say honestly, and then move slightly on the sofa to lean affectionately against Winn's shoulder. He turns and looks at me, and then wraps his (trembling) arms around my cold and scared body.

This is nice. I could live with this.

'Hey kids! Guess who this is?' Announces my mother as she stomps through the door of the living room, and plants herself down on the futon next to me and Winn.
My heart plummets about a mile as an excessively tall man walks in and sits next to my mother.

I jolt in alarm; and then Winn looks at me. In order to prevent him from panicking - I force myself to calm down in front of Mr. Bloom.
'I don't know. Who is this?' I ask, trying to avoid eye contact with Bloom - who presumably knows very well that I've been working with the GCPD; and have suspicions about his involvement with Tockman and Ghost.

The problem is; I don't know how much this slender asshole knows about my double life. Or how much he's willing to tell mother dearest...
I decide with the metaphorical flip of a coin that I need to get Bloom out of here. ASAP.
'My name is Richard Bloom. I am sponsoring your mother's charity, children.' He exudes in his ridiculously smooth monotoned voice.
I stare at my mother briefly. 'Charity?' I turn back to Bloom - he's behind this. I know it.

'This nice man has decided that it would be good to start a charity fund.' Grins Primrose, and I want to rip Bloom to shreds for interfering with my family.
'Great. Why don't you all talk about that. I'm gonna go get a cigarette.' I pout, staring at Bloom as I walk across the room to go and get whatever wasn't a cigarette. There were faster ways to die...

I grab my flip phone, and speed dial the number for James Gordon.
'Hello Violet?' Says the monochromatic detective in the same tone that he uses to talk to everyone.
'Yes. Bloom. Bloom is in my house. Come over here and help.' I plead, in a sort of whisper-scream; to make sure that Bloom doesn't hear me.
'What's he doing?' Jim asks, slightly worried in tone.
'Talking to my mother. A charity or something.' I rant.
'Do you have any evidence?' Jim says, his tone changing into something that you might describe as 'chiding'.

I growl in frustration and slam the phone down onto the hold. I turn to go back into the room; only to find Bloom's cold, rose-tinted breath flowing up my nose. He looks at me with those glassy blue eyes.
'You don't smell of cigarettes.' He says; just before bidding my mother goodbye and walking out of the house - seeing right through me all the while.

I shiver, and then run upstairs.