harvey dent

WHAT'S THE CRIME: harvey's tireless pursuit to uncover and punish corruption amongst gotham's most powerful eventually catches up to him. one evening, while leaving court, dent suffers an attack. due to the building's high security precautions, guns are not allowed anywhere near the premises --- though a bullet wound might have been preferable to the acid. the attack affected the left half of the face, neck, chest, forearm and hand, leaving these areas deeply scarred.

this is the catalyst to harvey dent's fall from grace. the DA had already been battling the ghosts of undealt childhood trauma and anger management issues. these allied with the stress and pressure of his new position as gotham's district attorney only caused his downfall to be more severe. harvey had been disfigured as an intimidation technique and those who had ordered the attack would never be properly punished. they'd never suffer like he had suffered.

WHAT'S THE MOTIVE: harvey dent, once gotham city's handsome defender had now become the face of the city itself --- and he vowed to do that which the lawful mechanisms given to them could never do ( THE LAW IS BLIND AND NOW SO IS HE ). judge, jury and executioner, post-attack harvey trusts no one. everyone is a possible offender and dent decides those who live and die with a flip of a coin ; the cruelty and randomness of the universe finally applied to those who truly deserve it.

it's no use trying to reason with him. it does not matter if the crimes committed were out of fear or desperation. it does not matter whether it was an accident, a mistake, how much you truly knew or understood about what was being done, harvey ( two-face ) dent will flip his coin regardless. that gesture cannot be corrupted, cannot be bought, LUCK ALONE IS FAIR. and he will not hesitate applying violence to those deemed guilty. the instrument with which he applies justice is a gun. he's never be as cruel as those who targeted him.

WHAT'S THE SENTENCE: two-face's mood fluctuates violently between the charming, cocky poster boy he once was and a bitter violent brute who knows no mercy. it is a facet that has always been there, buried deep in harvey, occasionally bubbling up to the surface in smaller and healthier ways. this new way of life, this NEW HARVEY is profoundly unhappy. he has lost all hope for kindness, for change...all gotham can hope for is total extermination. burn the foundations down and start over.

if she was a different girl, she'd have stayed under there. sunk to the bottom of the pool until her back hit the fiberglass ⸺ or his bed. as it is, dove's been swimming against a cruel tide all her life, pulling towards a shore that never gets any closer. this is no different.

"oswald?" her brows furrow around the surprise, the same way her mouth cramps around the word. can he hear it, how it sits less like a name and more like a burr on her tongue, a stone salted by the hudson river? club lighting flares across harvey's face, dying from red to deep purple ⸺ a burst of blood and the accompanying bruise ⸺ while she unfolds refusal like a pair of uncrossing legs. "and if i didn't," they're playing the same game, dove and harvey, the one where you make them look at one hand while the other does away with a secret. heat bulbs in the little space between them, tremulous. fluttering and hot, butterfly wings under a spotlight. "would you bring me in on obstruction of justice?"

so dove has planted herself between them, officially. the crosshatch of two conflicting sides. it's the most dangerous place to be, but she's obstinate, this girl. has no sense of self-preservation. she'll throw her body into the fray at the first sign of fire, no matter that it's better suited for admiring; like using a manet to catch stray bullets.

oz liked to talk about that. about what her body was good for. you know what it took to insure this doll, eh? for her legs? a million bucks for those legs, a swear t'god. a bar for a pair of gams. ain't that somethin'! worth it though, isn't she? finest bird in gotham, and i got her right here. i tell you boys, you need someone to pay a visit to the gods o'this city, she's got the wings. she can make it up to their shiny fuckin' birdcages. and she'll bring them right down to us.

he liked to talk about a lot of things, oswald. the only thing he liked more than hearing what came out of his mouth was putting something between the teeth of another ⸺ something cold and circular. a ring of accomplishment. the barrel of a gun.

it's what he'll do to harvey, if he gets the chance. so,

"i'm afraid i can't help you. he's occupied tonight, mr. dent." the clapping alarms her ⸺ that universally understood signifier that something is ending. "you should come back some other time."

her hands recede from harvey's, but dove doesn't pull back from his space all at once. she rests against the doorframe, the natural arch of her back a portico all its own, a comma. the bare leg protruding from it's parting robe a curled finger. each of these curves of hers like the quarter-parts of a spiral, an infinity symbol waiting to be unfolded. he still hasn't left. what can she do but persuade him to turn a less fatal corner?

maybe if he were to bury his face in her hair dent would be able to pretend his city hadn't gone to the dogs. maybe in the depths of her perfume, he could plead ignorance and lose himself to the pleasures of intimacy. but that wasn't the type of man harvey dent was. gotham had had plenty of folks wounded by its' vice and injustice who looked for an easy way out of their misfortune; anything that'd ease the pain. not dent, no, not him. harvey was bedrock. he could take it.

