[for manorly_wayne]
The guards at Blackgate are starting to know him by sight. There are no pleasantries exchanged (unless the occasional sneered “Mr. Shore” can be considered a pleasantry) or special privileges accorded (although this is Gotham-there are some who’d say emerging unscathed from one of its prisons is a special privilege), but he’s now a known quantity, a familiar face. Vesper died not a week ago and already his visits have become routine.
It’s one of the few things the legal system can almost always be relied upon to do-bury the macabre, the grotesque, the horrific in routine.
He hasn’t been back to Boston since Bruce’s arrest-hasn’t had the time, since his client’s reticence (to put it mildly; to put it kindly) has obliged him to mount not only a defense but an investigation. He doesn't know what to make of it, the refusal to so much as put forth an alibi. Could it be shock? Grief? Guilt, to the extent that Bruce would rather die than protest his innocence?
He doesn't much appreciate being obliged to play amateur psychologist, either.
“Bruce,” he says, once he and his client are face to face, “so good of you to see me.”
It’s one of the few things the legal system can almost always be relied upon to do-bury the macabre, the grotesque, the horrific in routine.
He hasn’t been back to Boston since Bruce’s arrest-hasn’t had the time, since his client’s reticence (to put it mildly; to put it kindly) has obliged him to mount not only a defense but an investigation. He doesn't know what to make of it, the refusal to so much as put forth an alibi. Could it be shock? Grief? Guilt, to the extent that Bruce would rather die than protest his innocence?
He doesn't much appreciate being obliged to play amateur psychologist, either.
“Bruce,” he says, once he and his client are face to face, “so good of you to see me.”