eddie likes to (riddlethem) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-03-09 08:58:00 |
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Entry tags: | emma woodhouse, plot: switch, riddler |
Who: Emma and Eddie
Where: A shady part of Vegas
When: backdated to the switchplot
What: Trying to make amends after this debacle
Warnings: None!
She was positively lost. It was not like, Emma decided, tearfully and filled with woe, being lost in Surrey. In Surrey if one was lost it was because one had strayed too far from the green, helpfully marked walking paths across the fields and one could find one’s way back simply by retracing one’s steps. There might be cows and there might be sheep but it was all the same. And if one did not find one’s own way a helpful party would be sent by the house the minute one was missed. (Such things being the right only of the very rich who could summon such parties, did not occur to Emma, having never been anything other than rich). This was neither Surrey nor was it helpfully marked. She had suggestions in the little blue book that she had never heard of (what was ‘wifi’?) and she had tried to retrace her steps as much as possible but an intoxicated man who had made his bed in the street had shouted at her, and a gentleman who seemed to have a problem with his tongue (it kept flicking at her) had made her extremely uncomfortable and she had walked down two streets she did not recognize at all.
Emma’s shoulders shuddered with something that was definitely not sobbing, as she was twenty, not four and ten and certainly beyond crying in public. The ladies she had stopped with were very helpful; they had explained that ‘wifi’ meant ‘the internet’ and Emma had been so grateful for the providence of ladies that she hadn’t liked to ask where one could procure ‘the internet’ other than Mr Nigma. They were very kind and one had even offered her a handkerchief; paper with a tiny animal printed on it that the lady in question proudly explained was called ‘Hello Kitty’. She had asked if they minded if she waited a little bit and had been told they’d be here ‘all night’. The shoes they were wearing did not look comfortable and there was something dubious about their hemlines but the one named ‘LaToya’ - she did not have a last name, or at least, she laughed when Emma asked for it - asked if she was ‘starting something’ when Emma looked, in a tone that implied possible conflict. Emma shrank back against the brickwork and meekly replied that there was nothing at all to start.
They had been giving her fashion advice for quite the last half an hour and Emma was interested to learn that Mr Nigma had been explaining it terribly wrong for the most part. The blue book was in hand and despite being lost, it had been distracting enough to forget the lost part, until Miss Stephanie began to talk to her and then Emma had dropped the book into a puddle. It was, Emma decided, the worst possible of nights, especially as the ladies seemed to lose interest in her, every time one of the horseless carriages passed by.
Eddie had insisted that Muerte or Stephanie go find Emma for him, but that was the coward in him talking. He was getting wary of Las Vegas and tired of responsibility beyond his own actions. Super villains didn’t typically have friends, especially ones that couldn’t take care of themselves, so his experience in looking after a woman from a completely different time and place was next to nothing. So far he had done a good job at keeping her busy and his company pleasant, but it was only a matter of time before she got to know the real Eddie under all the care he had put into making her feel safe and happy. And, deep down? Eddie was frustrated. He didn’t come close to understanding why he was putting so much effort into helping someone that meant nothing to Gotham or his world.
But, here he was, blazer open, shirt a little rumpled, hair wild and unkempt, walking through Vegas trying to locate Emma. After a couple drinks at the casino, he decided that it was better if he helped look for her than just sit on his ass. Which meant wandering around the places she could have run off to and asking if anyone saw a distressed blonde girl even though that was an all too common occurrence in this town. By the time he found himself on a particularly shady looking street, his feet were starting to hurt and every part of his brain was trying to convince him that she went back home to the giant suite he had payed for in Sadie’s gambling money. He knew that wasn’t the case, but it’d be a lot easier if he just believed she’d figure things out for herself.