"your boss is a hard man to get a hold of. but i guess he's been busy getting to know all the new guys up in city hall." blue eyes stare dove down relentlessly as if looking for any kind of shift in her expression. after a second of silence, harvey prods. "has he?" and he still has the gall to keep the corners of his lips curled. is it any wonder so many of his opponents despise him? perhaps, with enough time, she'd learn to hate him too.

a familiar voice rasps something filthy amidst the valleys of his mind. harvey pretends not to hear it. the little bird asks if he ever gives up and gotham's shining knight shakes his head. "uh-uh." and oh, that which follows is as tempting as it is dangerous: an invitation to wait with her; alone, no doubt. would he become another shaw? another schmuck to seduce and blackmail? or would she kill him softly, with her lips against his own, kissing him goodnight before shooting his brains full of lead. dent chuckled warmly. he still didn't back away.

"last time i tried to mix business with pleasure i was poisoned by my date." a true story made possible by dear old pamela. "and though that was real fun --- i'm trying to quit." her hands had been soft too. same shade of red on her lips, same wet eyes, green and bright and sharp. last he had heard she was rotting away in one of the many cells of arkham asylum. he had never visited her. but, the more harvey looked at dove, the more he got the feeling she wasn't a weed but a bird, not caged but wounded. broken by hands which had shaped her wings to a shape of their own liking.

oswald cobblepot had been dodging his calls lately. man should be under investigation for about a thousand different crimes ranging from illegal firearm possession, to blackmail, to tax evasion, to coldblooded murder. and, as much as harvey believed in doing things by the book, he also knew when to recognise that the system was rigged against him. half the office he was currently working with was bought over by the mob and everyone with two working brain cells could tell. corruption kept gotham city from freeing itself from the shackles of vigilantism ; his home shouldn't have to rely on a couple of gymnasts in fetish gear to feel safe. but only masked weirdos seemed worthy of his trust --- how was he supposed to tell which cops were righteous and which ones were waiting to dump him in the river?

[ COUPL'A BAD APPLES SPOIL THE BUNCH , BETTER START DIGGIN' A BIG OL' HOLE HARVEY 'N' DUMP ALL 'EM FUCKIN' APPLES SIX FEET UNDER . BECOMIN' WORM FOOD'S THE BEST PUBLIC SERVICE A COPPER CAN EVER DO ANYWAYS ]

he shook his head. the iceberg's lights were making him dizzy. harvey sunk his hand into his pants' pocket. the coin was still there. the gravely voice inside his head would quiet down --- for now. as he walked through the club, he did his best to stay alert. mismatched eyes scanned every face he could. but when he didn't manage to find cobblepot amongst the crowd, he decided to try and slip into one of the back rooms. it wasn't hard keeping his head in the game. but that didn't mean harvey did not notice the group of dancers brushing past him. some did a double take, others waggled their fingers at him --- they must have recognised him from the campaign posters. it wasn't lost on him that this might be a bad look --- a man running for gotham's district attorney, hanging out at the iceberg lounge? not good press. which was why it was so important for him to get his hands on oswald ; that was the only reward worthy of staining his impeccable reputation for. or so he thought until his gaze met hers ; those eyes glistened like a pair of damn sapphires. even in the dimness of the lounge, every bit of light seemed to reflect off of her. bright blond hair, full-lips and a look of surprise which immediately tugged at the corners of dent's lips; she must have known who he was too. before harvey could put everything on the line and introduce himself, a pair of slim fingers hooked themselves on his belt loops and tugged him closer to the dressing room door. well, he liked to think of himself as charming, but this was a whole other level of forwardness. "you know, when i'm campaigning people usually go for handshakes," dent joked, offering the young woman a dimpled smile. "but i guess folks down at the iceberg do things a bit differently." he did his best to keep his hands down where she could see them.

