Well, apparently "Plaything" was a hit, and the call for the sequel is being answered! So here you are! Hope it's to your liking!
It was unusually crowded in the bar, the barkeep noticed. Generally on a Thursday, no one really cared for such a small bar and instead entertained themselves with petty crime and the such. But tonight nearly every seat--bar and table--was filled and even then, it was still pretty quiet. The juke box in the corner was softly emitting a gentle, melodic tune that no one else in the entire bar even thought about changing. And why? The barkeep absently shifted his eyes over to the left-hand side of the bar to where a regular customer was residing. The regular was underage, but quite frankly, more illegal things than underage drinking went on in his bar that he turned a blind eye to, so serving a minor a usual of only two drinks a night was the very least of his problems.
Everyone else in the bar kept their voices down, not only because they were mostly convicts and crime underlords, but also because they knew that when this particular music was playing, the one playing it wanted to hear it. If there was the urge to start a shoot-up or riot, they knew damn well to take it outside, lest worse things than bullets or punches hit them...
The barkeep looked up from giving some underlord his White Russian when he heard the bar door slam open. Not open loudly, but slam. Everyone tensed and looked up to see a relatively little-known newcomer enter the bar with two large men behind him; the barkeep recognized him as Christoph--just Christoph--from when the man had come in earlier. He was the kind of man to use force to get his way...and in this case, the table he wanted. He pointed to the table in the back near the juke box, and his two henchmen behind him walked over to it and forcefully pulled the two young men sitting there up and pushed them away, leaving the table clear for their boss.
Christoph strut forward and sat down at the table and pointed to one of the barkeep's hired waitresses. "Yo, scotch on the rocks, Dollface!" he called over. The barkeep narrowed his eyes at the rude treatment of one of his girls, but the waitress nodded and walked over to the 'keep, who poured the scotch in a glass and handed it to her.
"Cant ya just backwash it?" she whispered as she took it from him. The barkeep shrugged.
"I could do a lot of things, Molly," he murmured back. "But I can also value my bar." Molly rolled her eyes and took the drink over to Christoph, who took it with a lewd smile and winked at her. She gave him a politely dirty look before turning and going over to the next customer who summoned her. The barkeep thought that to be the worst of the night, but no. Oh, no... He instinctively tensed when he saw Christoph look at the juke box next to him. And his fear was realized when Christoph said:
"What the hell is this shit that's playing?" He stood up and looked over the playlist. "...Bach? Mozart? Fucking Tchaikovsky!?" He snorted and started to laugh. The barkeep actually felt himself begin to sweat as Christoph flipped through other choices as the crescendo rose from Concert Fantasy in G, and found something he liked. He pressed a button and Tchaikovsky ended and a heavy rock song replaced it, the sweet piano and strings replaced by dark voices and a heavy thum thum of the bassline. And likewise, nearly every heart went thum thum as all heads--head leader Christoph and goons aside--turned to the line person on the left-hand side of the bar.
Just as the barkeep thought, the figure in question raised their head and turned it, looking over at Christoph through locks of dark hair in front of their face. The barkeep, not looking away from the figure in mention, waved his hand to his waitress, who slowly traced the path of the wall out of the line of view of the threat.
Christoph, who seemed to not even notice the bar go dead quiet--bassline aside--and the air go heavy with fear and anticipation, and he sat back down to sip his drink. The barkeep felt a shudder run down his spine when the figure stood up and put their glass down. His eyes followed the figure as they silently walked toward Christoph, who was blissfully unaware of the events thus far, only looking up when he saw people literally dive out of this figure's way as they made their way toward him. He arched a brow and gestured for the two bodyguards forward, and they did indeed step forward, one of them cracking his knuckles while the other cracked his neck.
The other people scurried out of the way as the figure shot forward, a knife suddenly in both hands, and shoved them into the bodyguard's stomachs, then without a pause, ripped them upward and shoved them away, leaving them to write and bleed to death on the floor while Christoph dropped his drink in shock.
The figure slowly turned their head to look at Christoph, and the man saw two dark, piercing eyes staring at him from under locks of messy, uneven hair. He fumbled for his gun and just managed to raise it when the figure slammed a knife down through his arm, pinning it to the table, then grabbed his head and slammed it into the juke box again and again until a sickening crack resounded through the bar.
Dead silence rang around the rest of the people as the figure put the knives away underneath the coat they were wearing, and picked up Christoph's gun. They watched the figure contemplate the gun, then turn to them all, a wide grin spreading over a pale, blood-splattered face.
It all happened so fast that the barkeep didnt even register when it stated or ended; but he snapped out of his stupor when he heard the rock music screech to a halt, then silence, then a gentle Bach take its place. He raised is head, his heart pounding, and looked around at the people in the bar; those that hadnt managed to get away were dead from single-shot bullet wounds to the head or neck; one of them was still twitching as blood poured from their mouth and throat. He flinched when the regular customer covered in blood walked back up and put a bloody ten-dollar bill down on the counter.
"One for the road, Howard," they said in a low, masculine voice; though a touch of lightness and pitch lay in the undertone. Howard shakily reached under the counter for a bottle in a tub of ice and set it down on the counter. The figure smiled eerily at the traumatized barkeep and took the bottle, then turned to leave, not even bothering to step over the bodies as they made their way out.
They walked through the door of an apartment in Gotham's near-upper class neighborhood, shaking off their bloody coat and putting it on a coat rack. From the kitchen, a small clutter of sounds came forth, and the figure smiled.
"Is that you, Jackie, sweetie?" came a woman's voice from the aforementioned kitchen. Said Jackie smiled wider, a true, non-eerie smile, and brushed her hair out of her face, her dark brown eyes shining.
"Yes, Momma!" she called back cheerfully. "I'm home!"
Things'll get more in-depth the next chapter, promise promise! Lemme know how I did!