maskormenacelogs | Everybody wants to rule the world

Florida, thought Edward. Florida. Well, at least it wasn't exactly quite like the slow consumption of the universe, now was it?

"But it comes pretty damn close," he said, muttering out an aside -- benefit to only a deaf audience. Eddie sought to explore a few moments by himself, hungrily denoting the details of this new setting, thirsting for the secrets. He figured most imPorts, still grasping onto life (as was their habit), would likewise seek a few moments of solace in solitude before coagulating once more. Their blood was thicker than water.

"Suspiciously patriotic here, isn't it?"

The numerous flags weren't the most subtle of tips. At least they were quite often framed by welcoming signs, thoughtfully invoking handcrafted care.

The evident investment did nothing to alleviate his paranoia. The downtime before whatever ceremony was to befall their population made for little mirth.

"All right," said Eddie to himself. The sudden impulse for company had kicked in. "Time to set up a brain trust."

"Oh my god, I know right? They tried to get me to pick a color and I was, like, no. Noooo way. I can't pick a favorite from red, white, and blue. So I picked purple! Which is, like, the perfect mix of them all."

Interacting with the crowds was an April that, on occasion, had made an appearance at City Hall. Chipper, smiling, enthusiastic. Essentially enough to set off liar, lair bells in anyone that had known her for more than ten seconds. She was a parody of a person here in the Florida heat, easier to fall into the game than think about what it all meant. She was made of pep, enthusiasm, and random slogans with no real meaning or direction behind them. Because when the goings got tough, April started fucking with people. Call it a defense mechanism.

She had to bite her lip when she spotted Eddie, though, using the gesture to make it look like she was trying to stop herself from crying instead of grinning.

"I just...I love the flag. So. Much."

"Stop doing that," he hissed. He caught that whiff of conversation, and the falsehood underlying it -- the agonizing, sharp falsehood. Despite appearances, it was fortunate timing on his part; the rest of her interaction had been just out of earshot. She hadn't yet made him writhe on the ground of their bright and bustling new city.

He stepped over quickly, his hand going for April's shoulder. The native admirers she had wrangled had to go.

"Hello, excuse me. Edward Nygma, Deputy Ma--"

Except that wasn't the case here, was it? His mouth twisted painfully, forcing a smile.

"Ah. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, will you excuse us a moment? April and I, we're having an impromptu reunion."

Play it or leave it. There was a half second- a beat of uncertainty readable on her face- before she chose. And chose hard. She had years of history with one man in the crowd, five minutes with the rest. She figured she could get forgiveness more easily out of one than the other.

"And my hero!"

There was no real explanation for where the southern accent came from with that- oddly truthful- proclamation. Blame it on the face they're now south of the Mason–Dixon. But there it was. Her grin grew as she placed one hand over his on her shoulder, positively beaming up at him.

"But he's right, friends. It's been ages and ages- why, with the amount we got to cover? Like my mama used to say, we'll be busy as a cat on a hot tin roof."

"What's with the Tennessee Williams allusions? I never took you for a theatre lover."

He glanced between the friendly natives and his former assistant, suddenly far more suspicious of April's antics than whatever Nixonian tinkering their governmental hosts might be up to. After all -- April was far more motivated than most congressional bodies.

The comparison caused a dour sneer on the man's face.

"Toodles," he said as they departed from their kindly hosts, his eyes rolling somewhat.

"Not even a day, and already causing heartbreak? Or would this better classified as heartburn?" Eddie's tone took an unintended paternal roll. "Really, April, you've survived the whole past week only to play risk here? Now?"

Edited 2014-01-16 05:24 (UTC)

"They gave me a tattoo. I'm allowed to play whatever board game I want."

The accent was gone the second the stepped past the locals, as were the straight spine and squared shoulders. It was back to slumped at her desk and waiting for the day it would all end April. That was, possibly, standing slightly closer to Eddie than normal. Because without dramatics, he was the next best shield against this reality she currently had.

Edward closed his eyes, feeling the rub of an infant headache above the bridge of his nose.

"Board games, for the bored? We all got the tattoo, April, and it's all the more reason to keep one's head down."

Sensing her atomically closer motion, he gave a gentle squeeze to her shoulder, the kneejerk tension abating. He couldn't plausibly deny the appeal of courting danger to stave off boredom.

"They call it down time, but there's nothing relaxing about the hours between now and eight this evening. There's plenty to investigate, if you're so keen for stimulation."

"Mm. I was promised a secretary job."

Even if she was supposed to be a...something else, now. She hadn't even read the file, to be honest. Just looked at it for a moment as the words all blurred together, then moved on.

After the shoulder squeeze, there wasn't that much room between them as they walked, some of the tension going as she stepped back into something familiar. Forget being in a new world, ignore the people. She was working for the boss now.

"For your new PI. Thing."

