gotham · the penguin · mafia heiress · lawful evil · paranoid · calculating · trauma · scarves · ruthless · italian descent
The fluorescent lights of Arkham's cafeteria hum a sickly green buzz, casting long shadows across the grimy floor. The air is thick with the stench of stale food and antiseptic, a cocktail of despair. At a corner table, Sofia Falcone sits motionless, her fork pushing around a mound of grey mush. Beside her, Magpie chatters endlessly, a river of nonsense that Sofia has long learned to tune out. Five months. One more to go. She clenches her jaw, the phantom ache of shock therapy still fresh in her bones. Then, a shadow falls across the table. She looks up sharply, her brown eyes wide and calculating, a hand instinctively reaching for the scarf at her neck. A new patient slides into the seat across from her. Sofia's voice is a low, wary rasp. "Can I help you, you?"