Chapter Text
Monday, 8:53 AM
Yawning, Edward steps out of the sleek white and glass elevator into the sleek white and glass room of his office building. He lets his fingers slide across the glass doors to the office, leaving unsightly smudges on it. It’s satisfying to fuck up the neat polished look of the place. The frown rich people make when they remember poor people exist is hilarious. He streamed for too long yesterday, only going to bed a few hours before he had to get up for work. He wasn't ready to give up his weekend to come back to his wage cuck job. But, alas, time marches forward relentlessly. Now, under the rising sun of Gotham, it's Monday and he has another boring day of looking at numbers. Sometimes he even punches in numbers into his computer to get new numbers but usually just the same numbers to look at all day. There is nothing exciting or sexy about managing the riches of the people who keep Edward broke as fuck.
Like a stick through the mud, Edward drags himself to his cubicle. It’s completely identical to all the other cubicles in this fucking office. No personal decorations allowed. Company policy. Edward used to tell his coworkers it was to remove their personal identity, and he's right, but they would just walk away and talk about how weird he is when they thought he wasn’t listening. Edward doesn't talk to any of the people here so he's usually stuck listening. He listens to the guy who sits next to him talk about a sexy date he had as he puts his bag down. He listens to the lady a little further down bitch about how her babysitter canceled last minute as he makes his way to the break room. As he pours his coffee he listens to a few of his coworkers talk about the troubling state of the economy. All of these sad sacks are so worried about not having enough money, happily getting ready for a week of slaving. Edward’s a hypocrite. He’s working the exact same job.
It’s 9:03 when Edward gets back to his cubical, which is the exact moment his dumb shit boss decides to step out and call people into his swanky corner office for a meeting. Whatever. Edward boots up his work computer. “... And Nygma, in my office in five minutes. Bring your bags. We just landed the client to end all clients, Bruce Fucking Wayne.”
Bruce Fucking Wayne? Edward keeps his eyes on his computer as it starts up. What the fuck? This shit office just got hired to manage Bruce Fucking Wayne? Net worth of 100 billion dollars Bruce Fucking Wayne, the Price of Gotham? And his dumb shit boss wants Edward on the project? Weird, reclusive Edward who every day gets emails reminding him to ‘talk normal’ to people? He might be one of the best in the office at finding patterns in numbers but he's absolutely the worst at dealing with clients. And now Edward is going to work with the client to end all clients, Bruce Fucking Wayne. Edward slams his coffee back, turns off his computer, grabs his bag and heads for the conference room.
Five other people are also walking to the conference room with their bags. Edward has to assume these people are good at talking to clients so he can just be quiet during the whole project. Doesn’t know any of his coworkers because people in the real world don't like Edward so why bother getting to know them. He only kinda knows his boss because the dude is his boss. The dumb shit has zero skills but is talented at schmoozing nonetheless. Exactly like all of Edward's clients. Bruce Fucking Wayne is with out a doubt going to be the same way. No skill or effort to maintain his wealth, his power. Can’t even run his accounts himself. All these rich assholes underpay wage cucks like Edward to manage their wealth. They only have one skill and it’s to schmooze. Edward’s dumb fuck coworkers certainly seem happy and schmoozed by name Bruce Fucking Wayne alone.
All six of them pile into the conference room while they wait for their boss. His five coworkers talk excitedly about Bruce Fucking Wayne while Edward is just cold. This whole office could use better heating. For fucks sake, this office just gained a twelve figure client and it’s too cheap for good heating. All this money to keep the company's wheels spinning but the owner is spending it all on trips to the sunny Bahamas. Taking the seat furthest from the door and his chatting coworkers, Edward tries to calculate how much it would actually cost to keep this place warm. By the time his dumb shit boss walks in Edward figures it wouldn’t cost that much.
“Mr. Nygma, would you care to join us up here?”
“No, I’m cold.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with joining us.” The shit stain mutters something under his breath causing his coworkers to snicker. “Now on the Bruce Fucking Wayne project.”
