s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/3a/7..Dr. Malacoda Zatanna
The Gotham Opera House
The hour mark had been met, and the gilded insides of the famed Gotham opera house filled with the soft respite from the previous chaos - and Malacoda could not resist the soft smile that graced his face. While his eyes remained closed, his fingers patted softly on his lap as he followed the ministrations of the Gotham Philharmonic. He was lost in the music - utterly sublime as these masters of the art spun forth gold through nothing but string, and brass and friction. This was Liszt though… and this was the Faust Symphony - and before such a thing as redemption could be humored - dissonance resurfaced! There it was. The build! Not even two minutes before - BAM! Crescendo!
It took him a moment to realize that there had actually been a blast - and his eyes slowly opened - his ears twitching at the now uncoordinated shrill screams of people attempting to flee the area - and the nazaly chatter of a green clad fellow on the stage - clearly seen from his private box set to the upper left of it.
“What flies without wings? Answer: Time - Which all of you will have very little of should you not sit down right now - and move the goods to the sides - Jewels, money - the works!” He paraded about the stage, swinging his cane around - unawares of the dark brown eyes following his movements.
Malacoda sighed and started to take off his watch - he was sure they would come collect it soon enough anyway - when he noticed the primary violinist rush forwards, in a valorous act of bravery and stupidity - trying to tackle and restrain The Riddler - which, despite the boy being curiously muscular - failed miserably - as the green clad man moved faster than anticipated and amputated his wannabe attacker’s hand. The young violinist fell to the ground, whimpering - while The Riddler picked up the discarded appendage -
”THEY (Pointing to the audience)
have been giving you a hand for most of the evening - Perhaps you should now return the favor!” - and with that he threw the hand into the audience - which got a few screams out of them before they quieted down once more.
Malacoda looked at the boy, his face red - clearly crying while his eyes were locked onto where now was a bleeding stump at the end of his arm. He knew he was not a very passionate person, but he could feel his heartbreak at the sheer waste - at the loss of potential. He was so good… if only he had not been so stupid as to try anything that reckless… He did not seem to notice his teeth crunching together and his knuckles turning white as he gripped his velvet covered seat. Where was the Batma… Oh wait. They were gone. Dammit.
“SIT DOWN! - We’ll get to you in a moment.” Malacoda returned to himself, and found that the Riddler was looking at him - along with everyone else in the theatre - where he had stood up without his awareness. He took a deep breath, and his hands flew up - gesturing out over the entire theatre - before he spoke in a clear, deep voice.
“TEL EHT SLEWEJ OUY OS ERISED, NIARTSER UOY EKIL ROUY DEERG” - a bit dramatic but easily enough done with some augmentation with his telekinesis. He watched as the diamond necklaces and bangles entangled the thugs, securing them in place, before picking up his umbrella - and floating down to where the riddler stood - seemingly unsure and unprepared for any sort of resistance. His panicked eyes flicked to the now quiet violinist on the floor - and made to reach for him - but his hands stopped in mid air as Malacoda landed a few feet away.
“SA ROF OUY, DNATS EREHT DNA DUALPPA RIEHT TCA LLIT RUOY SDNAH DEELB!” Malacoda’s face remained impassive as the riddler turned towards the still paralysed orchestra - and started applauding them, while his face was filled with rage.
When he was sure that the man was secured in place, he crouched down and gently took the still bleeding arm of the violinist. With his free hand he reached behind him, and the hand that lay by the feet of one of the audience members gently flew into his hand. Without turning around, he said loudly - “
I hope one of you had called the GCPD by now.” Frowning when he heard them fluttering about behind him, everyone trying to be the first. He turned his eyes to the man in front of him, whose eyes in turn were still red and wide.
“I can’t guarantee that it will be as good as it was before… but I beg you - please do not give up on your talent. You were exquisite… and you can remain so.” The boy nodded shakily looking to where Malacoda had been pressing the hand against the stump - before he started whispering. After a few minutes the skin started to meld back together, before eventually the limb started moving slightly - and a crack was heard - coming from Malacoda’s ring. The boy smiled and grabbed his arm back, flexing his hand - and when he looked up - to thank his saviour - he could only see an exhausted face for a moment, before it disappeared in a flash of light
Back at his home, Malacoda stumbled over to his bed.
“Gods… three spells and I am thoroughly done - and one was a prepared ritual” - he looked to his ring, which now held a single cracked diamond - symbolizing three months worth of work, and a very delicate spell that could theoretically have saved anyone from the brink of death - wasted on a fucking severed palm! He groaned loudly -
“I need to work on my stamina…” He said this as he fell into his bed, and was within moments out for the count. His last thought was - I need to find Zatanna.