PSL 02: Fresh Air

[theansweris]

It took Ed four days, and most of that seemed to be waiting for approval from one office to go to the next office and get approved further along the line. Then they had to give appropriate notice and argue among themselves until it was agreed that it had to proceed, even with the objections from the DA and the GCPD.

The allowed clothing was restricted, but for the court appearance, Oswald was given some of his own clothes back, even if just his shirt, pants and jacket.

The session was mostly reading a list of the charges Oswald had been convicted of and the lawyer using Ed's neatly produced list to cite off why each of those was unsound and would require, at minimum, re-trial with due consideration to the burden of proof and threshold of prosecution.

It was a long, long session. But it ended with the conclusion that the state could not hold Oswald at this interval and thus

"-Mr Cobblepot, it is the finding of this court that your conviction was unsound and thus, you are free to leave this court. This is not a finding of not guilty, nor an absolution of charges, but a legal determination that the burden of proof has not been met."

There were reporters outside, of course. There were also several men in suits by a limo that was ready and waiting to whisk Oswald and his lawyer off.

From there, it was a drive. Out and to the Van Dahl manor, past the gates to keep out intruders and press and there, waiting on the stoop, was Ed, hands laced and a smile on his face as the car pulled up.

Comments

[theansweris]

Riddler has always been aware of the small tokens of affection from Oswald. Given how Oswald was with his mother, they both take it as a compliment that Oswald wants to show a fraction of the affection he showered on her and was given in return.

"You can get us something nice when you've settled in. After eight months in Arkham, being a building where I can always open the doors has been novel enough. And you've invited us to stay here. That- means a lot."

legend has it that they're still hugging to this day

[hobblepot]

What can I say? [He lets out a breathy laugh edging dangerously close to a sob, thinking of how small and isolated he felt in his block surrounding by dozens of seething inmates, though never quite as invisible as he often wanted to be.] It just wouldn't be the same without you.

[theansweris]

Riddler leans back to look at Oswald. "Is there anyone in Blackgate that needs to be paid back for their treatment of you? I got some wonderful ideas from the novels they gave me access to."

There were people in Blackgate who may have tried to break Oswald's spirit, so Riddler would just break them.

[hobblepot]

[He slides his arms from around Ed, reluctantly, blinking at him with a fresh sense of self-awareness. There's a tightening of his shoulders, the smile on his lips.]

Oh? [He snorts softly.] Any particularly inspired punishments in there for a smug murderer and serial rapist and his knuckle-dragging cronies? I could use the laugh.

[Folding his arms.]

I won't pretend drowning Mr. Markus Cervelli in that vile toilet-brew of his would've been terribly clever, but the thought never failed to entertain.

[theansweris]

"Mm." Riddler retreats to the couch, patting for Oswald to sit down and dragging the coffee table and food closer. "Well, I found these movies, 'Saw'. They're hilarious. Ed is a little less enchanted, but the engineering involved is fascinating. Anyway, point is, yes, we can make all sorts of interesting retributions. Including ones they willingly smuggle in for themselves."

[hobblepot]

[Sighing, he settles in beside him, lightly bumping shoulders. It's a relief to get off his feet, and if the ottoman were any closer, he'd prop his leg up on it to bring his mild post-bath swelling down. He adjusts the elastic of his compression sock before reaching for prosciutto-wrapped bocconcini on a skewer.]

Now there's a fun project I would be delighted to partake in... after we've paid our dear commissioner a visit, of course. ...Oh.

[It's his first bite of food all day, and easily the boldest, most sophisticated marriage of flavours his palate has known in over half a year. His brain lights up like a slot machine and his hunger comes alive, his hands a little shaky as they go for a baguette round slicked with herb butter and another skewer that misses his open mouth on the first try, the little wooden tines poking his lip.

He moans around a mouthful, can't help himself.]

That is absolutely delicious. Oh my god. [He says as he finishes.] Have you tried this?

[theansweris]

Riddler looks, realises and stretches a foot out to drag the ottoman closer so Oswald can prop his foot up. Getting that foot and ankle back into something like working condition is one of his priorities.

Then Ed butts in and shifts off the couch, moving to near Oswald's foot, hands moving to carefully settle it into place. "Mm? No, not that specifically. I've been cooking for myself, or more, grabbing energy bars along the way."

[hobblepot]

[He flushes and jerks his foot away a little, as if he touched fire.]

I can do it myself-- [He says, not to Ed so much as the couch, in a tone more pleading than it is sullen and upset. But by then, his leg has already been repositioned and there's nothing more for him to do.

