dumbshow | not the season 3 gotham needs but the one it deserves

not the season 3 gotham needs but the one it deserves

[It's been a few months since Oswald so generously and kindly bribed his way into getting Ed out of Arkham. A few fewer months since Oswald's new club opened and made Barbara and her ilk ten kinds of pettily jealous, a few weeks since Butch's betrayal was so magnanimously revealed by Ed himself—Ed, the only person Oswald has left who he truly, one hundred percent believes he can trust. Ed, who would do anything for him and after nearly losing his life to Butch for Oswald, pretty much already has! There is no denying that Oswald has made his way in the world, in Gotham (which is the part that matters) without anyone else's help. He's crawled his way up from the deepest, darkest, coldest depths of this wretched city and turned it on its head time and again. He swore this town would know his name and now they do, and Oswald knows, this is something he's done all by himself.

But Ed's... contributions cannot be taken lightly. A memory plays out again and again each time Oswald catches himself looking a moment too long at the color of Ed's hair or the line of his jaw, the smooth column of his throat—and the memory is of Ed himself, telling Oswald that all he needs to do is give up on love and he will be completely free. He has a brief, sharp moment of shame; that the man he's lately been so smitten with is the one who told him quite pointedly not to do that is embarrassing, to say the least.

It doesn't help; smitten he remains, half the time having to ask Ed to repeat himself because he gets carried away with thoughts of how it might feel to reach out and touch that cheek, to turn Ed away from his work and back to Oswald, where he should probably spend most of his time looking anyway, and then—well, and then. Ed would do anything for him, and while Oswald has never once even entertained the idea of doing the same for Ed, the weight of Ed in his arms that night Butch nearly killed him lingers in his memory like a persistent ache for the one thing he wants and still does not have.

So Ed was probably wrong about the love thing because Oswald always gets what he wants, but that's alright. He doesn't have to be right all the time. Oswald is mildly observing the curve of his lips as he talks about... something or other, only blinking himself out of his distraction when he notices the thin, impatient line those lips have set into. Oh. He's being asked something again, uh—]

Oh. Yes, you should. [Yeah he has no idea what Ed is talking about. He should what? Oswald shakes his head before Ed can sigh at him for not listening, holding hands up to rub his temples.] Listen, Ed, can we talk about... something else? Like, oh, I don't know... anything else? It's been half an hour and there are things that need to get done today whether or not you come with me.

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[Oswald's fumbling hasn't been uncommon throughout their partnership. Ed's seen more of his fair share of it when Oswald's angered beyond belief. But this is a different kind of fumbling-- a more recent kind-- where Oswald keeps looking at him with what can only be described as desperation for words he doesn't know how to say. It catches Ed offguard each time, and honestly? It unsettles him. He knows he's done more than most, and to have so many occurrences where he simply can't be told feels like he can't be trusted with it.

The right thing to do would be to address to uncomfortable knot in his stomach, but like each time now, he instead pushes it away. He takes up the posture for business, adjusting his glasses so he can put off looking directly at him.]

Oswald, I am... deeply flattered, and I don't mean any offense about your affairs when I say this, but... These men aren't Butch. And that isn't-- that isn't implying Butch is in any way more than a one-handed gorilla, he isn't smart, but they don't even think about trying to get in your way. I don't need to rein you in when all you need to maintain is their fear. There... isn't anything to solve in that.

[no maybe later]

Don't—talk about that imbecile. [Harshly, but the ire is all for Butch. He hasn't brought up that night again, not for a lack of trying - but like his staring without words, he can never seem to find the right moment or the best way to bring up... Butch. Or more importantly, the way it felt when he nearly watched Ed die, when he felt him live again under his own hands—Oswald doesn't miss Butch even an ounce. The only reason he wants to know where Butch is is to know when the right time will be to crush him as thoroughly as possible, take everything from him the way he tried to take Ed away from Oswald. Very simple stuff.

But still, right now, come on. The anger slips off his face as quickly as it came, settling back into the put-upon patience he's trying out here. He could tell Ed to get over his stupid insecurities and stupid need to solve puzzles and just come on, but that's not going to get him anywhere. Here, he has learned one thing: try not to be too mean to Edward.]

Nothing to solve. Of course! Of course, my mistake— I should have figured that out. Like you! Very impressive.

[fuck] —Alright, how about a compromise? We'll do my thing first... and then we can do- whatever you were talking about, after. And then lunch. [ :) ?? ]

[Well, he deserves getting shut down over bringing that up again. Even if it was one of his greatest tricks, he'll just take a deep breath and let it go. If Oswald were to actually listen to him for once, he wouldn't waste it on the incident anyway-- Wait.

