The Princess and the Pauper (PRP: Dom)

[Phil "Hobgoblin" Urich]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,background-color: #090000; border: 3px solid #c64200; padding: 10px; border-radius: 0px 0px 300px 300px;] I HEAR VOICES IN MY HEAD they council me, they understand His new job with the Gotham Gazette had been very rewarding. Not only had it given him enough of a paycheck to afford living space once again, but the Enquirer-like paper didn't mind his... clever use of adjectives. And it turned a blind eye to how Phil received the information that he did. They didn't care and they didn't want to care. And that was just fine with Phil, who spent most of his nights lately out on the streets of Gotham, looking into all of its secrets, treading lightly down the alleys, and staying up for hours just to watch the local gangs slay each other. Every once in a while, if he were lucky, he'd get to witness an Arkham loony hopping around tossing bombs or gas or knives. It always made him antsy. He wanted to join them, so badly. To tear up this city. To let the goblin out. But he had to remind himself that New York was ten times more fun to destroy and he still had work to do in Gotham. He didn't need his plans ruined by the appearance of The Bat or his little bird helpers. And he certainly didn't need a trip to Arkham. The latest news Phil had found out was about Dominique Falcone, a well-known and widely-feared name in both the city's underbelly and its high-ranking offices. She was the crime princess, as it were. The heir of the Falcone fortune. The mob queen. She'd run Marone's little group right straight into the ground with ease and had taken control of much of the city. It was this woman that Phil needed to meet. She had the power and the influence he needed. And he had the information she wanted. Oh yes, he hadn't come to the darkest corners of Gotham tonight just expecting to beg for Miss Falcone's help with nothing to offer in return. He understood how these things worked. He had something to give in exchange for his request of assistance. Information on one Tony Stark. The limelight-loving asshole had made it obvious that he was interested in prime Gotham real estate and that pissed off Gotham's underbelly like no other. They were territorial by nature, and he figured that a mob queen such as Dominique Falcone would be more so than anyone else. So he had a proposition for her. A partnership. It was something he never liked to do. Being the Hobgoblin, he was usually a loner. But when push came to shove, Phil knew how to get just what he wanted. He was the perfect actor, the perfect manipulator. Willing to play the part of the brown nose, the victim, the helpless bystander, the hero, the villain... whatever he needed to do he would... so long as it helped him out in the end. And when the deal was all over? Well, he had a nice long sword that hadn't seen the blood of someone's throat for quite some time. The poor baby needed exercise. She was being neglected. Phil walked into the night club without much deterrence, thankfully. He hated trying to schmooze security guards. They were always assholes. But he had the pretty neon-colored bracelet that was his ticket inside. He hid the blood stains from view as he entered though. Hey, it wasn't like that guy needed his hand back. He was a lefty! Phil ignored the loud music as he strolled up to the bar to order himself a drink and took a seat on a stool to scan the crowds. Maybe he would get lucky and meet Dominique here tonight. THEY TALK TO ME Tag: DOMMY DOMMY DOMMY Notes: Nerp.

table by MudBug

[Dominique Falcone]

Tonight had started out not in the way the woman planned nor had she wanted. There were always chances a person wouldn't appreciate what it was Dominique did for others. Some saw it as employing crime while others saw it as a way to make money for their families. Times were hard, they were always hard in Gotham. The mob had started it's choke hold open the city yet again and while Dom was thriving, others were not. She had heard rumor of one of her contacts turning over on her. Apparently he planned on having a night partying on the money he had stolen from her and then planned to waltz into the Gotham City Police Department the following morning to dish what he knew of the mobster. She hadn't met him personally and from what she had been told he was a small time drug dealer. One who dealt her product. While Dom would possibly walk, others had tried to pin drug charges on her with the same amount of evidence, she knew that all it took was a series of names.

It had taken a better part of five hours, the first spent with her men finding the dealer. And found he was. Dominique looked at the blood under her nails as the escalade came to a stop at the entry of the club. She could still hear his screams and pleading of being released, that he'd never do that. She remained in the shadows for the first portion, she wanted to hear his confessions. He admitted to stealing the money that at the time Dom wasn't aware of the event. Two hours had passed and after a good portion of her drink was gone, or rather the bottle, she rose from the chair and stalked forward. She wasn't above getting her hands dirty in a situation that was particularly insulting to the woman. Her expensive heeled shoes touched against the pavement as she and four men walked from the vehicle and into the building. She tucked her hands into her jacket pockets as she kept her eyes distant, a look of general boredom on her face.

Her men were talking as she walked from them and towards the bar. She had started with the pliers, tradition and lacking in creativity but it was effective. She yanked his canines from his top and bottom and discarded them in a bowl. She looked at him with her bright blue eyes and gave him a smile of false compassion. Dom had leaned down to be level with the bound man and spoke with him, an exchange that resulted in no answer she was pleased with hearing. She took the corkscrew used in opening bottles of wine and pressed it down into the top of his hand. She pressed her lips inward as she smiled at him, her eyes never leaving his as his face contorted and twisted in displays of pain. His screams bounced off the tin walls. She stopped after three minutes of screwing into the muscle and flesh of his hand and repeated the same questions that asked for truth of what he was planning on doing.

"Water and a double gin." She spoke quietly as she licked her lips and blinked, eyes glancing around the large room. "And get this music turned down, I'd like to hear myself think for the next month." She snapped as she took her glass of water and took a large gulp, her hand exposed with minor stains of blood but only visible if one paid attention to detail. She placed her hands back in her pocket as she turned and headed towards the back and up the stairs to her office. The men who had accompanied her remained downstairs, they were in relax mode after a night of interrogation and torture. Instead of going straight to her office the woman walked to the private bathroom that only she used. She shut the door and walked down the hall while removing her jacket and tossed it to the floor. Her arms had the man's blood painted upon her in small runs. She had no problem holding up what she removed and in turn allowing the fluid to drip down. She pumped the soap dispenser and turned the water on hot, her head pounding from the music and headache earned by the man's screams in such close proximity.