Bruce Wainright has (onerule) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-03-08 12:16:00 |
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Entry tags: | batman, plot: switch, riddler, scarecrow |
Who: Bruce & Eddie & Crane
What: The Gotham boys have a nice chat.
Where: Thierry's antique shop.
When: Sometime during plot.
Warnings/Rating: Noone.
Eddie sat on the antique store counter, legs crossed at the ankles as he twisted his upper body to fiddle with a record player he found buried behind urns and angel statues. Dressed in expensive grey slacks, shiny black shoes, an overly expensive white button up shirt and a silk green tie, Eddie looked like a high roller taking a break from the shine and twinkling. For someone hanging about a friend with a fresh backstab wound, the ex-riddled man seemed perfectly at ease. His mind was gone, his insanity finished, his psychopathic tendencies dulled, but he still remembered the rules to Gotham. Betraying a fellow Arkham alumni meant nothing in his world besides a singular payback and maybe a twist of the knife down the road. And, he wasn’t afraid of some fear gas, even if it was pointed at Stephanie. She wanted to be a Batgirl, so she had to be willing to take on his crazy friends. Well, formally crazy. If they were stuck in Vegas forever, he could see himself carving an actual friendship with Crane that didn’t involve mayhem and bats.
So, here he was trying to play a record. While the details of how to work something like a coffee machine or PS3 were lost on him in Vegas, he still knew how to play a record. He knew how to delicately pull a vinyl out of its sleeve. He knew how to hold it upside down so it carefully fell into the groove between his fingers and palm. He knew not to touch the surface, but to carefully press his fingertips along the edges. Eddie could even hold it straight and dust it down with a silk handkerchief from his pocket. With a certain amount of concentration that was usually reserved for constructing death traps, he slowly placed the vinyl down on the record player, leaving his hands hovering above it just long enough to be pleased with the balance. Then, he fiddled with the buttons to make it spin and pulled the needle handle with his thumb and index finger to drop it with the utmost care. The whole process took longer than it should for even a normal person, but he liked savoring the steps. Liked being efficient at something.
What played was an ancient jazz number from his time and he closed his eyes and tried to appreciate the technicality of the trumpets. The playful banter between piano and tuba. Eddie’s eyes squeezed, forehead creasing as his tongue barely stuck out of the side of his mouth. And, he sat like that for a good minute before he fumbled for the needle and scrraaaaattcched it quiet. “Jazz is the worst sound.” Eddie said in disbelief, unable to understand how he could enjoy that nonsense back in Gotham. He rummaged through his jacket on the counter next to him. “I’m going to go out and buy a T.I. vinyl, do you need anything?” Because super genius or not, he could eternally appreciate lyrics about being a trouble man.
Where Eddie played with the player and the vinyls, Crane had settled behind the counter, kicked back in the old chair Thierry kept back there, an old book that had seen better days spread out over his lap. Objects, infused with history and age, they had no real draw for him, not even here with the breadth of his knowledge reduced to something basic. This place had changed him subtly, softened the edges, filled in some of the cracks. He was still a picture of eccentricity, a strange thing that would never fit into regular society with any ease, but he was no longer dangerous. But knowledge? He still craved that. Knowing. Learning. Discovering. It was still fascinating.
The book was one on one of Thierry’s favourite topics: occult magic. He poured through it like a man who was dying of thirst, drinking in every word, picture, diagram, tracing them with his finger. Thankfully, the shop had been, for the most part, quiet, leaving the pair to their own devices in a shared space where they could both exist. “No, I don’t need anything,” Crane answered, not bothering to look up from the book. “Except coffee. Bring some more back. Beans, not that ground shit.” Because if there was one thing Thierry had known, it was his coffee, and Crane had wasted absolutely no time in pillaging the man’s supply, brewing pots that were so strong it was almost painful to drink. Just the way he liked it.
Eddie grinned, entertained by Crane swearing and hopped off the counter. “God, you’re such a snob.” He said with a dry playfulness, pulling his blazer over his shoulders and taking a good thirty seconds just smoothing his hands over the fabric and buttoning it up. He liked a good suit. He loved a good suit. Eddie had never been a particularly imposing man, but a sharp suit made people understand that he was still a dangerous shark when he wanted to be. “You’re never going to forgive me for that Hawaiian blend, are you?” The little man cheesed his grin like he was trying to get Crane’s attention from his book about ghouls or whatever and when the formerly strawed man didn’t look up, he shrugged and back stepped towards the door.