The area reminded him a little of Old Gotham and for a moment, just a moment he felt like he was back home. The women Emma had hidden herself behind perked up when they saw Eddie walking past them. An older gentleman dressed like money and having a bad night? That was a dream come true. But, he politely shook his head and kept his eyes on his feet (if you wanted to avoid a fight in Gotham, you never looked anything in the eyes) and pushed past until he caught sight of Emma fishing her journal out of a puddle. Without thinking he broke out into a small sprint, shoes scraping a little to a stop just at the end of the puddle. “I’ll get it,” He insisted and to anyone watching it would have looked like they didn’t even know each other. “You had a bad enough night. There’s no telling what kind of toxins are in a standing puddle in the middle of Vegas.”
Emma was quite certain she understood far more than she had when she had begun in Vegas. Men and women were free to use one another’s given names (although she had utterly refused to call Mr Nigma anything but) and there were marvels like horseless carriages, elek-triss-ety and the internet to do vast wonders if you were so inclined. One could wear a dress that ended on the knee and no one would think you a woman for sale and ice-cream was available for every day rather than just at parties. She did not understand a great deal more, and was aware of not understanding it. Now, stooping on the sidewalk with her fingers quite dirty from the puddle and her face reddened and tear-stained, she stared at Mr Nigma with all the unhidden surprise of an innocent.
“I can manage,” she said, with the hoity tone of a woman hauling together her dignity with both hands and clutching it, save it to be taken from her. “It is only a puddle, we have plenty of puddles,” hiccup, “In Surrey.” The women who lined the wall - glitter and skirts and heels and menace - bristled. They were neither aware of the truth of the matter in any detail nor of Emma herself (for her explanation had been prudent as one who is aware of being out of time might give) but they knew men and they knew women. They came to an assumption and they saw a scrap of a girl who looked like she’d had her dream trodden on, and they bristled.
Eddie rolled his eyes at her, tired and a little cranky from chasing her down when he could have been back at the bar or wrapped up in Stephanie. “Oh really.” He said, tone flatter and darker than it had ever been around her. “Did they have broken heroin needles in Surrey, too?” But, he caught himself and backed up a little, feeling the heat of the women around him and knowing there wasn’t any way he could explain this situation to a bunch of street smart working girls. The best thing he could do in this situation was try to come across as some kind of brotherly figure. And, if Eddie could figure out how to do that he might get out of this alive and without a stiletto rammed through his throat.
“I was worried about you.” He told her bluntly, creating a clear kind of space between them. Hands in pockets. Shoulders relaxed. Eddie was a small enough man to seem like he wasn’t a threat, but once he got talking that tended to change people’s minds. And, for the first time in his life, Eddie could feel himself actively keeping himself from being himself. It felt a little like throwing water out of a sinking rowboat. “And, I’m sorry I-” Eddie wasn’t even really sure what he was sorry for beyond how she reacted. “Offended you. Okay?”
Emma sniffed. It was a small, poignant sound and it was filled with all the woe that weighed down a twenty year old Regency girl in Vegas. The nearest woman - Diamante - clucked her tongue in a noise both disapproving and remonstrative. Emma did not care, she looked at Mr Nigma sorrowfully, and she hugged her dripping journal to her chest, all brown water staining the yellow dress. “You should not apologize to me,” she said, all haughty dignity and nothing at all of the ignoble surroundings in her voice. Emma was very good at being a moneyed sort of miss and she was very much Miss Woodhouse in that moment. Diamante made an approving sound from behind her, a little like a Greek chorus. Emma rather liked it.
“You should apologize to Stephanie.” There was disapproval writ large in that. She had liked blond, playful Stephanie - misunderstood her on any number of occasions but Emma liked the bounce to Stephanie. It made up for having little opportunity for bounce herself. She had seen Stephanie behave as Miss Taylor had when she had not been Mrs Weston and had assumed that there was an understanding. Clearly, it had been based on something more Vegas than she had thought. “You are the very worst sort of blackguard,” she informed Eddie, with her nose in the air, but the damp sound to the words rather spoilt the effect.
