#332: Are you more childlike or childish? rp post for lolitapulido
OOC: Backdated to the night they agreed to meet.There are days when Harry feels much older than twenty-six. He's currently juggling finals for his final semester of grad school, being a father to three kids, a husband to his wife, a volunteer at the clinic, preparing for medical school, and worrying about how Bruce will get out of prison. The
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The prophet is the sort of place Bruce Wayne might go to actually eat - and not to be seen - with its mismatched crockery and cutlery and glasses that seem to have been bought at thrift stores. Low tables close to the ground, cushions on the floor. Candles on the tables in an assortment of mismatched tea light holders.
And, as Matches Malone might tell you, the best Lebanese food this side of Beirut.
Talia sits there, on the floor, supported by a mess of bright cushions, at table near the back. She's a mess of dark hair and olive skin and a white dress that's low cut enough to be suggestive and sheer enough, in the wrong light, to be down right pornographic.
She smiles at Harry like the Spider to the fly. She waves as if they're old friends.
"I thought you had abandoned me, darling."
She motions for him to sit beside her rather than across, she's not sure if he will, he's just a little thing and he has his little wife and his little children and his little, little life.
And it must all seem so big in his little head.
Bruce would have deliberately sat across just to be contrary, just to show she isn't running the show. Bruce Wayne was always so ridiculously determined to assert his independance. Absurdly so. He'd do it to spite himself half the time and he never could get that idiotic idea out of his brain that sometimes independance isn't important. Sometimes there is a liberty to be found in following orders.
"Sit!" She's all smiles and her arm reaches out to him, towards him, large thick gold bracelets move up and down. "Sit, sit, sit. I'm so glad you're here. Sit!"
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He hesitates only for a moment before taking the seat she offers him. No one he knows is likely to find him here, but that isn't why he sits next to her. Harry isn't Bruce. He's actually extremely open and comfortable with most people. Even, or maybe especially, when he shouldn't be.
His life does seem big to him. Overwhelming at times, but isn't that the case with most people? Life is hard and it will crush you if you aren't careful. Harry isn't always careful.
"It's a pleasure to meet you properly. I'm sorry if I kept you waiting for long. Traffic is...well, it's traffic in Gotham." At least it wasn't New York traffic. Though at times he can barely tell the difference.
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She slips her arm around him as he sits beside her, leans closer -
"Say hello properly, Harry."
A kiss on each check and then a third, she smells like vanilla and jasmine.
"And don't talk to me about traffic, and please don't talk to me about the weather - how pedestrian - doesn't it kill you to be so pedestrian? I know it does, I can smell it on you, boredom. Boredom. Boredom! You scream of boredom!"
She fills a tumbler with red wine, she hands him his glass.
"Oh!" I come bearing gifts. I'm not Greek, you don't need to worry - no Trojans here - "
No, she's not Greek, but her accent is strange, it's such a mix of so many places, European perhaps due to her education, but she was raised in the Middle East and, then later, Asia - and she has spent the last seven years in Australia. It's a mongrel of an accent, strange and butchered and exotic.
She leans away from him to go to her back and as she does he can see the side of her breast as the halter neck moves.
Vesper would have hated her.
"Here - presents. I thought you may be interested. You can keep those, they're only copies."
And she hands him an envelope filled with items Bruce would be surprised to realise she still keeps.
Photographs.
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He'd thought Vesper was sexy. Vesper was so sexy. Redheads right? Harry has always had a thing about redheads. Mary Jane, Vicki Vale, Vesper.. They were all so sexy. To different degrees, of course, but there is just something about a redhead.
This is different. He's not sure what it is, but it's harmless. That's what he tells himself. She's just friendly. It's part of her culture. Though he has no clue what culture that is. The accent is misleading and wow he likes to listen to her talk.
The wine is good, and he feels kind of relaxed. He's not sure when he last felt relaxed. The ski weekend before things got tense maybe? He's not sure.
There's a moment, when he catches himself looking down at what her dress doesn't cover, that he shakes off the thoughts that are racing through his head and forces himself to focus. Eyes up properly to look at her face, drink the wine to relax a bit, and then she brings out the presents.
Pictures.
Harry's captivated. He flips through each one carefully, taking in the details. He's an artist at heart, and sentimentalist as well. Pictures hold his attention. "These are..." he isn't sure what the word is for them. "Does Bruce know you planned to meet me?" He stops at one photo and looks at it carefully. "He never speaks of the years he was gone, and I never ask."
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"Oh, look at that one - he looks so young, doesn't he? He was so young - we both were. It was so cold that day and we'd been hiking and we stopped there to sleep and it was so cold we shared the same swag - and all night you could hear the wild dogs howling, it was so soothing, to feel his heart beating against mine and to smell the fire and to hear the dogs - we were both so young - "
She laughs.