The prospect to have some good music in the otherwise quiet shop excited him and Eddie turned on his heels with a graceful swagger that luckily hadn’t been taken by Breeze as well. At least he still had his roguish dexterity. At least he still was a funny little ball of energy and style. “Law keep arresting me, sucker wanna kill me.” Eddie murmured under his breath along with the song playing in his otherwise empty mind. “Still we in the fast lane, grind break, next speeed-” He pushed the door open just in time to collide with an entering customer, stuttering his little rap into nothing with a sloppy. “Oh, wow, sorry.”
Bruce hated Las Vegas. He hated the lights, he hated the music, he hated the traffic and the incessant voices and the tourists milling about all over the damn place. Gotham was far from a quiet city itself, but that was different. It was his noise back home; this was not his. None of it was his. It was foreign, and he didn’t belong, and he wanted nothing more than for everything to set itself right again. The worst part, however, was none of the above; it was that Batman was gone. All that which made him the Bat--the driving force that kept him going, the impulse to protect and save--was missing. He wasn’t Batman here. He was a man without a purpose, meaningless, just one more face amidst many, and as an added insult he’d traded places with a twenty-five year old ex-murderer with a chip on his shoulder and a life fuelled by his love for his family-- a family which he didn’t have, or so he perceived. He was borderline broke, he currently had no job, and until now he’d spent his time watching mindless television while Selina’s cats crawled all over him and purred to no end.
And now, for some inexplicable reason, he’d decided to drag himself out of self-deprecation and wander. Luke’s clothes didn’t fit him properly, and as he had yet to find the motivation to go shopping, he was clad in jeans that were a little too tight and a little too short, sneakers, and a slightly larger button-up shirt layered over a too-small t shirt beneath. His hair was haphazardly brushed back, a marked difference from its usual slicked back immaculacy, and a pair of dark sunglasses were shoved firmly over his eyes. Needless to say, Bruce Wayne the billionaire CEO was nowhere in sight.
He should have recognized Thierry’s antique shop, thanks to Luke’s knowledge, but he didn’t. Even before setting out he’d had no destination in mind, no specific intentions, and so Bruce found himself approaching the shop at random and pushing open the door simply because he had nothing better to do. Normally he would have paid enough attention to ensure that a collision would never occur, but he was too busy being lost in his sulk just then, and so the impact with another human being jolted him out of his thoughts and only deepened the scowl he’d managed to develop before he forced an entirely feigned smile. “No, it’s fine, I wasn’t--” He stopped mid-apology, abruptly, and stared at the man before him. Logically, he knew other Gothamites were out in Las Vegas, but he’d thought his chances of running into any of them were slim. Apparently not. Then it registered that he’d never met this man while out of the cowl, nor the man past him, seated behind the counter; both were equally familiar.
“Nigma?” Bruce’s eyebrows went up from behind the sunglasses, and he turned his head towards the counter, over the other man’s shoulder. “Crane?”
“I’m not a snob,” Crane said without looking up from the book, turning a page and settling in to read the next. “I simply have taste. You should try it sometime.” He had expected silence to ensue after that, the ring of the bell over the door as Eddie made his departure, then silence, blessed silence, hopefully without customers coming in to buy things that he knew little about. Already, he was sure there were things that he had sold that Thierry would have his boxers in a bunch about, but that was hardly his fault, was it? That’s what the man got for not putting a price tag on a single thing in the store.
But silence didn’t come, and instead, Crane looked up as the two men met in the doorway of the antique’s shop. He didn’t say anything at first, even as the realisation as to who was standing there in the ill-fitting jeans and snug shirt dawned on him. And then, slowly, oh so slowly, he smiled. “I almost didn’t recognize you, Bruce, in those clothes of yours.” This was suddenly much more interesting than the book at hand, so it was closed, tucked away for later, and soon he was rounding the front of the counter, arms folded across his chest. His own clothes were ill-fitting in the opposite way, bagging on a frame that was much skinnier than Thierry had ever been, the pants and sleeves a little short, but nothing was skin tight, at least.
As per usual, surprising Eddie Nigma was always satisfactory. With a squeak, he gaped at Bruce, big brown eyes widening like someone just told him he won a new car and slipped behind the larger man’s frame. This was easily the most interesting thing that had happened all day. Tilting his head so that only Crane could see his expression past Bruce’s arm, Eddie mouthed an exaggerated OH MY GOD before slamming the front door shut with a dingalingling of the bell above. His thin fingers reached to turn the open sign to closed. No one, not even some adorable old lady who was easily swayed by Eddie’s charms was going to ruin this for the three of them. Well, Bruce probably wasn’t going to enjoy this as much as the two formerly Arkham boys.
