InsaneJournal

Who: Eddie and Emma
Where: The Forum Shops
When: Recently
What: Shopping and then Eddie predictably says something offensive
Warnings: None!



If you wanted to know what Old Gotham looked like in its prime, the Forum Shops at Caesars made a convincing life-sized model. The pointless statues of dead gods, the glistening tile, the brass gates surrounding synchronized fountains, the rumble of commerce around stores that only sold one type of clothing item, and the open cafes rich with the scent of coffee and freshly baked bread. It took Eddie Nigma back. Back before there was a bat and his mother was still alive enough to drag him out of the house to escape the browns and greys of their neighborhood. He remembered his tiny hand in hers as the wool cap on his head itched and she scolded him to stop scratching at it. Her voice was always clear in his head, but never her eyes. Not even her face. A man of Eddie’s age and insanity had to be grateful he could at least remember the shape of her hand and the kind of shoes she wore when they went to the nice part of town.

Now Old Gotham wasn’t anything more than a broken memory infested with rats and dirt like something lost in the city’s attic for centuries. He had personally vandalized shops that his mother used to drag him into without even so much as a second thought. How could he? As the Riddler there wasn’t anything but him and the question marks that cluttered his mind. And, it didn’t even occur to him that he had smashed open one of her favorite hat shops to build a puzzle for the Batman until right now. Standing in his own sanity among normal people who wouldn’t believe he was Nigma for a second. Shopping with Emma who had, despite her first reaction to this modern world, done very well for herself. Hell, the girl could play cards better than him if she was in the mood. So, he promised himself he’d buy a hat from a shop that reminded himself of his mother and make amends. Maybe he’d even take it back to Gotham and look for her grave. Vegas made him so sentimental that way.

“Hold on.” Eddie turned to Emma as some music started to play over them. A fountain across the way began spouting water in unison with the terrible, muffled noise and a kingly looking statue on a throne rose up out of nowhere. A narrator boomed, but it was almost impossible to make out what he was saying. “This is why I haven’t taken you around here yet.” He pointed to the talking statues, silly and incomprehensible. “Two weeks ago, you wouldn’t have been able to handle something like that.”

Perhaps the Forum Shop resembled something in London; a bustling metropolis or Mecca for women who wished to resemble the acme of fashion. Perhaps it looked nothing like, Emma would not know. She had only the very best of Surrey to compare the place to, after all and the very best of Surrey had two dressmakers and a tea-shop so the comparison could hardly be made. The music was startling and it could hardly be called ‘music’ at all. There was absolutely no violin and it was gaudy, the separate instruments impossible to define but Emma was surprised laughter and blond merriment at the nonsense of fountain and choreographed water, and she clapped her hands at the hidden orchestra despite the blurred sound of it.

“Has it really truly been a fortnight?” It seemed both longer and less - from the stumbling exit into a world of horseless carriages and elek-tris-ety and jeans; Emma smoothed her palms down over her skirt and blushed furiously at the immodesty of it all. Mr Nigma had been a most excellent escort, from the calm impossibility of being disturbed by it all to the extremely neat way he had managed the accommodation situation with only a handful of that green stuff he called money. It was marvelous, each unfolding mystery that was more like a magic act, paper lanterns and trickery than reality. There were more people than the entire county of Surrey crammed into one small city, it seemed and they were all seemingly unaware of the marvels of their own existence.

“Truly I am uncertain if Hartfield will hold half as many wonders on my return,” she gave a heartfelt sigh, all vivid blue curiosity and peeping sideways at the various people, one hand resting lightly in the crook of his elbow as was entirely proper.

Eddie grinned proudly at her reaction to the moving fountain and the robotic, pre recorded voices that rudely boomed over patron conversations. Did Vegas really cheap out on a sound system? Why, when he announced something to the masses in a bank or museum, Eddie always put down enough cash to make sure his voice was crisp and sharp. Forget being a math teacher if he was stuck here forever, Eddie would teach himself to be a sound technician and really make these shows worth watching. He glanced back down to Emma and rolled his head to the side a little at her show of embarrassment before acting like he never noticed at all. Eventually, she’d get used to wearing such improper clothing, but for now he found it endlessly endearing.