"And, yet, we were older than you are now... wait, was Bruce older? I was... he was... twenty-five and I was... twenty-eight - so I stand corrected."
She orders for both of them, she speaks Lebanese, they like it, they like the beautiful woman who speaks their own language. It's something Bruce would do, speak in the tounge native to the host. They're so alike in so many ways.
"Bruce never speaks about anything, darling. In someways it's what I like about him - all these modern men with their feelings and problems - not Bruce. He'd rather chew off his right arm than have to sit down and discuss emotions. But I'm sure you know that."
She tops up his glass as soon as Harry drinks.
"I didn't mention it."
She takes a drink.
"Don't misunderstand, not because I'm hiding it, just because I don't think there was anything to mention. I need to eat, you need to eat and Bruce, well, at least we know he's being well fed."
And she winks at him.
"Just a little gallows humour, darling. You can smile, you can laugh, I promise you if you do so it won't make things for Bruce any worse."
Her hand, with it's large yellow stone, rests on his leg and squeezes.
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"You don't look like you could be older than him. Not at all." It's a little surprising to him. That she could be Bruce's age, much less older than him. She doesn't look it at all. The way she carries herself, she doesn't seem like she could be thirty-eight years old.
Prison food. He remembers it, and not fondly. But he knows Bruce isn't a picky eater. He used to scold Harry for being picky. For preferring pizza to the more exotic things.
Harry's opened himself up to trying different things over the years, and he doesn't even long for the New York pizza the way he used to. He doesn't really long for anything from New York anymore. Norman left a bad taste in his mouth.
There is a smile for her though. A real smile. He isn't sure when he last smiled. "Sorry, there hasn't been a lot to smile about lately. I'm really worried about him." Harry takes a long drink of the wine and relaxes a bit.
Then her hand is on his leg and he doesn't tense the way he should. He blames the wine.
"Where was this taken?" The picture, of course. That is what he means. He looks back at it and smiles a bit more. They really do look young. "I was sixteen. We all thought he was dead."
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The food has come and she starts to eat from the assortment of meats and spreads and salads. Cabbage rolls. Vine leaves. Falafel.
"Kravanh Mountains," She says vaguely. Flippantly. Too flippantly, really, considering what she's sayings. "We travelled a lot with my father sometimes, sometimes alone, Bruce had travelled a lot with my father before that - they both like travel, liked it, I should say. My father died a few years back."
She pours a little more, the puppy likes to drink, he also likes to be petted, that's obvious, she can almost feel his leg pushing into her touch.
"You must have all been furious with him. It's a cruelty to let people believe such a thing, that someone they cared for died. You must believe, however, that we'd only do it if we believed it for the best - believed it the only way - but still such a betrayal."
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Closed subject. He learned to play the Osborn game of shutting out the other. Not that Norman tried to get back in. He had better things to do, but it was huge for Harry to close the door and not unlock it.
"I'm sorry about your dad." He can't really wrap his head around all of this. This secret life that Bruce had in those years he was gone. Of course, Harry wasn't sure what he had done during that time. The fact that Bruce never spoke of it had given him the impression it must have been difficult. To hear Talia speak it sounds like he was really happy.
He had a family.
It makes him wonder what else he doesn't know about Bruce. Everyone has secrets right? Harry's just more of an open book than most people.
"I guess some people were." He pauses in speaking long enough to try some of the food. The cabbage rolls are particularly good. Once he's swallowed and washed it down with a bit of water this time, he continues with what he was saying. "I was young when Bruce left, and we weren't really close then. Nine years is a huge age difference when you're a kid. I was furious with my dad though. Not that he came back. How he came back. I guess everyone has their reasons for making the choices they do. I don't think I'd succeed is disappearing though." He smiles at her. "There are days when I really miss traveling. You dislike being in Gotham don't you?"
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shouldn't give him another thought."
She waves her hand as if it's that easy to brush Norman Osborn aside. Perhaps for Talia it is.
"It was a great loss to us all. I'm sure Bruce mourns him still, they had a difficult relationship but they were very close in their way."
Talia mops up food with bread and licks sticky figures. She finishes the bottle of wine, sharing it between them.
"I just think this city is... well, it's not my style. And, honestly, I've always thought it was bad for Bruce... it hangs over him like an endless depression - he'd be better off out of it. Perhaps after this he'll realise that. Perhaps - he's stubborn - "
She's still petting him, she seems to not even notice she's doing it. Just gentle strokes, up and down, up and down.
"You should travel, you're young, you're only ever as tied down as you think you are - don't be Bruce enslaving yourself with invisible chains, follow your heart, Harry - anything else makes everything you do a lie. Don't go and let life make a liar out of you, Harry."
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Harry doesn't get it. He honestly doesn't understand how the government can trust a madman with the keys to the asylum, but it is what it is. That's why he'd rather stay in Gotham. Norman has no power in Gotham.
