This DCverse is Maddening

Killing someone with kindness has always been such an iconic saying. Something usually advised by elderly southern bells. And for a lot of religions tended to preach that very same proverb. There was a reason why it's used and suggested.

The dumbstruck look on the Laurel's face was already more than enough of a prize to satiate Albert's bruised nerves from her rather brusk attitude. There were plenty of ways he could've dealt with the situation. He could've acted his physical age and lashed out with the a tirade of snide remarks reserved for early first person shooter lobbies. Hell, it would've been expected. But there were some problems with that approach.

Despite how rude the woman had been, it was clear that spewing out venom would've done little to earn him allies here. Hell, it might've even alienated the only pseudo-ally he had there. Just putting himself in their position was already more than enough to get a pretty good idea on their reactions. How else would someone react when their colleague, friend or acquaintance was being verbally berated by a complete and utter stranger?

No, nothing good would come from sinking down to her level.

Laurel seemed to be the youngest of the present ladies of the night, looking to be in her early to mid twenties. And judging from how she was acting, he was leaning more towards early.

"You-" Just as the initial shock wore off, her eye narrowed into mere slits like some sort of bird of prey locking on it's next meal. The teen could see her taking in deep breathes, readying herself like a bellow. A tirade of epic proportions was just at surface, words sharp enough to slice through bone and utterly annihilate his burgeoning confidence. But despite all this, none dared to step in. A glance around the table was enough to know that much. Calling Cedar's previous fiddling nervous felt like a bit of an insult now, her face now just a few scant centimeters away from that small mirror as she poked and pinched at imperfections that were truly only in her head. Even going as far as to pull out a pair of tweezers to puck at her perfectly maintained eyebrows.

Alder, probably the most outwardly accommodating of them all looked all but defeated. Bags hidden under a light layer of make-up became all too visible and with her fingers roughly running through her hair, it revealed a few sporadic strands of gray hidden under that sea of gold. It seems this wasn't new in the slightest.

But the most telling of them all certainly had to be Willow, her silent presence like that of an ancient guardian made entirely of stone. Now seemed more akin to that depictions than anything else, her heavy lidded eyes gazing through those at the table like they weren't any of her concern.

Frankly, all this reminded Albert a lot of how toxic family members acted.

"Enough of that," A rough voice snapped out with the force of a whip crack, a domineering command that caused everyone's spines to straighten to attention. The voice sounded distinctly feminine but as though they would be perfect for those anti-smoking infomercials that was used to terrify the pants off kids and teens everywhere. There was only one place, one person he knew had that type of no nonsense voice. Craning his neck just slowly enough to not attract the ire of the matriarch, he saw the small women standing in the doorway holding a large white clay pot covered in some sort of stained design that swirled on the surface like a stream of smoke. Steam pooled out of what seem to be small holes from the ceramic top. "If you got time to yap, you have to time to help set up the table."

And with that, the room erupted into an orderly chaos. Each of the women bolting out of their seats and rummaging through the nearby dish cabinets. The gentle clicking of ceramic scrapping against each-other was all that filled the suddenly silent room.

"It's good you got here when you did," Madame Clements leaned across the table, placing the large pot smack dab in the middle. It's surface leaking heat into his skin at such a rapid speed, he could only glance at her completely unmarred hands in awe. "This particular dish is always best right off the stove."

From this up close, he could finally get a good enough look at the pot. It stood a few hands-length tall, looking to be something quite deep. A long handle poked out from a small seem at the point in which the two pieces met one another. And finally, the etchings across it's surface became clear to him.

'It looks…' His mind whirled as he tried to put his observations to words, but coming up empty. It was like he was scrapping the bottom of the barrel there. He knew they were words, but that was all. 'Eastern?'

The characters didn't have that sharp and punched look that some of the more famous Eastern language had, having more of a wave or wiggle to them. But if there was anything he could gleam from the pot, it was the fact it was an antique of sorts. Well taken care, and probably even restored some years ago but he got the very distinct feeling that his host certainly wouldn't let him rub his grubby paws over it's surface. Gloved or not.

"Thank you for having me tonight, Madame Clements." It simply wouldn't do to not at least greet his host. Who, in his appreciation of the pot, had taken her seat directly across from him. Finally getting a direct look at the ever elusive Madame, his mind came up empty. He could tell she was a women and that she had black hair but anything else, all her details or distinct features that might allow him to identify her in a crowd just...slipped out of his grasp like a bar of soap in wet hands.