It had been easy to be patient with her learning about this modern world because it meant he got to explain everything like some kind of expert. Maybe in Gotham his patience would have run thin as it usually did with people who were beneath his IQ level, but even there he wasn’t the same Riddler who was locked away in Arkham when this first started. She might have been naive enough to let a professional trickster escort her around and ignorant of the world around her, but Emma was a fast learner and she loved bright, colorful knowledge like he did. Ignorant, innocent and naive were not the first words Eddie thought of when it came to her. In fact, they rarely even blipped on his radar anymore. “Maybe you shouldn’t stay in Hartfield when you return.” He suggested, though he knew better than anyone else that simply leaving a detrimental place wasn’t all that easy. Eddie was bound to Gotham and he suspected Emma would be bound to Hartfield in a similar way.

He waved a little with his hand and a shrug of his shoulder to beckon her to follow him into a nearby shop filled with novelty Las Vegas items, signed pictures of celebrities and last minute gift ideas. In the corner was a fat, past middle aged man dressed up as Elvis singing into a microphone off a terrible karaoke machine. Eddie wondered if the man had been paid by the shop owner to do so, or if fake Elvises just wandered around looking for places to perform. This wasn’t the high class clothing store that they set out to visit, but Eddie liked weird little trinkets. “Maybe I should have kept you far away from all of this.” He said thoughtfully, picking up a snow globe of the Luxor and shaking it until the glitter and fake snow blurred.

Truthfully she had begun to consider it. The initial timidity was long since gone, Emma enjoyed hot dogs eaten in steaming, meaty gulps at the side of the street and licking the condiments from her fingertips like a savage in a book. She enjoyed the noise and bright-lit glare of the public houses that lined the vast, paved road. She had even tried the ale here - it was darkly bitter on her tongue, she had pulled a face and pushed it away but she could even learn to like that; they had no ratafia, nothing so sweet here. She liked cards best of all, sat on a high stool at a table, and laying them down in a line until the little plastic circles they called money (Emma was dubious that anyone in Vegas had a proper, well-established bank with so many things besides money being called thus) and winning. Hartfield was a lifetime away, flickering candlelight and Gothic novels and walks around the grounds with Mr Knightley when he chose to visit. What would it be, to stay? To close a door on Hartfield and Surrey and her own time and skirts that tangled between her knees and to allow this heady champagne of life with so many new things to it, to be solely imbibed?

She let go Mr Nigma’s arm and she trailed her fingertips across the shelves’ occupants. A pack of cards, with little men in white suits on them, and then a picture stamped on what looked like velvet. Emma rubbed her thumb over it, much as one might absent-mindedly pet a cat and she looked across at Eddie with nothing much more than dismay.

“Why on earth? I have dearly enjoyed each excursion we have made, Mr Nigma. What could there be to keep me from? It has been as you said, entirely safe and most proper if unorthodox. I very much like your companions and even that establishment - the, ah, diner,” she was very careful with the word, like someone speaking a strange language, “Was most delightful.” Her face slid into bittersweet lines; Emma was pink and white betrayal of every thought she had, the blue eyes were no good at all at dissembling. “I must go back, Father is at Hartfield but I confess, I like it here very much.”

He shook the snow globe a little harder when she responded and then watched the shimmering particles slowly fall and gather on the side of the plastic in a pile so that the miniature casino inside could be seen again. Eddie looked up at her, dark eyes stormy with a twinge of guilt that didn’t look natural on him at all. “That’s the problem. If I had made this place seem horrific or dull, you’d be wishing to go back to Hartfield. You’ve read enough books to know how this works. If you go off on a journey and come back home, you’re suddenly too big for the small town you grew up in.” Eddie gently set the snowglobe back down on the shelf and walked over towards a bin full of Houdini puzzles. He made a face at them like their existence mocked him, before picking up a tangled mess of twisted metal.

If Emma had known him in Gotham, that entire box of puzzles would have been neatly solved and sorted in a matter of minutes- seconds if he was feeling like showing off. But, here his mind worked like a small, jumbled mess of puzzle pieces from a thousand different boxes. He still had his logic, his love for stories and ability to work simple things out in his head, but that knowledge was gone. “I’m glad you liked it, though.” He said, one eyebrow bearing down heavily as he moved the curved metal pieces against each other in an attempt to untangle them. Say what you wanted about Eddie Nigma, but he was relentless in the face of defeat. “If this ever ends I’m going to miss having you around asking me what a blender does.”

