Veni, Vidi, Vici

Free. My own person. I was young and naive.

Cheshire ran from building to building. She'd kept off the streets as long as she could, kept low as long as she could, but she needed something other than veggies, and she wasn't going to have even a taste of the rats that she'd been preparing for her snakes. She wasn't that desperate yet. Instead, she suited up, hiding her face behind her mask, and she went to a grocery store that she knew usually held a good, large selection of food. Instead of the door, she dropped through the ceiling, choosing stealth, and she was glad that she did. The store was crowded with other people, gang members, all fighting over meaningless pieces of food. There were trampled foodstuffs all over the place, and quietly, quickly, she tried to grab at very least a bag of rice and some beans before checking out the meat section to see if there were any cuts that were still good. She heard other people come into her aisle, and she turned, but the gang members had already drawn on her. She unsheathed a sai, staring at them. "If you want to get out of here alive, boys, you'll let me on my way..."

It took Lady Vic several days to learn that her longtime boss, Blockbuster, had been thrown into the bottomless pit of despair that was Blackgate. This was for two reasons; Firstly, that she tried to keep away from her employer’s bad breath and blindingly polished bald spot unless in-person contact was absolutely necessary, and secondly, because informing her of his imprisonment proved to be a near fatal wound to his pride, one that he put off inflicting for as long as possible. Although, why wouldn’t he? Admitting that you’d lost to a grown man dressed as a bat was bloody humiliating.

However, the captured crime-lord couldn’t afford to leave his territory unattended long enough for the power vacuum to start causing chaos, so it hadn’t been long before he’d managed to slip her a message, written in code and delivered to a P.O. box under a well-established alias; Keep my throne warm for me. The King is dead, long live The Countess.

Establishing herself as Blockbuster’s ‘temporary’ replacement after that had been relatively easy. His men respected her as their former leader’s right hand, the one that held the knife, and most of them had taken a beating from her at some point, either for their insubordination, or being set after her to punish her for her own. Breaking into the back store room’s of the Bludhaven would serve to put the final trimmings on her crown as crime princess of her own little kingdom, her kingdom where hopefully sleeping beauty wouldn’t wake from the dead, but if he did, even better. “Be gentle with the merchandise,” She ordered as Blockbuster’s gang members filed through the empty and mostly looted grocery store. “It’s not al for us, there’s no limit to how much this food could be worth should Bane’s siege hold up much long—“ Her commands were cut short as she realised she was not the first reach this last reservoir of supplies. “Relax, Pets,” she urged them, visually appraising the familiar woman in the catlike mask as she strode to apex of her forces. “I know this one.” She assured them, smirking at Cheshire. “Care to make a deal, Kitten?”

Scandal Savage kicked rubble and refuse (some of it human-shaped) out of her way as she stalked through Blüdhaven. Zigzagging around Gotham's coastline, looking for an entry point, was the most irritating thing about Mr. Bane's decision to take over the city for its own good. Like an intervention. For dictators. If only she had an ID card that gave her free access (and rations, Goddamnit) but that would involve information-sharing among friends colleagues. Not the welcome home party one expected on return from the Arctic Circle. Rows after rows of stores left looking like empty husks, food all gone… where the hell was anyone going to get eggs at a decent hour? Her best bet looked like one dollar-priced grocery store that had a neon sign flashing overhead. She walked in time to see oddly-dressed gangs of people emptying the shelves. The lamina pesar slid out of their mounts with a soft snick.

"You," she sighed, "don't want to leave me starving for a second longer. Take me to your leader and I'll pay up-front in cash."

Cheshire rolled her eyes. "Dramatic much, Vic?" Her stance relaxed, and she took her sai away from the skin of one jackass's neck. "You're lucky," she said to the minion, as she put the weapon away. "As I only came here to get food, why not?" The nickname made her smile under the mask, and once again she had to wonder if she was being flirted with, or if the Lady was simply being British. She might never get an answer on that one. "What kind of deal are you thinking?" There was the jingle of the door opening -- Cheshire would have thought the power for that would have been cut already, but if it wasn't, maybe the chilled items were still worth half a damn -- and then there was Scandal Savage. "I didn't realize this was a party. If Catman shows up, remind me to find the alcohol and the condoms." Wait, was there even still any alcohol left in the store?