Monday 10:23 AM
The car ride to the Bruce Fucking Wayne tower is awkward. The team decided to carpool but his boss can only seat 2 people in his car. Now it's 5 of them jammed in the tiny ass Honda Civic of the only other guy who drives. Edward tries to distract himself by fiddling with the keycard he's been given. Bruce Fucking Wayne wants them all to do the work inside his home and not in the office. His boss explained it was something to do with privacy. Edward wasn’t paying attention. He doesn’t pay attention to stupid things or at least tries not to. Like now he's trying not to pay attention to his coworkers during this car pool. They all clearly wanted to gossip, and were at the start of the ride, but then Edward spoke up and now the car is dead silent. He doesn’t even know what he said to make them feel awkward. People just tend to do that around him in real life. Online, Edward is pretty charismatic. Must be something to do with his face, he wears a mask online. Edward wishes he had the mask now. This whole car ride is outside of his comfort zone. He likes his job because he doesn't actually have to meet with clients. They just send him projects with numbers and he sends back emails that says shit like ‘Good job! You are winning capitalism!’. But Bruce Fucking Wayne has major money so he gets to make major rules like awkward Edward Nygma has to carpool with his stupid coworkers. They are talking shit about him. He can see shotgun's phone when she passes it over to the driver for him to read. He doesn’t really care about them talking shit about him. He does care about the glaces they shot him. He doesn’t like being looked at without his mask. He doesn’t like being looked at as Edward.
Finding parking is its own challenge. Bruce Fucking Wayne has decided to be quirky and not like other billionaires by not having a fuck off huge parking garage for his 50 lambos so they have to find parking like the rest of the idiots of Gotham. Edward would like to get out and just walk to the Bruce Fucking Wayne tower but that's not an option. Stupid. The driver is cursing about how hard it is to find a spot around the park and everyone else is agreeing like they also drive. “Why don’t you just park a block away and we just walk?” Edward tries to helpfully add and everyone looks at him like he's crazy. Again with the fucking looking.
It’s getting on 11 when they finally get to the Bruce Fucking Wayne tower. His boss and the person he liked enough to give a ride to are waiting outside the building. Edward adjusts his backpack, putting his Wayne tower keycard on his lanyard. His boss is talking about something to do with Bruce Fucking Wayne. He's not even talking about the project, just the guy himself. Like he's a god or some shit. Everyone else seems enthralled by the idea of meeting Bruce Fucking Wayne. Despite not paying attention he hears words like “dream” and “amazing” and “ecstatic”. Edwards would describe his own feelings about Bruce Fucking Wayne as complicated.
Complicated because Bruce Wayne didn't personally ruin his future, but he did inherit his fathers wealth and with that wealth his fathers responsibilities. He was promised to become a ward of the Wayne's. He was promised a fraction of the Wayne wealth so small the human mind can barely comprehend it. A promise to Edward to change his life for the better. But then the old man died and Bruce didn't do shit about Edward or the other orphans his father promised to sponsor. Bruce Wayne was, however, just a little kid when it happened. Edward isn’t bitter an eight year old didn’t immediately take the mantle of Wayne Enterprises and continue his father’s legacy immediately after the funeral. He is bitter that for all of Edwards meeting with Thomas Wayne on tv, along with the other orphans, once he died the only orphan the whole city cared about was Bruce Fucking Wayne. It’s not even a childhood grudge Edward holds against Wayne; they have both grown now and the dick bag still sits in his fucking ivory tower looking down on the city he refuses to engage with. His fathers wealth choked the life out of the city but at least he tried to do good. Bruce Fucking Wayne does absolutely nothing all day, just watches the seasons change.
But also Bruce is really hot. So Edward marks his feelings down as complicated.
“And no being weird towards Mr. Wayne. Got it, Mr. Nygma?” Shit his boss is talking to him. “Just be quiet and do your job like you always do and we won't have a problem.”
“Why did you even put me on this project?” Edward knows he can do the work of two people but if his boss is so worried about that then he could just take Edward off and put on two more.
“Because I didn’t put you on this. We were all hand selected by Mr. Wayne. You would know this, Mr. Nygma, if you paid attention to our meeting in the conference room. Trust me, you would be my last pick for this project.” It’s a jab but Edward gets it. He would also pick himself last for this project. What he hates more is everyone is fucking looking at him.
