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ᴡᴇʟʟ, ᴏʜ ɴᴏ, 

                       ᴡʜᴏ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ'ᴠᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ            

                                                                                   ɪꜱ ᴀʟʟ ᴀꜱ yᴏᴜ ᴅᴇꜱɪɢɴᴇᴅ ?

                                          {ℍ𝕠𝕞𝕖 | ℝ𝕦𝕝𝕖𝕤 | 𝔸𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 }

Jonathan Crane:

♞ ₜₕₑ ₖₙᵢgₕₜ ₘₒᵥₑₛ —

     Before the story begins, let it be known that Edward Nygma was new to all of this, like most of them were.

                                                        Green.

     Green, like the color of the suit he was wearing.

     Thereby, it should be noted that the failures soon to be presented forth reflect not on the person he was to become, and hardly on the person he was. It is simply that the unprepared mind cannot properly respond to extreme circumstances.

     Now that this has been duly noted, let us go on. There was somebody stuck in Edward's little trap. It was hardly a trap – it was a working prototype of something he had devised in order to snatch up a particularly dirty cop that he wanted to suffer. Of course, there was some personal reason for this focus and intended hit – there always was – but that does not have any bearing on what happened next.

     You see, Nygma had no intention of letting whoever he had snatched up go (no, that would be stupid and he was not stupid). He had every intention of watching the little fly struggle a while and then getting rid of them quickly, silently. Maybe after a few questions, and then a drop down into Gotham's harbor. Those waters were deep, and dark, and nothing really ever came out of them.

     Flesh was just eaten up by chemical runoff and god knows what else lurked there.

     Thin limbs and dark hair, dark eyes were what greeted Edward when he went to check his trap out. They glared at him, lips pursed, almost a snarl. Such irritation – there was a proud swell in the young man's chest as he approached, hands on his hips and cocky expression shining out.

            ❝  — Well, well! Looks like a little mouse in my trap! Where did you crawl from? That looks like a Halloween costume. Where did you pull that from? —   ❞

♞ ₜₕₑ ₖₙᵢgₕₜ ₘₒᵥₑₛ —

     There was a point when tired was a word that lost its meaning, or could not (in the least) explain the depths of the absolute and sheer exhaustion of body, mind and soul which washed over the self, washing away the sense of self and purpose like words written in sand. He sat, with his back slightly bent, hands on his knees and cane beneath his arms, laying across his lap. Eyes downcast, feeling of self obliterated (for this moment, or for forever?), Edward realized what it meant when an old man said 'I'm tired' with the cold, distant look in misty eyes, as though he were looking far away…

     It was a bad day. Not just the leg – that always hurt – but old wounds, old pains were haunting him, and there was a weight on the back of his head, on the back of his shoulders. As though he were carrying a body, dragging something limp and lifeless through the streets of Gotham to let tumble into a shallow grave or perhaps a plot of land under construction. Limb over limb, swallowed into the abyss.

     That gaping chasm that was open beneath his feet; so he was tip-toe, tip-toe on glass panels hoping not to make a misstep, hoping not to plummet on down, hoping not to just become another John Doe, tally up the body count, haul him out and cremate him -

     - his chest. It was getting tight and his breathing was like chokes sobs, shivers that wracked his frame. Hot and cold, needles in his body. The phrase panic attack came to mind, the very reason he had gone out, hobbling away from his claustrophobic walls and that stuffy place he called home and…

     Something set a paw on him. Hand. Paw. Whatever. Edward's head snapped up with what was probably a wild, wide-eyed and somewhat lost expression, brown locks streaked with the occasional silver falling into his eyes only to be swept away by a careless wave of the back of his hand. It – they, or something – was a child, big watery eyes staring at him as though he were an exhibit at a zoo. Annoying was his first impression, but then again a child was an ignorant miniature human, oft doomed to metamorphose into a larger man, a matrix of genetics, cursed still to be a bit of an idiot. Cursed still, to a life that was nothing but a pain in the side, something nobody got away from without a mark, some kind of brand on skin, raised flesh and old burns.

              Unless you were Bruce Wayne or someone comparable.

     Dully surprised at the old indignation the simple touch of a child created, the former criminal followed the child's eyes – oh, the cane. It – they – were looking at the cane. Edward shifted his knees, moving the heavy metal staff about slightly.           “No. It is far too heavy for your little muscles to grab, and those tiny sausages of phalanges you possess would not wrap fully about it anyways. You'd hurt yourself before you had any sort of fun.”

      Where was the parent anyways? The Private Detective, who had been distracted by his own bodily aches for the moment by the presence of the small one, cast his eyes up in search. Oh, there, a woman coming towards him. Oddly familiar, blonde, tired, petite -

      - Wait, wait wait. He knew that face. He knew it well, and it made his stomach fall again. He really was falling into the pit. Right now though, right now, he needed the words, some words, any words….

