#scaredstupid

In the convoluted body of London, deep within the layers of this vast city of fog and rain, lay a heart within a heart that stood anything but tall and vast. Mousedom, but a fickle thing in comparison to the convoluted streets and large buildings of England. Even as it was but a fraction of the capital, it still had a place in its own right to beat at the drum of the heading pulse of the city. Of mice and rodents, this city amongst a city thrived in ways that could even pale at times to the real deal.

Well, it attempted to. There was a darker reign brewing in the corners of it. With an impressive track record, a criminal mind puppeteered convoluted plans deep within London in ways that scared most who spread word of it while reading the latest headlines in the papers of these detailed schemes. A kingpin feared by many, who’s been earning his right to oversee the dark streets that at times felt haunted at his mere presence in the air. Big, scary and ever so dastardly.

Nevertheless, this terror could not come on its own. It took the intricate and calculated minds of a criminal mastermind, the seething rage of someone who deemed themselves ever so worthy to rule. Professor Ratigan prided himself on this intelligence, on the way that he had minions and scoundrels at his beck and call to pave his path down the shadows of mice and befall and darkness within them. As he sat within his lair, each of his five fingers tapping within a silent rhythm of impatience and irritation, he grew somewhat restless at conniving his next ever so nefarious plan.

Perhaps a wine? It could take the edge, brew within him to let his thoughts trickle in. A noise resounded within his chest, making him scoff at the implication.

Ah, perhaps not, as his stomach rumbled in a way that no simple drink could sate. His brows furrowed, a disdainful frown forming at the thought of being unsure within himself what he wanted at this moment. For the only thing he always craved and hungered for is power, for more and more that he deserved. He was not exactly the type to sit and ponder his next meal much.

A grin of sharp teeth befell his lips as he thought of how once he ruled above Mousedom, he’d make sure to have cooks and bakers lined at his every beck and call to make this decision for him.

For now though, he settled for the measly decision to order himself a more…sugary delicacy. Yes, this could suffice, a delicate pastry or two to get his blood pumping. Who could resist a savory pie of a fruitful filling with captivating colors and wafting aromas of vanilla? Picking up a strewn newspaper, one that’s headline had been of himself, he skimmed around until he saw an advertisement he recalled just ever so briefly catching his attention. Ratigan chuckled in amusement, already beginning to dial the number he could just barely make out with how utterly minuscule the name and details of what seemed to be an up and coming bakery were.

Originally, after he placed his large and demanding order of sweets, he had intended to simply make one of his minions pick it up for him. He considered Fidget, but that bat’s forgetfulness was not something he wished to bother with at this time. So, if he wished for success he had to connect it himself. This is what made him send whatever poor soul ran the quaint shop, who sounded like a quivering little thing after they heard the low growl of his voice, to deliver it personally.

When Ratigan attempted to picture the voice of the baker behind the phone, he could see the faint image of some skittish mouse with wide eyes and a panic settled within their features.

In a way, that was somewhat the unfortunate sight he had been met with. Just…not entirely the way he expected.

Before him stood exactly what he described, but there was something else to the sight of this baker. She was a small woman with rounded glasses perched at the bridge of her nose, short hair neatly shaped to frame her face and holding his order of baked delights in her grasp. There was something that stood out of her, and with his eyes taking her in as he stood before her at the door, it clicked in his gears that it was the way that her shoulders remained squared and her posture remained firm as she refused to break eye contact with him. It could have been out of a stunned fear, an effect he had on many. Oh, but he often would revel in it, bask in the way those before him would tremble and cower at the mere flicker of his name. This though, there was not much to revel in, and he planned to see if he could shake that foundation, if only for a second of satisfaction.

“One…order of a batch of a dozen blueberry tarts for…” She began to speak, a squeak in the voice of the short mouse as a sinister smile shaped at the corners of his lips. Ever the expressive man, he looked down upon her with a confidence in his posture that could make most mice curl their tails beneath them.

“For Professor Ratigan?” His figure loomed above, his grin wide as he presented his grandeur to the unfamiliar face before him, “For the greatest mind to ever grace these slums? Oh, why, yes. It is I.”

He watched her step back ever so slightly, but the way her stance remained guarded made his lips drop and a lack of amuesment shape into his features. Ratigan’s expression turned more stoic, watching the way the baker offered him the box with an almost expectant gleam in her eyes. It was impressive she can’t dropped it in haste and ran down the street.

