WHO: EDWARD NYGMA and POSSIBLY YOU.
WHERE: NOHoPE.
WHEN: August 8th - August 14th.
WARNINGS: Sweep you all up on a corner and pay for my bread.
SUMMARY: You know that I cannot believe my own truth.
FORMAT: To show what a truth, it's got nothing to lose.
(
A thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it. )
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"Their Latin name, of course, is manus." Eddie spoke to the footsteps he heard, refusing to turn around. "Man -- us. This curious mutation, this very unnatural shape, the hand. A name in one language, broken and morphed by another to obtain an entirely new insight. Man. Us."
He turns at that, pulling away from his riddles and greeting his guest with open hands. And lacerated, bleeding palms.
"Are we defined by our mutation, Katurian?"
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Then he started looking for sharp objects.
"What did you do?" It was practically a whisper. His body was tight all over, and while he was sure that Edward wanted him to answer the question, to continue despite this turn, even in his lowest of lows, Katuiran could not unwind himself completely
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"They took away my pens. I had to improvise."
Eddie's eyes followed Katurian's in the latter's search for sharp objects. He was amused by the effort, curious to see what Katurian might unearth. Carefully, he edged his way towards his company, his cleaner hand idly scratching pink marks around his neck.
"Now you're here, with me."
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Security was less of an issue than finding the right gift to bring along as promised. Crossword puzzles were a bit too obvious, other books rather vague. She settled on a handsome journal (bound in green leather of course) with a silver pen that slid into the spine.
Hopefully he wasn't crazy enough for that to give him any ideas.
She remembered the layout and the systems well enough to find his room without too much trouble. But the writing on the walls did bring her up short.
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He spread his arms wide.
"So good to see you." He walked over the floor, littered with the finished puzzle books Katurian had granted him. Eddie grinned, shrugging. He didn't offer explanation for the vandalized walls.
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"How are you feeling?"
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He offered another shrug before indicating a chair nearby his bed, if she fancied a seat.
"I'm afraid the interior decoration is otherwise sparse."
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He slid easily into the chair opposite Edward Nygma, the anticipation on his face restrained. He'd looked solemn, in fact, when he first entered the building, though all there was in his eyes was sadistic pleasure.
"How's the new home?," he said quietly, not taking his eyes away from Eddie's to even blink. "It's a good look for you. Being in your natural element, it shows in your eyes. You're looking as clever as ever, if not more so. And so much more psychotic."
He crossed his legs. "You're welcome."
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"Ever intertwined, like dual threads of the Moirae," he said, finally meeting Norman's unblinking stare. "You know. Destiny."
He tasted the word against his teeth, breaking into a wolfish grin.
"I hope you weren't expecting gratitude."
Beneath the sedatives, beneath the dislocating chemical stops on his synapses, Eddie could feel the agonized hatred howl within his veins. His smile twitched in response.
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"You're a genius who's re-embraced his madness. Not by choice, perhaps. I'm a genius who refuses to let it go. It's only natural that I'd have to be the one to lead you through just an intimate process."
He leaned just a touch closer and touched a finger to his temple.
"You really should thank me."
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The rush of emotion broke through his veneer of a smile, transforming it into something tragic and broken and loud. He couldn't control himself, couldn't control what Norman was making him feel, couldn't control the truth of Norman's words. Because Norman was telling the truth.
Nothing had rang false.
Eddie jerked towards Norman, keeping a distance of only a few inches. Refusing to touch him, adamant about remaining tall on that very last battleground. When he spoke, it came out quiet and slurred together and rapid.
"I won't stop Norman, I won't ever stop now and because of this, because you've done this, I am absolved of anything -- anyone who might get hurt, I will stop at nothing." He exhaled. "Nothing. Until I have you kneeling."
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His communicator was discarded, still under his pillow from when he had stashed it (still recording) during Karla's brief visit. It was the only physical weapon he had now, the only tool to use against his environment. The machine with the Ghost outside of it. Eddie smirked to himself, enjoying the idea at play.
"I had figured you for a binary man. That's what I like about you, Ghost, your skill can be depended upon." Eddie walked around his sudden company, coolly surveying Ghost. "And I'm in need of a dependable variable. Would you like to know why?"
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Something was different, here. Whatever had happened to him had--changed him, or perhaps just rearranged him, something just under the surface that he didn't much like but knew better than to ignore. The compliment, though, he didn't seem to quite acknowledge, didn't seem to know how to acknowledge.
"Yes. I would." Circled, he turned to look over his shoulder, the small room seeming smaller, suddenly, and if Ghost hadn't been able to leave at any moment, he was sure he'd find the mild uneasiness harder to suppress.
"Karla isn't working in your best interest?"
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Eddie watched Ghost drift, pleased with his interest in the riddle. He knew the puzzle would appeal to such a mind as Ghost's, he had in fact counted on it. And as long as his visitors took an interest in his riddles -- his confession, his intent -- then Edward was exonerated.
"But that's really tangential to the matter at hand." Eddie cracked his knuckles, as if emphasizing the point. "You see, I need you, Ghost. I need you in a position where you can keep vigilance over Karla Sofen."
He strolled closer, carefully and gently taking steps. His eyes remained on the hovering man.
"I need you to lead the Thunderbolts for me, temporarily."
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He also knew that he'd dropped the ball. His worst enemy had been in the City since before he'd arrived, and he'd lost track of what Norman was up to. It was easy to make excuses, to say that there'd been so much to adjust to, so many people to look out for, and the Norman situation had seemed under control if not perfectly resolved -- but the truth was that he'd been complacent. Norman had become ( ... )
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That's why he was in the straitjacket for a couple of hours.
"Well," reasoned Edward to himself. "Clearly they hadn't thought that through very well." He eased pressure on his shoulder, intent on popping it out. It was a worn puzzle, something he had been quite good at back in the day. Arkham doctors caught on eventually, of course, and reinvented certain patterns, creating new physical mazes to overcome. This, if anything, was just a touch nostalgic.
But at least this was a puzzle to stave off the boredom.
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Eventually, he skittered forward the last few paces and slipped down a webline, hovering upside-down at eye level. Now, if only he could find out what to say...
"I don't know, Eddie. It makes a bold statement, but it's not really your color, is it?"
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He ceased his struggling, and the straitjacket relaxed under the eased stress. Edward was curious to see Norman's hero show his mask so quickly -- it was almost hurtful, that none of the Gotham credentials had yet paid visit. Almost painful, really. But the day was newborn, Eddie reasoned, perhaps he shouldn't be so dismissive of his own peers just yet.
Something had to amuse him by lunch, after all.
Eddie smirked at his costumed company, maintaining that eye level contact for as long as Spidey would allow it. With each passing second, his grin grew. There was a tension not quite verbalized between them, one that Eddie did nothing to clarify. Why spoil the puzzle so quickly, anyway? With a deep breath, he sought only to puncture the silence.
"Well? Are you going to help be out of this damned thing or not?"
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