41. Gotham: Really?
49.
Judging by Aria's proficiency in glowing, this couldn't be her first day wearing the ring. So far, she hadn't experienced nausea, vomiting, or significant hair loss, indicating the ring's harmful effects were manageable.
Lincoln March didn't actually think it was radioactive metal. With so many tech companies thronging Gotham, who knows, this ring could be a stray sample from one of them. Even if it wasn't a company-made item, given the constant mad scientist and evil psychiatrist presence in Gotham, finding anything seemed unsurprising.
But he would definitely buy a Geiger counter when he got back, Lincoln March thought with a smile.
…
Aria opened her equipment bar and took out more than twenty crab pots.
In order to avoid shocking the other party again, the farmer thoughtfully put on a show - she deliberately ran to a place where Lincoln March couldn't see her to take something out, making him think that the crab pots had been placed there a long time ago. This way he didn't have to ask her or explain, which was much more convenient for both of them.
"These are for you." She gave half to Lincoln. "Just place them along this sewer. Remember not to place them too far apart, or it will be difficult to put them away."
Of course, the farmer hadn't forgotten to bring the worm meat—she'd painstakingly chopped it out with her sword while mining! And only when the worm meat was made into bait and put into the crab cage would the cage yield anything the next day.
Because the insect meat will take up a separate slot in the backpack after being turned into bait, she usually only carries the insect meat with her and makes it on the spot when she arrives at the place where it is needed.
Lincoln March watched her pull out a bloody lump of flesh from her bag and punch it. In just a few punches, the unappetizing lump of meat was turned into five small strips of meat: "..."
Aria held out her hand, about to give him five pieces of bait: "Come on, take it."
Lincoln March couldn't dodge in time, and the bait landed easily in his palm. The residual warmth from it didn't make him feel any better, but only exacerbated the nausea. It didn't feel like something dead, but rather warm, like it had just come from a slaughterhouse.
He'd killed before, so he knew this couldn't be human flesh. He'd eaten meat before, so he could tell it wasn't the kind of animal meat you'd find in a kitchen. But that eliminated all other options, making the origins of the bait even more confusing.
Lincoln hadn't meant to ask, but his tongue betrayed his master: "...What kind of meat is this?"
"Worm meat." The woman's expression made him feel like he had asked a stupid question: "If not worms, what can we use for fishing?" Thinking that people in the city might use various fish feeds mixed together to make bait, he explained a few more words: "The worms where we have are fatter, so the meat that comes out is also... bigger." Just kidding, she was catching flies and maggots that were as tall as a person. If she couldn't even produce this little, that would be a big problem.
According to the system description, this piece of meat is "tender and juicy," and in extreme cases, it can be made into insect meat chunks for players to eat in an emergency. However, judging by Lincoln March's already subtle expression, it's better not to explain it in too much detail.
The water in the sewer was flowing slowly. Aria threw the crab cage into the water. It sank for a few seconds and then floated up again near the shore. The farmer opened the cage door and threw in a piece of bait - after that, he could just come back to harvest it the next day.
Lincoln March endured the sticky and soft feeling and followed Aria's example to lower the dozen cages assigned to him - this thing was more magical than he had imagined. There was nothing tied to it, but after being thrown into the water, it could float on the surface without being carried away by the current. He silently noted this while working, and he did a pretty good job.
Aria saw his expression becoming more and more appreciative, and Lincoln March knew that he was already halfway to success.
The sticky and soft meat didn't stick to his hands at all. It looked the same before and after the bait was put in, and Lincoln didn't know whether he should wipe it off.
To be on the safe side, he took out the handkerchief he carried with him - the handkerchief that was originally used for decoration was torn into two by him, and the other half was given to Aria.
"Are you really planning to use these to catch crayfish?" He didn't believe she would go to so much trouble just for a few crayfish that he didn't know if they even existed - after all, the environment in Gotham's sewers was quite harsh, and except for Killer Croc, no ordinary creature could survive there.
Lincoln March is more inclined to believe that Aria wants to use these things to inspect Gotham's sewers, and the crab cage may just be a cover. As the bodyguard of the new mayor Lewis, her actions in themselves represent part of Lewis's inclinations - whether they want to take action against Killer Croc and his underground henchmen, or want to promise some benefits to recruit Killer Croc - Lewis has become a thorn in everyone's eyes as soon as he takes office, and he must want to find some forces to provide some protection for himself.
But...if that was the case, why would she do this in front of him? He didn't believe in excuses like trust. Trust in Gotham was as fragile as the first ice on a lake in November. There must be some deeper reason that he didn't know yet that drove her to do this.
"The work is done." Looking at a string of crab cages, Aria clapped her hands, feeling quite accomplished: "Let's go eat! Do you have any restaurant recommendations?" Except for the last dinner, she had never had a proper meal outside.
Aria didn't have high requirements, she just hoped that the restaurant they would go to later would not be like the Iceberg Restaurant.
…
Today's dinner invitation was unexpected, but with Lincoln March's connections, he quickly found a great seat in a hard-to-get restaurant.