He looked unhappy, which had not been Emma’s intention at all. She abandoned the velvet painting and she pressed one small, white hand against his forearm with a soft, comforting sort of touch, all nineteenth century restraint. “I am so very sorry if I have caused you dismay,” Emma said and her voice was very calm and very quiet, but there was a discordant note to it that it was polite to ignore, restrained emotion permitted no room at all. “You have been the best of companions, Mr Nigma. I feel quite certain were it not here then it would be Paris or London, or even an especially good book.” She dimpled, blond concern for him and somehow despite the loose hair and the modest (but by no means Regency-era) skirt, very much of her time in that minute.

Emma did not know the Riddler and she did not know Gotham; she had tried to pry, with all the artless guile of one used to being indulged and therefore unaware of her own limitations but had had very little told to her that was not harmless. She knew only that Mr Nigma occasionally was saddened by his own lackings and that she had seen no evidence at all that this was so. “You were very kind,” she said, very definitively with a flat refusal to brook argument about it. “And this place is fascinating but I doubt very much we will locate what we set to purchase.”

Eddie gave a sideways glance when she touched his arm, expression softening a little before he exhaled a rumbling sigh at himself. The amount of time he spent making sure Muerte wasn’t losing her mind over how quiet Vegas was or that Emma was comfortably entertained took up most of his day, but he kind of loved doing it. Even without his brain, he needed projects, challenges and activities to keep him happy, and those two alone could keep him from feeling inconsequential or bored. There were times when he was out at 2am playing cards and debating whether or not late night, half drunk booty calls to Stephanie were appropriate, but they couldn’t be held responsible for a grown man’s wallowing. Besides, he liked Emma. Liking people was a rare feat for an Arkham alumni with a superiority complex.

“I can always count on you to keep me on task.” He said with a smirk and then held up his hand as if to say ten more seconds as he slipped one metal piece out of another, leaving three more to go but calling it a victory anyway. He’d never have his full mind here, but if it was permanent, he was determined to get damned close. Tossing the partially solved thing back in its bin and angling his arm out a little for her to hold, he lead them back out of the shop with a wave to fat, sweating Elvis as they went. “I need a pocket watch, a new green tie and a hat for my mother.” Eddie listed off, the first two she knew but the second was tacked on like it had always been there. “And, we were going to find you some nice shoes, correct?” A lift of his brow, eyes rolling up and then back to her as if he were searching around his empty brain for anything he could have missed.

“And jeans,” Emma said quite determinedly because the decision had been made all at once, as if time were running out of a glass, like sand. If the delightful excursions were to be cut short, then jeans was something Emma wished to try. She had a quick mind, and a sharp one. There was not a great deal in Surrey to test it against and her father had not been approving of school as a general principle, he feared it would make a woman less ladylike, more difficult. Emma was already difficult but she was the pleasant kind, that made it seem as though the difficulty were down to simple misunderstanding. She cocked her head to one side and the blond hair spilled over her shoulder. It swung against her back, a pleasant silky sort of feeling to a young woman used to it either braided for night or pinned up upon her head and she looked at him with the clear curiosity of deviation from normality.

“A hat for your mother?” Emma lifted her eyebrows in a delicate expression that was neither disbelief nor disagreement but some finite blend of the two. “You did not mention millinery, Mr Nigma.” She looked down at her own toes, in their somewhat now scuffed leather flats - heavier than her own kid slippers but what were dubbed, apparently, suitable for ballet dancers, and she nodded her satisfaction with the itinery. “Is this like that place we went to purchase food, where it was all under one roof and not in separate shops? I find that convention terribly cunning.”

“Jeans.” He repeated after her, looking faintly like an older gentleman who didn’t know the first thing about women’s apparel. That wasn’t entirely true, but Eddie liked being dramatic for the sake of dramatics. “I should have asked Stephanie for tips. She knows the styles a lot better than I do for obvious reasons.” Then, thoughtfully with a higher pitch to his voice, “Though I think I could judge them on what kind I’ve seen her wear.” A nod, to prove he could navigate the purchasing of jeans with her without having to emergency call Stephanie to take care of it for him. The truth of the matter was that he was mostly certain Emma could judge for herself ultimately, but he’d be there for moral support.

