Thierry Bellamy & Jonathan Crane are (antiqued) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-12-07 21:34:00 |
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Entry tags: | arthur arden, catwoman, door: american horror story |
Who: Thierry & Wren -> Arden & Selina
What: The judging of alters.
Where: Passages
When: Recently!
Warnings/Rating: None to speak of
Wren wouldn't have offered to let Selina through a door other than Gotham for most people. Silver and Thierry were the only people that came to mind, actually. Silver, because Selina knew Tony, and because Silver had let Tony come through and save them all when they needed it. Thierry was different, though. Wren pretty much felt like a failure as a niece. She was so used to thinking of her maman as her only family, that she didn't check in or check up like she should. For so long, she'd only had Gus, and even that was from a distance. It was only now that she was getting used to Luke and Gus as being there, really there, all the time. She could try to explain it to Thierry, but she didn't think it would make a lot of sense. She had come to realize that explaining her way of thinking only left others confused and feeling like she was a broken thing they needed to fix, and she was trying to avoid it with everyone but Luke.
She was still a little out of sorts when she arrived at Passages to meet Thierry. The conversation with Spencer was still fresh in her mind, a wound that hadn't quite healed. The rest of her felt fine, though. She'd gotten her stitches out that morning, and the doctor had given her a clean bill of health after cautioning that she needed to keep away from any injuries like that in the future. She would keep that to herself too, though. No need to worry Luke with how close that call had been; she knew, and it was already keeping her up nights, without adding worry to his already full plate.
So, she wandered down the hallway where Thierry's new door was located without any real hurry, her mind flitting from thing to thing as she approached the unfamiliar, dark door. Thierry wasn't there yet, but she was fairly sure the slumbering door was the correct one. She quickly typed a note to Selina, and she tucked her earpiece into her ear, so the note would be read to Selina as soon as she crossed, thanks to the Wayne transcription software on the phone. She was pretty sure Selina could handle herself anywhere, but she wanted to let the other woman know to behave. Thierry was family, and Wren didn't want him hurt, even if she wasn't always the best niece.
It was nearly ten minutes after their appointed meeting time that Thierry came rushing through the doors of Passages, feeling guilty for being late when his niece was going out of her way to assist him. But things at the shop had taken longer than he had anticipated, and he truly needed to get someone else to help out there - sooner, rather than later. But that was something to worry about later, after the hotel. Up the stairs he went, down the hallway towards the door that was still new and more than a little intimidating to the soft-spoken man because unlike John Blake, this new person had little to say to him, and seemed determined to keep his presence a secret from him. “I’m sorry I’m late,” Thierry said as he bustled down the hallway, hands held up in apology. “You weren’t waiting long, were you?”
He gave a quick look at Wren, evaluating her without trying to worry about how bad it had gotten, which only got Thierry to thinking how bad she might have been during that short visit to New Orleans for his father’s funeral. It concerned him, made him wish he had known about both her and Luke’s presence through his door before things had turned upside down on him. Maybe he would have been able to help more. But that was neither here nor there. Instead, Thierry pulled the heavy key out of his pocket, held it up with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I apologise in advance for anything that happens here, Wren. I am truly in the dark as to who this new person is, but I thank you for your help in trying to figure that out.” Though honestly, Thierry would have preferred being on the other end of helping someone.
"No, I wasn't waiting long," Wren assured him. "I was just thinking anyway. It's nice, the quiet to think. It's okay." She smiled at him, the smile a little less distant than it was with most people; for her, that was a big accomplishment. "I was leaving Selina a note, too, so she knows why she's there," she said of the strange, dark door. Even with Thierry standing in front of it, the door was still somehow ominous. She looked away from it to give him a reassuring look. "It's okay. Like I told Luke when I let him know we were coming here, Selina can handle pretty much anything, as long as Bruce isn't around to distract her." Which Wren very much believed. When it was all said and done, the only real injury that Selina had acquired in the past year was from Bruce himself, and no one else would have managed to get that kind of hit in. "We'll be fine. Are you ready?" she asked, glancing to his fingers and expecting to see a key there.
The key that dangled from Thierry’s fingertips was old, antiqued, a skeleton key from days of old, perfect for the man that loved the past as much as he did, and for the one in his head who lived in those days. “I do hope you would tell me if it wasn’t okay,” Thierry said, tilting his head to the side as he gave her a long look, coming up alongside her as he pushed his key into the lock and gave it a turn, though he did not yet open the door. “And I have no doubt that Selina can handle this, but I would feel more confident if I knew what we were up against. I don’t enjoy being in the dark, I must admit.” Thierry let out a long breath as he glanced at the door. “It’s better now than later, I suppose.”