A goon once said, on a bad day, that he ought to pay one of Gotham's top back alley butchers to see if he could break and reset the bones, and was lucky not to caught a bullet between the eyes for the unsolicited advice. It's too late in the game for him to experience any sort of improvement, he tells himself, or that whatever pinning his re-fractured bones in place could accomplish wouldn't be worth the misery. His hopes of someday walking painlessly were dashed long before Jim put a round in his leg.

He looks to his lap, twisting a loose fold of his robe in his hands. Ed's less-than-ideal eating habits are worth addressing, but he's left fumbling to pick up the conversation where it dropped hard, unsure how to carry on as though nothing happened and everything is fine.

He grabs a dry cut of sausage and gnaws on it for a while, not quite as ravenous as before.]

You should eat. [He urges, as if Ed hasn't been at all, dimly focused on a toothpick he's turning between his fingers.] There's nothing you'll find under a wrapper that is better than this, I promise you.

[theansweris]

Taking his time to make sure the pressure is off the breaks and badly fused bones, Ed is careful not to reach too far, not to flare up the pain or Oswald's prickly sense of pride.

Neatening the cuff of his pants leg, Ed moves back to the couch, looking to the food. "I- truthfully, I've been having trouble with- Shush, no, I am sharing this- they'd drug my food sometimes. But things in wrappers, sealed..." They were safe. "I know this food is fine. Intellectually."

[hobblepot]

[The admission has Oswald lifting his head to look at him, wide-eyed.]

Oh. [He says lamely, feeling a vague clenching in the pit of his stomach and kicking himself for not having guessed as much.] ...There should be canned goods in the pantry... sardines and the like, from what I recall. Or we could make an omelet, if you prefer. If there is anything you need, please, do not hesitate to ask.

[theansweris]

Ed gives a tired smile. "No, I just, need to get over the hiccup." He knows the food is okay. Olga would never drug Oswald and she knew this was for him.

It takes a moment still, but then Riddler reaches out and takes a slice of the herb butter laden bread and bites into it, giving a soft sigh of contentment.

[hobblepot]

[Ed's reward for trying is a small, gently hopeful smile.]

Good, right? Now I won't be feeling quite so guilty if I end up devouring half this board.

[Relaxing, he spears a cherry tomato on the end of his toothpick. A refreshing burst of tart and sweet fills his mouth, so sorely missed.]

I thought the bland, mushy meatloaf and equally bland, mushy beans they were fond of serving was cruel and unusual punishment as far as food went. But the coleslaw... it was enough to give a man nightmares. I cannot decide what's worse - something drowning in vinegar, or in mayonnaise; the smell alone made me nauseous. [Another tomato.] It was so much easier just to go hungry.

[theansweris]

"Arkham's food hasn't really changed." It was the same fairly bland, neutral fare. "But we did get ice cream on occasion. I stopped getting it after I incited a riot during group therapy. When I started 'playing along', I asked for my reward to be library access instead."

That's far more likely Riddler than Ed and he reaches across for an olive.

[hobblepot]

[An uptick to his smile.] Choosing between brain freeze and a modicum of mental stimulation while trapped in a dreary hellhole? Kind of a no-brainer, really... if you'll pardon the pun.

[And yet if others were presented with both options, he'd be entirely unsurprised if the library proved unpopular.]

Besides -- what's that saying? A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips? [He lets out a scoffing laugh. Some spiced jam on a cracker has left a blood-like smudge over his chin.] The case for most people, at least. You, I imagine, are an exception with your... [pausing, his gaze flickers over him, thoughtful] ...rangy physique and efficient metabolism. [He's assuming the latter is true, anyway.]

[theansweris]

"The new therapist they brought in made the offer. She argued that universal rewards were ineffective; what I consider a reward compared to... Mr Tetch, for example, not the same."

Riddler shrugs and reaches to wipe the smudge away with his thumb, absently sucking it clean. "A mixture of lots of things. My metabolism burns too fast and my body is ill adapted to stress chemicals, making it burn faster."

[hobblepot]

[Mother would always swoop in to rub at his face with a handkerchief well into his adulthood, much to his squirming annoyance. But moms will be moms, and Ed isn't his, the gesture causing him to lose his place mid-sentence, blushing as he touches his fingers to his chin after the fact and boggles at him, wide-eyed. No tissues around, of course.]

[theansweris]

Riddler, with his customary confidence, continues on. "I'm usually in a state of heightened awareness, stress hormones, fight or flight reflex. Which actually is not fight or flight, that's simply the most common reaction men have to it. Women are more likely to flirt or freeze."