Unlike the other men, Eddie’s clothes fit perfect and smartly. Even in Vegas, with most of his egotistical crazy flushed into Breeze, he still needed to look good. It fit the profile of someone who fell in love with a beautiful blonde teenager, stayed in a penthouse on gambling money and worked at an antique shop just for the hell of it. Eddie may not have been riddled, but he was still damn eccentric. And, the amount of time he spent preening in front of a mirror with a Vegas side tailor would make their head’s spin. “There’s no way he didn’t know you were here, Crane.” Eddie commented, sliding back out in front of Bruce BYlike a child slipping past a much larger adult with a twist and turn in an attempt to roguishly get by without brushing against Bruce too much.
The last time he saw The Dark Knight played through Eddie’s mind. He remembered the fire in his stomach that the bat left him. Remembered the loss he felt without Stephanie to crawl back to. All of that didn’t really matter when Gotham was out of reach. With the exception of his exceptional mind, Eddie had everything he could ever ask for here. He was happy and Vegas made him willing to play nice. Or at least as nice as Eddie Nigma could get. “Which means he either hasn’t changed at all, or he wants something from you.” Eddie told Crane, but looked at Bruce. All the threat gone from his eyes and most of the stabbing intelligence. All he had now was that lucid, foolish intuition.
Bruce liked to have the upper hand in all situations, from his personal life to his very public one, and while he was capable of adapting to the unexpected, he’d always held a certain disdain for surprises. This was one surprise he could certainly do without, and the absurdity of the situation very nearly left him at a temporary loss. To see two of his foes in such a normal setting, where they were all essentially on equal ground, was jarring, even as he fought to maintain a facade of calm as though he was taking this all in stride. “I thought I’d try to fit in,” he said coolly, though it was blatantly obvious that these weren’t his clothes; no one would intentionally purchase such ill-fitting garments for themselves. He missed Eddie’s exaggerated expression, too preoccupied with the overwhelming desire to get out, and he would have simply turned around and left had the door not been shut behind him. That changed things. If he were to physically force himself past Eddie to leave, it would suggest weakness, that he was incapable of being in an enclosed space with the two of them, and he refused to give either the satisfaction. He rolled his eyes when Eddie turned the sign to closed, though the gesture was hidden behind darkened lenses, and he folded his arms over his chest (some habits lingered, even here) as the other man slid by.
He wasn’t going to admit to making a careless mistake, much less confess to just how helpless he felt on this side. Better they thought he had some purpose here, though he couldn’t imagine what that was. His authority meant nothing here. He had no jurisdiction. And, most importantly, Crane had done nothing to warrant action being taken. “I heard Jonathan Crane was running an antique shop,” he said casually, as he pulled off the sunglasses. “I wanted to see it for myself.”
Crane watched without a flicker of emotion as Eddie shut the door with a quick motion and flipped the sign to closed. The exaggerated mouthing of words, however, drew a smile from him, watching as Eddie came back towards the counter to leave them both watching the Bat Man sans fighting gear approach them. “Or maybe it is as he says,” Crane countered, standing up, all long limbs and awkward grace, hands braced on the counter as he leaned forward slightly. “He’s just trying to fit in and wanted to see the legendary Jonathan Crane himself.” Because honestly, there was little chance that Bruce had known he was here; it wasn’t public knowledge, things that were being whispered through the streets, which meant that the bat man was improving his lines this time. “And even if he did want something from me,” Crane continued, giving the ancient cash register sitting on the counter a tap with one finger. “It’d come at a price.”
His head craned to the side, examining the man in those ill-fitting clothes, the plebeian façade almost too much for him to really accept. “Tell us why you’re really here,” Crane proposed, the look in his eyes telling that he wasn’t about to let the man leave without an explanation.
Bruce raised his eyebrows at the use of legendary, torn between relief (that some things remained the same in a world where so much was different) and exasperation. He found himself leaning towards the latter. “Aren’t we all trying to fit in? None of us belong here, after all, not even the legendary Jonathan Crane.” He wondered if these two felt it as strongly as he did, if they’d managed to adjust, or if they were all just waiting for the moment they would be returned to Gotham. The very thought of wanting something from Crane, much less paying for it, was utterly absurd and his expression said as much. Properly fitting clothes might be nice, but he was hardly going to ask for those from either men present. “Don’t worry about prices. He doesn’t want anything,” he informed him with a tight smile, brief and sardonic.
