2014.04.14 - Vexed and Riddled

Never in his life did Keith O'Neil ever think he would be walking into the office of a Private Eye. A PI. A Private Dick. He'd listened to the Black Jack Justice podcast episodes, of course, and he had devoured Nero Wolfe and Hercule Poirot while in highschool... but he knew there was a difference between the glamourous literary portrayals and the often gritty reality. A lot fewer mysterious heirs and missing falcons, a lot more infidelity and divorce cases.

Still, it's not every day that an upright purple cat with the physique of a gymnast walks into someone's office. That has to count for -some- glamour, right?

He knocks respectfully at the door. The receptionist seemed to be somewhere else, so..

This was new.

Edward still had half a box of donuts, but the coffee Jess Jones had brought by had long since been drunk. Currently living in his office, Edward was definitely a lot less glamourous than the smirkin, green-derbied ex-criminal that appeared in his advertisements when he hawked his skills. He needed a shave, more sleep, and less damning information coming to light...

Purple cat people, however, were new. He blinked quietly, confused. "...can I help you?"

"I sure hope so, Mr. Nygma." The cat says. "Name's Keith O'Neil. I go by the name of Vorpal."

He tosses his identity around in the cavalier manner of those who really don't have a secret identity, and for whom the moniker is just a way to 'brand' themselves, as Booster would have said.

The kid's brand wasn't in the papers all of the time- a Rookie, but one who had gotten invited to the Avengers and the Justice League. If Mr. Nygma kept tabs on the superhero community, and considering the ties the PI had, it was probably known to him that about a year ago the kid had locked the Joker away.

That had been a thing he had come to regret.

"I'm here with a rather... unorthodox proposal. Are you too busy right now?"

Edward knew all of those things, and a few others he might not be so partial to share; Vorpal came on the scene while he was still relearning how to write his own damn name and remember what his favorite foods were, but Eddie has gobbled up info voraciouosly. He needed to know what was going on, and had found out plenty.

"Yes. But talk. I'm listening." He headed back toward his desk, cleaning up some papers and putting them into a file. "Have a donut. They were fresh this morning."

Donuts were a good start. Keith sits down and begins to nibble on one. "Well, Mr. Nygma... you probably know I'm not exactly a seasoned crimefighter, I take it?"

"That's an understatement. You're a rookie, very lucky, but unseasoned. Also, a metahuman in a city that does not attract them." And the second one in his office today. This was actually sort of aggravating. "Which makes me wonder why you're in Gotham. Metropolis or even New York are much larger hubs of metahuman activity, and less... actively hostile."

"That's an understatement," Edward began, "You're a rookie, very lucky, but unseasoned. Also, a metahuman in a city that does not attract them." And the second one in his office today. This was actually sort of aggravating. "Which makes me wonder why you're in Gotham. Metropolis or even New York are much larger hubs of metahuman activity, and less... actively hostile."

"Mister Nygma," Keith answers with quiet, though restrained, indignation, "I live in this city. I am not going to be chased away by someone's prejudice when we're talking about whether or not my presence could save a life. Like I said to Robin, it'll require a direct intervention from Batman himself to get me out of Gotham, and as long as I don't break his rules, I'm not going to be asked out." He sits back on the chair. "I that a good answer for you?"

"It's an overconfident, juvenile answer, but basically what I expected. You're confident, but overly so given your level of ability to make you think that anyone beyond Batman couldn't move you from your roost." Edward spoke only the truth as he saw it, and he saw a young man who was overestimating himself. But that was his problem, not Eddie's.

"We can continue from there. You say you have something for me?" If it was Owl related, he was going to scream.

"That's the risk I run every day, Mr. Nygma. Whether I get taken out by a mugger, the Joker or Darkseid, it's what you get for wearing the suit. And yes, I do..." The feline finishes the donut, and licks his fingers. He stops almost immediately, self-conscious of the automatic reflex.

"When it comes to your powers of induction, how would you rate yourself as a detective?"

Edward's face collapsed into a scowl.

"Are you going to waste my very valuable time with guessing games, young man? Do you know how *long* I've been a part of this city's face? And you have the *gall* to ask me how I *rate myself*?"

Edward curled his fingers around his question-mark topped letter opener. At least Jess, as coarse as she was, wasn't this /stupid/.

"The point: Get to it, or get the hell out of my office."

"I'm only asking for an honest statement. After all, you are very liberal in giving your honest statement of everybody else. Are you exempt from that?"

The cat kicks back a little, balancing on the chair.

"I take it it has been a bad day. Either that or you need to eat something to get over whatever mood you're in. Anyways, my proposition is one that is directly related to those abilities of yours, Mister Nygma. How valuable is your time? By that-" he clarifies, so as not to come across as if he were insulting the man, "I mean what are your professional rates per hour, so to speak. I know some detectives charge per diem, but I'd imagine that someone of your talents..."

"My current case carries a five digit price tag," Edward said, green eyes narrowed to venomous slits. "Which is good, as it has helped garner me two visits from a the Joker and an assassin's attempt on my life. It's also a case that the vaunted *Batman* isn't taking seriously..."

The blade of the letter-opener was bending in his hands; just enough to be visible.

"I'm still waiting for a point while you dance around the obvious. Do you or do you not have a case for me?"

A case Batman won't look into, but the Joker took seriously? The cat's demeanor changed slightly.

"I want you to train me, Mr. Nygma," the cat says earnestly, "And I'd appreciate it if you could forgive my... quirks for the moment. They're part and parcel of the body I was put into. But I want to learn to see, to make the logical connections, to know how to follow a lead in -other- ways than just beat up thugs until one of them sings. You said it yourself, I'm a Rookie. Please help me be more than that."