The concept of Oswald actually taking time to listen to him, real? He abruptly turns his head to look at him, eyes searching and uncertain.]

You actually want to do... my thing. [This is... unbelievable? He winds up with a real, genuine Ed smile despite himself.] And then lunch. That works out perfectly. [ :)! ]

[Oswald is busy looking aside at the curtains himself after his great suggestion, already concentrating very much on not wincing at the very thought of doing somebody else's thing instead of more of his own things. He... feels some way about Ed, of course, something dangerously close to adoration, but listening to him talk about riddles and science... things nonstop is tiring. So much of it can make his head spin, and really—

And... and really, he shouldn't smile at Oswald like that. Oswald's glance back at him becomes a double take, and he can't help a smile of his own, that seems to stumble at first before spreading across his face. So, like, thanks a lot?]

Yes. Yes, I definitely want to do- exactly that! To hell with today's schedule!

[He's going to develop a twitch, but if he laughs again and reaches out to touch Ed's arm but diverts for his cane at the last moment, uh, maybe it won't be obvious.] Shall we?

[Oswald doesn't even need to do all that for Ed not to notice. He's so wrapped up in his own plan actually coming to work out, because what Oswald secretly finds an annoying distraction is something Ed's been hoping for awhile. And really, it's more than that-- if he actually tries to understand him, it's a step towards figuring out what to do with these feelings.]

What? Oh-- Yes, we can go. [He barely missed seeing Oswald's reach, and yet Ed moves to grasp his arm with an excited squeeze.] You don't know how much taking the time means to me, Oswald. You won't regret this.

[Oh, that— that is his arm. Oswald moves automatically this time, his other hand coming up to cover Ed's for about, oh, three seconds of just doing that before he nudges Ed's hand away and gestures for him to turn and go, go. He's already spent enough of this conversation missing what's said to him, he doesn't need to miss any more because he's standing there looking at Ed like he's the only other person on earth again.

He does a bit; denying that Ed's words strike a chord in his heart he didn't know he had would be silly, at this point. Just hearing his name saturated with gratitude instead of prickly restraint is enough to make Oswald think that maybe doing Ed's thing won't be so bad.]

Yes, yes, we'll never get to it if we stand here all day. I'll have someone bring a car around. [Shoo, Ed, go get your coat or whatever.

Anyway skip the crime, Ed probably waits in the car while Oswald goes and threatens some lowlifes and comes back tsking at blood spatter on his brand new tie. It's business as usual. Ed's turn.]

[Ed has indeed spent most of the time in the car, thus proving he really didn't need to be there at all. Luckily, he's too wrapped up in the folder he brought with him to review to point it out when Oswald gets back. He lifts his gaze from the file, then sighs and leans forward to adjust it so it's at least straight again.]

There are many patterns in the world, and I'm starting to think you're set on ruining all of them. [It's still bloody, but it's uh... nice. After a glance over Oswald, he settles back into his seat with all these neatly organized paper. The people he has on display in it doesn't matter, so--] Here is my plan... again. An artist, a writer, a philosopher. I have their addresses-- all you need to do is drop me off, and I'll time asking questions to the supposed greatest minds of Gotham.

[Once again there's Ed in his personal space, something newly exciting each time both for what it is and for the way Oswald finds himself craving it, the exact opposite of the distance he'd like to put between himself and everyone else. He tries for a half-apologetic little smirk about his tie, tugging his overcoat a little to see how much blood he can hide. It's not like he needs to walk into their next destination pristine, but uh, he wants to? So.]

These questions aren't going to involve all three of them walking into a bar, are they? [Ha...... JOKES, anyway,] This sounds dangerously close to three things, Ed. Can you get it done in time for lunch?

[He'll ask what the hell Ed is planning on doing with three nerds and a folder in a minute.]

[Jokes that aren't at his expense?? Nice. Point to Oswald, because he gets a real laugh out of him. And maybe a second, considering glance towards him before he looks away again.]

Ha... No, no, you're right. It'd probably be better that this be something drawn out anyway. If one of these three fit what I'm looking for, then I'll need to get to know them. How they think, how they feel...

[He trails off, reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out a pen. He clicks it, quickly drawing a question mark over the file.] The artist. And then... lunch. If I do the same thing tomorrow, then perhaps I'll need to skip this part outing two get two birds with one stone, but lunch... is... fine.

[Oswald settles back in his seat to listen to Ed talk, not quite slipping off into not hearing a word he says just yet. As much as he isn't really interested in the gritty details - probably not gritty, knowing what he knows about how calculated and infuriatingly precise Ed is, not gritty - as much as Oswald doesn't have a vested interest in this, he likes to see Ed enthusiastic.