And he gave the door a push.
It opened into an unremarkable room, old wooden floors, a desk, all of it from a day gone past. It gave very little in the way of clues as to Thierry’s alter. “I’d say after you but...” And then he was stepping through, transforming smoothly from the 40-year-old antique shop owner to the man who was closer to 60, taller, more imposing in his stature.
Wren hesitated only for a second. She bit her lip, waited until Thierry turned into a harmless looking older man - taller, yes, but not particularly frightening. A deep breath later, and she crossed the threshold. She felt the door close behind her during that brief moment where she could actually sense Selina, and then she was gone.
Selina was out of the catsuit. It wasn't intentional; it was just that her last visit through the door hadn't been one that involved rooftops - blame stitches and her lingering uncertainty about where she fit in the grand scheme of Gotham. She was dressed in black leggings and a grey sweater that reached her thighs, her thumbs through the edges of the wool that draped over her fingers. Her choppy black hair was held back with a headband, and she looked like a college student from Anycity, USA.
Blondie''s recording began playing as soon as Selina crossed, and she listened to it before turning her bright green eyes on the man in the room with her. Unlike Blondie, she wasn't as quick to discount the older man as harmless, not just because he was older. And there was something about the room, and the sounds that just barely filtered in that made her uncomfortable. It took a few seconds, a few blinks of her striking green eyes, to realize why she didn't like this place.
It reminded her of Arkham. The sounds, the smells, the walls, even this man with his old desk.
Arthur Arden made no note of Selina, at least not until he was behind his desk and sitting down, hands folded together as he finally turned his gaze to the young woman, dressed in clothes that were wholly inappropriate for anyone to be seen in. “I would ask how you found yourself in my office without invitation, but I’ll assume that’s to be blamed on the one through the door.” His tones were proper and short, clipped words that showed he was not one for nonsense. “Name and age, if you don’t mind.” And Dr. Arden pulled out a clean file, picked up his pen, and with tip poised over the paper, looked up towards her expectantly.
Selina's green eyes turned their attention to the pen and paper in front of the older man, and she just gave him a lush-lipped smile, one that absolutely did not reach her eyes. "Name and age, if you don't mind," she mimicked. Oh, yes, just like Arkham, and the kitty cat knew better than to let him get the upperhand. She moved forward, sway and competence in the sleek muscles beneath her skin, and she crawled onto the desk and plucked that pen right from between his fingers. "You're not in control here. Not when it comes to me," she purred. She would prove it to him if she had to, but she was hoping she wouldn't need to. "Blondie doesn't want me to hurt you, and I don't need her angry at me, old man, so play nice with the kitty cat and just tell me where we are."
If her the sway of her hips drew his attention at all, it could not be seen on his face, even as she plucked the pen from his fingers, leaving him to fold his hands together in front of him, gazing at her steadily. “Not in control here,” he echoed, his voice taking on a thoughtful tone. This one was dangerous, at least in her opinion, but all he saw was a woman who was highly sexualised, full of self-importance, and perhaps somewhat delusional as she referred to herself as a ‘kitty cat’. “If you’re concerned about what those on the other side of the door think, then you’re weaker than I anticipated.” He pushed himself up from the desk, coming up to his full height of just over 2 meters, his shoulders broad, and despite his age, there was no hint of frailty about the man. “You’re in Briarcliff Manor. A sanitorium for the sick minds of our days. We heal people, help them. Provide them a safe and nurturing atmosphere with which to live out their lives.” Giving her his back, he strode towards the windows that rested behind his desk, hands clasped behind his back. “And my name is Dr. Arden. I would appreciate if you would show me some respect.”
"Poor them," Selina purred of the inmates in this place. Sanitorium, was it? She wondered how many people were locked away that shouldn't be. Oh, the kitty cat wasn't stupid. She knew this wasn't the present. Everything from the items on the desk to the good doctor's clothes made that very, very evident. That meant the people here had even fewer rights than prisoners in Gotham. She wondered if the doctor was fond of lobotomies and electroshock, and she figured he was. He was, after all, a creature of his time. "Weaker?" she asked, a result of his comment about caring what people on the other side of the door thought. "Oh, I don't think so, doctor. Two people working together are always stronger than one." Maybe it was a bluff but, more recently, it wasn't. Things were changing, the kitty cat realized, but now wasn't the time for those thoughts. "I'll show you respect when you show me respect, and the kitty cat has a sneaking suspicion that isn't going to happen. So let's be honest instead, hmmm? You remind me of someone I don't like, and I remind you of what? Women's rights? Tsk. Tsk."