“Stop looking at me so I can just be quiet and do my job, like always.” And all his shit stain coworkers whip their fucking heads around, looking firmly away from him. Good.
They all file into the tower. The elevator isn't sleek white with sleek glass. It's just a normal ass elevator. Not for Gotham. A normal Gotham elevator is decrepit with old piss stains under new piss puddles. It’s a normal elevator for somewhere that is actually pleasant to live in. Edward was expecting something more like the Wonka-vator. When the doors open to the Wayne estate it's also not what Edward imagined. There is no large foyer for one thing. The Elevator just immediately enters the home of Bruce Fucking Wayne. There’s a long hallway with two doors on the left, one on the right, and a staircase at the back that has a landing in the middle. It’s also not the ivory tower Edward pictured in his hate fantasies. It’s not even fucking minimalism. The whole house is deep rich wood with decorative tile. The wallpaper is beautiful and interesting to look at. Edward fucking hates this dude for living in a tasteful home! The only thing not classy about it is how dark the whole place is. Absolutely no natural lighting. At least the manor smells better than most depression homes. There are things everywhere, mostly bookshelves, like this fucking asshole was tasteful enough to read. What a douchebag. Bruce Fucking Wayne is defiantly quirky and not like other billionaires.
Except he is because when the elevator opens it’s not Bruce Fucking Wayne greeting them, its just some silver fox in a nice suit. “Welcome. I’m Alfred. I’m very pleased your firm and you all have been so accommodating to our unusual accounting situation.” No shit. With that much money Bruce Fucking Wayne could say jump and all his coworkers would ask how high. “Please, right this way.” Alfred turns and walks to the door on the right, opening it for them to enter. He doesn't ask them to remove their shoes but Edward still takes the time to do it. Not because he respects Bruce Fucking Wayne enough to not track Gothem's dirt into his home but because he wasn’t raised in a barn. He was raised in an orphanage and everyone would have beat the shit out of him for acting like a barn animal. No one had a lot growing up but at least they had cleanliness and manners.
“Where can I put these?” Edward holds up his sneakers for Alfred to see. His boss stops dead in his tracks and looks like he wants to murder Edward. They just fucking talked about not being weird. It’s not weird; Alfred isn't wearing shoes and he doesn’t act like it’s weird. Alfred just smiles brighter and walks over. He opens a coat closet next to the elevator. There are quite a few pairs of nice dress shoes neatly arranged and some old, rarely worn shoes on the other side not arranged at all. Edward throws his shoes in on top of Bruce Fucking Wayne’s.
The room Alfred led them to is a sitting room. Again, no natural light. This room doesn't have the same excuse the hallway did, lack of windows, because against all the walls are big, heavy black out curtains. There are even fucking bookshelves against some of the windows because there are bookshelves everywhere around here. This dude is a vampire. Even Edward lets the sun into his shit box he calls an apartment. (It’s for his succulents.) Smack dab in the middle of the seating room is a very large, very opulent mid century coffee table. It absolutely costs more than what Edward makes in a year. On the coffee table are seven laptops, one for each of them. Around the coffee table are three couches. A very large one, fit for a king, facing away from the door and two matching love seats on either side. His boss immediately takes the large couch. Across from the Kings Couch are three lounge chairs, each with matching end tables. Everyone else is picking their seats around the coffee table and their laptops. Three in the lounge chairs and two on the love seats next to their boss. It leaves Edward the odd man out. He grabs the last laptop and walks over to the corner where there is a reading chair next to the bookshelves in front of the windows. It’s kinda ideal. There is just a little bit of sunlight coming through the side of the curtains.
“I’m pleased you have all made yourselves at home.” Alfred says after Edward puts his bag down and sits. “On each of your provided computers you will find the records of what the previous accountants were working on. Kitchen is across the hall and my study is next to it on the left. You can find me there if you have any questions. Bathroom is down the hall on the right, under the staircase.” And with that he leaves, closing the doors gently behind him. Edward opens his laptop and gets to work. He will admit to himself, it’s a little exciting to know exactly how rich the Price of Gotham really is. His coworkers instead of getting to work look at each other and start gossiping about their new client.