Gotham has never lacked stories and people who create them. Even a Michelin three-star restaurant has recently adopted a Gotham theme. The waiter, wearing a mask imitating a masked superhero, handed the menu to the two with a smile.
The menu had a black background with appetizers, main courses, and desserts handwritten in gilded cursive in order. The last page listed various drinks. Unlike other restaurants, these items all had the same names as regulars in Gotham newspapers - from the Riddler to Harley Quinn, from the Penguin to Catwoman, basically covering most of the Arkham Asylum celebrity list.
"This month is Gotham theme month," the waiter explained. "The chef has creatively adapted the menu to suit the theme. Would you like me to give you a detailed introduction?"
Aria flipped through the black and gold menu. She wasn't familiar with most of the names, but there was one that caught her eye at the very top.
Batman.
Seeing the name, some unpleasant memories flooded into the farmer's mind. She was stunned for two seconds, and her hesitation was misinterpreted by the waiter. He explained attentively, "This dish is truffle mashed potatoes with Angus beef. The whole dish is based on black - black is the representative color of Gotham, and it is also the color of urban ghosts."
The waiter winked. "This dish is perfect for a lady like you who is curious about Gotham. Of course, if you want to have a little wine, it would also pair perfectly with the special drink called 'Dark Knight'."
Truffles from anywhere else are not as good as those produced on her own farm. The farmer really wants to sell the other party the high-quality black truffles produced on her farm - pollution-free and harmless, all truffles are found by the pigs living happily on the farm, and each truffle is only 625 gold!
But her barn hadn't been upgraded yet, so she wasn't even close to being able to raise sheep, let alone piglets. Aria dejectedly flipped through the menu and decided not to try the black truffles that reminded her of her sad memories.
"I have another question." After randomly naming a few names, she handed the menu back to the waiter: "Do you have Batman's authorization to make this?" If Batman had a company, he might even sue the restaurant into bankruptcy.
Probably because few customers asked questions in this regard, the waiter paused for more than ten seconds before finding a proper answer: "Actually, Batman is just a legend in Gotham, miss."
Although there are rumors that Batman has authorized things like his portrait rights to the Justice League, the Justice League has never released any Batman-related peripherals.
Furthermore, the people of Gotham firmly believe that Batman must be some kind of non-human or human-monster hybrid, otherwise there is no way to explain why he always appears out of nowhere, always escapes from the siege of the mentally ill in Arkham Asylum, and saves Gotham time and time again - some boring tabloids have counted the number of times Batman was photographed injured, and the few obvious injuries alone are enough to make an adult man lie in the ICU for the rest of his life.
The possibility that Batman is not human is much greater than the probability that he will become rich overnight - since he is not human, he is naturally not protected by the law, and Gotham can portray him however it wants.
However, considering that the customer might be a Batman fan, the waiter did not rattle off a long list of theories. He chose another approach: "Of course, this dish also has another name, taken from a poem by Wislawa Szymborska..."
"Black Song." Lincoln March closed the menu. He had felt uneasy since he came in and saw the decorations, but his excellent emotional control helped him hide these differences. "Their dishes are actually the same as before, they just changed the name to suit the occasion."
Even after being exposed by a regular customer, the waiter still smiled: "...Yes, yes, Mr. March is as sharp as ever."
Aria felt embarrassed for him. After the waiter left, she lowered her voice and said, "Next time, just tell me about this kind of thing in secret. I feel like his toes are about to dig through the floor."
Lincoln March remained calm: "You like Batman?"
"Is everything okay?" Some people were more familiar with him—Killer Croc was her friend, and Penguin was probably the owner of the Iceberg Restaurant. Others could guess based on their names—Poison Ivy was probably related to plants, perhaps a specialist in growing specialty crops, and the Riddler probably spoke in sarcastic tones and liked to play with abstractions. As for Batman, the farmer only remembered him because...
"He's a great fighter, and he makes a great appearance." While she was a little annoyed by the interruption of Justice, he seemed to have a good reputation in Gotham. The lack of a health bar suggested he was probably a good guy. "He does a lot of good things in Gotham, so it's normal for someone to like him."
Lincoln's smile was fleeting: "...Really?"
————————
Truffle mashed potatoes with Angus beef is the dish that represents Bruce Wayne in the real DC joint restaurant.
Regarding the song about black, there is a poem that I think is inexplicably suitable for Gotham. I’ll post it here.
The saxophone plays non-stop, letting itself go/It has its own way of playing, no lyrics/No one can guess the future/No one is sure of the past/It plays a black song/The listener's mind is in a dormant state/The dancers dance face to face, but someone suddenly falls to the ground/The dancers walk past him to the beat of the music/He can't see their knees clearly, their eyelids are pale/He can't hear the surrounding noise/Nor can he see the strange colors under the night sky/We don't need to be sad, because he is still alive/Maybe he drank too much/Is there blood or powder on his forehead/Nothing happened here/The person lying on the ground is an ordinary person/He fell, experienced this pain/He will get up by himself/But the dancers are still dancing happily/It's crowded because of the number of people/The air conditioner brought them coolness/The saxophone faces the small rose-colored lantern,
—and kept on blowing like a barking dog.
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