[Dreaming didn't quite work the way it used to for Eddie Nigma. His mind was a maze that was now open for all sorts of spirits to try and navigate. Some nights he had dreams where he was sitting behind his old gumshoe desk waiting for ghost after ghost to whine about some messed up way they died. He used to investigate murders and crime scenes. Now it was all about putting the spirits to rest or simply
listening to them complain. In the Fairy Tale door they were almost exclusively witches, warlocks and the occasional martyr king. They'd ask:
You understand, don't you?
He used to be a thief, a cheat. And, sure he did understand. He sometimes even had sympathy to share depending on how they managed to piss off a certain knight in shining armor. Most of the time? He told them to
take a number.
Tonight he was sitting behind his desk with his feet up as the blinds shined dusty slivers of light down on him. He was in Riddler green with that silly bowler hat and his purple gloved hands behind his head as he tried his very hardest to balance a pencil on the tip of his nose. The clown held the record at two minutes because he could do it with his eyes closed. Eddie always went crosseyed a minute or so in. His secretary (who was Stephanie back when she had short hair for some reason) said there was a new client waiting for him and Eddie shouted to let the man in. Eddie tilted his head back and went back to balancing the pencil. Murmured:] So, how did you
die? [Eddie asked because it was always a fun little opener.]
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