Status: This is going steady.
Speak of the Devil
Mistakes
4:00 AM
Glancing at the clock and deciding to get out of bed, I lazily threw my legs over and touched the stained carpet of the one bedroom apartment. Even if my salary was one of the highest in Gotham, it does not mean that I prance around flaunting it. Taking note that my roommates were still sleeping, I made my way to the kitchen and set the coffee maker to finish when I got out of the shower. After washing, I walked back into the kitchen and poured myself some coffee in a travel mug.
“God knows I will need it today,” I whispered as I sipped some of the steaming obsidian drink. The beeper I carried in my scrubs pocket sang its irritating song to let me know I was needed in the ER.
10:00 PM
Five surgeries, ten check-ups, and twenty-nine written prescriptions later, my shift ended. I walked the short distance to a local diner where the chef and waiters knew me on a first name basis.
“Nat,” the plump waitress, Wanda, quirked her thin eyebrow at me, “the usual as always?”
“You know me too well,” I smiled and sat down in one of the empty booths, awaiting the sunny-side up eggs and pancakes with blueberry syrup.
The diner, usually packed with the lower-middle class citizens, was deserted. I looked out of the window, seeing Gotham at night in its full glory. Thugs littered the streets, mothers walked faster with their children. A group of homeless people crowded around a lit trash can for warmth. One sight particularly intrigued me. Even in Gotham, no one went down the sewers.
A coffee mug was placed in front of my hands gingerly by the youngest waiter in the diner. I glanced up at him through my eyelashes and he was momentarily distracted.
Was I really that distracting?
Some of the black coffee splashed onto the table which was followed by quick apologies and napkins.
“I’m so sorry,” the waiter, Tom, apologized for the umpteenth time, “Please don’t tell Wanda-“
A bell sounded signaling the door to the diner swung open, yet no one paid any attention to it.
10:07 PM
“My apologies-“ I was about to start my own apology (I have no idea why) but got cut off by a slightly shaven man. He looked only about four years older than me. The strange man glared the waiter away with one look. Tom scurried off.
The man stared into my eyes, probably getting lost in them or some other preposterous notion. Men tend to do that. Once I mentioned that I’m not even old enough to drink, they tend to reprimand themselves.
“Barsard,” he simply stated. I assumed he was waiting for me to reply with my own name, but I knew better.
“Morgan.”
His eyes crinkled in humor.
“Such a beautiful face like yours does not truly belong to such a horrendous name like Morgan.”
He eyed me up and down, blue orbs memorizing every detail about me. If he knew the truth, then he should have known better than to start off with introductions.
“Natalia.” I stuck out my hand over the table, attempting to be polite with this so-called Barsard. He reached out apprehensively and took my hand into his.
10:10 PM
Mistake number one: his nails.
His nails were chipped with dirt, darkened by sewage, and calloused from probably fighting or building. I narrowed my eyes at him. He knew who I really was. How he knew that was beyond me. Unless…
“So, Natalia, I hear you’re a doctor. One of the highest paid in Gotham,” Joseph started, taking my coffee mug and drinking the addiction I craved for since starting medical school, “That must mean you’re good.”
10:11 PM
Mistake number two: his teeth.
His teeth were stained yellow as he drank my coffee in one gulp. Teeth that stained and chipped didn’t belong to anyone in Gotham, not even the homeless. He must be foreign. As he drank the coffee by gulps, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was used to the searing hot drink. It must have burned his throat as he drank it. Either he was extremely tired, or used to the pain…
10:12 PM
Mistake number three: his exhaustion.
His eyes did look a little dull. Not taking into account of the bags underneath, he must be tired from something.
“I’m certainly not the best. I do what I can and I’m good at it,” I stared back at him, never leaving his face. If his master was who I suspected, he knew there was a double meaning there. Barsard smirked a little and set down the mug.
“So what is your true motive in Gotham?” I asked simply, folding my hands on top of the table. A blank expression made its way onto my face. My body took a neutral stance, neither in defensive nor offensive.
“I’m trying to make a living in this great city,” Barsard’s voice sounded strained, almost as if he hated the words coming out of his mouth, “I want to become a businessman.”
I forced a smile, playing the actress I could be.
“Well, it’s going to take some time.”
“And why do you say that?” His eyes trailed down to my covered chest. How hormonal can men be?
“You need to learn to trust people,” I glanced down and saw a gun in his waistband. Luckily, he didn’t catch me.
“And how do you know I don’t already trust people?” he leaned forward so no one could hear this conversation.
I leaned forward as well, my hazel gaze never blinking.
“You have a Walther P99 in your pocket and I’m pretty sure you can use it very well.”
I couldn’t play the young little girl any longer. The innocent façade I had built was lost.
“Barsard, your true reason as to why you are here must be known,” I leaned away and formed back into my neutral stance, “I will not hesitate to kill you right now if you do not tell me.”
His expression darkened, those blue eyes zeroed in onto me. He leant back, sipping more of my coffee, and his posture tense.