They strolled towards a sleek looking shop that masculine and very no-nonsense. The women working there were dressed in smart looking black blazers, skirts and strappy shoes like they were about to present a series of graphs to a CEO. All of them smiling faintly at male customers like they hadn’t laughed in a long time or found anything all that amusing for weeks. They hovered and watched without giving a greeting beyond a slight nod. Eddie was very well versed in vapid women. They all only responded to a higher level of indifference and superiority which he could deal out in spades.

He looked the part of a high roller that was trying to fit in with the common folk, but didn’t know how to without spending stupid amounts of money. His blazer was dark and cut to fit his scrawny frame, jeans faded and frayed with expensive acids and tools, his army green button up shirt tucked in and smooth with rich looking fabric. Eddie could slum it down even more than that, but prefered looking like someone instead of no one. Vanity, after all, was not something he lost through the door. “Cunning in the worst way. I always walk out with a handful of things I didn’t even know I needed.” Eddie agreed idly, eyes set on a rack of silk ties. He paused, mind ticking back to the mention of a millinery (just the word gave him a silly smirk). “My mother died when I was very young and I haven’t tried to pay her tribute in a long time.” His expression was warm, similar to how he talked about Muerte. “She loved hats. I love hats. I thought I’d leave one for her back home if I ever return.” The thought alone made him happy, but saying it aloud felt right. A little sappy for his own good, but right. “When I was a child she’d let me count all the tiles on the floor without trying to punish me for it.”

Emma was well-versed in vapid women even if she was not in the kind of women Vegas produced. She recognized the kind of expression such women gave, and she held her head very high and looked back at them with the sweet, somewhat arrogant smile of someone who is used to having a great deal of money and does not care much for the attempt at being made to feel inferior. She was not vain - not for her appearance, at least - and as the fear had shaken itself off, she walked like a young woman who owned the world or at least enough of it to make her feel like it. She reached out and her fingertips dragged across the silk ties, and her smile was very full and generous. The fabric reminded her of shopping, the mode she was most used to. Fabric splayed out ready for consumption, and all rich stuffs to be picked from.

“Stephanie is lovely,” she said, thinking of the woman she had met, blond and laughing and who fitted as comfortably with Mr Nigma as two puzzle pieces slotted together. They looked at each other the way Mr and Mrs Weston had done, as though they needn’t hide it but as if it were a small, private kind of thing, all about the eyes and the mouth and as if there was no one else to see but each other. “I presume you are near to declaring yourself?” It was phrased as a polite question; Emma’s smile was very neat but it was accompanied by one elegant arched eyebrow. And then it slid into full-blown confusion, “Why would your mother punish you for counting tiles?” Sometimes Mr Nigma was truly a mystery.

Eddie always drifted towards the more eccentric ties first and allowed himself to wind down to something more appropriate. Especially in Vegas. Gotham was sort of a different story since he could stroll around his neighborhood in bright green and no one would look the other way, but even his Riddler suits were a little less flamboyant than what he was capable of three decades ago. He held a tie crossed in green and purple flat on his hand and held it out a little to Emma for inspection, taking her yay or nay into deep consideration. “Because I would count all the tiles. Out loud. And, then I’d start dividing, subtracting and adding them for hours.” Eddie gave her a flat, humored look. Aware of how annoying he could be even without his brain and making a point to show how much worse it was in Gotham. “She was patient. I do well with patient.”

He held out another tie, this one a darker green and then decided it was too boring for him. Eddie hummed, enjoying rummaging through clothes and thinking about Stephanie at the same time. “Declaring myself?” His question came suddenly, surprise spiked by a dorky lift in his voice and a smile at her like it almost embarrassed him. Then, after only a moment, a playful keenness to his eyes. “If she already knows how I feel about her, why would I need to declare anything?” Eddie’s eyebrows lifted loftily and he even tilted his chin up a little like he was beyond whatever declaring himself entitled.

Eccentricity of dress was rarely permitted in Surrey, a notable county for constancy of look and dress. If one was not quite one-and-twenty, one wore white, largely and sprigged if one wished for variety and never deep colors. Flamboyance was for married ladies and gentlemen who retained a certain ton that was all London, and Emma looked at the tie extended and shook her head most decidedly. “That is most severe,” she indicated another, a dark heather green that had faint flecks of darker green that gave it a texture beyond the smoothness of its silk. “What of that?”