“I’m not apologizing to Stephanie.” He seemed absolutely strained by the absurdity of it. “I am in a loving, hetrosexual, monogmous relationship with a woman I care a lot about.” Eddie was trying so hard not to shout, his voice piping to keep the sharpness down. Because really, The Riddler had murdered people. He had watched people die in his own death traps and laughed about it on the phone with Joker later. He had constructed numerous plots and schemes that brought nothing but misery to Batman and Gotham alike. The things he had done over the past sixty years of memories jammed into that head of his would destroy every ounce of gentleman that she thought he had in him. Having sex with Stephanie? Because he cared about her? Eddie put that in the good column.
“You can accept that things are different here. That people act differently, dress differently, treat each other differently, but you can’t accept that maybe courting has changed a little, too?” Eddie kept his voice low and his tone flat as a sidewalk, but his expression was veering into furious and frustrated. All his attempts to throw water out of his boat were failing. He was going to drown if she didn’t give him a hand here.
Certain things changing made utter sense to Emma. If men and women were both permitted to attain learning and then work exactly the same it made it practical for women to be permitted to dress in shorter skirts. If horseless carriages allowed for travel to be quicker, then a lack of stables was understandable. But courtship, founded upon enjoyment of one another and knowledge of one’s Bible, should not be anything other than as it was. There were chapels enough in Vegas to show God had differed not at all. “Is it not possible to love one another any longer, without recourse to that?” Emma’s voice had gone very quiet and it had the resignation of a small child who has been told ‘you don’t understand’ far too many times in one afternoon.
“I don’t think I like this world.” Emma sagged, like a doll that had been dropped and she sank back against the brickwork, all dejection and childish sadness.
He looked at her and then tilted his head back and sighed into the dirty, colorful Vegas air. “No. We’d probably fight a lot more.” Eddie smiled a little to himself at that, but it was gone in a snap. Eddie felt the weight of seriousness on him. His scotch buzz had drifted off. He was out on a dirty street instead of inside playing cards. “And, then we’d get in a fight that affection couldn’t solve and we’d be done for. That’s how it works. That’s why people in your time only courted for a couple months, if that.” And, he knew this was a talk that neither of them particularly wanted to have or even need, but this was apparently the kind of trouble he got himself into when he didn’t have violet shades to hide behind.
Eddie turned to lean his shoulder against the wall, watching her deflate and recognizing that feeling. Gotham could make him feel like that sometimes. For different reasons, obviously, but occasionally it made him feel like it was out to get him or he never quite fit it the right way. And, so he forced his way through as the Riddler. Annoying the entire city and painting his symbol across building until they didn’t really have a choice. Emma, though? Emma was just lost. “That’s exactly the opposite of what you told me earlier. You loved it here. So, there’s some difficult parts? Do they really outweigh the good things?”
Emma was sitting on dirty paving stones and she had curled her arms around her knees. It was the posture of a child, a little girl and she looked the sort of young that did not know the pieces of the world and how they fitted but played only with the ones she had. The yellow skirt was dirty now too and the ladies had streamed off; a car had come past and they had leaned on the windows and sung out in lilts and strange phrases that did not make sense to Emma but very little did at present. It felt like abandonment, friends that had left her, and that made her hug her knees all the tighter, her journal in the lap of her skirt.
“I don’t know,” she said, and she sounded tired and she sounded small and she sounded vulnerable and Emma liked none of these things at all. “I don’t know why everything has changed so very much and I don’t know why the modern world hasn’t kept a bit of the things I remember. And I don’t understand why morality isn’t here any more, and everything I learned in church seems to have been forgotten but the Bible is the same, it hasn’t been re-written at all. I looked.’ There had been one in the side-drawer in the motel, much thumbed through, and Emma had refreshed herself of an evening.