In no apparent hurry to respond, he turned his attention away from Crane and Nigma to peruse the items on display. After a few moments of idle inspection, during which he contemplated taking a detour out the front door, Bruce sighed and looked at the two as though daring them to say something. “I have nowhere else to be.”
Eddie’s eyebrows went up a little at the use of legendary, too, but less in surprise and more in affectionate mockery. Crane never cared that he was playing shop with The Riddler or that The Batman just walked in because he literally had nothing better to do. He’d always be just a little superior in his own strawed, flawed way. Eddie could appreciate that kind of mentality. Stretching his arms and shoulders like he was warming up for something, the un-riddled green man turned his attention back on Bruce, but kept a small distance. Not out of fear, but a desire to observe how the man moved without wings. “This is unique.” Eddie confirmed, nodding to himself. “And, a little disappointing. Usually when you want to hang out, there’s an interesting reason that doesn’t involve boredom.” He slapped his hands together, making a sharp sound in the dull quiet. “But! I’ll take what I can get.”
If it was just Crane here, the two of them could have antisocial non-banter, but Eddie was a different animal altogether. He was chatty, chatty to the point where most people wanted to drill holes in their heads just to escape his voice and a loss of brain didn’t change that at all. “Let’s play a game. It’s called, who had the most boring day out of the three of us. I’ll start. I woke up this morning, spent a good twenty minutes trying to use a microwave. I made sure a Jane Austen character could play blackjack on her own. I checked in on Death, spent an hour on the phone with my girlfriend before she had to go to work and then I came here and proceeded to annoy Crane throughout the afternoon.” Eddie snapped his fingers at Crane. “Your turn, old friend.”
Those words, the tone of voice in which they were said, it was enough to leave Crane momentarily gaping at the man known as Bruce Wayne. “Nowhere else to be?” he echoed, momentarily amazed by those four little words that carried so much weight. The illustrious playboy and millionaire Bruce Wayne had nowhere else to be. Well, this was certainly a change in the way the world worked, wasn’t it? He might have commented more, but Eddie took over with his own take on the situation, and with as much as Eddie enjoyed talking, Crane was not going to attempt to stop him. Let him fill up the awkward silence; Eddie had words to spare, whereas Crane enjoyed handing his out sparingly.
“Don’t you live the charmed life?” Crane commented, dropping back down into his chair and opening his book once more with feigned interest. “As for myself. I slept in the back of the shop. I made coffee. I opened up the shop. And then I suffered through Eddie’s endless prattle. So far, I do believe I win.” This was said without looking up from his book, a page flip now and then though his attention was hardly on the glossy pages. “Go on, Mister Wayne. Regale us with your own tales of mediocrity.” He glanced up then, brows arched, and that piercing gaze was still very much Jonathan Crane, even without Scarecrow lurking beneath the surface.
Bruce gave Eddie a look which clearly said, no words necessary, that he hadn’t hung out with anyone in recent memory and had very little understanding of one’s reasoning when they did. Boredom had brought him here, but not with the intention of actually spending time with these two, or carrying on any actual conversation beyond a greeting and perhaps a farewell. Had only Crane been present, this might have been a blessedly short accidental visit, but Nigma had always liked to hear himself talk. He should have known better than to think that much would have changed here. A game which involved them sharing tales of their new dull, mediocre lives hardly sounded appealing, but he couldn’t exactly back out now, and if worse came to worst he could always deny this had ever happened. And, truthfully, if it kept Crane from commenting further on the fact that he had nowhere else to be, all the better.
The thought of Eddie attempting to use a microwave was, admittedly, rather amusing. Otherwise, it was strange to listen as the two described generally uneventful days, particularly in comparison to what their lives were like in Gotham. “I wonder what kind of stories the ones through the door would tell,” he remarked idly, before acknowledging that it was his turn in this strange little game of theirs. “I woke up, made coffee, and fed the alarming number of stray cats that seem to find their way into my house. Then I attempted to watch television, but I couldn’t tolerate it for very long, so I decided to go for a walk. And here I am.” He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “Not particularly interesting, is it?”
Eddie felt the weight of each boring tale slump down on his shoulders and suddenly he looked exhausted. Gotham was energy, it was electricity, but Vegas was so humdrum that the Bat would wander into a shop without a motive. With a wary look like he needed a nap soon, Eddie moved to the counter and hopped back on top of it. His legs swinging a little as he leaned forward and looked at Bruce. “You’re living with Selina?” Because even though his modern mind was gone with all its information and skills, Eddie still had that rummaging deductive reasoning in the back of his head. If Bats was dealing with a strangely large amount of cats, that only meant one thing. And, if you asked him, a fourth grader could figure it out. “Well, Bruce I was going to give you the boring prize by default, but the cat makes it more interesting. Sorry Crane, you’re the winner.”