“Oh, but I love a good entrance,” Lady Vic drawled, “Especially when I’m running the show.” She nodded to her closest emissary to signal that her ‘troops’ as they were should stand at ease, and smirked at Cheshire’s show of bravado with the knife. She was well aware the other assassin’s weapon of choice was poison, a coward’s choice, something that could be inflicted from a safe distance, without finesse or careful aim. It was highly unlikely her skills in close range combat could rival that of someone who had spent years mastering that discipline specifically. “Now let’s us see,” she contemplated the deal aloud, “What can you offer me that’s more exciting than the promise of—“ She hastily plucked a can from the front of a shelf nearby. “—Spaghetti-O’s, whatever adventurous cuisine that may be.” She squinted at the bright packaging and festive font dubiously, her head whipping upwards to glare in the direction of her second unexpected visitor as the heavy footfall’s of the escorting thug announced their approach. “Oh for the love of Her Majesty’s morning crumpet…” The mercenary swore under her breath, lobbing the can just barely to the left of Scandal’s head so that it splattered against the wall in a near visceral explosion of sauce-covered rings. She was running our of food herself, she had no time to spare on these inane interruptions. And why was everyone so obsessed with getting in the Cat(man)’s pyjamas? She had to repress the wholly unbecoming reflex to throw up in her mouth. “What you all standing about for?” She demanded of her entourage, who were glancing uncertainly towards the as-yet unauthorized guess. “You can kill that one.” She waved her hand towards the Secret Six member, prompting a flurry of withdrawn knives, and switched off gun safety mechanisms that was only halted by the fit of self-amused laughter that erupted from the aristocratic assassin seconds later. “Just kidding, what the hell do you want, Frosty?”

Scandal Scandal's arms shot upwards, bladed extended as grocery looters came at her. Lady Vic's voice floated faintly over the spike of reflexive bloodlust roaring in her ears, and when the mooks stopped, Scandal reluctantly eased her stance. Her gaze flickered from one woman to another, more interested in the thought of a deal than neutering Mr. Blake if she had to, to stop him from sticking his private parts in a barrelful of crazy. "Save the alcohol for bootlegging operations, Cheshire," she snapped. "Then again… do the two of you even know what the point of rationing food is?" She gestured at the wall, Spaghetti-Os dripping to the floor. She stepped through the Red Sea of Lady Vic's men (since when did she have a gang that wasn't a whole lot of women with improbable golden hair) until she was glowering down at Vic herself. She brought the tip of a lamina pesar to the shell of Vic's ear, and murmured, "That's not my name." In the same movement, she reached between the two women, plucked a box of Froot Loops off a shelf and tossed it to Cheshire. "There. Cat food. Happy?"

Cheshire snorted. "Well, I can not poison your men while I'm leaving with my beans, rice, and the frozen pizza I'm hoping will still be cold, but I have the feeling your looking for a different type of deal," she said. As if she would eat Spaghetti-Os -- she wanted *real* food. The assassin snickered under her breath at Vic's exclamation, and rolled her eyes again when Scandal tossed Fruit Loops her way. "Haha, Savage. Did you use all of your brain cells trying to put that one together? It wasn't worth it." Cheshire walked towards the shelf and pulled a container of instant oatmeal out for her breakfast. "Vic's the one making a mess here. I just want to eat something that isn't completely plant-based for the first time in a few days." Practical she was. Vegetarian she wasn't. "I'll yell if I do actually find booze in this godawful place, but I wouldn't be surprised if these men," and she used the term loosely, "have already gone through whatever might have been left here. Learn how to curb your pets, Vic."

Lady Vic’s nostril flared as she considered the situation, refusing to flinch from the contact of Scandal’s blade. She had always gotten along with the Secret Six just fine, adopting a ‘live and let live’ policy as long as they didn’t interfere with her mission and therefore payment, but allowing the woman to get away with threatening her so early in her new ‘leadership’ could prove disastrous. Savage was wrong, many of these men were not her ‘pets’, not your standard malleable goons but rather aspiring mercenaries in their own right, more than eager to prove they were worthy of the top-ranking position she had beaten them for. ‘Yer really gonna let her insult us like that, Boss? Let ‘em take our food?’ A burly man in a frightfully unstylish Stetson prodded in a low Southern growl. She switched her glare from Scandal’s direction to man who had spoke, Stallion, an assassin she’d only claimed victory over by a small margin when Blockbuster had run his ranking tournament. “No!” She angrily retorted, shoving her knee into the woman’s stomach forcing the slightest room for movement between them. “Puss-in-Boots gets out alive,” She ordered, unsheathing her own katar. “Do what you must to Egghilda. These supplies are ours.”

Scandal stared at the wicked tip of the exposed blade in Lady Vic's hand, raking her gaze slowly upwards to Vic's face. Exasperated incredulity contorted her own face. (Pissing contests were one thing, but Scandal was trying to keep her nose clean these days. Proof? She hadn't slaughtered her way through these… upstart minions as she'd crossed the floor.) Then, even more slowly, swivelled her head to look at the redneck who'd dared to speak about her as if she wasn't right there. She nearly visibly twitched with the effort of suppressing the homicidal urges. With great patience (that she promptly congratulated herself for), she examined Cheshire instead. It was like pausing to admire a passably nice painting while a whole art museum was on fire. "So… you're Dumpster diving. Here."