'Wasn't her eyes brown? Was her features soft or sharp? Was she pale or tanned?'

His mind whirled as every sense thrown her way was dragged into that constant current of doubt, it was an impossibility. At one moment, that black hair he was certain was there now looked fiery red. Not as though the hair itself changed, but more of his perception was altered in a minute way to consider it blonde.

The more he looked, the more he tried to force himself through that imaginary barrier, every single thought was like a hammer against his fragile concentration.

"The Veil," Madame Clements began, clasping her thin-no sausage fingers..toes (?) together. Silver-brown-red-green hair, not hair framing her 'face'. "Is a very powerful form of magic. I'm sure it's been explained a bit to you, but what they don't tell you is that while it pushes your attention away from anything remotely magical, it also shields you from...other magical effects. For me, it solidifies what people see when they look at me. It'll always be a bit disorientating to come across your first charm, I'll save you the trouble. Trying to force your way through it like you're doing now is the worse thing you can do. Don't try and fight it, just let it do it's work and let it be."

That gremlin on his left shoulder could only nod in agreement with her words, it's thin six toed talons gripping tightly at his being.Whatever spell or charm or magical item she was under was well above him. And it frankly wasn't a close contest in the slightest.

It was like trying to halt a rolling boulder, it's size and momentum too much for his poultry human physical capabilities. A complete and utter defeat, not the first he's faced in this world but probably the most assured. Another unassailable wall, similar to the insurmountable barrier that was the Dark Knight.

And so with a bitter taste in his mouth, Albert did something completely against his nature. That mind that gobbled with details with a frantic need was forced to open it's jaws before this inedible 'prey'. Tendrils of attention retracted with a bubbling hiss of displeasure. Bit by bit, the ever changing form of 'Madame Clements' smoothed out into a rather familiar form.

A women of average height and build sat across from him, dark rimmed brown eyes holding not even a hint of smugness or superiority. Those sharp features pulled together into what could be interpreted as a small bit of approval. Just a smidge. Nothing too inflate his ego or anything. Black hair tied up in an oddly familiar tight bun. Carefully fully looking closer, he was pretty sure that was the same business suit she wore that night.

'Or is it really?'

Whether or not it was real, he had no way of knowing for now.

"Is learning how to do that included in the deal?"

The question was half in jest and half with a degree of seriousness. Having something so powerful would surely make things so much easier in any future case going forward. Hell, it would even completely eliminate his need to use make-up to disguise himself. It would allow him to become so much more reckless in everyday life, to the point where he was sure he could just walk down the street after pissing off some gang-members without a care in the world.

"No." It was immediate, a clear refusal that told him she would be completely unwilling to even negotiate on this. "Even if I wanted to teach it, you wouldn't be able to use it."

Albert could only nod regrettably, it was worth the try after all. He couldn't blame her either, such a charm would be considered a trump card for someone like him but still, a private investigator could dream, right?

Taking a moment to orientate himself, a glance around was enough to shake himself out of his stupor. Placed before each seat, an array of dishes were placed. A single small, sauce plate of sorts supported a ceramic bowl with a pattern inked along it's lip. Besides that, a spoon with a rather wide handle and a flat bottom laid carefully atop neatly folded napkin.

Looking around further, he took notice of every occupant sitting as still as statues. Their eyes trained not on him but on the matriarch at the head of the table. Each of their unique personalities and ticks nowhere in sight.

'That's a bit creepy.'

Madame Clements took extra care to lock eyes with every woman before moving on with a nod, before she inevitably landed on Albert's. Her hand hovering over the still steaming lid.

"When I was a girl, my grandmother taught me how cook this out of a much too small shack in the slums in Sophi Pir. A small village in Cambodia." The tone was reverent and fond, in complete opposition to her somewhat crass way of speaking. "We didn't have much but she always made sure I was properly fed. We didn't have this dish often, it was usually only reserved for special occasions. This dish is called…"

And with an air of gravitas, she lifted the lid. Instantly filling the room in a rich aroma. A meaty scent slammed into him, spicy and sweet. A slight hint of coconut assailed him but other than that, the rest of the ingredients was lost to him. Drool filled his maw, a stomach that had subsisted on nothing but cheap and greasy food growled with an intensity that normally would've made him look around twice.

