As always, both comic book logic and crazy sex fantasy rules are in effect.
*****
When her mind wasn't filled with thoughts of revenge, occasionally Paige Monroe had a few moments to think. It was easy to look back to all the people who had scorned her or to look forward to her bloody revenge. Both were easier than staying in the present, because the present held all kinds of uncomfortable questions.
For example: why had she spent the last two hours crouched inside a giant bust of George Washington?
But Calendar Girl couldn't let herself think that. If she did, she might start asking why she felt the need to dress up in holiday-related costumes to take elaborate revenge on the people in the modeling industry who had jilted her. If she thought about it too long, eventually it almost seemed like
she
was the one who was crazy.
Things were going to turn around soon, though - she had a good feeling about today. Admittedly, Presidents Day was not the most dramatic holiday for a vengeful attack, but that was exactly why it would take everyone by surprise.
Everything was perfectly planned. The gala would begin and that bitch Donna Day would walk out on stage. That was when the giant bust of George Washington would crack open and she could leap into action. The three hunks that served as her enforcers would have hidden themselves in the audience and would immediately restrain any guards in attendance. Her hat would shoot fireworks, distracting everyone, and after capturing her target she would leap through the giant flag and disappear into the night. Everything would be perfect.
She needed it to go perfectly. Life had been rough lately. Where Gotham had once been filled with wacky crimes and costumed criminals, now everything was brutal muggings, not to mention the rapes and murders.
The Penguin's domain was safer than most, allowing for some semblance of high society to exist within the fragile order. That was why she'd continued operating there, where everyone she needed to take revenge on could still prance around in comfort. But even here, no one had any time or patience for her vendetta and didn't even treat her threats as if they were worthy of respect. It was all so gritty it was starting to wear on her.
Not that life had been easy before Gotham had become a crapsack world. Paige had felt like everything was going to hell for a long time. Darker and nastier every day, all the way back to when her star had fallen and she'd become the hideous has-been she was today. Well, she'd show them. She'd show them all.
Unfortunately, showing them all meant waiting for a very long time in almost complete darkness to eventually make her entrance. Most people didn't appreciate just how much effort dramatic entrances took. She might have lost her beauty, but she hadn't lost her flare. She could afford to suffer a little to get things right. This was nothing compared to Christmas, where she'd been stuck inside an oversized candy cane for half a day because the event she'd meant to crash was delayed on account of snow.
Next time, though, she really should plan better. Fortunately, she had a lot of time to prepare for the next one. She'd lost her last contract in September, so... wait, what day of the week would that be? Despite her name, she didn't have the calendar memorized for every year. But she had a bad feeling that it might be on the exact date...
Oh God, what if her only chance to take revenge was on Labor Day? What on Earth could she do then? Have a costume that wasn't white? Set up some kind of fake parade? And she'd need to get entirely new weapons custom-made... what, some kind of exploding hammer? No, that would just confuse things further. She should check if the holiday had any real symbol...
Abruptly the music started and Paige jolted back to the present. Yes, it was the march, the gala was already underway. She checked her top hat and flag weapons a few more times, just to be sure. Though there was no way of seeing out of the bust, she could just hear the people on stage - after all, it wouldn't do to appear after a thematically inappropriate line.
What was going on, though? The people didn't sound like they were enjoying themselves at the gala, there was some kind of argument. When she heard a glass shattering, Paige decided that she'd had enough. There was no way she was going to let something else upstage her, not after waiting so long.
Paige secured her mask one more time and then burst from the presidential forehead, plaster shattering in all directions. She gripped the brim of her colorful tophat and began to set off the fireworks as everyone turned to look at her.
"Hope you voted early, because I've
elected
your doom! I'll-" A gunshot tore through her hat, destroying the fireworks mechanism and knocking away her powdered wig.
She fell back on the stage, half-deaf from the sound and the shock. Now that she could see more clearly, a shocking number of people in the audience were poorly dressed... and well-armed. Paige realized with slow horror that most of them weren't attending the gala at all: they were robbing it. They had the nerve to interrupt her vengeance?
Her anger was cut off when a gun barrel thumped against her chest. A thickly-built man leered at her, pushing her another step backward with his gun. "Another costumed crime fighter, are ya? They're droppin' like flies lately."
"I'm... I'm not a crime fighter!" Calendar Girl clenched her fists at her sides. "I was here to take revenge!"
"And you thought that required a fancy costume and some kind of ridiculous theme?" The gangster laughed unpleasantly. "Well, reality is about to bitch slap you across the face... bitch. This isn't the old Gotham anymore."
Paige bit her lip beneath her mask and stared out over the gala. The remaining elites of Gotham were being herded into a corner as all their valuables were stolen. A few girls were being felt up, and even though the idea horrified Paige, part of her was sad that she was no longer beautiful enough to be considered, even by these thugs.
"Let's get that mask off, shall we?"
"No!" She screamed and pulled back, but the thug tapped her chest again. The man grasped for her mask - and then another shot cracked through the air.
The gun skittered across the stage and Paige turned to see one of her hunks with his own weapon raised. He looked ridiculous standing shirtless next to all the gangsters - good, but ridiculous. Though the thug near her massaged his hand, he only grinned again.
"That's some fancy trick shooting. But you shoulda put the bullet in my head."
Abruptly another thug hit her subordinate from behind, driving him to his knees. A gun touched the back of his skull, the hammer cocked, and Paige knew that they wouldn't hesitate for an instant to kill him. He was just an employee, not someone she cared about, yet Paige realized that she couldn't let him die. That wasn't who she was... and that was why she couldn't survive in this new Gotham.
"Unless you wanna see his brains blown all over the floor, let's get those clothes off. You look damn fine in that skin-tight outfit, but I think you'd look even better without it."
Her other two subordinates were frozen by the side of the stage, unable to do anything against the drawn gun. Paige considered the weapons she had on her and realized they were all too slow. She was absolutely helpless, and that broke her. Even in this, she was just too old...