Then, as fast as the human eye could blink, Scandal elbowed Lady Vic aside to ram a lamina pesar into the side of the food rack. Two well-placed hard whacks helped her break a shelf loose. Bags of multi-coloured Gummi Bears fell to the floor as Scandal flung the shelf like a Frisbee straight at Stallion's head. Then, taking a deep breath, she casually leaned against the destroyed rack, retracted her weapon, and turned back to Cheshire. "Given up on your steady diet of hapless passers-by, I see."

Cheshire stepped back, watching the other two women. Truthfully, Cheshire had what she'd needed. She could leave now and not have to watch these two devolve into pulling each others' hair and insulting fashion senses. However, it had been a terribly depressing week, and she needed whatever entertainment she could get. "Should I see if this place has a microwave and pop some popcorn for the rest of us?" she asked, a well-groomed eyebrow raising behind her mask. The Gummi Bears spilled on the floor, and Cheshire shifted her weight from one foot to the other, making it clear through her body language that she was judging them both. "If I'm Dumpster-diving, then apparently so are you, Savage. There's no need to be wasteful. Unless you're more like your name than you've let on?" Cheshire pulled a bottle of maple syrup from the shelf (she enjoyed it in the oatmeal) and put it in the bag too. "You're just making more of a mess. I came here just to get dinner. I didn't realize I'd also be seeing a show."

Lady Vic dodged the sugary shrapnel, leaping sidewards as Stallion stumbled from the force of the blow and collapsed in centre of the shopping aisle unconscious knocking a carefully constructed tower of creamed corn cans down with him. She surveyed the significant damage that already been inflicted on the small supply of food, untangling a gummy bear from her hair before shooting a look at her remaining back up that dared not be defied. “Enough of this!” She commanded, before anymore could throw themselves into Scandal’s path. “Keep this up and there’ll be nothing left for anyone. Take what you need, and be done with it.” She conceded to the other two mercenaries, flashing an almost friendly smile at Cheshire. “And thank you for realising how ridiculous her name is. I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

Scandal didn't want to admit it, but she was here because she was hungry and bored; ergo, she wanted a fight for her food. Except that would make these two fledgling… twits right about her. Scowling, she stalked to the cleaning products aisle, which was bereft of anything inflammable except some bleach and drain cleaner. She plucked one of each. Bathrooms were no one's priority in Gotham anymore (unless you lived with four men and Insignificus). With deceptive calm, she flicked the caps off both bottles.

"Obnoxious purple cat, dominatrix," she said, nodding curtly at each woman in turn. Her smile was caustic just before she flipped on her mask. And with that she sauntered out the way she came. As she went, she poured cleaner into the bleach and tossed the steaming concoction over her shoulder. The back room had one exit and several windows, which she supposed gave its occupants a fighting chance. Sharp, corrosive chlorine gas began to fill the store.

Cheshire cursed as Savage created a chemical bomb. She had a mask, yes, and that mask would filter out much of the gas, but the food! Everything that wasn't protected by a can or better would be ruined. Cheshire darted over to the little pile of produce, grabbing a few things she couldn't grow, and then dashed to where the frozen meats were, ignoring and dodging people who wanted to get out of the way of the impending cloud of death. Suddenly, it didn't matter if she needed it or not -- as much as could be saved needed to be saved. She lost track of Lady Vic during the fray, pushing and shoving as many people out of her way as she needed to, but there was a point where even she had to admit that she needed to get out. Her bag was mostly full of food at that point, and while she didn't even know what all she'd grabbed, she knew it would last her (and perhaps a few others) for a few days. A few days went for a long time in a city under siege. As Cheshire got clear of the building, she ran a hand through her hair, and realized now she'd have to use the decontamination shower she had set up in a corner of her study. Dammit, Scandal!

Due to Cockblocker Blockbuster's unfortunate incarceration, I have been given the solemn task of filling The Great Glaring Bald Spot's place until your rightful leader can be restored. 

You answer to me. Your dealings go through me. What remains of your supplies are to be redistributed as I see fit.

I'm not one for speaking redundantly, so I'm sure I don't need to remind you of the dire consequences for biting back against the boss' right hand. 

Sincerely, 

Your Vicious Lady. 

P.S. I hope you're turning in your highly suspect grave, Boy Blunder

The King is dead, long live The Countess.