Edward glanced sidelong, concern writing a novel between his eyes. He hadn't forgotten about his assignments, his folder. The information collected on him, the decisions made for him. The topic brought nails to his teeth, causing him to buckle down a tightening jaw.

"They disagree with the PI thing," he said at last. "You've perused these folders, yes? Or -- " the absurdity of that statement matched to his audience hit. "You've at least glanced at them, haven't you? At yours?"

It wasn't phrased in a gentle way, but April's boss had never been a gentle man from the exterior. None of them were, really.

"It certainly sends a message."

"It's just paper. They told me what job I should have in high school, too. First professional delinquent in Pawnee history."

The joys of not technically answering a question. It was how she'd survived with Eddie so far, no reason to stop it just because they were in a whole new world. The whole impact of being assigned a job wasn't really a concern for her. Like anything, words coming down from on high were taken as more suggestions than anything to April.

"What. Did you get prostitute or something."

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It isn't any shock that he finds Edward Nygma here. He hasn't reintroduced himself since his last visit to the City. Unsurprisingly, the man persisted -- as most irksome pests do. He is easily overheard and Bane approaches him in steady strides.

"A brain trust. Are you actually admitting to needing counsel, Deputy Mayor?" he asks, with amusement evident in his voice as he continues as if only now struck by the reverie: "My mistake; I suppose that is no longer your title, is it?

"How unfortunate."

His default smirk staggered, torn ragged by the explicit mocking that Bane produced.

Edward was acutely aware of his change in situation, politically speaking.

"Led by my intellect, a group of our brightest minds would do well to investigate our freshly-cut circumstance. It isn't that I need counsel, no." He folded his arms, elbows jutting to make a sharper silhouette along the sun-crisp sidewalk. "It's that the general populace does."

And perhaps because it was unfortunate that he was no longer the Deputy Mayor:

"Would you count yourself among that number, or are you still coveting some sense of normalcy -- humanity, one might call it."

Bane arched a brow. It seemed there was no discouraging the man. Not even having his entire system left in ruin, with his status falling along with it, was enough to hinder his stride. The determination was admirable, in its way, but foremost it was irritating.

"How generous you advertise yourself to be, sharing your prized intellect with those you deem beneath you," he remarked dully.

"Why would you concern yourself with my pursuits?" he asked, crossing thick arms across his chest. "I will not make my bed with you, Nygma.

"It would be distasteful."

"Was that a joke?"

Edward eyed Bane carefully, appreciating the agony that (could be) so easily inflicted by the other man's fingers. The more curious thing about Bane, however, was that he (at least, at present) so rarely persuaded himself to employ that easy, terrorizing force. Such wasn't the philosophy in motion. Bane struck Eddie as a man with an eternal existential crisis: the kind of fellow who, having spent so long being defined by others (by Batman) now sought to define why.

The end result invoked a difficult read on the man who once broke the Bat. Eddie wondered if perhaps Bane broke something more personal in the process -- or if another mystery was the nurturer behind Bane's mystique.

"I must say, I'm more used to that sort of innuendo from the others -- have they been teaching you naughty things?"

Edited 2014-01-19 06:12 (UTC)

"Technically speaking, I suppose they have."

What with the woman the set him together with -- his 'date.' That, among other things...

There is a deeper reason that the supposed reform of Edward Nygma sits uneasy on Bane's mind. True, he is skeptical of the man's sincerity, as most would, given the extents of his career. Beyond that, Bane is not certain how the man has earned it.

Bane lives how he believes is right; that is all he can do. His beliefs may not be the just, intended path -- but can any man know for certain which standard to judge by? Bane follows his own strict morality, and perhaps his brutality is not entirely justified, but he has been raised with the laws of vicious men. The rules of Pena Dura taught him harsh lessons, that cruelty and violence were a necessity. He takes those lessons with him in his every motion, and it has served him well, but it also hinders him.

Bane attempted to change. Even so, violence was in his every step. He took an adoptive daughter, a group of broken companions which one must call friends, and won the affection of a young woman. He changed. He fought with honor. Still, he was told he was doomed to burn in hell. He was not redeemed.

Was has Nygma done differently, to become a supposedly honest man? If it is true, Bane covets his transformation. If it is a lie, Bane will punish him for the deception -- for wasting the opportunity which Bane has strove to capture.

"Does that surprise you?

"A tad. You've always seemed impenetrable." Edward rolled the word over his tongue, as if it were a marbled compliment heavy in his mouth. His arms folded over his chest, a conscious effort to make himself seem both alert and nonchalant; after all, it never did to underestimate Bane's intentions.

"But I suppose even you are bound to be influenced by external agendas," he said with an eventual smile. "Speaking of--"

He cocked his head westward, indicating the setting enveloping them. Sunny, snowless, middling in the sixties Fahrenheit -- hardly a winter by Eddie's northeast standards. But it was now their external influence, the environment they were both forced to adapt to. While this may not have inspired some sense of brotherhood, it did make clear that (for the moment) their agendas aligned: this was another thing to survive.

