etrayalogs | ( closed ) bred, born, and raised to kick your ass

Edward. Last name of either Nygma, Nashton, Tierney, or Nigma. With an "I". Has gone by Mockingbird and Enigma as well. A strategist, ex-employee of Wayne Enterprises. He's assisted the GCPD during investigations while detained in Arkham Asylum. He has a daughter, Quinn Nash, who also answers to Enigma. However, Riddler considers her less intelligent than himself and has tried to kill her.

( don't mind him, he likes some light reading. damian will flip through a few pages, holding it in front of his face. )

He's an egotistical, narcissistic bottom-feeder. His inability to leave a crime scene without leaving behind a puzzle or riddle to solve will ultimately lead to his defeat.

Edited 2024-04-17 21:52 (UTC)

( listening, he only glances over to damian out of the corner of his eye for a second. catches him flipping through his book. hm. )

He's been writing to me. Leaving me cards with riddles at each murder.

( writing to the batman, he means. )

Bruce Wayne was his latest target. ( a beat. ) Alfred was the one to suffer for that.

He recognizes your wit. The GCPD can't keep up with him, Batman can.

( his weight shifts, legs still holding onto the grapple gun as damian intentionally causes the wire to swing, until he has enough leeway he can bend his legs over his head into a flip and land on his feet, without removing his hands from the book.

flips the page once he's up on his feet. )

Many of Gotham's Rogues will develop an unhealthy obsession with Batman.

Alfred will be fine.

( another page turned and another entry found. this one, a little more recent.

Thursday, October 31st. The city streets are crowded for the holiday. Even with the rain. Hidden in the chaos is the element waiting to strike like snakes. But I'm there too. Watching. Two years of nights have turned me into a nocturnal animal. I must choose my targets carefully. It's a big city. I can't be everywhere. But they don't know where I am. We have a signal now. For when I'm needed. But when that light hits the sky, it's not just a call. It's a warning. To them. Fear... is a tool. They think I'm hiding in the shadows. But I am the shadows. I wish I could say I'm making a difference, but I don't know. Murder, robberies, assault. Two years later, they're all up. And now this. The city's eating itself. Maybe it's beyond saving. But I have to try. Push myself. These nights all roll together in a rush, behind the mask. Sometimes in the morning, I have to force myself to remember everything that happened.

again, he just barely looks over to damian there. hears what he has to say. yet doesn't seem to entirely believe it. )

You don't know that.

( the words are soft, bruce staring over to the elevator where he almost expects to see alfred. )

We're not from the same Gotham.

( damian's quiet, for a moment. the notebook gets shoved into the back of his belt before he makes his way over to bruce. moves to stand in front of him. not beside him, not behind, but right in his line of sight. )

I have battled gods. I've been to Death's door. Looked into the depths of the universe. There are things I've seen that I know you won't consider being real until you have witnessed it with your own eyes. You don't have to believe me, but I want you to hear the certainty in my words when I tell you no matter what world it is, what differences there may be, Pennyworth will not allow himself to breathe his last breath while you are still so easily defeated.

( damian's not wrong. bruce feels defeated. to some extent. having not been able to be there for him — to get to him in time or see the writing on the wall of bruce wayne being the riddler's next target... he should have known. should have figured it out quicker. now alfred lays in a hospital from a bomb. meant for him. it's his fault he's there.

his gaze just barely lifts to meet damian's. drops a moment later. )

I hope you're right.

( again, the words are soft. somber. )

You'll discover soon enough, Father: I am always right.

( or close enough anyway. bruce only looks at him for a moment, and damian won't force more eye contact onto him. instead, he takes the book out. waves it around for a moment, before he opens it and drops down onto the ground to continue sifting through it.

regardless of how useless the notes are here, they're useful for other purposes: getting a good gauge of bruce is currently, what's doing through his head, what thoughts plague him.

knowing one's mind space is plenty useful. )

( damian drops down and bruce watches him. the ego on this kid... )

You're just going to sit there like that?

( he is his father's child, after all. and he does look plenty comfortable right where he is. )

Yes. Is that a problem?

( his chin tips up, and damian - raises an eyebrow. )

Depends. How long are you planning to sit there?

( it's not like he's just going to stand around doing nothing, kiddo. )

( there's plenty of things for bruce to turn his attention to in here. his work table, what's left on it, the early beginnings of his cave. damian doesn't get up yet, but he is pressing his lips together.

clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. )

»Tt«. Do you have something else we should be doing instead?

( we, not I. this is a team-up now. )

( ... )

Fine.

( to damian sitting there, he means.

turning, he starts to walk towards the elevator, cape following along after him as he does. it's just the two of them here — supposedly — yet he still doesn't feel the need to remove his cowl. as familiar as this all is, it's still not gotham. )

I'm going to look around a bit. Don't touch anything. Stay put.

( fine, he says, but doesn't mean.

stay put, he says, knowing well that damian will take that to mean please, touch whatever you want. damian looks up to bruce over the edge of his notebook. quirks up the corners of his mouth. )

Of course. I'll stay right here, on the ground, and not touch a single thing.