“Two people means twice as many vulnerabilities to target. You are hardly invincible, and those that believe so fall harder than those that accept that they are weak, that they perhaps need help.” He spoke to the window, able to keep her position in mind by the sound of her voice, even as she spoke with such bravado and pride he wanted to laugh. “If you mean for me to respect you, then I’ll keep what you remind me of to myself.” Arden glanced over his shoulder towards her, brows lifted. “You wouldn’t appreciate it, I’m sure. And I’m also sure that your opinions of me and this place are highly inaccurate. We provide excellent care here at Briarcliff, miss.” Turning back towards her, he tilted his head to the side, just slightly. “Enough pleasantries. What business do you have here?”
"Aren't you just filled with hot air?" she asked, dislike growing. "This place doesn't provide excellent anything. Even if you wanted to, which I get the feeling that you don't, you're fifty years behind the time. Treatments have changed, old man. The kitty cat's sorry to inform you, but you're obsolete," she explained, swinging her legs around and sitting on the edge of his desk. "You don't know why I'm here? Do you and Thierry not talk?" she asked, though she'd just heard Thierry's name for the first time herself. "I'm here to report on you. What kind of a man you are. If you should get to come back here again." She crossed her legs, all smug certainty that was so innate there was no separating it from the woman she was. "What should I tell them, do you think?"
The words that came from the woman’s mouth gave him a moment’s pause, but he didn’t let that force him from the path he was currently traveling. “Behind the times?” Arden echoed, his tone dubious. “We are ahead of the curve as far as I have been able to tell. But to each their own.” The cross of legs, the way she moved, it was clear that this was a woman who knew who she was and what she had to offer, and while many men may have been attracted to this behaviour, Arthur Arden found it appalling. “And no, we do not talk. I am a private person, and I do not need a stranger going around talking about who I am and what I do.” The words were very matter of fact, simple and straightforward. “And as for whether I ought to be allowed to come back...”
The doctor trailed off, coming around in front of Selina slowly, hands still clasped behind his back. He wasn’t threatening, not precisely, but there was no lack of intimidation in the way his shoulders were squared. “I don’t believe that is for you to decide.”
If he intimidated her, it didn't show. She watched his approach with amusement, confident amusement at that. Oh, she'd known plenty of men like him, even before Arkham and Crane. He reminded her of all those men in the system when she was small, later, of those men who hated prostitutes, but who still hired them. She knew what this man was, and she knew what this place was, and she didn't need to know anything but that.
When he came close, she leaned forward, as if she was going to whisper some intimacy in his ear, as if the kitty cat was going to offer him something. It was laughable, and anyone who knew her would realize she was playing with him, cat and mouse, her way. But he had nothing of value, and she was there for a reason. So, the kitty cat just shoved him away with her feet, and then she executed a perfect backflip off his desk and back onto the floor.
She winked at him, playful teasing, while mocking him at the same time. No petting the kitty, not for the good doctor. "I decide what I want to decide. You don't own this kitty cat," she informed him, even as her hand reached back for the door. She pouted, a faux-mock thing. "I'm afraid I have bad news. I'm going to have to give you, and your institution, a bad report." She raised a hand to her mouth in fake shock, and then she turned the knob to reveal the Passages hallway at her back when the door swung open. "Goodbye, Dr. Arden. If I wasn't on my best behavior, I'd claw you ragged, but I can't." More pout.
Something that approached darkness crossed over Arden’s face as she shoved him away. He took care not to stumble, to appear weak or frail in her presence, squaring his stance as she flipped from the desk and onto the floor. If her behaviour irritated him at all, it didn’t show on his face, humouring her with a slightly tilted head, refusing to rise to her bait. “If you think that I’m afraid of your ‘report’, miss, you’ve a bad surprise coming. But go on. Tell them your opinions. I’ll have him back through this door in time, regardless.” And as she hovered on the precipice of the passage between here and the hotel, he moved forward, surprisingly swift for a man of his size and age. The fingers of one hand came forward, and with a hard shove, he pushed her through the door and into the hotel’s hallway, the door slamming shut in her face.