That Mr Nigma was what would be called a Character, Miss Woodhouse was most aware. He was distinct, but he was very good and very kind and for that, anyone ought be patient enough. But patience was a side-topic and Emma refused to permit the discussion to become derailed. “One must declare intentions,” she said severely, and she drew herself up to the very limits of her undistinguished height, “If one means to be proper. After all, Miss Stephanie is a very elegant young lady, she cannot be considered to wait without some promise of the direction in which you intend to take.” Which was, after all, how things went in her time. “Or do you intend to delay proposing and make her look perfectly wretched?”

He picked up the tie she suggested and tilted so he could see it in a mirror, expression so serious it turned goofy. “Close.” Eddie assured her, mouth flattened into a tight line before he put the tie back where it belonged. He tried not to smile at the way she commanded attention at his flippancy towards commitment, working very hard to play along like he was some eternal bachelor set on making Stephanie an unmarried woman for a majority of her life. The truth was, of course, that modern relationships between people like themselves took a long time to come close to even remotely settling down. Nevermind that they were committed to each other, painfully so sometimes and their relationship was the most mature thing to come out of Gotham in a long time.

“I am much older than her, Emma.” He said with a small, wise nod. “In a year she’ll find some new, young buck who will make a much more adequate companion than someone like myself.” Eddie actually partially believed that, as all older men dating younger women did. “If I declare anything, she’ll stay with me out of guilt and pine over another man the rest of her life. I can’t live with that kind of pressure.”

Emma was used to the association of older men and younger women, it was, in her regard, utterly proper and as things ought to be. Mr Nigma was not at all too old, he was neither gray nor stooped and she had seen far older a gentleman marry far younger a lady. She patted the tie that had been put back with a moue of dissatisfaction at its rejection and she proffered something equally understated, this time in a yellow. In fact, the couple made perfect sense to Emma; Mr Nigma was sensible and very wise and Stephanie was delightful and her temperament perfectly genial. It was a good match, and Emma prided herself on her ability to recognize and cozen along such things.

“Nonsense,” she said smartly, and there was something of the nineteenth century about that, as if had she had a fan, she would have tapped him on the hand for the remark. “There is nothing at all to do with guilt, a lady of prospects may choose her response with no fear of being left without choice and Stephanie is truly a lady of prospects.” She looked at him, very serious about the blue eyes and her mouth was very firm as she considered the whole. He was a gentleman and one of means enough to support the lady; she had no doubt about it.

“Is there another gentleman for whom you expect to be a challenge?” Emma was perfectly capable of dealing with that.

Eddie took the yellow tie, giving her a look that said this isn’t green, but held it up to his neck anyway to prove he trusted her judgement. His brow quirked, liking the contrast between his dark eyes and hair with the almost gold, muted yellow. It reminded him of Stephanie, of the veil of hair he hid in whenever she held him close and decided that a yellow tie wouldn’t be a terrible pick. He turned to Emma for consideration, expression changing only for a second before going back to their very serious conversation about prospects and challenges. “There are a handful of things that could make her unhappy.” And, what he was about to list off were all entirely true. “Her family will never trust me due to a questionable and roguish past. She’s only just gone to schooling so she can choose a career for herself. And, yes there is a gentleman from her past that practically tried to challenge me to a duel.”

The details as to why her family didn’t trust him (and there were a lot of good reasons on that list) went unsaid, but the other two reasons were clear as day. He had explained to Emma how modern women wished to carve futures out for themselves, but the subject of marriage and relationships hadn’t been rightly touched on before. For all Eddie knew, Stephanie would find a career that she loved and some smart, young man in the process that she wanted to try something very normal with. He did want to get in the way of that, but he wasn’t sure if he’d really be able to. “The gentleman is no match for me, however. Everytime he tries to start some kind of verbal debate it takes him only a couple moments to realize what a mistake he has made.”

There was an ease to the conversation, a lilt that was entirely two centuries behind itself that made Emma exceptionally comfortable. Whether Mr Nigma intended it or no, when they were by themselves or (with a look down her nose to the nearest attendant stepping far too close to make the shopping exceptional instead of humdrum) as close to by themselves as was truly permitted, the patter of his language slowed to a point where she could understand it. It was, Emma decided, indicative of a truly understanding sort of gentleman. That he was perfectly right for Stephanie was exceptionally true and that the lady was loved was indeed most evident. Most men stood on some ceremony rather than declaring themselves in the midst of a shop, on the other hand, Emma considered, he did need practice.