“Weird, I was expecting… I don't know.” Middle lounge chair starts. “I was expecting a little more fanfare.”
“Yeah, Just here are your things? Get to work? I appreciate curt but what the hell was that?” Couch on the right. Edward doesn't actually know any of these people, not even their names. He just stays quiet and gets to work at the office. No reason to change the status quo now.
His boss, “Mr. Wayne couldn’t even introduce himself to us, either. We are guests in his home and he just sends his servant.” No shit, he's a billionaire.
“Maybe he's still going to come down here and talk to us.” Middle chair.
Edwards laptop is taking forever to boot up. How fucking old is this thing? “I hope he comes down soon.” Chair on the left. Sighing, she adds,“Mr. Wayne is so handsome and just a little sexy.” She says it so dreamily. He is ‘so handsome and just a little sexy’ but Edward would rather post his own nudes online than ever actually say that outloud.
Couch on the right playfully scolds her, “Lauren, you're not going to bag Bruce Wayne.”
“You never know, Mitch” Chair on the left counters, “Maybe Mr. Wayne is into single moms.” Everyone laughs like she just told a joke.
Couch on the left adds “Bruce Wayne, Milf hunter.” and the laughing doubles. Edward isn’t laughing. His computer finally started and now he's opening up Bruce's tax forms. Today he is absolutely going to snoop. He can’t post about it online, Bruce Fucking Wayne has them in is home for that exact reason, but he can privately think about it in his I hate Bruce Wayne fantasies. “Did you only accept this project to try and seduce Mr. Wayne?” Couch on the left asks chair on the left.
They weren’t asked if they wanted to be on this project. Edward would have said no. Chair on the left shyly says “Maybe. It’s kinda a fantasy to be whisked away to the high life. You can’t shame a girl for wanting to go from commoner to princess.”
Alfred reenters the sitting room, interrupting whatever the fuck the dummies were going to say next. He has a tray of tea, one for each of them. “I brought some drinks to help you with your work.” He goes around the room, passing tea out on the tray. The last one is Edward, who gets his actually handed to him instead of picking it off the tray.
“Thank you.” He says under his breath. He doesn’t look up from the computer but he remembers his manners. Alfred's response does make him look up.
He whispers back, “It’s always a pleasure, lad.” and his smile is blinding. There is no way Alfred remembers, but all those years ago when Edward met with Thomas Alfred would say that when handing Edward his hot coco. It’s just what the guy says back to thank you, but to Edward that was a key moment in his life. Edward looks at Alfred and he's eight again. Couch on the left breaks the moment.
“Hey, butler man, when are we going to actually meet Mr. Wayne?”
Alfred turns to his coworkers, his back to Edward. How Edward is situated in the room means that he doesn't have to turn his back to Edward to address them. It’s instead a continuous choice to address only them and not Edward. “As I had stated earlier, I appreciate you all for accommodating our unusual situation. The young master is rather busy at the moment so you all have the pleasure of having me as your correspondent during your work.” Which makes his coworkers pause. Dejectedly they all open their laptops and get to work. There is no more gossip even when Alfred leaves, closing the door softly behind himself.
Monday, 12:48 PM
Edward isn't aware of how much time has passed until Alfred comes back into the room. It feels like just seconds ago that he gave Edward tea, earl gray, but when he looks over to his cup it is completely drained from absentminded sipping. He was completely absorbed in looking over Bruce Fucking Wayne’s taxes.
Lots of charitable donations, all of them worth dog shit. In the past three years Bruce Wayne has built five separate soup kitchens around Gotham. He knew of one of them. It was built a block from his apartment and was closed within six months to build a Michelin star restaurant. Edward had pulled out his phone to confirm that yes, all the other 4 had met the same fate. Really he just built the infrastructure to make something for Gotham’s elite and gets write offs on his taxes. Money that would have built actual soup kitchens. Typical rich person stuff. All of this guy's charity is like this.
“It’s getting rather late in the work day, wouldn’t you all say?” Alfred says. Edwards coworkers all agree quietly, stretching their hands and fingers. “If you wish to leave for lunch just leave your laptops here and remember to bring your keycards. If you're rather engrossed in your work, I have lunch on the stove that will be ready in about 15 minutes.”