( said the liar. )

( he knows. despite the little time they’ve known one another here… he knows.

still, he pulls the gate of the elevators shut, eyes damian there on the floor through the thick greasepaint beneath his cowl, and presses the button to take him up through the secret passage the elevator hides within. slow and quiet, bruce just staring to the closed gate.

the place he ends up is the locked room that belongs to his deceased parents. standing there at the double doors. taking a moment. quiet. thinking to the things damian had said about alfred. about how joker and others like him will become a burden to him over the years and take so much from him until he’s almost left with nothing.

he unlocks the doors. steps in. stands there in silence. it’s an exact replica of thomas and martha’s room. a room he hasn’t personally been inside for a number of years now. it hurts to be in here. contains so many memories that are more like torn photographs now, ripped along the edges. colours faded. washed out. nearly forgotten in some ways.

slowly, he removes his cowl, lets his hair fall every which way, a breath so soft on his lips as blue eyes stare to the floor — to the rug there he remembers sitting on as a boy. a short-lived childhood that he fears damian, too, has had the unfortunate experience of. if one at all. cowl there in hand, held by the tips of his fingers, he slowly makes his way to the bed. hesitates almost. then gently seats himself at the foot of it and lets everything he’s feeling and carrying sink into him until he feels as if he can’t move.

his head tips down, a sigh just barely there on lips, and he lets his eyes fall shut as he sits there. holding the cowl. cape enveloped around him as a protective shield. a blanket of vengeance that practically seeps into his bones. he wishes alfred was here. could tell him the things he needs to hear and what to do. it’s not that he doesn’t know it’s just… he doesn’t know if he can.

so he sits there. just needing a moment to. a moment to sit with these burdens, these concerns, these guilts nestled so deeply within him. not so much for his own sake but more for damian’s. )

Edited 2024-04-18 14:19 (UTC)

( bruce walks off, and damian's certain he knows better than to assume damian does plan on leaving all of his things alone. there's no need to pretend otherwise: damian has already been snooping through his start-up cave. he's reading bruce's journal, the gotham project. memorizing every line, every detail this younger version of his father has been noting about his first two years of being the batman.

damian has been robin for roughly three years. he'd been training to become part of the league since shortly after his birth. his experience laps bruce's several times over. it explains his hesitance, when they had been sparring. or, more accurately, when damian had been sparring, and bruce had been trying to fight him off without causing damage. the taser had been clever, and damian meant to offer his compliments on the forethought.

figures now, that bruce would likely not appreciate him mentioning it again. there's too many pages to memorize them all now, so he settles for skimming over most of it, looking for familiar names, familiar locations. reads over important paragraphs twice to ensure he doesn't forget.

then closes the notebook.

doesn't put it back on the work desk, but instead grips his grapple gun, pulling on it so it starts bringing him back up and uses wire to attach it to the underside of the staircase in a shadowy corner where it's unlikely that those not looking to snoop in batman's things would look for it.

then pulls the grapple loose, carrying it in hand over to the elevator shaft. he doesn't call the elevator down, no. that'd be too easy. instead, he's rehooking the grapple gun onto his belt and grins as he pulls open the gate and leaps into the elevator shaft. grabs hold of wire and other easy-to-nab bits and pieces to climb his way up. stretching, see? it's important to make sure he doesn't let himself go, especially here. things may be quiet currently, but it won't stay that way. it's a great upper-body workout. the elevator doesn't move down to greet him, so it's only the clank clank of his batarangs shoving into creases, his boots pressing against the inside of the elevator shaft, to warn bruce that damian's on his way back up.

it's a tall building. it takes him time. a few short breaks. so he doesn't exhaust muscle. but damian makes it. he pries open the gate on the floor he's certain bruce has stopped at because that's where the elevator is, and stretches his arms out over his head.

walks through the open area up to what had been locked doors and lets himself on into where bruce has - sat himself down, cowl off.

tilts his head with a small scowl. )

Father.

( father. he's still not used to being addressed like that.

he lifts his head, just barely. looks over to damian there with eyes that carry a number of burdens within them. he blinks. slow. lets it all sink back into the depths of everything that he is and licks over his lips. cowl held there at his knee by the tips of his fingers. )

Are you finished snooping around?

( because he knows that's what he'd been up to — what he left him to do while he just... took this moment for himself. because it's not as if he's really let himself do that since he's arrived here. distractions, confusion, attempts to make sense of things he never thought he'd have to make sense of... you know. all things bruce would rather focus— fixate on than everything that he's trying to ignore that he's feeling. )

I've finished your journal.

( no point in hiding what he'd been up to. they both know. bruce doesn't get up, and damian - takes a moment to consider what he should be doing here. he recognizes not the room, but what's inside it. there's no point in investigating the space of this alternate bruce's parents, he knows all he needs to about them.

so instead, damian walks over to where bruce has settled down, and - drops down to sit beside him. raises a hand to thread fingers through his hair and pulls out the cobwebs he'd gathered from the elevator shaft. doesn't wipe them off on the ground in here, but instead wipes them onto the thigh of his pants. )

( damian comes over. takes a seat there beside him and... bruce just watches him. out of the corner of his eye. watches the way he cards a set of fingers through the bit of mess that is currently his hair. spots the few cobwebs he'd managed to get in them. clearly he hadn't taken the elevator. had found other ways to go about getting himself up here.

licking over his lips again, he stares to damian a little longer before he lets his gaze drop to his hands. to the cowl he holds there. )

I don't remember saying you could read that.