When it suits him. Giving him one stop and then lunch is a great tactic that works perfectly. Ah, but—] What- what are you looking for, exactly?

[Don't pick a new favorite or anything...... i hate that this is the reason he asks, and yet,]

[Ah, there it is. Ed's clearly been waiting for this question, because he shuts the folder to turn his full attention to him. His smile is still very much one, but it's hesitant, guarded because he isn't certain how Oswald will react. He didn't think he'd get this far.]

I'm glad you asked, and again, this isn't meant to be a personal attack towards your work-- You're doing brilliantly. But I am... stagnant, recently. [He sighs, fingers curling into a fist. Clearly, his great mind not being put to use is a great offense.]

Back when we first met, you taught me more than I ever could have dreamed of. And now I haven't done anything with it. I need... to find someone that understands me, Oswald. And when I find them, they're going to face my challenges until I figure out who I am in Gotham.

[To Ed's credit, leading with a compliment to his work is a good move. Oswald makes that face again, grasping for words he can't seem to find, although this time his expression is tinged with... confusion? Surprise? A little of both.]

Wait- wait, wait, Ed. Ed... What are you talking about? You're Edward Nygma, so— [Hmm. He thinks, looking down for a moment before he looks at Ed again with a strained smile.] If you wanted a little more spotlight, all you had to do was ask.

[Logically, Oswald knows that isn't what Ed's talking about. Someone who understands him? Faces his challenges? As far as Oswald is concerned those are two wholly different things, since he can hazard a guess about Ed's challenges, especially after hearing about his misadventures in Arkham. Unfortunately the seeds of jealousy have already been planted in him and he doesn't like the sound of this... bullshit thing.

He purses his lips, tilting his head to consider Ed. Hmm.]

Will you show me what's in your folder? Ed. [he swears to GOD if it's RIDDLES......]

[He should know that Oswald knows it's not what he means, but because of his need for precision and clarity, he has to delicately point it out.] It's not... wanting more spotlight as much as wanting my own show, Oswald. One that would play after yours, of course, but...

[But! His folder! He's less reluctant to give that up now that he's actually being engaged about his fantastic ideas. Oswald hasn't lost his focus and started looking at who knows what instead? He's milking all he can out of this chance. Sp he relinquishes his fold, one side filled with a page of riddles in the very specific order he intends to ask all three of them, then the answers below them. Then, of course, his own description of the individual with notes about how their careers "might not be the most perfect match, but" they're still his best candidates.

It has everything... except for a game plan. He just has "kill them" with vague notes of "suicide?" or "gas leak" for the solution they get the three riddles wrong.] If these people don't work out, there's a... a curator, and a professor-- he's the head of the chemistry department. If they get... any of these right, they stand a chance. If I can just spend time with someone equal to me, someone who can help me improve me, I can... make a name for myself. I can figure out who I am outside of just Edward Nygma, Oswald.

Edited (how many revision notifs can i give you i wonder, i lied, you didn't break your icons,) 2017-09-30 10:25 (UTC)

[Don't correct him? Oswald just gives him another thin smile, biting the inside of his cheek to stop from snapping at him over the correction. Thankfully there's a folder in his space right on time for him to look down at it instead, smiling a little more amicably at Ed before he opens it to look at exactly what he expected to find.

He's conflicted, but he flips the pages of riddles and notes like he's actually studying them with interest. He does want to know, at least about the people—Ed keeps using words like "understand" and "equal" and "improve," and immediately Oswald can only think that he does all of those things just fine, Ed doesn't need someone else pawing at him and wasting his time. At the same time, Oswald has no interest in these three riddles, and if this is just the sneak preview...

His gaze lingers on "kill them" for a moment before he hums with only slight approval and pats the folder, uh, fondly, looking up at Ed. Wow.] You've put a lot of work into this. That's... great!

[There's something else that bothers him, besides his inclination toward jealousy; Ed wants to be someone besides himself? What the fuck does that mean? It doesn't occur to Oswald that out of everyone in Gotham he is the one who is both Oswald Cobblepot and The Penguin, if only because Oswald and Penguin are both so thoroughly himself that separating them has never been an option. What does Ed want, a cool title? Jesus.

But he's trying not to be... mean. So. He flips the page over to look at the first candidate again, and makes a mental note that killing these people before Ed can speak to them would be a little obvious.]

How is asking these people riddles going to help you- [a beat; an internal sigh; another thin smile] -find yourself, Ed? You do have a second step, yes?

[Once again, Ed misses the subtleties of Oswald's feelings in his own enthusiasm that his plans are finally coming to fruition. It's easy to tell if he's annoyed with anyone else, because the other person is more than likely an idiot. Ed doesn't think himself of the ilk, so he doesn't read anything Oswald does as positive. He hasn't drawn a blank on what to say to Edward, so clearly, that's a good sign that he's not keeping something from him.