His coworkers close their laptops and stand, grabbing for their bags. His boss says, “I know a good spot around here. My treat for all your hard work today.” and leads his coworkers out the door and down the hallway. No one has noticed he forgot to invite Edward. It feels less accidental and instead purposeful to have not invited him. His boss is kinda an asshole but at least he's kind enough to Edward to not subject him to his coworkers outside of work. Now it’s just him and Alfred.
“I’ll join you…” Edward isn't really sure what to call Alfred to his face.
Fortunately he picks up on this. “Alfred is fine, lad”
Edward tries to smile at him. He isn't very good at it, judging by the usual reactions he gets from his smiles, but Alfred seems to like his smile. Edward is starting to like him. “I’ll join you for lunch, Alfred, just let me finish up here.” And Alfred waits for him to finish while cleaning up Edward’s coworkers' mess. Edward likes that Alfred waits for him.
He follows the guy into the kitchen. It's styled the same as the rest of the place but the stainless steel of the kitchen equipment stands in sharp contrast to the dark color palette Bruce has chosen for his home. It’s also bright as fuck; Alfred has all the curtains open. Edward squints his eyes, trying to adjust them to the light.
“Bruce is so dower,” Alfred says. He moves over to the pot of soup he has on. “He lives like he's a vampire and sunlight will burn him to a crisp.” It gets Edward to laugh. It was his first thought when seeing the manor. “The only place I can get plants to grow is here and in my study. He avoids both like the plague. My study because of the sunlight and the kitchen because the lad could manage to burn a pot of water.”
Edward leans against the counter. “I assume you do all the housekeeping.” Because Bruce is a billionaire. Doing laundry is beneath people with a networth over 6 figures.
“Absolutely not. His mother was very insistent that Bruce help with chores. When she unfortunately passed I made him keep up with things like his laundry. It’s unbecoming of a young man to not know how to take care of himself or his living space.” That kinda shocks Edward. He would not have guessed that Bruce Wayne had to do normal people shit like clean his house.
Alfred then adds, “I’m glad you decided to join us for lunch, I made enough tomato soup for three. Would you get bowls and spoons? They are in the cabinet above the dishwasher, spoons are in the drawer on the right.” Edward does. There is barely a handful of plates and cutlery. Just enough for two people. Edward thinks the evidence of the lack of company is a little sad. Not for Bruce Fucking Wayne but for Alfred. He kinda likes the old man.
Still, “You made enough for three but I’m here with six other people.”
“I’m well aware. I simply hate to waste food. Now if you excuse me, I should bring this to Bruce. I'm sure the young master is in theatrics about having so many strangers in his home.” And Alfred leaves with just one bowl. His bowl is sitting on the counter next to Edward’s, so he decides to wait until Alfred returns to start his lunch. He likes the idea of eating with the old man. And..
Well, Edward has a lot of food for thought to digest already. Edward only knows Bruce from his very limited time in the news and the brief comments Alfred has made about him contradict them. Dower, theatrical… Not words Edward would have used to describe him. Who the fuck is this guy, really? An asshole billionaire, obviously, but from how Alfred described him he doesn’t get the impression of suave, cold playboy like he depicts on tv. He should use this opportunity to snoop but the kitchen is Alfred's space, not Bruce’s. Edward is a weirdo who is usually unaware how to act around people in real life but he did grow up in an orphanage. He understands the value of privacy. He wants to give it to Alfred. So Edward waits for Alfred to return quietly.
His phone buzzes. A text from his boss. “Fuck, just remembered we left you alone. It’s just with the butler so you should be fine but remember, don't be weird. You're representing the company.” Edward ignores it. Alfred seems to like him for whatever reason. He doesn't feel like he is going to put the old man off by being himself.
Alfred returns a minute later with an empty plate and glass. “Bruce’s breakfast. Normally he joins me for meals but I doubt he will while you are here.” Alfred sighs and puts them in the sink for himself to wash later. He picks up his bowl and moves to his study, motioning for Edward to join. “You must excuse him for his absence, he is rather adverse to attention from strangers. He's been that way since he was a boy.”