She waved an encouraging hand at the tie, the gold of which was quite perfect, and she handed him another with an imperious little flick of her fingers that was command rather than encouragement, this time an emerald color cut with burgundy. “When a young lady weds, she moves from one family to another. Sometimes clear across the country. It is a sad fact that when a lady becomes a wife, she ceases truly to be a daughter. This is why men have sons, so they may have additions to their families, rather than true losses.” Her smile became impish and it was possible to see the much indulged daughter in Emma for a minute. “A duel is most improper, I hope she was suitably shocked.” Emma’s frown was a minute crease in her forehead; she was not given over much to frowning.

That schooling was important, Emma did not disagree; she had hoped a little in that direction but it was unlikely to be. However, “If it is this modern age as you say, then surely the lady might marry and still set herself up in her career as you say!” She was triumphant, “And if he is so very uncouth as to go challenging people then he is beneath interest.” Dismissive of such a suitor, Emma was resolved that she was correct.

Eddie took the second tie without even checking the mirror, knowing as she did that it’d be perfect for him. “She’ll never leave her family behind.” He told her, delicately draping the two ties over his forearm before wandering towards display cases of watches. Some of them were of great quality and even encrusted with diamonds or other rare stones, but there weren’t many pocket watches to speak of. Very few people wore watches at all, let alone something so antiquated. He turned his head just enough to catch that tiny moment of youthfulness despite all the scolding and smirked a little to himself. “Stephanie would be miserable without them and I’d drive her absolutely insane on my own.” It was becoming more apparently to Eddie that this was turning into a real conversation instead of an instigated matchmaking one. But, Emma was a friend. A real friend. A little confiding wouldn’t kill him. “Don’t you think it’s better that way? If people get to keep both once they marry? And, I don’t have a family for her to fit into. It’s just me and Muerte if you want to count her.”

He made a sound like he wasn’t happy with any of the watches he saw, even the single pocket watch that was on display like some kind of relic. “You’re right about her past suitor, though. On the nose, actually.” Eddie said lowly, mind slightly distracted as he looked around the store for something else he might need before giving her a look like he was up for suggestions before buying the ties and leaving. “Immature, uncouth and not even worthy of her friendship as far as I can tell. Stephanie is endlessly forgiving to someone trying to do better, but won’t put up with someone who doesn’t consider her feelings at all.”

“You sound as if you know her best qualities,” Emma’s voice was warm and it was fond. She enjoyed the moment for what it was, truly coaxing confidences the way matchmakers needed to in order to know the truth behind the pleasantries. Mr Nigma looked as though he was quite prepared to leave, and Emma combed through the case of quite gaudy jewels and bobs for the wrist until she found anything at all she liked. “There is nothing here,” she was dissatisfied, it was a dreadful selection, suitable only for the stage. “You will purchase your cravats and we will adjourn to the next,” she said, confidently, as though it were to her to dictate the pattern of their trip and not entirely resting upon Eddie himself.

“I think it entirely appropriate if one can be allowed to keep family and one’s marriage both,” she said as they approached the counter, and sent a cluster of soberly-clad ladies into a scurry of tissue paper and embossed, glossy bags. Emma was wistful, her hands knotted themselves together and she examined her nails as if to lift her gaze would be to give away something she thought very private. “I cannot marry at all, not until Father is well or until he is gone and I am quite happy as I am,” she sounded less than certain of this, but she soldiered on, “But I think you have spoken to me of these modern families and their unconventional nature. I am certain that either Miss Stephanie’s family must surrender their ill-will or that she will manage adroitly to balance the two.”

He dutifully obeyed her command, some mischievous part of him liking how she declared that there wasn’t anything else here they could possibly want as they were both far above trying to please any of the women working at the store. An inexperienced tourist would apologize and quietly back out of the store with their small purchase as the stern, young women in black looked on, but not these two. Eddie slid up to the counter, giving one of his charming smiles to the unreceptive woman before throwing money down for the ties and giving a polite, friendly thank you like they had received the warmest greeting when they had walked in. “You’re right, of course.” Eddie said finally as they walked out of the shop, giving a small sigh of surrender. “And, I can’t imagine my life without her now. It’s only been a handful of months, but Stephanie is very important to me. I promise if things go on long enough I’ll make an honest woman out of her.” A term that hopefully went over Emma’s head. He liked speaking clearly for her, but he couldn’t help throwing in some modern turns of phrases. Whether or not the promise was grounded in anything was a mystery to even him. Things in Gotham didn’t last very long, but if Stephanie found herself in her mid to late twenties still hanging onto her middle-aged, riddled boyfriend, well why not. Anyone who could last that long in a relationship without running around in clown makeup deserved a goddamned prize.