So his gazes flits between his folder, to Oswald's face, to out the window with little lingering on any of them. His fingers drum like he's impatient to keep sitting here, longing to go meet this person, to prove something to both them and himself. He hasn't itched to do something like this since joining Oswald after things calmed down from the club fiasco, and it was for meeting a stranger that knows him less than someone sitting right next to him.

He bites the inside of his cheek like this is a question he doesn't really care to think about much.]

It-- It's not... something I need to think of right now, Oswald. I prepared the riddles, and once I find them, I'll know how to move forward. [He sighs, turning his head back with a dismissive wave of hand.] A good riddle reveals the asker. To solve it is to solve the mystery of the person posing it. They answer correctly, they... teach me to be beyond what you already helped me achieve.

[Alright. Well. Here's the first problem Oswald sees with Ed's plan: it's not even a plan, it's nothing but a bunch of ideas and hopes smashed into a folder for Ed to coo over and think it's going to solve all of his problems. Oswald plans for the long term; prone as he is to lashing out full of emotion, his plans have always had a step two. Ed... dear, dear Ed.

He needs work. Oswald hums, closing the folder and holding it out to Ed—but, ah, no, he pulls it back again. Thanks for handing him this prop to play with.]

I don't follow.

[thanks]

It doesn't sound like you know what you're trying to do, Ed. Meaning no offense- you know I only want to help you.

[Don't play keep-away with his folder? Ed frowns, dropping his hand once he realizes it's not actually getting handed back. He also doesn't handle criticism well, so the frown is going to remain instead of one of his not-quite-smiles.]

Meaning no offense, Oswald, you don't... operate on the same level I do. I don't expect you to follow this because it doesn't involve you.

[Wow, that's rude. Also, which one of them is king of Gotham and which one of them is a nerd trying to get permission to go out and have playdates? Just wondering. Oswald conveys this with a short laugh, holding up the folder to wiggle it significantly.]

Your level, Ed, sounds like making it up as you go along. Let me give you some advice: making it up as you go along doesn't actually work.

[Or you could explain it to him without being a rude bitch and maybe he'll say something nice, think about it.]

[Ed watches him as if he's waiting to pull the folder back before he actually goes to take it again, already irritated over getting fooled once. If Oswald wanted him to stop being rude, maybe he shouldn't have started?]

I'm not-- [He cuts himself off and exhales, keeping his cool so he doesn't do that whole lower-his-voice-growl-thing when he's angry.]

My plan... is only going to work how it is. A man can't plan for his future if he doesn't know what he can do. All my life, I've felt like there's someone inside of me who is stronger, and smarter, and I can't be that person until someone else sees it inside me.

[God, get a load of this guy. Oswald gives him a look, brow furrowed, disbelieving—this is too much poetic waxing about human nature for him, the one who definitely smashed someone's nose with his cane not even an hour ago.]

That's— hmm. [That's stupid? The very thought of Ed harboring some smarter, stronger version of himself is just silly. To think, he has an inferiority complex about himself... Oswald sits back with a sigh.] Well, I don't really agree, but you're not going to listen to me, anyway.

[He holds the folder out for real now, but he won't actually let go until he's done with what he wants to say. So,]

Ed, you are someone I... [kill bill sirens] ...someone I admire, so if this is what you want to do, then so be it. Tell the driver the address.

[He'll wait in the car, though.......]

[There's a brief moment where Ed's furrowed brows and pursed lips slip into a softer expression. His gaze is more searching, his mouth slightly open like he's about to ask something. However, it isn't in his nature to just ask the answer of a riddle. Instead he abruptly pulls the folder away, sits back in his seat, and clenches a hand into fist over his knee. He won't dispute that he wouldn't listen, because, well, he actively isn't.

It's frustrating, because he knows deep down he didn't behave like this to such an extreme. But just squeezing the answer out of Oswald would mean all the time he's been searching for something so important, so... secret that he'd keep it from him would go to waste. Shipment of some secret weapon tighten the grasp on Gotham? No. Another business partner? Please. He had no dealings with anyone, he didn't leave any physical clues behind to pick up on. So why is he saying admire instead of trust?

Anyway, after he's given the driver the address, he's going to stew on this the entire trip. He exits the car with a curt "I'll be back" before he's gone off into some poor artist' studio, and he takes maybe twenty minutes before he's walking back to the car with looking even more sour. This time, it features red spattered all over his jacket... it's paint, but they're matching.]

We can go to lunch.

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not the season 3 gotham needs but the one it deserves

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my inbox wept

what's that? 4 more notifications?

torturous

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