Ratcatcher (Gotham OC)

6: To Be Neighbourly

Heaving for breaths through the metallic taste of his mouth, his ankle throbbing like it had a heartbeat of its own, Otis let out a groan of both pain and annoyance.

Not even the bulge of the many notes in his pockets could calm him. He ripped a hundred dollar bill in two with gritted teeth, then realised what he just did and resorted to hugging his knees, blood-stained chin on his thumping chest.

He stayed like that in the dark alleyway for a while, confident that he was far enough away from the crime scene. His bag lay open at his feet and the contents scampered up his legs, some sitting on his shoulders and others on his shoes. Their concerned little sniffs at him were anything but comforting, and had Otis had the heart he would've sprung to his feet and shook them all away.

Once his breathing returned to a normal rate, he hauled himself back up. His damaged ankle felt stiff and bruised to lean on, but other than that, he felt he could manage alright.

He bent down, stuffing every creature he could back in the bag. They squeaked in protest, stamping their little feet. One even jumped back out, running up his arm and around the back of his neck where he couldn't reach it. It tugged at the collar of his coat, trying to communicate.

"Get back in," he ordered. "I don't have time for this."

But still the rat kept pestering, tapping and pulling at the coat.

"What?" he demanded.

It squeaked, nose twitching.

"What do you mean?"

Another squeak.

Otis shot a glare, though he couldn't see the rat and vice versa. "I swear to God, if you've..."

He waited to finish the sentence, the rat running back down his sleeve and finally hopping into the bag. He threw off his coat and examined it. The sleeves and the front seemed fine, if a little grubby and chewed. He turned it and gasped.

Near the left shoulder was a large tear right through the material, nothing able to be stitched back up without it being left noticeable.

He wasn't exactly a well-kempt person, but at least his clothes were all intact. Well, until now.

"Thanks a bunch," he spat to the bag.

His last victim had panicked when it was opened, pulling out a knife in retaliation. Had Otis been alone, Leo easily would've been able to slit his throat and flee, but it didn't exactly go to plan.

After a couple of missing swipes, Leo's hand was bitten hard and he was forced to drop the knife with a cry of pain. Otis ended up with the weapon himself with the help of one of his accomplices, clambering up his leg to give it to him with the handle between his teeth.

The victim must have managed to slash the back of his coat before the weapon was snatched.

He'd wanted to leave the second he saw the glint of the blade, to turn on his heel and run as fast in the opposite direction as humanely possible, but he knew the rats wouldn't let him. He had the ability to make them obey his every command, but over the past few weeks they seemed to have gained the same power over him.

With a slight limp, he stormed out of the alley, tying the sleeves of his coat around the bag. It looked a little silly, but the idea of wearing it again simply embarrassed him.

Besides, it covered the hidden rodents inside nicely.

Speaking of the devils, at least four of them made noises a few minutes into the walk, barely audible but in clear unison. Though unable to see anything, they knew by the route their owner was taking that he wasn't heading back to their hidden entrance to the sewers, a place they'd all usually be at that time.