The Junior Super-Criminals: A Bit of a Mouthful

Perched at the intersection of the Diamond and Fashion districts, the Iceberg Lounge was a massive nightclub and casino that belonged to the Penguin. It was a place of excess, an oasis for Gotham's rich and famous to revel in their most outrageous desires. The only law that had any merit within its gilded walls were those set and enforced by the Penguin.

Seeing that the waiting line to get into the seedy establishment was pouring out the door and onto the street, Nymph paused to consider how she might get in. Going through the front door wasn't really an option; she was a little girl in a bright green costume, not a supermodel or a socialite dressed in the latest fashion. Her gaze traveled up the building to the penthouse apartments at its peak, and an idea suddenly sprang into her mind. She wasn't really interested in the nightclub or the casino on the lower floors of the building, so why not just fly up to her destination?

Smiling at her own cleverness, she whispered an incantation and rubbed a feather between her fingers, quickly transforming herself into a tiny green songbird. Unfurling her feathers, she ascended up the side of the building, zipping from window to window in search of her destination.

After a few minutes, she chirped happily upon spotting a couple of her compatriots from the Junior Super-Criminals. The two boys were lounging in a grandiose room near the top floor of the building, watching a stripper dance on a stage that had been hastily erected in the center of the luxurious room.

The room belonged to Bartholomew Cobblepot, professionally known as The Puffin. He was the firstborn son of the Penguin, Gotham's most dangerous crime boss.

The morbidly obese fourteen-year-old filled the ancient armchair he was lounging in and his folds of fat spilled over onto its sides. were flushed and chubby like pillows, and he wore an expression of permanent disdain on his face. His chubby cheeks were flushed and tinted with red, drawing attention to the permanent look of dissatisfied scorn on his face. To hide his condition of syndactyly, or fused fingers, he always wore a fine pair of silken ebony gloves. Like most days, he was dressed in an old-fashioned tuxedo, but on this particular evening, he had chosen to embrace an extra touch of grandeur and decided to crown his massive head with an antique top hat.

If Nymph could have rolled her eyes while in the form of a bird, she would have.

The other boy in the room had short black hair and eyes as dark as coal, though neither could be seen beneath the sinister-looking white mask he wore over his face. He wore a white tank top and ripped black jeans, preferring streetwear over the suits and ties favored by mobsters like his father. Casually resting his sneaker-clad feet on the coffee table, he was tall and broad-shouldered. Romulus Sionis, known to the streets as Ghost Mask, was only seventeen years old yet already a feared member of the False Face Society. He was rarely seen without his signature white skull mask, which served as a reminder that he was expected to inherit the underworld empire of the Sionis crime family. Despite being the youngest son of the notorious Black Mask, he had proven himself to be the most ruthless and cunning.

Nymph squeezed through a tiny gap in the window and flew into the room. The stripper entertaining the two boys looked to be in her mid-twenties and did not seem at all pleased with the job. She wore a look of grim determination on her face, but there was no mistaking the humiliation and fear clouding her tired eyes. Sympathy stirred within Nymph's tiny heart and she noticed the woman's exhaustion. In a dazzling flash of green light, the girl suddenly appeared by the stripper, causing all three occupants of the room to jump up in surprise.

Nymph slapped the woman on the rear and said, "You're free to go for the night, I have to talk to these two Casanovas alone."

Without even waiting for a confirmation from either of the two boys, the stripper hastily scooped up her discarded clothes from the floor and scurried out of the room. As soon as she was gone, Romulus kicked over his chair and angrily balled his hands into fists.

"What the hell was that all about?" he barked at the young girl. Whenever he didn't immediately understand something, his first instinct was to start yelling and punching things. It usually worked out for him.

Puffin sulked in his comfy armchair, too comfortable to get up from the soft, downy cushion. "Yeah, I paid her for the full hour!", he whined in that babyish, petulant voice of his.

The two boys were visibly aroused, with fat tents sticking out of the front of their trousers, and appeared to be completely unbothered that Nymph could see it.

In response to the brazen display of male anatomy, she looked down at the floor and pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance, speaking firmly, "I needed to talk to you two and I wasn't going to do it while you were all horned up!"

"What could you possibly have to speak with us about?" Romulus sighed as he lazily settled back down into his chair.

She could understand his attitude. She represented the magical, metahuman side of the Junior Super-Criminals, whereas Puffin and Ghost Mask were both street-level criminals. Outside of group meetings, the two sides rarely spoke to each other and even when they did, it was mostly just a passing glance or a snide remark.

"Look, I’m sorry if I ruined your evening but I really need your help," Nymph pleaded, deciding that a more remorseful tone might be better, "I need to steal something."

                                                            ⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... â‹™