            “It's yours? Let me guess who and how. I think I have an accurate answer.”

♞ ₜₕₑ ₖₙᵢgₕₜ ₘₒᵥₑₛ —

     He had been awake for roughly 52 hours, running on coffee and adrenaline with a side of the occasional energy bar. This was perfectly acceptable by Edward's relatively poor self-care standards (one had to make exceptions when it came to living a life of crime), sans the occasional rapid, stuttering heartbeat. Again, unpleasant but not altogether unacceptable.

     Plus, he was able to enjoy uninterrupted tinkering time, which was an absolute undeniable benefit and the very thing he craved most often in his existence plagued with intermissions caused directly by those who possessed far less wit than himself.

      Speaking of intermissions, that was exactly what had drawn him from his perfectly supported and not at all in any way lacking home base. You see, Edward had once again been interrupted by the occasional idiot crawling their way in and trying to force him out. Or the rude realization that time had been lost to him and the condemned building he had been squatting in had indeed reached the hour of its demise by brutal, scummy men and their massive monstrosities of wrecking machines. Edward hardly had time to gather his important hardrive into his pocket and dash his person out before the careless brutes of invaders came breaking down the walls of his home.

     Now there was a new concern. Where would he sleep tonight, before he could slide into a more permanent settlement? The invigoration brought by caffeine was wearing thin, his eyelids grew heavy and his feet leaden as he forced himself to move, trekking through the narrow and little-known places of Gotham's old streets. His brain searched through the mental directory of every friendly face he knew; those incarcerated would do him no good, for their properties were watched carefully by police for a time.

     ...Of course, the simple and rather obvious truth that he had little to no friends soon occurred to the tired genius, and he tossed begging out of the window. It was beneath him anyways, he would simply take.

     Edward knew where everyone was, and how many places they owned. Thereby, through process of elimination and assessing the relative dangers of each potential area, he was able to determine that the best place to take would be a tiny hideaway belonging to Harley Quinn, the careless woman with the tacky clown gimmick. This decision proved to be quite lucrative indeed.

     Flimsy automated security was the only thing he had to worry about – it took little effort to dismantle and then the doors of his brand new (kind of) and very temporary (definitely) base opened wide to him! Self-assured smirk pasted onto his face, Nygma practically waltzed through the door like a man having just bought his first house, kicking the door closed behind him.

     Sure, it was horribly decorated (so much red and black!) and rather dark, but there was no nagging voice, no noise, and no threat of wrecking balls interrupting important brainstorm sessions with himself. No inhibitions remaining, the Prince of Puzzles practically threw himself onto the flat and well-used couch, feeling his aching bones and muscles sigh with him and sink in to the slight padding it provided.

     Oh, he'd get up in a moment. He just wanted to close his eyes for a second before refortifying the perimeter and making himself some more coffee, perhaps hunting down a bit of actual food…

     ...is what he told himself before exhaustion swept him on away and he fell into the kind of cool and dreamless sleep of the drained (and deserving).

A contemplative looks crosses Edward’s face, as grabs his chin in obvious thought. It was something that had never occurred to him, something that he never had really thought was important, given the fact that he had long ago given up on romance or friendship or any other such convention.

There was more than just finding the answer- it was deciding whether to be honest or not. It couldn’t hurt though, could it?

“Ideally? Someone who was intelligent that I could respect, but not more intelligent than I am. That wouldn’t…do well.” Fragile pride, it would be shattered. Sure, they could know things he didn’t, he would love to hear more. But to best him in most things, or in the areas he felt confidence in? IT would upset him too deeply. “Open. Not so emotional that my own occasional outbursts or mouthiness would damage our relationship. Affectionate. Preferably verbally…” Things he had never had. Things he always had wanted. He swallows a lump in his throat.

“They would have to understand that I get bored? They would have to be able to put up with spontaneous actions. They couldn’t mind my tinkering. Actually I would…” The words halted for a moment. His chest felt tight. This was why he never talked about this. “…like them to watch me work.”

He turns his head away, biting the tip of his tongue in a manner he was sure wouldn’t be seen. The breath he took in felt raw.

Everyone knows the basis of Eddie’s childhood, and knows that he admits it to being terrible. But he never really has ever admitted to the residual emotional damage that it has left on him.

His father was tyrannical, and to this day he is the reason behind many of Eddie’s problems- including his inability to give up crime and be successful elsewhere, though he is more than aware that he could.

Eddie was, at first, as loud a child he could be. Questions that never got answered, from the mundane to the very serious. He would ask his father to play. He would ask his father for a toy he saw that he rather liked. He would ask his father if he could watch him work, and promised he would be quiet. As a boy, all he really wanted was to receive attention and affection. These things never happened.

Questions were answered with shouts, requests to play with mocking laughter. Toys were met with slaps, and asking to watch him work? No food. Immediate demand for him to go to his room, or at least be nowhere near him, before he exploded.