But for now? His gaze was locked on the bubbling, red stew of sorts shredded pieces of chicken bobbing up to the surface. Bits of potato danced, sliced eggplants rolled and chopped onions hid just beneath. And of course, he couldn't forget about the long beans that stretched across the bottom.

"Khmer Red Curry," A small shadow of a smile quirked at her lips. "Or better known by the outside world as Cambodian Chicken Red Curry."

The table collectively gulped in the unison, their noses hammered into submission by the simple deliciousness before them. The madame gently stirred the pot, her eyes sharpening into a razor sharp points.

"Laurel." Her husky voice shattered the woman's dazed expression and just like before, she was upright and too attention. "There's a pot of rice in the kitchen, go get it for us."

For a moment, a mere instance something resembling the acidic personality revealed itself to still be present. Like some sort of shark bobbing itself to the surface. And in the moment, he honestly thought she would lash out or at least whine and complain. Something, anything to show that poisonous attitude wasn't just in his head. But just like the apex predator of the deep, it too dipped back beneath the waves.

"Of course."

Visibly swallowing back whatever she truly wanted to say in response, the small women stood up and disappeared down the oh so dark hallway. As her form disappeared, the madame turned back to Albert.

"It can be eaten without rice but it's about a couple times better with it." The words went in one ear and out the other, the simply divine aroma preforming it's enchanting dance. Maybe not paying attention to what his host was saying could be considered rude but, come on! This would be his second home cooked meal since coming to this world. Sure, some of the more iconic spots around Gotham were absolutely delicious but everyone could tell the difference between that and something home cooked. And frankly, he was tired of it. Tired of eating nothing but cheap instant meals that could be found at dingy convenience stores. Tired of heating up a pot of water just to eat some overly salty ramen. Sick of eating baloney sandwiches, no matter how he dressed it up.

And if he was being even more honest with himself, that being his diet wasn't just because of his dwindling funds. Laziness played an even greater than anything else. Nothing was stopping him from buying a dollar bag of pasta and a can of tomato sauce to make a quick spaghetti meal. Simple seasoning is also dirt cheap, so the price itself wasn't the only problem.

To make it worse, he knew how to cook from his past life. Not well or really anything to write home about but just enough to be edible. It was a consequence of living alone and realizing exactly how expensive it was to eat out every single day in even a rather unknown city in America.

Him eating the way he was, to the determent of his body, was ultimately due to his own lack of trying in the end.

'Maybe it'll be fine for now, but in the long run I'll need to start eating better. Especially with Harley training me.'

It would just mean setting aside some more time everyday to actually using his kitchen instead of abusing that poor, overworked microwave.

"I knew some people who ate it with this type of short baguette called Num Pang, just used it as a make shift spoon to soak everything up." Her 'brown' eyes bore in his, piercing through layers with the ease of a hot knife through butter. "There'll be plenty left over, I'll be sure to send you home with some."

Albert knew what he looked like, no matter how nice looking his clothes might be they still hung off his body in a way that made it clear they were clearly second hand. His incredibly skinny frame and slight hollowness to his cheeks, spoke of levels of malnutrition that would simply take a good few months of healthy eating to alleviate the signs. If his skin was dirty, it wouldn't be a stretch to mistake him for a street rat….Now he only looked like a recovering rat.

Normally, he would have tried to politely decline before inevitably accepting the offer but with how delicious everything smelt, it simply wasn't up for debate. Hell, he probably would've been asking to take a bowel home either way.

"Thank you."

Turning down good food simply wasn't in his nature. Nodding slight, the madame continued to stir. Her eyes glazing over as memories flickered just beneath the surface, frankly it reminded him a lot of how his grandparents acted whenever something in the past held them. Sometimes good, sometimes bad but no matter what, it was always melancholic.

"We'll talk business after everyone's done eating."

It was that moment, he could hear labored foot steps shuffling their way and a few scant seconds later, Laurel stepped through the doorway with a large pot filled to the brim with fluffy white rice. A large plume of steam billowing off the top.

'When did rice smell so good?'

With how cheap and easy to cook rice was, maybe it would do him some good to involve it in his diet. The pot landed on the table with a heavy thump, a light sheen of sweat covering the brunette's forehead. So upclose, he could only look up at the solid metal, tall pot. He was sure he would be up to his forearm if he even tried to scrape at the bottom.