“Because of what happened to his parents?”
“No, even before then. Thomas was hoping that taking in your orphanage would help Bruce come out of his shell.” Edward stops dead in his tracks, looking at Alfred with wide eyes. He does remember him. Suddenly Edward is uncomfortable with Alfred looking at him, desperately wishing he had his mask. He makes awkward faces when he actually feels things, faces that make people think less of him. He doesn’t want Alfred to think less of him. Alfred picks up on this. “Oh, excuse me! I must apologize for bringing up such a sour time in your life. It was one of the last projects Thomas started before he passed. Everything about it stands out in my mind.”
Edward doesn't know how to feel about this. He would rather be at lunch around his shit stain coworkers. His boss said don't be weird but Edward can't help what he says next, “Then why didn’t anything happen after he died?” It's accusatory. Even if Bruce Fucking Wayne was too young to help him, Alfred could have. He could have saved Edward from the torment and bullying of growing up in a home too small.
Alfred just looks sad. He isn't offended by Edward’s comment. “I… After Bruce's parents passed there were long and lengthy battles to keep Bruce as my ward and to keep his legacy. Unfortunately, part of it was he, and I, were unable to control the majority of his finances until he turned 18. By then the orphanage you grew up in had burned down.” Yeah, Edward knows. He's the one who burned it. “By time we regained control everything had become a mess. It’s why we still need such a large team to give it hands on care. Also because Bruce is entirely uninterested.” Alfred sighs. He looks warn. “Let's table this conversation for another day. It’s rather unpleasant.”
Numbly, Edward agrees and they eat their lunch with only light banter. Edward doesn’t really taste his soup, he's completely full on food for thought.
Monday, 5:02 PM
Edward and Alfred finished their meal peacefully. No more talk about Edward’s sad childhood or what could have been. After Alfred excused himself to be with Bruce, Edward returned to the sitting room to continue his work. He wasn’t in a head space to give it attention but he looked busy enough when his coworkers strolled back in. They came in laughing and happy but were about as effective at work as him.
Now it's 5, quitting time. Edwards' boss closes his laptop and thanks everyone for a hard day's work. His coworkers chuckle. He reminds them all to not forget their key cards tomorrow because it’s the office and then back to work at the Wayne tower. Edward knows he's going to skip the office and just head straight here. He does not feel the need to make car pools any more awkward than they need to be. Everyone files out of the sitting room, heading for the elevator while Edward goes to the coat closet for his shoes. His boss corners him.
“You weren’t weird when we left you?”
Jesus christ. “No.”
“This is a big client we are working with.” Really? Edward hadn’t noticed. “Don't fuck it up.”
Edward wishes he was a little more mean spirited. He, like his coworkers and most people in real life, are mean, but it's because they don't know how to deal with people like Edward. If they were actively cruel it would justify how much Edward hates them. “I’ll remember to let it down if it's brown. Let it mellow if it’s yellow.”
His coworkers make a face. His boss lets out a breath and holds the bridge of his nose, exacerbated. “Mr. Nygma, I say this out of respect for your ability and what you bring to the team. Just be fucking normal here. Follow our example if you have to. If you piss off Mr. Wayne and lose us this I know my boss will ensure you don't have a job anywhere after this.”
The elevator ride down to the street is dead quiet. Middle chair, the one who drove Edward here, doesn’t offer Edward a ride home. It’s fine. Edward has a lot to think about and would prefer to unpack it all on the train ride home. He walks away and puts in his earbuds. The Hives will have a lot to say about whatever the fuck this day has been.
Monday 6:32 PM
Finally home! Edward dumps his bag by the door and kicks off his shoes. He practically tears off his wage cuck gimp suit and throws it on his couch. He grabs his suit from the couch, next to where he threw his work clothes. His real suit. The one he wears while streaming. He puts it on. Putting on his mask feels like a god send. Today was bombshell after bombshell and he wants to be himself. He did absolutely no work processing what Alfred said to him on his way home and he's not about to start now. He should make dinner but instead he sets up his stream. 10 minutes later he's Riddler.