"And just so that we're clear that this isn't a charity case, I can pay for your time. However limited amounts of time I may be able to pay for per week."

Edward's brows shot up, and then furrowed again. He dropped the letter openner to the table, huffing out a sigh.

"What I do cannot be taught. Not like that. I can teach -- a lot of things, but I'm afraid the position of young protege is already filled." And Stephanie Brown had a lot more on him than the kitty did. Their mutual aggravation in Arthur Brown helped secure her assistance; her connection to the Bat? Well, a thing heh could leverage. He didn't need money to take her on.

"I'm afraid you're a day late and a few bucks short, 'Vorpal'."

"And you are in no way inclined to reconsider, I imagine." It isn't a question coming from the cat, as much as it is a statement. "Not even in the presence of assassins and such. It is often lucky to keep a Cheshire around."

~Don't waste your time with him. He obviously hated you from the moment you walked in.~

~Yeah, but do you know any other detectives?~

~Batman?~

~One suggestion that does NOT make me die of laughing fits by simply considering it?~

~There's nobody in the Avengers who could be considered a detective...~

~Right, so we go for the Hail Mary pass.~

~We don't HAVE a Hail Mary pass! We've got nothing on him.~

~Then just the Hail Mary.?~

~We're not religious~

~Oh, screw you...~

"I'm sorry I wasted your time. I'll go back to doing the whole non-collaboration thing with the rest of the vigilantes. It's worked great for Gotham so far," He says in a chipper tone and straightens up in his chair, standing up to head out.

"And you are in no way inclined to reconsider, I imagine." It isn't a question coming from the cat, as much as it is a statement. "Not even in the presence of assassins and such. It is often lucky to keep a Cheshire around."

~Don't waste your time with him. He obviously hated you from the moment you walked in.~

~Yeah, but do you know any other detectives?~

~Batman?~

~One suggestion that does NOT make me die of laughing fits by simply considering it?~

~There's nobody in the Avengers who could be considered a detective...~

~Right, so we go for the Hail Mary pass.~

~We don't HAVE a Hail Mary pass! We've got nothing on him.~

~Then just the Hail Mary.?~

~We're not religious~

~Oh, screw you...~

"I'm sorry I wasted your time. I'll go back to doing the whole non-collaboration thing with the rest of the vigilantes. It's worked great for Gotham so far," He says in a chipper tone and straightens up in his chair, standing up to head out.

"I don't bank on luck," Edward said, watching the boy posture. At least that was something he recognized. He palmed his face again; he was worn and tied and he did not like the kid, not one iota.

But even shitheels had their uses.

"There will be a bistro on the corner one block down. Your first case is this: How does Edward Nygma like his coffee? Manage to figure out that one thing, bring it back, and you become an intern in this office. No pay in either direction, you are getting my drudgework, and in turn you hope to pick up the trade. Take it or leave it."

He looks at Nygma, green eyes narrowed as well, evaluating him.

"You don't want me here, Mister Nygma. Why the pretense? You've got your junior apprentice to do the gruntwork for you."

He stops, looking towards the door, and then looking back towards Nygma. The posturing growing thin under a layer of wariness and perhaps some fear. "Coming here was a mistake. People keep saying I don't belong. I'm going to find out for certain." He reaches up into the air and a hat appears out of nowhere. He tips it. "Best of luck to your apprentice. I'd advise him to get good kevlar for as long as that case goes on." He turns around and walks towards the door.

~Same as always?~

~Same as always. We'll have to learn on our own~

~You really should talk to Frost and ask her about some extra classes~

~Yes, because Detective courses are just what you want in an academy.~

He looks at Nygma, green eyes narrowed as well, evaluating him.

"You don't want me here, Mister Nygma. Why the pretense? You've got your junior apprentice to do the gruntwork for you."

He stops, looking towards the door, and then looking back towards Nygma. The posturing growing thin under a layer of wariness and perhaps some fear. "Coming here was a mistake. People keep saying I don't belong. I'm going to find out for certain. If there's so much contempt for someone who is trying to do some good in this city by those who should be his allies... then I guess I should stick to the solo bit." He reaches up into the air and a hat appears out of nowhere. He tips it. "Best of luck to your apprentice. I'd advise him to get good kevlar for as long as that case goes on." He turns around and walks towards the door.

~Same as always?~

~Same as always. We'll have to learn on our own~

Surpressing the urge to roll his eyes, Edward shrugged. "If your delicate ego cannot take the hits that your stupidity deserved, then you're right: I don't want you here. If you look a gift horse in the mouth, then that's on you."

He swept up his papers, and glanced to the window. It was dark enough by now. He made no move to stop the boy from leaving; he had work to do and a limited timespan to do it in.

"I just took in an orphan, the son of Thor and Sif who were killed by Darkseid," the cat says quietly. "If being wary of dropping my dayjob at the Avengers who pay me enough to see to his care and come work for for free? Then I guess I'm looking at a gift horse in the mouth. I like not being out in the street." Keith smirks a little. "My delicate ego has a thing about not putting orphans in the street. Goodbye, Mr. Nygma." He opens the door, and then stops.

"Oh, right..."

He takes something out of his band jacket and teleports to a foot away from the desk. He lets the rectangular sheet of paper drop. "For your time," and then teleports back to the door, through which he exits gracefully and quietly, letting the door close behind him with a soft click.

The check is made to Edward Nygma, for a thousand dollars. Memo: 'Your Time.'