A story high above the low, recorded by few, disputed by later.
WHO: EDWARD NYGMA and POSSIBLY YOU.
WHERE: NOHoPE.
WHEN: August 8th - August 14th.
WARNINGS: Sweep you all up on a corner and pay for my bread.
SUMMARY: You know that I cannot believe my own truth.
FORMAT: To show what a truth, it's got nothing to lose.
( A thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it. )
WHERE: NOHoPE.
WHEN: August 8th - August 14th.
WARNINGS: Sweep you all up on a corner and pay for my bread.
SUMMARY: You know that I cannot believe my own truth.
FORMAT: To show what a truth, it's got nothing to lose.
( A thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it. )
He also knew that he'd dropped the ball. His worst enemy had been in the City since before he'd arrived, and he'd lost track of what Norman was up to. It was easy to make excuses, to say that there'd been so much to adjust to, so many people to look out for, and the Norman situation had seemed under control if not perfectly resolved -- but the truth was that he'd been complacent. Norman had become ( ... )
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That's why he was in the straitjacket for a couple of hours.
"Well," reasoned Edward to himself. "Clearly they hadn't thought that through very well." He eased pressure on his shoulder, intent on popping it out. It was a worn puzzle, something he had been quite good at back in the day. Arkham doctors caught on eventually, of course, and reinvented certain patterns, creating new physical mazes to overcome. This, if anything, was just a touch nostalgic.
But at least this was a puzzle to stave off the boredom.
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Eventually, he skittered forward the last few paces and slipped down a webline, hovering upside-down at eye level. Now, if only he could find out what to say...
"I don't know, Eddie. It makes a bold statement, but it's not really your color, is it?"
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He ceased his struggling, and the straitjacket relaxed under the eased stress. Edward was curious to see Norman's hero show his mask so quickly -- it was almost hurtful, that none of the Gotham credentials had yet paid visit. Almost painful, really. But the day was newborn, Eddie reasoned, perhaps he shouldn't be so dismissive of his own peers just yet.
Something had to amuse him by lunch, after all.
Eddie smirked at his costumed company, maintaining that eye level contact for as long as Spidey would allow it. With each passing second, his grin grew. There was a tension not quite verbalized between them, one that Eddie did nothing to clarify. Why spoil the puzzle so quickly, anyway? With a deep breath, he sought only to puncture the silence.
"Well? Are you going to help be out of this damned thing or not?"
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"You're not going to help me out of a highly uncomfortable jacket, but you're inclined to demand information? Goodness, Spider-Man, you're one of those heroes who play hard, aren't you?" Eddie shook his head, chuckling. He continued to squirm for a moment, jerking his shoulders back and forth. "It's a rather long story, I'm sure we don't have time for all of it. You know about the whole kidnapping bit? How I was kidnapped, and no one bothered -- even thought to look for me? That's likely my favorite part."
He was breathing hard, sweat lightly popping on his forehead. His body was morphed even more angular under his straitjacket, elbows fighting against the restraint.
"Less favorable was the darkness and torture and sensory deprivation. And then coming here, framed as crazy? Dr. Sofen ( ... )
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... Darkness and torture and sensory deprivation...
The words rang in his ears, counterpoint to the beat of his suddenly-pounding heart. But timed, perfectly timed, to the phantom pain that prickled over his skin and made his bones ache and his palms break out in a sweat. It was exactly what he'd been dreading; Norman Osborn to the core. Yet somehow hearing his supposition confirmed made it real again, made the forcibly-buried memories rise to the surface. It was another voice Peter heard now, tender but firm, stern father to the wayward but loved -- no, coveted -- child.
I’m going to have to undo you, Peter - make you want the darkness.
The all-too-familiar snap of a popped socket was enough to bring Spider-Man back to himself, barely, remembrance of electric white and soothing black pushed out of the foreground. Eddie's complaint was still hardly more than buzzing in his ears, and for seconds that dragged to almost a minute he only hung there, unmoving. Then he licked his lips, dry under the mask ( ... )
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His attitude was a cover. All the while, he was watching Spider-Man's stillness. His stony silhouette against the luminescent hallway lighting. The croaking voice. The unmistakable frozen movement that alluded to something far deeper than mere appearances would allow.
Oh. How fun.
"You really don't have much time. An hour, maybe two, and rounds will resume." Eddie had stopped wiggling in his straitjacket, his one arm loosely dangling within the bounds of cloth. Hidden. "Unless you're having a moment? I wouldn't want to interrupt that."
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"Oops." The joke was lusterless, banter on autopilot.
With the barest shrug, he dropped down to the floor, sliding the door open just enough to slip inside. "I don't know how much time that gives us ..." But even knowing the need for haste, he hovered near the sill: scarred himself, waiting to see if the wounded animal would snap and bite.
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"Probably not as much time as desired," cooed Eddie. He hung back, still sitting on his bed. The inch of slack he could now afford earned him enough room for movement. His working fingers snaked around, within. "But when do we ever possess that?"
Eddie winked over at his guest.
"You're here for a reason. Let's not digress too much now."
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His touch was light as he undid the buckles and straps -- avoidance as much as it was compassion, minimizing contact. "Here, that should do it," he said at last, starting to pull the garment off while minding Eddie's shoulder as much as possible.
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