"Have you read your file?"

Eddie lifted his as per example, given it a disdained shake.

Impenetrable. The word causes his brows to narrow. Edward Nygma is a man of words. Sharp tongue and intelligence. He does not choose any phrase lightly. Impenetrable, but not unbreakable.

It does not go unnoticed.

"Does that intimidate you?" he asks, tilting his head slightly. Bane judges himself against Nygma and finds a complex matter. In physical strength, Bane is assured victory. Nygma's mind, however, has promise. Although he utilizes it differently. Something about that seems naturally confrontational.

Unlike Eddie, in his suit and tie, Bane is dressed much more sensibly for this weather. He is used to a hotter sun, and Florida is not unkind to him. At Eddie's gesture, he follows his hand.

"I have," he responded, his tone flat. "I found it unpleasant, so I disposed of it."

The thoughts running through Norman's head, voices thrumming therein, almost drowned out any other sounds around him like a white-noise generator. Voices without identification mingled in with more familiar thoughts until Norman finally could separate and pinpoint the individuals.

He heard Nygma. It wasn't hard; compared to the City, Cape Canaveral felt almost peculiarly quiet. Maybe everyone in the vicinity was simply rendered speechless in their apparent adulation.

Stalking over, Norman stood behind Eddie, simply listening to him in silence for a long moment.

"So. A brain trust, hm?"

"Oh, wow. No."

Edward didn't even have to turn around -- he knew what borne that voice. A slim vein in his neck, usually unnoticeable, soon began to throb violet. How Norman had crept up upon him like so wasn't a pressing query; Norman was a creep, and those types could creeper like spiders.

The irony of comparing Norman to a spider eased a twitching smile on his lips, which colored the tone of his coming words:

"No Normans allowed."

"What's wrong? Is it intimidation?"

Smirking, Norman uncapped the bottle of water he'd purchased and took a slow, easy swig of it before he let his fingers flick against the flesh of Eddie's neck. It was easy to take satisfaction in Eddie's unease, but Norman felt no qualms doing so. Easy victories were still victories.

"No need for that right now," he cooed tauntingly. "Aren't we all in this together?"

Eddie cinched up his shoulders, his eyes narrowing as Norman flicked against his exposed neck. The tension rippled down his spine, his muscles clenching and his sneer producing imaginary electrical discharge.

"When I said that, I thought most of you were going to die."

Though, honestly, he never assumed Norman would perish.

"So what then," he said, turning around to face Norman finally. "Do you propose? That we pool together our resources? You and me?"

Stepping back as Eddie turned, Norman let his smirk cut more sharply across his face now that it had an audience. He didn't anticipate seeing intimidation or fear in Eddie's expression -- always a weak point not everyone kept in mind -- but he looked anyway, trying to drink in as much observation as he could.

"I told you I wasn't going to die," Norman said, too smug for any indignation. He rested one hand on his hip, the other still gripping his water bottle. "Wouldn't you say that's a good idea, Nygma? Perhaps even the most logical starting point, coming in to a new world with effectively nothing. Unlike all the other times, we clearly aren't headed back to where we just came from any time soon. We need resources."

He drank from his water again.

"It's a bit short of waterboarding," he responded, dryly, to Norman's use of the prop. The snark was a distraction -- a bluster of attitude buying Eddie a few moments to think the proposition over. On one hand, working with Norman was the equivalent of entertaining the company of the devil; on the other, Osborn was an undeniably resourceful man.

And two resourceful men were more efficient than merely one.

"I'm not averse to your offer," Eddie said. "Provided that you pitch to me whatever resources you might have already attained. Consider it a starting point."

Norman's eyes narrowed, grin extending to allow his teeth to appear in partial evidence. There was some laxness to the lilt of the corners, but it remained firmly -- defiantly -- in place. He stood perfectly straight, suit as ordered as he could make it and shoulders entirely unslouched and unintimidated.

"Like you, most of my resources are on me as we speak. Strictly speaking of physical resources," he said, voice lowering in tone. There was always, of course, the mental to consider. The kind of resource that would always be and remained limitless. "Just what is it that you're looking for?"

Desperate times. Norman could easily provide a necessity, and it would be outright stupid to deny the value of his assistance -- and Eddie considered himself many things, but never stupid. He bought another moment, swallowing, his mind inventing dozens of scenarios in which sly manipulation would restrain Norman Osborn for additional agendas undermining his own.

But no doubt Norman Osborn was simultaneously conceiving his own multiple manipulative battle plans. It was a variable that couldn't go unnoticed.

"It would do well to have our own meeting, don't you think? With individuals who are interested in the overall motives here. We need people who can analyze and understand and, potentially, hack into the communication systems here."

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