Eddie took a moment before deciding where to go next. Most of the typical places to buy jeans were loud with music to the point he thought they were trying to start some kind of party. Instead he opted to lead her over to a smaller boutique that was quiet and looked as though it had a decent enough selection of jeans. There, it was a much warmer atmosphere. Laid back and run by young women who looked like they could be friends of Stephanie or college classmates. “You know, Emma. If we wanted to, I’m sure we could find someone suitable for you.” He told her casually with a comical wiggle to his brow. “Most women from Austen books like men who are antagonistic or mysterious. And, I’m certain there are plenty of those around.” Certain because Eddie liked to think he was one of those types of men.

He did, Emma decided, lovelorn exceptionally well. It was almost like a book, one in which the hero plashed his brow with the back of his hand and declared how little he could live without his chosen lady. It was very Gothic, except Mr Nigma did not resemble a Gothic hero in the slightest. Her frown was slight, but her expression was one horrified at the next. “You mean she is not honest?” Her opinion must be at once revised; a lady who was prone to falsehood undoubtedly may have many fine qualities but it was a significant attribute to consider. Stephanie was very lovely but if she lied... Emma was struck, and she stopped quite still in the middle of the street and stared at the man as if he were not quite sane, and let the patter of his laughable attempt at her own matrimonial future settle on her shoulders as if it had not been said at all.

“I cannot conceive of a matrimony in which one must doubt the validity of the other’s word,” she said, dubiously and she looked at him and his ties as if he were a sick thing, or an animal in pain - all piteous and nothing at all else. “Truly, Mr Nigma, you are a gentleman if you believe yourself capable of such a thing but surely it is for the lady to learn the virtues of truth. Does she attend church?”

Emma’s abrupt stop made him turn his head almost in whiplash, his perfectly combed hair spiraling out of place as he gave her a mirrored look of shock. The first thing that went through his head wasn’t how Emma misinterpreted his wording, but the simple notion that Stephanie was the dishonest one in their relationship. On one hand, if he couldn’t convince Emma that his blonde bat was anything but honest and sincere, the fire that could rain down on him was tremendous. On the other, it was kind of funny that anyone would make the mistake with those two. Not a soul in Gotham, not even his trusty henchmen Frank would believe Batgirl was prone to lying over The Riddler. “What- no. No. No.” He protested and then eventually the tiny processes in his mind worked out that she didn’t understand the meaning of honest woman. He’d either have to tell her the meaning or make something up. Either way, he was digging his own grave here.

Eddie laughed awkwardly, hands up as he waved a couple more emphatic nos. “She’s never lied to me once. I don’t think she ever-” He trailed off, lost in the absurdity of it by no fault of Emma at all. “Let’s take a couple steps back.” A request, since all the protesting almost sounded like it was in regards to whether or not Stephanie went to church, which was kind of a different beast altogether. “When a man says make an honest woman out of the lady he’s courting, he means to marry her. Becaaaauusee,” His head tilted a little like he was rolling an idea from one side of his brain to the other. Eddie moved his hands around in the air like he was trying to find a delicate way to put this. “Sometimes a couple acts like they’re already married when they’re not. So actually getting married makes everything they do together honest.” Yep, that was as PG as he could make it. Eddie was even a little proud of himself.

Emma looked not remotely proud. She looked, it had to be said, distinctly unhappy in a way that was well-bred young lady and Miss Woodhouse rather than Emma at all. “Do you mean to say,” she said carefully and crisply, all precision sharp as diamonds, “That you have,” her voice lowered to a hissing whisper that was almost more audible than her normal one, “Taken advantage of the lady?” Her tone, all blond indignation, made it quite clear what she thought of that, and well-bred scandal warred quite visibly with disappointment, crestfallen that her squire had feet of clay. “You... you bounder!”

