MOLLY THE MAID STORY PART 1

Selina Kyle strolled down a bustling London street, her heels clicking confidently against the cobblestones. She carried a few elegant shopping bags, with her maid Molly trailing a step behind, her expression a mix of annoyance and exhaustion. Molly, her Cockney accent thick, finally spoke up, her voice carrying a hint of impatience.

Molly: Are you done ye' shoppin', Miss Kyle?

Selina smirked, casting Molly a sidelong glance.

Selina: Not quite. I still need to pick up some cat food for my cats.

Molly let out a frustrated sigh, her tone turning sharper as they continued down the busy street.

Molly: You knah you're no' supposted 'o be 'ere in London! A criminal like you honestly, I don' even knah why Mr. Stark wan' you 'ere in 'he firs' place!

Selina's eyes narrowed, her easy smile vanishing as she stopped abruptly, her gaze turning cold.

Selina: Watch your tone, Molly. I don't owe you an explanation, or anyone else. And you'd do well to remember who you're talking to.

Molly's face flushed slightly, but she stood her ground, her eyes briefly flicking away in deference, though her muttered grumbling continued as they resumed walking.

Selina and Molly walk along the crowded London street, the murmur of voices and the clinking of shop bells filling the air. After a long pause, Selina turns her gaze toward Molly, her curiosity piqued.

Selina: Molly… how did you end up working for Alexander?

Molly raises an eyebrow, looking mildly annoyed by the question.

Molly: Wha' so in'erestin' abou' my pas'? You care now?

Selina smirks.

Selina: Nothing like that. I just want to know what led you to become his maid. You're tougher than most people I know.

Molly sighs, a trace of a bitter smile on her lips as memories come flooding back.

Molly: It's all a bit of a mess, luv. But it starts when I was a poor girl with no job…

-Years Ago-

A younger Molly walks down a narrow, dingy street, her head held low and her hands stuffed into the pockets of her worn coat. The road is littered with scraps of paper, and the windows of buildings are dusty and cracked. She finally reaches her home a small, dilapidated flat with peeling paint and broken steps.

As she steps inside, she barely has a second to breathe before something crashes against her head a glass bottle, empty but sharp. Molly staggers back, instinctively raising her hand to her forehead where a small trickle of blood forms. She lifts her gaze and sees her father, a burly, unkempt man, swaying slightly as he holds another beer bottle in his hand.

Father: You brat! Still can't find a job at all, can ya? Just as useless as ever!

Molly winces but says nothing, glancing to her mother, who sits silently at the kitchen table, eyes fixed blankly on a chipped mug in front of her, completely detached.

Young Molly: Mum…?

But her mother doesn't look up. She just stares, her silence as heavy as the broken glass scattered across the floor. Molly feels the sting of her father's anger and her mother's silence.

Molly slides down the door, her small frame crumpling as she sits against it, tears streaming down her cheeks. The room feels cold and empty, echoing the silent neglect from her mother and the harsh words from her father.

-Somewhere in part of Candem City-

The Camden Hotel is packed, the air thick with smoke and the loud cheers of the crowd gathered around the poker table. Alexander Stark sits calmly, his gaze focused on the cards in his hand, seemingly unaffected by the raucous energy surrounding him. Players and spectators alike are hurling taunts his way, urging him to lose.

Man in the Crowd: Come on, Stark! Quit stallin' an' lose already!

The crowd roars in agreement, a few people laughing and sneering, eager to see him falter. Across the table, a cocky, smirking player named Marky leans forward, tapping his cards on the table with a swagger.

Marky: You gonna lose, Stark!

Marky slaps his hand of cards down on the table with a flourish, revealing his cards. The crowd erupts in cheers for Marky, a chorus of "Yeah!" echoing across the room, while a few people boo Alexander, expecting him to fold.

But Alexander simply sits there, a small, amused smile creeping onto his face. He waits until the noise dies down, and then, without a word, lays down his own cards. The crowd falls silent, eyes widening as they take in his winning hand.

Alexander raises an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Alexander: You were all saying?

A hush sweeps over the crowd as they realize Marky has lost, the tables turned in an instant. Alexander leans back, collecting himself with a calm satisfaction, his voice casual yet firm.

Alexander: Looks like I won the gamble… so, if you don't mind, I'll be taking all of your chips.

The crowd watches in stunned silence as Alexander gathers the chips, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the frenzy that had filled the room just moments before.

As Alexander finishes gathering the chips, a sudden jolt disrupts the table. A man pushes Marky aside, sending him stumbling, and plants himself firmly in the seat across from Alexander, a serious, piercing gaze fixed on him. The crowd stirs, intrigued by the unexpected arrival.

Man: I fight you then?!

Alexander turns his gaze to the newcomer, eyebrow raised in curiosity and amusement.

Alexander: And who are you supposed to be?

The man leans forward, a smirk playing on his lips as he adjusts his mask, which obscures most of his face except for his intense eyes.

Man: Call me Rorschach. I came here to talk with you… while playing a bet.

The crowd shifts, intrigued by this unexpected challenger. Whispers ripple through the onlookers as they size up the man, trying to gauge whether he's a threat or just another player looking to stir trouble. Alexander leans back in his chair, crossing his arms, his expression a mixture of curiosity and caution.