You knew it was in my hands when you left. You knew I would read it.

( why ask for permission, when he'd been given it already, even if it wasn't explicit. damian doesn't look to bruce, but leans his head back against the bed. close his eyes under the domino mask. bruce needed a moment, and damian's inclined to allow him a few more moments of silence, if he wants it. maybe he's not alone, but damian had already told him: he isn't alone here. )

Maybe I thought you'd exercise restraint.

( though, as he's coming to learn with damian, that might not be one of his strong points. )

I'm the son of Batman.

( he knows no restraint. damian assumes bruce will be able to discern that from that one sentence alone. it would be a shame if he couldn't, given he is batman. )

( again, it's still difficult for him to wrap his mind around, but. the more he spends time around damian, the more he... sees himself, here and there, within the kid currently sprawled out some on the bed.

a slow glance to damian out of the corner of his eye, he drags teeth over his bottom lip. swallows. )

Yeah.

( looking down to the cowl again, he holds back the sigh he wants to let out. )

I guess you are.

( he is. damian will proudly declare his lineage on both sides. he is the son of the bat, the grandson of the demon. a child of two kingdoms, born for greatness. but damian also recognizes the complexities of his heritage. who he is. who bruce's parents are to him, how this bruce, two years into batman, hasn't imagined bringing a child into the brutal life he's chosen to live. one day, perhaps, he'll find a boy who has just watched the death of his parents. a bright boy, full of light and hope but drowning in darkness. who needs the kind of support bruce wayne can provide, the understanding he can give. maybe he won't. maybe his path will be a lonelier one.

damian dislikes the thought. dislikes even more that this bruce, this version of his father who is still so young, is here. they're enemies, each fighting to protect separate homes. they shouldn't have to be, there should be another way. an option to protect both, all of them, but damian doesn't have answers yet, only questions, potentials, and he can't risk his family until he does find another way.

his tongue presses to the roof of his mouth, hands raising to peel the domino mask off of his face. it's nothing he needs to focus on in this moment, they--should have time to figure something out, an alternate way to save everything. he can't accept anything less.

or leave this bruce on the floor in his parent's room, mourning their loss while running through everything else he's learned. witnessed. )

Bruce. ( it doesn't feel right on his tongue. foreign. sounds weird. damian immediately decides to never call him by name again. ) My family may be anomalous, but I have never wished to be anyone else's son. Your parents would be proud of what you have accomplished. You have worked hard, even if you are still struggling to see the results.

( struggling. not a word he'd want to use to describe the way he feels as of late with everything going on in gotham, but. not exactly far from the truth either. he knows damian's likely picked that up from snooping through his journal. through the gotham project that he's been relentlessly writing it day after day after day the past two years. needing to keep track of it all. to remember. have it as something to look back on if he ever needs to. while some might think it therapeutic in a way, for bruce, it's just part of the job. another tool to be used to his advantage.

but to carry such a heavy burden he's intentionally put on his shoulders concerning his gotham and to have doubts about it — about how likely it is he can save such a corrupt city, only to find himself here, now with the burden of trying to save not only gotham, but the world itself... it weighs on him in ways he never thought such a path like this would and he doesn't know what to do. not yet. there's just... too much on his shoulders currently and he doesn't know if more weight will be added to what he's already carrying.

damian goes and calls him bruce and... while he's not yet used to being addressed as father, somehow hearing him called his name by damian is just... strange. surprisingly.

he looks to him, quiet. blue eyes sweeping their gaze over the other's face now that he has his own mask peeled off and, like before, he searches those green eyes with his blue. sees the hints of familiarity softly etched within them. )

It sounds weird when you call me that.

I won't do it again.

( a declaration made between them. he used it once, he's not using it again. bruce's statement of it being weird would generally be enough to warrant damian saying it repeatedly except - he agrees, definitely weird.

(the batman who laughs does not deserve to be called father. nor does he or his associates deserve to be called by name. this is different.)

bruce meets his eyes, and damian looks right back at him for several moments. maintains eye contact, before green drifts down to eye the cowl instead. the lack of proper lenses is going to irritate him until damian is able to fix it. it's not just the lack of eye protection, it's the exposure. there's plenty of reason to cover one's eyes, even if bruce has shown he's perfectly capable of maintaining an almost cold expression when he's wearing the cowl--what you would expect from batman. )

You haven't met her yet. My mother.

( in case he was curious. damian is assuming bruce has already figured that out: he would have recognized her in his features. in the green eyes that reflect the same stubborn streak bruce has, in the curve of his nose. )

Which explains why I was able to cut you. And why your taser is so weak.

( closed ) bred, born, and raised to kick your ass

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)