Clearly Stephanie was not the injured party. Emma swiftly revised her opinion; Stephanie had family but clearly they had not thought to warn her against the dangers that might beset one of charm and grace and beauty. Emma was gently raised and she had no present mother, just the wise Mrs Weston to bring her up - she had a vague idea of what being ‘ruined’ meant and even that was limited to whispers at gatherings. The details she would doubtless discover upon her marriage. Her face had turned sulky and mutinous, dark red blooming across her cheekbones. “And you must propose to the lady at once, set it all to rights!”

His expression fell, arms crossing immediately in a defensive, scrawny pose as he leaned back on one foot away from her like the scolding was going to burn him. “Don’t you dare.” He warned, suddenly poking a finger in her direction, mouth screwed up in a grimace as he did not like anyone insinuating that he was taking advantage of Stephanie. That was a sore subject even if only Stephanie understood why. “Emma, this is a modern world where that kind of behavior is perfectly normal and acceptable. She’d think I was nuts if I asked her to wait until marriage.” He flung his arms up a little, voice raising from a harsh whisper to something that was beyond defensive and into the territory of offended. That’s right. He was offended.

“If everyone in Gotham proposed to whoever they slept with, it’d be a nightmare. I’m pretty sure they’d actually kill each other during the wedding!” Eddie shrugged, eyes wide and daring her to fight him on it. He had examples. He had proof. “That’s how it’s supposed to be. People have to know they’re compatible before they spend the rest of their lives together. Both Stephanie and I have been with people we wouldn’t even consider that kind of commitment with. That’s how most people are.”

Whenever Mr Nigma - Eddie, everyone else called him thus and why give him the generosity of a gentleman? - spoke of the modern world and what it meant, Emma was thrust into the uncertainty that she had never before come across. A lady of good standing and wealth was largely certain of everything. She spoke a smattering of French, could draw, play chess, ride. She knew her geography and her botany, and where to place a Duke and an Earl at a dinner party. But there was no certainty at all in this modern world save for the fact she was as stupid as a small child within it. She had begun to redden further and her lower lip began to tremble and Emma was young, it had to be said, not quite twenty just yet. She bit down on the inside of her cheek until it hurt but that at least stopped the tears and she glared back at him and his excuses for shame and ruin and ignoble behavior.

“It is not decent,” and Emma was certain of her Bible as any lady was, just as she was certain that this tawdry town had chapels and churches and God, same as the green fields of Surrey. “One can be certain of compatibility before that. And if one is not certain, one becomes certain over time. Love is more than,” her voice trembled, whether anger or disappointment, it was not certain, “The flesh.” She was standing very still and very stiff and she held her arms at her sides as though she were a doll, her legs felt very bare all at once, without the comforting weight of her skirts.

“I think I have been exceptionally naive,” she said, very gravely and the shake in her voice spoiled it a little. She turned on her heel and she ran, not in the direction of the pleasant shop with the young women, nor toward the shop with the cravats. She ran without looking, and the shriek of horns, angry drivers was enough to say she had fled across the street and was running still, all blond hair and small, incapable hands and reddened humiliation.

And with a snap, all of the gentlemanly behaviors that he could easily slip on for her were gone. He appeared a lot like he had the first time they met, wide-eyed, obtuse and apparently unaware how polite conversation was supposed to go. Eddie felt terrible, but he was also a little outraged at how quickly she was to judge. Why did he have to be the one who explained to her the more mature parts of the modern era? Why couldn’t Muerte pull her aside or hell even Stephanie since they were practically in the same age group. He huffed, giving a dangerous look to a couple who apparently stopped to watch the whole thing before trying to calm himself back down.

She was from a goddamned Jane Austen novel. Worse yet, she thought he was some kind of gentleman when he was one of the biggest crooks in Gotham. Emma, despite her willingness to absorb the modern world, still thought like a sheltered young woman from a drab part of Regency England. He had done right to show her the good parts of this world, but he probably could have lived without explaining the fast nature of relationships. Good, at least he knew where the line was in case he felt like playing hopscotch with it again later. He sighed, eyes closed as his little frame rocked on his feet and he almost wished that he could just go back to being the Riddler. At least then he could kidnap nurses and hang them over spike pits without even a second thought.

“Emma!” He shouted after her, even though she was long gone by the time he settled back down. He whined, hand clutching the bag of ties he had just purchased with her on what was supposed to be a pleasant outing. Somehow, he’d fix this. He had to. But, Eddie knew he couldn’t on his own.