Alexander: Talk? While betting? You have my attention, Rorschach. But what's the wager?

Rorschach's eyes glint with determination as he stares back at Alexander, undeterred.

Rorschach: We play for information. Winner gets to ask a question. You're in a world of secrets, Stark. Let's see what you're willing to reveal.

The tension thickens in the air, the crowd drawn into the moment, waiting to see if Alexander will accept this unusual proposal. He smirks, intrigued by the challenge.

Alexander: Alright, let's see what you've got. But remember, Rorschach… I don't play to lose.

-Back to Molly-

Molly sits at the small, rickety kitchen table, her bowl of cold porridge untouched in front of her. She stares into the distance, her mind drifting as she narrates her thoughts aloud, her voice barely above a whisper.

Molly: He only love I knah is goppin…

In the background, muffled moans drift through the thin walls of their cramped home, the sound mixing with the clatter of dishes and the laughter of neighbors. Molly's expression turns grim as she continues her narration, the weight of her words heavy.

Molly: The sound ov emp'y moans, mincers soaked in fil'hiness, we' skin 'i''in eacho'her. 'Ha' wha' love is?

She glances at her parents, who are oblivious to her presence, their focus lost in their own world of intoxication and disarray. A shudder runs through her as she mutters under her breath.

Molly: So filf'hy…

Minutes pass, the quiet of her thoughts shattered when suddenly, the front door bursts open. Her father stumbles in, rage etched across his features, and before she can react, he grabs her by the arm and drags her out onto the street.

Drunk Father: I dare you 'o say 'ha' again! You a dir'y useless daugh'er, no' even recognized by 'er Jack Jones fa'her?!

People passing by stop to stare, some whispering and others shaking their heads at the scene unfolding before them. Molly's heart races as her father's grip tightens, and he grabs her hair, pulling her close, his breath reeking of alcohol.

Drunk Father: O you dare 'o say 'ha' some'hin I like 'ha'? While knowin who I am?!

Tears fill Molly's eyes, but she fights to keep them at bay, determination flaring within her as she stares defiantly at her father, even as her heart trembles with fear

Molly's drunk father drops her unceremoniously onto the pavement. She stumbles, her heart racing as she looks up at him, the crowd around them murmuring in disbelief and concern.

Drunk Father: If you just found a job and a husband, and did some effort, you should show it! And now I'm going to discipline a bad girl, a useless girl like you at this very moment!

He raises his fist, poised to strike. Molly's breath catches in her throat, fear coursing through her. Just as the punch is about to land, a strong hand grabs her father by the arm, stopping him in his tracks.

Unknown Man: What do you think you're doing to a young girl?

The crowd quiets, eyes wide with curiosity and apprehension as they turn their attention to the newcomer. The man is tall and imposing, his demeanor calm yet firm as he holds Molly's father's arm, preventing him from moving.

Drunk Father: Who are you supposed 'o be?

The man meets the drunkard's gaze with a steady intensity, a hint of authority in his voice.

Unknown Man: Call me Mr. Stark.

A murmur ripples through the crowd at the mention of Stark's name, a mix of recognition and intrigue. Molly looks up, her wide eyes reflecting a flicker of hope as she sees the powerful figure standing between her and her father.

Alexander Stark's grip on the man's arm tightens, a warning in his posture as he leans in slightly, voice low but firm.

Alexander: I suggest you reconsider your actions. No one should ever raise a hand to a child, especially not one who is already suffering.

The crowd falls silent, eyes widening as they recognize the man's name. Alexander releases the father's arm with a controlled, dismissive gesture, his eyes hardening as he looks at the man in disdain.

Alexander: It takes a real coward to strike his own daughter. Now, I suggest you leave before I decide to teach you a lesson about discipline.

The father glares at him, his bravado fading in the face of Alexander's calm but commanding presence. He mutters something under his breath before staggering away, blending back into the crowd. Alexander turns to Molly, extending a hand to help her up, his expression softening.

Alexander: Are you alright, miss?

Alexander kneels down, looking directly at the young girl in front of him. His gaze is steady and kind, free from judgment, as he studies the bruises on her face and the fear lingering in her eyes.

Alexander: Hey, girl… tell me, what did that man do to you?

Young Molly looks up at him, the disbelief clear in her gaze. She's spent years being ignored, dismissed, and hurt, and here's this stranger a man she's never met before showing her a kindness she's never known. Her voice is barely a whisper, trembling with confusion and vulnerability.

Young Molly: Why Mr… why save me…

She hesitates, as if questioning why he'd even care. Her voice falters, and she drops her gaze to the ground, her words laced with bitterness.

Young Molly: Why would you bo'her savin' a useless, jobless girl like me?

Alexander's face softens as he watches her, a mixture of empathy and resolve flickering in his eyes. He places a reassuring hand on her shoulder, his voice gentle yet firm.

Alexander: No one's useless, Molly. Not you, not anyone. And it's no one's place to make you feel that way.

She looks up at him, her expression wavering between disbelief and a faint spark of hope. For the first time, she feels as though someone actually sees her.

Alexander: Let's get you somewhere safe. You deserve better than this. Let me help you.