“I liked it very much but I don’t know if it likes me, and I shan’t be here for very long, either.” The tears had begun to slide down her nose and it was beginning to be clear that being so very angry at Mr Nigma was as much being afraid as it was anger at all.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Every time you sat down at the cards table everyone was charmed by you. And, despite this you’ve adapted. Do you know how important it is to adapt?” The fondness for her returned slowly in his voice, a kind of soft poindexter tone that was him without all the darkness or the authority of an older gentleman. She had heard it before when he was tired or around other company and forgot that she wasn’t from the modern world. “And, you’re stuck here until the hotel changes its mind.” Sure, she could keep sending herself through the door, but that obviously wasn’t a good permanent solution.
The moment he saw tears Eddie reached in his blazer, first ghosting his hands around the front pockets and then reaching inside for a green handkerchief he specifically carried around for this sort of occasion. Usually it was reserved for when he was out in one of his nicer suits, but he figured he’d make Emma cry eventually. Eddie was all too aware of the power of his word vomit as Stephanie would put it. “Here.” He handed it to her and crossed his arms. “I can’t believe you called me a blackguard.”
Emma sniffed and it was damp and she took the handkerchief and set about making delicate reparations to her eyes and nose. “You were taking advantage of a perfectly lovely young lady,” she said indignantly but there was very little heat left in her voice and almost nothing at all to it in weight. “You were a blackguard.” For a minute the old warmth, the affection for Mr Nigma the wise guide through the vast and unknown sea that was Las Vegas returned, and she looked up at him, very blue eyes and young and blond hair dirty from running around through the streets. “I don’t see why you should not marry her, if you have so very great an affection for her,” Emma said stubbornly into the handkerchief, “Relations prior to marriage do not make marriage impossible.” She dabbed delicately until it was clear delicate would not mop up the damp and then she was rather more vigorous with the handkerchief than Miss Taylor would have encouraged.
“And better I hadn’t adapted at all, when I go back.” Emma was doleful once more.
Eddie’s expression turned a little lost, just a little and he decided that he didn’t want to talk about marriage anymore. In Gotham it meant something different than even in Vegas and he didn’t like wondering if two broken toys who were trying so hard to find some happiness in that place could or should take it to the next level even in a million years. He just wanted to be with Stephanie. He wanted to be there for her. It was immature, but Eddie didn’t really start growing up until he got knocked in the head one too many times.
“It’s better that you go back with what you’ve learned now.” Eddie told her simply with even a tiny shrug from his slight shoulders. “You know the good, you know the bad. Maybe sometimes you might miss parts of this city, but you’ll know home has good and bad, too.” That was going to be true for him, too. He just didn’t know it yet. “It’s better to see the reality of something instead of participate in a fantasy. And, now that you know some of the bad we can go back to the good and try to enjoy however many days left we have here.”
“Do you miss Gotham, your city?” Emma asked simply and it was a quiet, thoughtful sort of question, all little girl and not at all a grown up lady but Vegas didn’t seem to care. It was glittery, like candlelight at a ball and it cared not what it passed over, girl or lady or grown woman. And then, sadly, “I think my skirt is entirely ruined.” She didn’t want to think on realities and fantasies, she did not want to think on the differences between one city and another, only that they elided in a happenstance of the hotel and of magic gone quite indifferent to desire.
“I think I would like to go home,” and she held out an imperious little hand (quite dirty) and it wasn’t Surrey or her house she was referring to.
“I do miss it. I miss it every day.” He confirmed with a nod, sure of it now more than he had been a week ago. He wanted to go home. With his riddles and his apartment and tacos and bats. He missed the way he could just beep Stephanie on their comm and talk for hours while she patrolled and he coded. He missed getting into trouble in the worst kind of way. He missed catwalks and rooftops. How no one in Gotham thought they should hope or love, but they did somehow.
And, Eddie could feel himself spinning in the memories of his hometown when she spoke again. His eyebrows lifting with surprise at the dainty hand before he smiled at her. “Then I’ll call us a car. Carriage. Cab.” He corrected himself with a funny little raise of his finger like he was pointing out the right answer before bending his arm for her to take and walking back the way they came.