Battling the effects of his brother's laughing gas, JEREMIAH VALESKA is forced to choose between his own sanity and a girl who seems more and more dubious by the second. Is she the love of his life or a ghost from his troubled past? And will he ever...
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Hydra Roth stalks the stone walls of St Ignatius in quick, silent strides, feeling the chill of the night on her bare arms. The glossy photo card in her gloved hand reflects the light of the moon to the point where half the image lies obscured. Not that it matters when she already has the picture of the tall, handsome but plainly dressed man scanned into her memory. He's her target for the evening and it would be nothing short of unprofessional if she failed her duties because she couldn't recognise him, of all things. The blonde glances across the courtyard at the sound of a whistle, rolls her eyes at a group of drunk undergrads and hurries up the winding stairwell to her left.
At the top of the tower, Hydra pushes open an unmarked wooden door and walks into an empty common room. Lit by a dying fire, the place is swathed in darkness but a sliver of orange light beneath the leftmost door marks the only occupied room in the building, and her destination. She was here only a short while ago so she ambles through the room at ease with her surroundings. Most of the graduating class is at a frat house party closer to the main campus, celebrating their final night as students, but of course her target has been in his room, studying and sober as a judge since the ceremony ended. In one sweeping motion, Hydra folds the photocard into her pocket, withdraws a silver switchblade and opens it with a click. When she turns the brass handle and steps into Jeremiah Valeska's dorm bedroom, the last thing she expects is a shotgun to the face.
As opposed to the witty one liner she had planned, the first word she utters in Jeremiah's presence is a pained groan. Pressing the back of her hand to her forehead, she squints at the man kneeling beside her before glancing at the shotgun laden in his hands and rolling her eyes a second time. Blowing short strands of platinum hair out of her mouth in an exaggerated display of boredom, she notices her knife is lying on his desk a few metres away. Luckily for the both of them, the only real damage is to her ego, but it's big enough to soften the blow. She raises her hands mockingly as Valeska points his muzzle in her direction, his fingers trembling.
"Relax." She says.
"What do you want? Who sent you? Don't- Don't move a muscle or this time I'll shoot you. I will." He says, voice as unsteady as his grip. If she's to be completely honest, he reminds her a little of a talking teddy bear.
"I won't lie, you took me by surprise but I know you're alone so how did you know I was out there?"
"Are you with my brother?"
"Even if we were playing 20 questions, which we're not, Valeska, you would still be expected to answer. How did you know I was there?"
"You know my name," He says, almost to himself then looks at her and although, or perhaps because, he knows he has the upper hand, mumbles, "I heard the switchblade. I know that sound, anyone would if they lived with my brother as long as I did."
"So, not long at all. Jerome, yeah, he's making quite a name for himself back in Gotham. Don't worry, this has nothing to do with him." She says, studying his hold on the gun, "You've never used that before, have you? Don't get me wrong, I'm still proud of you for smuggling it in here...must have been awfully rebellious for someone like you."
