#batsie

His injuries were a little more complicated.

If she had a better grasp on her powers she could heal him in no time. Or, well, more importantly, she wouldn't have hurt him in the first place.

Oops.

❛⠀⠀⠀I just need to clean you up, okay? See what I'm dealin' with here.⠀⠀ ⠀ ❜

Me: *randomly screaming AaAAaAAAA*

Papa: *trying to hide laughs* what??

Me: AAaaaAaaa

Papa: I'll give you something to aa about!

Me: ... *pauses for a minute*

ㅤhis head is still ringing, even long after his vision had righted itself following the flurry of blows he'd taken to the head. even after the police had stormed his temporary hideout, cuffed him and thrown him in the back of a van. even after the hasty ride to and subsequent check - in at arkham. he feels like he's in a dream.

ㅤwho'd have ever thought his plans would be thwarted? until now, his trials had gone off without a hitch, and those being tested had received their due diligence — or due punishment, depending on how one looked at it. the absolute last thing he'd counted on was the fearsome batman swooping into his lair and pummeling his poor, tender face after he'd refused to give up the secret to ward off his current captive's final moments. the scream that gave way to messy gurgling as the acid ate a gaping hole through the woman's throat, courtesy of an automated injection, is a sound that he's sure now haunts them both. if not, the sound of her detached head hitting the floor might've done it.

ㅤthere was something that didn't sit right with him, though. the beating, he could take; it's not a new sensation, by any means. he's been black and blue more times than he could count. but the split second of disbelief, of pure shock, that registered on what he could see of batman's face after he'd ripped the makeshift mask from eddie's face as eddie simply laughed . . . that's something he can still remember clearly, even in his current haze. but what was it that he'd said?

ㅤout of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of batman watching the guards lead him to his cell, where he's supposed to await a psych eval from the resident doctor. is it his imagination, part of the concussion, or . . . is that remorse on the vigilante's otherwise stoic face?

ㅤi gave you my word.

ㅤall he can do is stare back, beaten and bloodied face a blank slate, as the man turns decisively on his heel, cape billowing behind as he makes his exit. the guards all but shove him into the awaiting cell, and for a brief moment, the fog clears enough for him to recall the bat's words as he held him down.

ㅤhe's never been fond of parties, but they've become surprisingly commonplace in recent weeks. growing up, he'd hated being led by the hand to meet folks thrice his age, whose hands he'd shake and whose names he'd inevitably forget. unfortunately, for his current host, they were a necessity — investors and generous benefactors for various charities around gotham, and nothing brought out the city's social elite like an elaborate mixer.

ㅤso why, then, was he here amidst gotham's most esteemed faces? did he have something to offer? money to throw at those in need? no, his invitation had come from the big man himself, the man of the house. what interest bruce had in him, what potential he saw, edward would never know.

ㅤit hadn't taken a genius to sense bruce's boredom beneath that award - winning smile, and eddie had found himself approaching the man of the hour, feeling awfully out of place in his ill - fitting dress shirt and tie next to bruce's finely - tailored tuxedo. one hand clutched tightly, anxiously, at the handle of his cane, the other loosely holding a chaser. the telltale bite of whiskey wafted from the rim as he'd held it out to bruce and almost cheekily asked if he wanted a break from it all. the almost relieved yes that followed didn't surprise him, but the invitation to tag along certainly did.

ㅤminutes later, he finds himself up on a balcony, far above the boisterous laughter and conversation in the main hall below. it's here that he finally gets a glimpse of a smile from bruce — full - lipped, none of the half - cocked, picture - poised bullshit. a genuine smile for the guy who looks like his are in short supply. he finds that he has to force himself to look away and hope it's dark enough to hide the reddish tint that's cropped up on his cheeks.

ㅤhe looks out over the expansive property, across the beginnings of a vast ocean, at a stunning view of gotham city and its array of multicolored lights. from this distance, the bustling sounds of the city streets are too far to carry to their ears, and were he not aware of its true nature, it would seem almost... normal. calm.

ㅤsome days, the world is way too loud.

he wonders if it gets better , the question poised upon tongue as mouth closes and shuts two times (hesitation sits). the two of them currently in a batcave that's on the outskirts of the pine barrens - the lore of such a place keeps people at bay as they remained tucked away above a nearby river , and inserted at the top of a mountain. to get here takes hours , the forrest dense as one would almost think that they have lost themselves to their surroundings.

currently digging over intel as screens show the faces of sofia falcone and oswald , ' ... of course ' words quiet - slow in formation as his makeup still dons countenance and his eyes are a dull grey. screens and insomnia cause the redness within sclera - the blood-vessels that the other knows comes from countless nights spent in restlessness.

' you said it would get worse - ' exhaustion accents , and yet ? he does not run from such a feeling. rather he allows himself to be seen , a knowing that he will be met with understanding.

' do you miss your younger years ? ' humor dances upon wording as head lolls slightly to the right , and he looks at one of the men who are by sofia's side. they wear a branding of SF upon neck as the skin bubbles - scar tissue.

"Is that so?" He pouts, making a show of being deeply hurt, heartbroken even. The Joker, however, has SO MUCH to say to the Bat, so much to share. His body is electrified with excitement, the Agent of Chaos can hardly stand still, purple-clad fingers flexing and clenching around the Smith & Wesson Extractor 1600 -- his personal favorite.