“You will follow me an hour after midnight from your apartment.”
Glancing at the clock and deciding to get out of bed, I lazily threw my legs over and touched the stained carpet of the one bedroom apartment. Even if my salary was one of the highest in Gotham, it does not mean that I prance around flaunting it. Taking note that my roommates were still sleeping, I made my way to the kitchen and set the coffee maker to finish when I got out of the shower. After washing, I walked back into the kitchen and poured myself some coffee in a travel mug.
“God knows I will need it today,” I whispered as I sipped some of the steaming obsidian drink. The beeper I carried in my scrubs pocket sang its irritating song to let me know I was needed in the ER.
**
10:00 PM
Five surgeries, ten check-ups, and twenty-nine written prescriptions later, my shift ended. I walked the short distance to a local diner where the chef and waiters knew me on a first name basis.
“Nat,” the plump waitress, Wanda, quirked her thin eyebrow at me, “the usual as always?”
“You know me too well,” I smiled and sat down in one of the empty booths, awaiting the sunny-side up eggs and pancakes with blueberry syrup.
The diner, usually packed with the lower-middle class citizens, was deserted. I looked out of the window, seeing Gotham at night in its full glory. Thugs littered the streets, mothers walked faster with their children. A group of homeless people crowded around a lit trash can for warmth. One sight particularly intrigued me. Even in Gotham, no one went down the sewers.
A coffee mug was placed in front of my hands gingerly by the youngest waiter in the diner. I glanced up at him through my eyelashes and he was momentarily distracted.
Was I really that distracting?
Some of the black coffee splashed onto the table which was followed by quick apologies and napkins.
“I’m so sorry,” the waiter, Tom, apologized for the umpteenth time, “Please don’t tell Wanda-“
A bell sounded signaling the door to the diner swung open, yet no one paid any attention to it.
10:07 PM
“My apologies-“ I was about to start my own apology (I have no idea why) but got cut off by a slightly shaven man. He looked only about four years older than me. The strange man glared the waiter away with one look. Tom scurried off.
The man stared into my eyes, probably getting lost in them or some other preposterous notion. Men tend to do that. Once I mentioned that I’m not even old enough to drink, they tend to reprimand themselves.
“Barsard,” he simply stated. I assumed he was waiting for me to reply with my own name, but I knew better.
“Morgan.”
His eyes crinkled in humor.
“Such a beautiful face like yours does not truly belong to such a horrendous name like Morgan.”
He eyed me up and down, blue orbs memorizing every detail about me. If he knew the truth, then he should have known better than to start off with introductions.
“Natalia.” I stuck out my hand over the table, attempting to be polite with this so-called Barsard. He reached out apprehensively and took my hand into his.
10:10 PM
Mistake number one: his nails.
His nails were chipped with dirt, darkened by sewage, and calloused from probably fighting or building. I narrowed my eyes at him. He knew who I really was. How he knew that was beyond me. Unless…
“So, Natalia, I hear you’re a doctor. One of the highest paid in Gotham,” Joseph started, taking my coffee mug and drinking the addiction I craved for since starting medical school, “That must mean you’re good.”
10:11 PM
Mistake number two: his teeth.
His teeth were stained yellow as he drank my coffee in one gulp. Teeth that stained and chipped didn’t belong to anyone in Gotham, not even the homeless. He must be foreign. As he drank the coffee by gulps, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was used to the searing hot drink. It must have burned his throat as he drank it. Either he was extremely tired, or used to the pain…
10:12 PM
Mistake number three: his exhaustion.
His eyes did look a little dull. Not taking into account of the bags underneath, he must be tired from something.
“I’m certainly not the best. I do what I can and I’m good at it,” I stared back at him, never leaving his face. If his master was who I suspected, he knew there was a double meaning there. Barsard smirked a little and set down the mug.
“So what is your true motive in Gotham?” I asked simply, folding my hands on top of the table. A blank expression made its way onto my face. My body took a neutral stance, neither in defensive nor offensive.
“I’m trying to make a living in this great city,” Barsard’s voice sounded strained, almost as if he hated the words coming out of his mouth, “I want to become a businessman.”
I forced a smile, playing the actress I could be.
“Well, it’s going to take some time.”
“And why do you say that?” His eyes trailed down to my covered chest. How hormonal can men be?
“You need to learn to trust people,” I glanced down and saw a gun in his waistband. Luckily, he didn’t catch me.
“And how do you know I don’t already trust people?” he leaned forward so no one could hear this conversation.
I leaned forward as well, my hazel gaze never blinking.
“You have a Walther P99 in your pocket and I’m pretty sure you can use it very well.”
I couldn’t play the young little girl any longer. The innocent façade I had built was lost.
“Barsard, your true reason as to why you are here must be known,” I leaned away and formed back into my neutral stance, “I will not hesitate to kill you right now if you do not tell me.”
His expression darkened, those blue eyes zeroed in onto me. He leant back, sipping more of my coffee, and his posture tense.
“You will follow me an hour after midnight from your apartment.”