This made Eddie crave affection and attention now, though he isn’t confident in ever being able to find the former. The latter is easy; he finds it in his riddles and his traps, though it isn’t the positive affection he wants- something he doesn’t think he deserves either. Which is another remnant of his father’s doing.

The beatings came not just for failure but success. Eddie grew to think of himself of nothing more than a collection of failures, and began to fail purposefully, as if it would please his father more. Nothing did. It is ingrained that he will forever be nothing.

Okay, lessee whats left! Also I published this early, give me a sec

♠ - What are they afraid of?

Each and every time it will be the same: Edward is afraid of leaving nothing behind and being forgotten as a faceless nothing. What makes this worse is that he believes that is the ultimate fate of all mankind.

 ♦ - What is one thing about them that they are most proud of?

His intellect. He knows he is smart and that is where he is most based in! 

♣ - What is one thing that they find embarrassing? (About them, others, things in general)

Eddie thinks that unintelligent and ignorance are the most embarrassing things. Valuing knowledge so greatly, he thinks that if you choose not to learn, it shows a lack of perseverance and a weakness of character that is unforgivable. 

★ - Do they prefer daytime or nighttime and why?

The night is when he is less likely to be seen, his favorite enemy is out, and when he feels more at home.

☾- Are they prone to nightmares or dreamless sleep?

Considering that he has trouble falling asleep, he almost always has the dreamless kind of sleep brought on by perfect exhaustion. Though, when he does dream, you bet they are nightmares.

☼ - Something that/Someone who makes them happy.

Victory, success, and praise make him happy. He doesn't really have a person who makes him feel lighter though. 

☁ - If they’re caught out in the rain how do they react?

Seek shelter immediately. Eddie hates the rain, especially if it happens from nowhere or it is cold rain- two things common enough in Gotham. 

♪ - Are they musically inclined? 

What the hell is music? Eddie has no sense of rhythm or time, and can't keep a beat. His voice probably wouldn't be too bad otherwise. He never had the care to learn and instrument though. 

♫ - What kind of music do they enjoy?

Teen pop (this is an inside joke)

He prefers classic music over the rest, or relaxing sounds. mostly because he enjoys the effect music has in calming one down. 

☺ - Do they prefer sour or sweet treats?

Neither, actually. He likes saltier things, and doesn't deal well with spicy at all. If he had to pick though, he would say sweet. But only mildly so. 

Oh, he really likes marzipan. 

❄ -  Favourite season and why?

Fall. Mild weather for a while, not as much rain, nice leaves in the Gotham country. And the smell of pumpkin and spice.

☮ - Do they have an idol or someone they look up to?

Not at all. That place should have been reserved for a father.

✕ - How do they handle rejection?

It hurts him, deeply, but he looks like he takes it in stride.

His own father rejected him, so what else is new? 

❤ - Do they have a love interest?

♥ - What does ‘love’ mean to them? 

Love is an emotion he deems trivial in most cases, but does not deny the existence of. What he wants for ‘love’ or what he believes it should be is unbreakable trust and loyalty, as well as a good match of minds. Someone who can keep critically up to the level that their partner can, who won’t bore each other, who present both challenge and comfort constantly. 

He sees it as the deepest of all possible relationships. 

✓ - How do they react to praise?

Why in the world would you praise him? He acts with an outward expression of narcissism, but really has massive insecurities and doubts about his own abilities. But gratitude is not at all what welcomes praise. He returns it with a self assured boast, and a temporarily boosted ego that overshadows his inner pains. 

✕ - Someone they can't stand

✖ - Who is someone they just cannot stand?

To be quite honest, Riddler really dislikes Joker. He dislikes the way chaos rules him, dislikes the fact that he doesn't seem to follow pattern or logic, which is something he cannot understand. And, among the rogues, he is perhaps one of the most treacherous to be around. Plus the gimmicks and the laugh and the whole clown thing just doesn't sit well.

Another reason would be because Joker really does take away the whole of the spotlight. 

♔ - Do they value loyalty?

Though Edward is by no means a person easily trusted or loyal, he does value it. He believes that when there is mutual respect between people, they should stand by each other, except perhaps in the most dire of circumstances. 

♕ - Do they trust easily?

Not at all. The people he is around are usually deceitful, and with his life before becoming the Riddler, he leaned it bad to trust and rely on anyone but himself. When he gives it, it is very easy to break his trust. He'll remember it, too.

☠ - How do they react to death?

Edward treats the death of others dispassionately. He is, after all, the man in charge of many deaths, and to cope with what remains of his emotional side, he must view them as nothing but objects. HE does not handle the death of those he likes or is close to well at all, though this has yet to happen. Feeling as perpetually alone as he does, losing anyone he has any form of positive connection to him is a massive blow.