"Thank you Laurel." Madame Clements nodded once to the woman, before snatching up a random bowl and depositing a hefty portion of rice. Following it up with a massive ladle full of bright crimson curry over the top.

One didn't need to be a private investigator to know this was going to be good.

***

'I was wrong. Oh so very wrong.'

Albert was man enough to admit it. Simply calling that meal 'good' could be considered an insult of the highest order. It was divine, maybe even above that. To the point that he had even engorged himself with two additional helpings even though he was starting to feel full from just the second serving. He couldn't help it, the first bite was that was needed to fall head first into that particular trap.

The mix of spices, and coconut, a fruit he could usually do without, mixed so well together with the shredded chicken that none of it mattered in the end. And don't even get him started on the incredibly fluffy rice.

Now there was, warmth filling his belly and sleep calling to him. He was sure if this was his home, he probably would've already fallen asleep in his chair. The air was warm, lights were just bright enough to see everything in the room and the cushion was soft.

'I've slept in worse places.'

But sadly, no matter how much he wanted to drift off to dream land this was still a business meeting of sorts...at-least that's what he thought until he looked around at faces equally as satisfied as he felt. Contentment suffused the room and it even seem like even they wanted to take a nap somewhere. Honestly, the only person who didn't look contented was Madame Clements. Her lips turned down into a frown as she put down the oddly shaped spoon, glancing down he noticed her dish only barely halfway empty in comparison to everyone else's bowls being nearly licked clean. Maybe it should've caused warning signals to fire off in his head, but for now that more paranoid part of his brain was silent. More drowned out by the sheer levels of contentment oozing out of every one of his pores.

"It didn't need that much garlic." The madame murmured, an artist would truly only ever see the flaws in their work in seemed. It was truly the curse of creators everywhere. "Next time, more curry paste. And maybe cook the eggplant for a little bit less time."

From how fond she was of her grandmother, it seemed that those memories had become an insurmountable goal in her head. An ever moving goalpost that took great joy in tormenting the foolish person trying their best to reach. Maybe the dish didn't match up to her grandmother's cooking but it had to have been the best tasting food Albert's ever had since coming to this world.

Don't get him wrong, Harley's brisket was great with some barbecue sauce on the side but even she would have bow down to the this culinary master piece.

"Let's talk." Madame Clements cleared her throat, the sound shaking off the covering of sleep that threatened to overtake him. And with an effort of will, he straightened himself to attention. It was time to get serious it seemed. "First, I should tell you. That number you used is old and I don't even want to know how you got your hands on it. I just want you to promise not to share it with anyone else."

'Damn Jeremiah,' His mind instantly went back to the genial coffee shop owner and that rather smug smile from that day he first handed over that card. It had looked rather worn in the moment but honestly, he hadn't paid any further attention after using the number.

"I can agree to that." It wasn't a big favor or anything. Something so minor and simple that it would be rude to decline, especially after they had been so gracious to feed him.

"Good." She nodded once before continuing. "Secondly, I've noticed how you used our services. I run an escort company, not a talent agency. It's been rather novel to have some of my girl's skills be put to use by someone other than me."

"It was a nice change of pace." The woman absentmindedly stirred her own bowl. "I usually only cook for my girls and maybe the occasional business partner, I kind of forgot what it was like to cook for someone completely unrelated to this side of life. Noah is doing well, encase you were wondering. He's a nice boy, lonely but nice. He just needs to talk people, that's all. He's nowhere near ready to anything more intimate than just talking."

The name felt familiar, very much so. A flash of a metallic canister, rope and a bag entered his mind.

'The groundskeeper.' The case of Marian Gran was his first interaction with the supernatural elements in this world and he honestly didn't think he'll ever forget anything involving her, especially not with that broach affixed to his collar. The man had reminded himself a lot of how he was nearing the end of his life, his despair resonant in a way that spoke clearly to someone who went through with their exit plans.

After everything was said and done with putting Marian Gran to rest, he honestly hadn't thought to check up on anyone else involved. Not the murderer's son, nor the framed student.

'Maybe I should do a visit? Or atleast look them up or something.'

It was a blind-spot he intended to cover.

"But enough of that, let's get to as to why you're here." She pushed her bowl forward, resting her chin on clasped fingers. "There isn't a lot in this city that I'm not aware of, especially when the supernatural is involved. I was made aware of your status as a Psychometrist the moment you walked out of the Order's office. I'm pretty sure anyone whose anyone knows by now."