“So, let me ask you something, Wayne. A hypothetical now that your bat brain has exited the building.” Eddie turned his attention back to Bruce, hands folded together as he gave a suddenly keen look through all the foolishness. “If living here meant Gotham was safe forever, if it meant that our Alters weren’t cursed with the same crazy, would you prefer it? Would you rather live a boring, safe life knowing that the threats, “ He motioned to himself and Crane “Were muzzled. Or do you have to do the muzzling yourself?”
The last thing Bruce wanted to discuss with anyone was Selina, never mind two of foes. Or ex-foes. Whatever they were now, regardless, his personal life was not a topic of conversation. He wasn’t even sure how to answer that question. Selina wasn’t living with him, exactly, but she clearly spent some time at the house, and the cats were hers. “I said I had cats to feed,” he said, though it was likely useless by this point. “I didn’t say I was living with anyone.” Even to his ears, it didn’t sound very convincing, and he decided with a sigh to refrain from insisting further; it would just be pathetic. “Congratulations, Crane,” he said dryly, more of an offhand remark than anything else.
Hypothetical questions from Edward Nigma didn’t rank anywhere on his list of things he wanted to engage in, but like their silly game, he let it pass. The question of choice, however, gave him pause, and and there was something of his old self in the way he returned Nigma’s keen gaze. Everyone present was probably aware of the fact that, should they never return to Gotham, finding purpose here would be difficult. He would adapt out of necessity, nothing more. He might accept such a fate a little easier, however, if he knew his city was safe in his absence. “If Gotham’s safety was guaranteed, then yes,” he said. “I could accept a normal life in exchange.” Because he would have no choice, just as he would have no choice if this was permanent and Luke was left to protect the city. “How do the two of you feel about a boring, safe life?” When all else failed, turning the question around on others was a fair alternative.
Eddie’s expression turned into a sharp smirk and he kept his eyes on Bruce just a second longer than someone who was simply interested in small talk. He saw just a flicker of the Dark Knight under all the normalcy and found it strangely comforting. The two men didn’t respect each other, barely even knew each other when it came down to it, but they were both part of a common machine. A machine Stephanie told him they’d fit back into eventually. And he hoped, for their sake, she was right. All three of them would manage without Gotham, but they were destined for such bigger things that Las Vegas couldn’t facilitate. “I feel like we should enjoy it while we can, gentlemen.” Nigma’s smirk turned back into something goofy and unassuming. But, he wasn’t fooling anyone. Sure, he still had a hard time working electronics and his mind would never move as quickly as it did in Gotham, but the true Nigma brain had been slowly creeping back since he arrived.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have coffee and records to purchase.” He was off the counter again, adjusting his suit before gliding towards the door. “Thanks for dropping by, Bruce. I’ll tell Stephanie you said hellllo.” Eddie wiggled his fingers in a goodbye, pushing the door open with the palm of his hand before vanishing into the Vegas sunlight.
For a moment Bruce felt like he was back in Gotham, staring down the Riddler while both were in their respective suits and the streets were laid out between them. It was one of the first times he’d felt fully himself, rather than some other person cobbled together from both him and Luke, and it made him realize that even if they were stuck here, in Vegas, normalcy wouldn’t last. In a way, he found that epiphany as strangely comforting as Eddie did. They were still them, who they were, and not even a strange world could take that away. “We should,” he agreed, of them enjoying this interlude while it lasted, and he gave him another sharp, pointed look before falling back into something less assuming, more casual and vaguely bored with his surroundings.
If there was one thing he would never, ever accept, it was the Riddler calling him Bruce. “Nice to see you, Edward,” he responded, fighting back a scowl, though by this point he’d come to realize that trying to come between Stephanie and Riddler would only cause more harm than good. And, considering things between himself and Selina, he was on shaky moral ground as it was. Then he turned to Crane, having no desire to remain behind and feign niceties without Eddie to act as a sort of in-between man. Things might have been different here, but he would never forget the things Crane had done, and his utter lack of remorse over all of it.
“I should be going as well. I need to find clothes that fit.” He flashed a quick, tight smile. “Enjoy your antiques, Crane.” With that, he pushed the sunglasses back over his eyes and turned to leave, braving the streets of Las Vegas once again.