"I follow my heart, Talia." He's speaking seriously now. More seriously than he was earlier at least. The light seems to catch his wedding ring and he tenses as if he suddenly realizing where her hand is. "My wife and kids are my heart. I like my job and school is good. Things would be perfect if Vesper wasn't dead and Bruce wasn't in prison."
He's done eating now. His appetite has been a little off lately, and he's been on a bit of a liquid diet after hours anyway. Turning slightly, he looks deep into her eyes and for a moment he loses his train of thought. She really is ridiculously beautiful. "Is that why you're in this city that's not your style? You followed your heart here?"
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"You could say I did that."
It really sounds so... ordinary to her, this life Harry has. She wonders if ordinary ever appealled, probably not, not in the way it appealled to Bruce. Even if things had been different she never imagined them settling down in Gotham - running committees, doing dinner parties. She can't imagine it.
She can't imagine sitting with him in movie theatres sharing popcorn. She watched them do it once and couldn't understand the appeal. She saw them kiss like teenagers and felt a little ill.
Not jealous. But ill.
This wasn't the man she knew, this wasn't the man who had been chosen. This was someone else, some ugly skin he was wearing and it -
"I'm glad to hear that. I hate to see people refuse their own potential."
She orders coffee, dessert. Turkish delight (which both she and Bruce always loved) and Baklava which they were never so fond of but seems to be the popular choice.
"You look so worried, Harry." She smooths his hair away from his face. "You don't need to be, everything will be fine, you and I both know he didn't do this terrible thing even if the rest of the world is a little confused on the issue."
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He needs to sober up a little. Harry isn't sure if the wine went to his head, or if Talia is. Maybe the combination of the two.
When she touches his hair, he leans a little into her touch. He's always had a thing about having his hair touched. If he had a better memory he would probably be surprised to realize it's because of his mother. When Emily was sick she used to lay in bed with him, stroking his hair, and reading to him. He remembers, barely, the reading, but the rest is fuzzy.
"I don't understand why he's not helping his own case. Alan is an excellent lawyer, but he can only do so much if his own client is determined to let himself hang at the gallows." There's anger now. He's angry with Bruce about this. Not about refusing to see him. No, he can deal with that.
He's angry, infuriated, that Bruce is sabotaging his own case when it's full of holes already. "Talia, can't you get through to him? He'll never listen to me, but the history you two share...you can convince him to fight back right?"
And there you have it. Bruce and Pepper in reverse. Those men and their attempts to use women to talk sense in to the other. Funny isn't it?
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"Well, you and I can believe in him together."
He's so naieve, little Harry, other people might find it endearing but it makes Talia just a little ill. Does he really think even if Bruce were the most cooperative client in the universe that he'd walk away from this one? The evidence against him is overwhelming and he was found with the body - not to mention his strange behaviour, previous arguments with Vesper and the fact he'd been buying illegal weapons (well, only one they know about) just months prior.
Does Harry really believe there is anything to be done but run? Does Harry think Talia would have allowed this to play out any other way?
"I don't think he's sabotaging his case, Harry? Why do you say that?"
She pours his tiny cup of coffee, thick and black and cuts a small piece of baklava and holds it up to him.
"You should try this at least, with your coffee, they are made to match, darling."
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Harry isn't sure what he believes, Talia. But if it comes down to Bruce staying in prison, or worse receiving the death penalty, or running, then he'd prefer he run.
"The person who really killed her is getting away with it. It's not right."
He stops complaining when she offers the baklava. There's a moment when he plans to tell her no thanks. He's honestly not hungry. But she's offering it and before he even understands why he does it, he leans in and takes the offered bite.
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"He's just not made like that - She doesn't know how Bruce takes it, all this constant petty anxiety about life not being fair and right. This city should have burned already and all their inconsequential fear with it. They would have been doing them a favour.
"No, it's not right, darling."
She says in a tone she'd never bother to use with her own lover or her actual son. She licks her fingers and before he can say another word she leans in and kisses him. Her hand moves from his leg to other places.
"Why don't you come back with me to where I'm staying. We can talk. You feel like you need someone to really talk to. I can answer all those questions you have."
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It's on the tip of his tongue. There's a hundred and one reasons to say no. To pull her hand away. To not kiss back.
Kara. He's married and he's been faithful, and this is all kinds of shades of wrong. Kara. He really needs to get Talia's hands off him. His kids are at home with his wife, and this is Bruce's wife.
What the fuck is he doing?
He pulls back and he's flushed. His cheeks are flushed and he looks like the kid who got his hand caught in the cookie jar.
There was a nightclub and ecstasy and he was kissing his girlfriend's foster brother in the middle of the club.
What the fuck is he doing?
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that." Because even though she kissed him and her hands...are talented, he's apologizing because he doesn't know what else to do. He looks at her and says quietly, "I'm married."
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