One Winter Knight | Arkhamverse

Chapter 11: Real Gotham City

"Beware of him that is slow to anger; for when it is long coming, it is the stronger when it comes, and the longer kept. Abused patience turns to fury." ~ Francis Quarles

Evangeline Winter likes to think that, in comparison to not only the average Gothamite, but the average every day person, she possess an almost far too tolerant amount of patience for people who most would agree don't deserve it. Then again, most would also agree that any degree of patience and kindness is far too generous for any of Gotham City's deplorable criminals and corrupt transgressors. And yet, the Gotham community's shared perspective and social commentary on each of the city's most notorious criminals has yet to sway her own opinion on them, as well as her capacity of patience in regards to how long she can tolerate their arrogance, intimidation, coarse behaviour and overall threats of promising violence and potential death.

Even in everyday activities that the normal civilian would partake in, Eve has no small amount of patience. Rude people standing before her in the coffee store line, incessant ramblings when she desires nothing other than silence or sleep, clientele moving deadlines forward or being overall difficult customers, her landlord making crude and lewd remarks whenever she has the displeasure to run into him on her way to her apartment. Eve keeps a smile plastered. A patient smile. She has a saying about it, actually. 'Kill them with kindness and bury them with a smile'. After all, to antagonise or snap at someone has never been the kind of person she is.

However, tonight is proving to be more than challenging.

Perhaps it's all the fatigue and stress and reality of the averted mob war finally slamming into her like a bus. Perhaps it's the Dark Knight's continuous treatment of her like she's a child who needs constant protecting or chastising. Perhaps its Edward's ceaseless breaking into her apartment and meddling in her affairs. Perhaps it's the certainty of unwanted criminal attention being turned in her direction that's bundling her stress into a tightly knit ball in her chest. Perhaps it was her very likely near-death experience tonight at the hands of a clown who terrifies her more than anything else does in this world. Perhaps it's the reminder of seeing her elder brother and remembering the kind of mess he tends to leave in his less than legal wake. Or, perhaps, in all likelihood, it is all of the above.

But Evangeline Winter's patience has officially met an all time low.

Standing rigidly straight as Bec snickers besides her at the sight, the private investigator refrains from uttering a single word, knowing if she does so in the next ten seconds whilst she regains the remnants of her patience, she will likely regret it in the seconds following. Instead, she keeps her rosy lips thinned, allowing one of the other three people in the room to shatter the impending, fragile silence. Eventually, it is Rebecca Daniels who does it for her.

"Wait! J-Just keep him there for a sec Nate, this is fucking priceless," the blonde wheezes out between laughs, rummaging haphazardly through her purse for her phone to take a photo.

The infamous Prince of Puzzles is less than amused by the blonde's thorough entertainment. "If this bumbling buffoon doesn't put me down in the next five seconds, I won't hesitate to throw him in my next death trap."

As if they understood the Riddler's words, the three larger than your average sized black wolves began to menacingly growl from the depths of their throats, fur hitching up as their less than subtle show of bared teeth wink at the rogue in the silvers of moonlight pooling from the windows. The old saying 'Dogs look like their owners' is exemplified through the three canines and their respective owner, even before Nathaniel's incident.

At an intimidating height of 6'5 feet and weighing in at 230 pounds (104kg) of pure muscle, Nathaniel Winter is quite the daunting sight to behold. Hair as pitch black as Eve's is cropped short and dishevelled, paired with fair few days old dark stubble. What warm, mid-olive skin that is on display from the base of his neck upwards is mildly calloused with a couple little white scars, only telling just how much more must lie underneath. Unblinking, hard brown eyes are still immovably focused on the criminal he's presently holding in the air by his black reinforced tri-polymer gloves lined with a polymer Kevlar weave, curled aggressively around the green lapels of Nygma's blazer.