[hobblepot]

[He blinks at him, lost, like he's been tossed into a heavy conversation with no context whatsoever.]

What? [He huffs, shakes his head.] I'm sorry, what were we...?

[theansweris]

Riddler arches an eyebrow and picks up the bowl of feta stuffed olives. "It really doesn't matter. Have an olive, they're amazing."

[hobblepot]

Oh. [Looking at the bowl as if he never noticed it.] Yes. [He plucks one with a 'thank you', continuing to watch Ed as they chew.]

So... I suppose you'll be wanting to call it a night fairly soon. [Gently clearing his throat.] I mean, it has a been a long day for the both of us, you especially, with all the painstaking preparations you have made. I'd hate to keep you up.

[It's the nice thing to say, while trying to feel out Ed's intentions and get a sense of whether he has the energy or the will left to spend more of his time with him. As hungry as he is for company, he can't fault Ed if he's not quite as overtired and wired as he is still.]

[theansweris]

"Oswald, if you want to go to bed, you don't have to justify it. I'll be awake for hours yet. I never have slept much." And he sleeps less now, constantly on edge for the wardens and other prisoners.

He picks up another plate, this one with shaved honey smoked ham and soft cheese. "How about some of this?"

[hobblepot]

[Feeling a trickle of relief.]

Oh, no, I'm fine -- more so than I expected to be, honestly. I merely thought...

[He pauses at the offer, not needing long to consider it with plenty of room left in his stomach. The blend of flavours and textures, though simple, is downright heavenly, the whole meal reminiscent of the lunches and dinners he'd often sit down to in mom's kitchen. Sometimes it was just a plate of feta and tomatoes and cured slabs of meat from the one European delicatessen in Gotham that they'd nibble at together, with her all but pushing food at him, voicing her concerns over how skinny he was, how hard he worked.]

Mm! Very nice. Simple but delicious -- that's really all I can ask for.

[He looks down at himself, spotting a bit of cheese on his robe that somehow escaped him and picking it off, popping it into his mouth.]

[theansweris]

"That I might need rest, because I'm renowned for being able to slow down and take a break?" Riddler's voice was pure tease, but not vicious or cruel. "I'm fine. I want to run a couple of trials with a music box that I have an idea for."

It involves complicated forgery, a hallucinogenic he borrowed from a chemist and the right timing on the delivery mechanism.

"I'll cook something tomorrow. Maybe lunch. I'm expecting there to be a lot of phone calls and people trying to see you, so I've got someone screening phone calls, so you can pick who you want to speak to, if anyone."

[hobblepot]

I guess there really is no rest for the wicked, huh.

[But even as he says it, throwing his suit on and getting back to business feels like a distant concept even for him, a force of nature like himself with no patience to stand still for long. He's warm and fed and only just beginning to settle back into his own skin, still struggling to wrap his head around the fact that he is really home and not in immediate danger of being torn away from everything he loves, hauled back, thrashing, into his cell.

He chews a ragged shred of lip-skin, wondering if he should ask about the music box that he's sure Ed'll tell him about anyway, eventually. But he's only half-interested in it, if that. Unwilling to talk long into the night about work when he's desperate to make up for lost time in other ways, more meaningful ways, his chest knotting with a sharpening sense of urgency and all the things that go unsaid and with the fear that this relaxed moment of closeness and mutual enjoyment will slip away too soon if he sits and does nothing.]

As... fascinating as I'm sure your intentions are for the box, however, perhaps hearing about it can wait until tomorrow? [A frown wrinkles his brow.] I figure it's only fair that I give your thoughts my full and undivided attention.

[He looks between them, at their hands, and then back to Ed, unsure. It has suddenly become hard to swallow, spit sticking in his throat.]

Forgive me. [He attempts a smile - flickery-nervous and apologetic.] I suppose it's all still a little overwhelming for me, having come home to all this. ...And to you.

[It's no accident, when his fingertips skim the cushions, slowly, and find Ed's hand, grazing his knuckles.]

[theansweris]

"Oh. Of course. Though it may entail a trip to the Gotham museum, if you're interested in accompanying me some time." Just them and a building of priceless artefacts and Ed doing his best to behave and just study, because he really needs to try and not get locked up again so soon.

Ed glances to the brush of their hands and grasps Oswald's hand in what is definitely a reassuring grip between friends who have gone through a lot of shit. "No more work talk for tonight. Or revenge plotting. Though I'm afraid neither of us has a lot else we can discuss right now except for Blackgate and Arkham. Which aren't the most pleasant topics."