“Nice to meet you? I’m…Nettie,” Did she take this as a swap of pleasantries? Her nervous and somewhat confused introduction made him roll his eyes with a lack of interest for her name. His large arms came to pick up the box, holding it up in one hand as he silently flipped it open to reveal the contents inside. The nefarious crime lord could hear her try to speak up, “Uh, I used cinnamon, almond and nutmeg to give it more flavor, if that’s to…your taste.”

This ‘Nettie’ girl seemed like she wanted to say more, perhaps about her payment, but Ratigan paid her no mind yet of that. It was required he inspected her craft first, make sure these pastries were to his standard. He picked up on the small swell of pride she held as ingredients were listed to him.

His eyes fell on the tarts, a rich blue color of fruit with a golden, flaky crust that held a care in the way they were all identically shaped. The pastries had a simplified design, yet they stood on their own ground as Ratigan could not help the way he chuckled at such a satisfying sight. With a wiggle of his clawed fingers, he picked up one of the small treats and opened his mouth wide with sharpened teeth to get a large bite of it.

Oh.

It was like a canopy of flavors, a blossoming flower of spices and sweetness that made him quickly take another eager bite of the rest of the decadent tart. The savory blueberries, the sugary crust that was so savory past his lips. Now THIS was fit for someone of his status!

He looked back down at the baker, at Nettie, and a big, almost off-putting smile formed on his lips. “Hm, Nettie, was it? I’d say you’re not as much as a disappointment as I anticipated.”

The words were mocking almost, but it was his shot at an esteemed compliment. He was not someone so easily impressed, so simply swayed for desserts or any indulgences that were not of the highest quality. Oh, but she seemed not to take it lightly, her posture finding itself straightened and her brows knitting into an expression of offense.

“P-Pardon me, but I ask you remain respectful if you wish for us to keep conducting business.” Nettie huffed, her pride quickly deflating as she realized what had slipped past her mouth and her tail coiling behind her.

Ratigan blinked once, twice.

“You expect us to…say, conduct business again?” He said it almost to tease her, like he found the idea preposterous. The professor must admit, she was a brave one. The glimmer in her eyes of determination even as she recoiled ingrained in him as much as the flavors of her baking.

He barked a laugh, digging a hand into his pocket to retrieve the money for the order and then some. Who knew how much was in there, shoving the payment harshly into her grasp in a way that made her stumble and her glasses almost fall off her face.

Nettie, from what he observed, seemed thrown off in a manner in which she was both fearing her life yet also patting herself on the back for the poor display of bravery exhibited in response to his reaction. There was a faint emotion of intrigue in those big eyes of such a small mouse, one he could not help reciprocate. Only a few brief moments with what appeared to be just a small little baker and she was already slipping under his skin. Already trying to defy him and his hand in some way, if only for something as simple as respect. How…curious. Did she know who he was? Know the way his claws dug at the hands of Big Ben?

She would learn, in due time, for even if she was just a baker…everyone was to known who the nefarious professor was and would be for the rest of time in the heart of Mousedom. A legacy that no one could forget.

“Take it, dear, and I expect my next order to be delivered at this precise time tomorrow,” He spoke coldly, seeming to often swap between emotions in an exaggerated mannerism. It was barely an order, more so a demand. One he expected to be met with even greater expectations, a low growl befalling his lips as be leaned down a bit to make sure she understood every word, “Lemon tarts would be delightful, and I assure you that your little business won’t sweeten anyone else’s day if you are to be late.”

“Oh, uhm, thank you…I’ll…get to that.” Taking in her firm nod that was somewhat forced in a polite manner, a challenge almost on the baker’s face, he watched her almost seem to wish to roll her eyes before stepping out of the lair.

Ratigan’s own expression turned sour, knowing that soon he would make this measly mouse fear him and his growing empire. Even if he could sense her fear, it was not enough. Despite the talents of her sweets, ones he indulged in slowly as he walked down to his chambers whilst ignoring the slobbering mouths of those he passed by at the smell of the pastries, he could not allow this girl to get away with that. He’d graciously handed her a hefty pay, already picturing the grin that would settle on her and the gratitude she would hold whenever she heard his name. Yes, she seemed a polite little thing, one who would cower at the sight of him at the looming door again.

Oh, how cruel of him, yet the idea sounded satisfactory. As he took a bite of the last blueberry tart, he found himself pondering silently as he considered the interactions shared and the thoughts that crossed his mind. The thoughts of seeing this Nettie again, seeing the way she would most likely hold a confidence in her skills and challenge him again with that furrow of her brows and that cute pout. Oh, yes, then she would quiver and shake and-