That was...rather concerning to say the least. He knew his status would eventually enter the ears of a majority of the magical community but for it to happen so fast? Yeah, this women certainly must have some heavy sway. At least in Gotham.

"I can't say that doesn't freak me out a bit.."

"Even if you had tried keeping it hidden, it still would've gotten out one way or another." Madame Clements shrugged. "Secrets are truly the hardest things to keep in a world where sight isn't limited to eyes alone."

"I guess?"

There were plenty of things he would rather keep close to his heart but with telepaths walking around, it certainly wouldn't be long before those very secrets are plucked from his head with the ease of taking candy from a baby.

"With how new you are to all this, there will be people who will want to take advantage of you. After all, it's impossible to hide secrets from objects. I'm no different when it comes to this but I'm also willing to provide you with some benefits to not completely screw you over."

"Why not?" It was a burning question he needed to know, this was Gotham. People doing something out of the kindness in their hearts was rare and honestly shouldn't be taking lightly. This city devoured kindness and spat out bitterness. "I don't think it'll be hard to force me to work for you?"

"Sure I could." She agreed readily enough, not even blinking at how terrifying her words truly were. "I could force you to work for me and make an absolute fortune. But that's for now. What'll happen in a few years? Five? Ten? Twenty? A few decades? Psychometrist are just too valuable to outright get rid of, meaning you could become a rather painful thorn in my side for the rest of my life. It's just better to come to a mutually beneficial agreement to avoid all that."

The women spoke of decades in a similar fashion as others would say weeks. And honestly, it was a bit chilling. This wasn't some opportunist, that would wring him dry for all he was worth before tossing him aside as an item reader. But instead person who played the long haul.

"What do you have in mind?"

"Simple," Madame Clements leaned back in her chair, motioning to the women sitting around with rather somber expressions on their faces. "I'll act as your broker for any interested parties that wish for you to provide a reading. We'll properly vet them to make sure your safety is assured, with a fee on our part. Let's say fifteen percent on every commission backed by us. If the party in question only trades a singular item, we can provide a monetary value equaling to your share."

Honestly, he had expected a much worse off deal. Maybe something a lot more predatory than that. But what she said next flipped everything on it's head.

"I'll also throw in the expertise of my girls here. I believe you run a sort of detective agency? Every one of my girls here have unique set of skills that you would find quite useful. You already know Willow is highly trained with firearms but she's also a very, very skilled unarmed combatant."

The tall women let out a small smile under the praise, her mane bouncing as she nodded once in silent agreement.

"Alder here," With that, the blonde waved her hand in greetings. "Is what you would call an underground doctor. She can patch up wounds, realign bones and even stapled your organs back in place. She also has a steady hand for emergency surgery if it came down to it."

"Cedar," It was strange not seeing the previously fidgety woman anywhere insight, leaving only a blank faced ethereal beauty with not even a single hair out of line. "Can get you anywhere you need to be. There are few people I trust to speed through traffic and get me out on the other side in one piece."

"And finally," Here Madame Clements motioned to the now visibly simmering brunette who honestly looked as though she would rather be anywhere other than there. "Laurel knows her way around the law, an attorney to get you out of any legal bind your work might find your-"

"No!" Laurel tried, and he could she tried to keep it under control but that must've been all she was willing to hear. Shooting up to her feet, she glared down at the teen with a degree of venom and hostility reserved only for the most dangerous of vipers in the animal kingdom. "I refuse to help some associated with that...thing! I don't even know why you even want to work with someone like him, he's absolute fucking scum! How you haven't put a bullet between his beady eyes, I don't know! How can you all just sit there and-"

"You can leave." The madame said coolly but even he could hear the silent fury just beneath the surface. Not to be outdone, Laurel didn't back down in the slightest and only glared heatedly once more in his direction before storming out of the room. Her stomping footsteps clear in the silent room. It was few moments later after they all heard a door slam from above did she continue to speak as though nothing had happened. "She can provide legal assistance and I'll also pay up to fifty-thousand dollars in bail if required...this will need to be paid back of course. But in exchange for providing you all this, you will forever be bared from asking for some of their more explicit services. Not just until you turn eighteen but even after that. You'll be working closely with a lot of the people here, so you can see why we wouldn't want to cross that particular line. You don't need to provide an answer now, just mull it over for a week or so and then just call."