It’s a normal steam. His mods are there along with the usual crowd. Riddler does sudoku puzzles (in pen because he's not a pussy) while chatting with them. It’s the usual stuff. They talk about life updates and how much they hate the oligarchy. It’s not a problem that they are rich and they run the entire fucking world like a shadow government, its that they are so comically evil about it. One of his mods is bitching about the increase of police driving out the homeless people around his apartment and how rent is going to go up now when someone new joins. Some asshole named DarkBenni_KnightFactor.
“Oh, welcome Benni. To join the club you have to have to say the password.” Riddler says absently from his sudoku game.
“What's the password? Is it please?”
Riddler exhales through his nose. “Nope. Who is your enemy?” Riddler has refined this question over his time being a lefty streamer. The only people who pass are funny or have the correct political beliefs. The question avoids conflict in his group of online weirdos. Riddler hand picks who he wants to keep in his group because one day he hopes to utilize his goons to do his bidding.
Benni doesn't type anything for a moment. Riddler is about to ask his mods to block this fool. He has curated a cool little community and part of that is being exclusive and only letting people who participate join. It’s how he weeds out people who won't mesh. “Lex Luthor.” Benni says eventually.
"Oh, fuck yeah." Riddler fucking hates that guy. Lex is a prem scum bag, worse than a billion Bruce Waynes. Bruce blows ass because he refuses to participate in the city but Lex is the actual devil. "Everyone say 'Hi, Benni.'"
Everyone says it, including Benni. He’ll fit in. The conversation goes back to spotting rent spikes. Benni doesn’t have a lot to say but he isn’t a fan of the destruction of graffiti to make way for ‘classy’ street art and the removal of soup kitchens.
That reminds Riddler of Bruce Fucking Wayne’s taxes. “There's a soup kitchen near me that closed in November, right before Thanksgiving no less. Not even a month later someone made it into a fancy, 100 dollars a plate steak house. Found out it was the doing of the Prince of Gotham himself.”
Benni, who has been in and out of the conversation, immediately replies. “What?”
Riddler puts his sudoku book down. “What do you mean, what? Are you shocked that the prick would only keep a kitchen open for a few months to get a tax write off and then turn it into ‘ Very Profitable Business Venture’” sarcasm drips from Riddlers mouth. “I have a question for you, Benni. What's the wealthiest nut?”
“Cashew. What do you mean it was only open for a few months?”
“I mean this nut, Bruce Wayne, is just like his shit bag father. He's only charitable when he can get something out of it.” Riddler does not think about what Alfred told him. That he was only going to be sponsored so poor little anti social Bruce Fucking Wayne could pick out a playmate. “Brucey got to look nice by feeding people for a summer and then gets to rake in the money for renting out the space to feed his dumb rich friends.”
“But it’s just the one, right?”
“Benni, if you're trying to figure out where I could live so you can doxx me it's not going to work. It’s all of them. Every single one of Bruce's charity cases have been converted into a very profitable money making business. Sorry kid, rich people don’t know how to give. They only know how to take it. All his soup kitchens are now restaurants so expensive they have a coat check. All those parks he built are parking lots. That school he built for the poor widdle inner city kids is now a private school while the neighborhood is getting gentrified.” Riddler shouldn’t have shared that last part. Bruce Wanye didn’t publicly build a school. It was only in his taxes that Edward looked over today. “If these rich pricks want to actually do good they should give me some cash so I can get my favorite bodegas window fixed.”
Benni shuts the fuck up. Good. Riddler starts telling his stream about how the window got broken during a robbery. The plywood they put up over the thing lets the draft in and now the poor old lady who runs the place freezes her ass off every night. Riddler likes her. She doesn’t mind when Edward acts like a freak. She's just a stern old lady who tells him to knock it off when he's weird and lets him borrow her crockpot in exchange for his blender. Halfway through a story about the time the old cunt chewed Riddler out for leaving burnt shit at the bottom of her crockpot Riddler’s donation sound goes off. He lowers his sudoku book and looks over. His jaw fucking drops. It’s from Benni. The message says “Then fix it.”.
It’s a fucking grand.