AND IF HE THINKS ALL THE LIGHT REFLECTS OFF OF HER, THAN DOVE BELIEVES THAT'S BECAUSE IT'S EMANATING OUT OF HIM. ⸺ you have to understand, the girl believes in the cause. she knows that in the eventual resection of gotham's ailments, some tumours will be found inoperable, the same way that she knows district attorney harvey dent is just a man, and therefore can only ever be a percentage of what is promised. a knight ⸺ even a white one ⸺ is still just a man in armour, and therefore as pink as the rest of them on the inside. it's only the saint that arrives to the battle naked, and harvey arrives definitively to each public appearance in a well-tailored blue suit. still, she believes in the crusade. in good's eternal struggle ⸺ and inevitable triumph ⸺ over evil. she believes, as the posters implore, in harvey dent.

it makes a very pretty picture, even if one that nobody is meant to see: the way she grabs for him urgency, how in the sudden motion white silk froths around her ankles, spills over his dress shoes. the gossip rags would love it, as would most well-meaning artists. he's handsome. she's well-lit. and in harvey's defense, she is flashing those eyes like a damn pair of wet gemstones.

"is that so?" her voice is slow, and more importantly, soft. it's an old trick, speaking low so as to make the listener lean forward, and no less worn out for it. launched into the fray like this, she is separated from sainthood by only the width of a millimeter, which is another way to say she is wearing very little, kept from nakedness by only the appreciative silk of a pale dressing gown. "and to think, this is how attorney general shaw taught me to shake."

this is either a very clever joke or a very apt anecdote. shaw, ousted five years ago now, left his position in well-known scandal; her expression makes no concession as to which side her response lays its head, but dove's attention is on keeping harvey's. on screwing his eyes firm to her face so that he won't turn and look over his shoulder.

"but we do adhere to... some social convention down here, mr. dent," an incongruous thing, to address a man formally when you've got your hands curled up on either side of his fly. dove's eyes turn down, her fingers unspooling and resewing, light, on the edges of his jacket. straightening the lines. "such as doors, and even rooms, which are meant for staff only."

then her gaze shifts for a moment, nervous, to the dim scene behind them. it's not the door that has her immediate fear, but the man loitering before it: oswald's right hand, close enough to seize the opportunity presented to him or smack it into the marble flooring ⸺ if he recognizes dent. this far back in the club, and the only other passersby are staff. other dancers pass by, the line of their gaze obvious under the wide fan of false eyelashes, like peeking up from beneath feathers. dove is the iceberg's headlining girl, but even under those qualifications, she's never been one to so visibly take what she wants in manicured hand. they're staring at the anomaly as much as the man. she ignores them, but she has no other choice.

"i'd hate for you to see the wrong parts of this place."

instead something in his charming smile hardens. the thought of an attorney general getting tangled up in the very same skirts oswald cobblepot had paid for with blood money did not strike him as funny. instead his eyes shifted across the woman's features; how old was she? how long had she been working there? how many secrets had been surrendered in exchange for a pretty smile and a little extra something? harvey knew better than to trust anyone working under the iceberg's umbrella. but that didn't keep him from swaying ever so lightly when her manicured hands travelled up to grab his jacket.

harvey's hands remain inside his pockets. his left's fingers are tightly wrapped around one silver dollar lest his mind wander. his current company is clearly distressed by his presence. she says something about wrong parts that should not be seen. dent can't help but give a small shrug. "i don't know. this part doesn't look so bad." oh, the half-smile, the nonchalance of it all! dent had always been a sucker for pretty things. even if he didn't manage to hold her in his arms, he'd be content to just admiring her like this.

but that voice, the reptilian part of his brain, hissed dreadful things against the back of his cranium, things that did not put the young woman before him on a pedestal but down in the gutter with the rest of the miserable lowlives making gotham the hellscape it currently was. that voice, the one which paced back and forth in his consciousness, made even the prettiest of things ugly. harvey dent would not entertain such whispers. not right now. BUT MAYBE LATER , EH , HARV ? ⸺ SHOW US WHAT YOU'RE PACKIN' BIG BOY . COLD HARD STEEL I BET .

in the distance he hears the crowd of the club clapping and his hands move to gently hold smaller ones. "but just because you asked so nicely," he squeezed them reassuringly. "i'll gladly step out." the girl appeared to actually be worried about his wellbeing; it was surprisingly sweet to find such a earnest sentiment in a place where harvey was certain he was not welcomed. still, he was as relentless as he was charming. and though he did not wish to torture his most welcomed company, gotham's future district attorney lowered his voice to match the performer's intimate tone.