#fearmongerer

It took quite a bit of courage and quite a bit of a manic swing to follow through with the impulse to get back his favorite hat, the likes of which had been left upon the blasted, bastard head of Professor Jonathan Crane, PhD. Given the events proceeding his imprisonment, exposure to untested neurotoxins, and multiple rapes, Edward was entirely less than inclined to see that man again, and yet he couldn't reason his way out of it. His conclusion? That, given Crane's blood loss, the idiot hadn't the presence of mind to fully appreciate Edward's anger. So he would have to return to get his point across.

And to get his goddamn hat back. Because he had a total of about twelve outfits that said hat went with.

Right. That was why he was going.

So, stepping out of his car and walking past the locksmith who kneeled in front of the front door to the apartment building, fixing what Edward had damaged with a bullet, he bravely threw his own well-being and mental health to the wind, trekking all the way up the stairs to Crane's floor and knocking thrice upon the door.

Edward awoke first, thank god. He'd planned it that way, to be quite honest, as he wouldn't at all be able to look Crane in the face and do what he was about to do. Climbing out of bed and out of that warm little niche that Jonathan had sucked him into, the Riddler was more careful than splitting atoms in sneaking out of that room, silent as could be. Four steps and an awkward maneuver to get the door open, and he was clear. Out in the kitchen in no time flat.

Jonathan probably wouldn't understand at first. He probably wouldn't care enough to endeavor into understanding it, though. He'd probably wake up to an empty bed and roll over a few times before trudging out into the kitchen to get himself a glass of water and conveniently forget to eat again. Then he'd go sit down at his lab desk and mix some meth and cocaine, maybe a bit of toxin if he had plans for later. Cook up something clean and pure for himself and then leave the fuckups for the hoodlums and the junkies out on the streets. Then he'd get tired in a week or so and pass out on the couch.

He wouldn't even notice what Edward had done. And why would he? If anything, he'd simply wonder why things were quieter and why things weren't so clean. There'd be no ghost of Eddie standing in corners reminding him that his 'brilliant boy' (what a fucking sham) was missing. Nope. His life would go one. Onto the next project. Onto the next scheme.

And Edward wouldn't have a place in it. Why?

Because he'd done nothing thus far but present failure after failure. Disappointment after disappointment. And, by and far, he spent most of his time in these recent weeks having one depressive episode after another -- falling hard and soaring low when he did happen to go manic. His impulsivity and obsessive nature had him self-harming with alarming frequency. And every chance he got to prove that he could help or somehow be worth his salt... he failed.

So the answer to this riddle was plain as day. The most beneficial course of action for the both of them.

Edward had to leave.

And, leaving the card-key to his penthouse on the kitchen counter with a small, handwritten note that read "If you need me" on it, Edward did just that, turning the knob to the front door for the first time ever, opening that door, and stepping out into the hall outside. Two flights of stairs down, through two more doors, and out onto the street, he breathed fresh air for the first time in months. He popped his collar against the wind for the first time in months.

Jonathan wasn't home. Finally.

Usually, that would have meant pacing around the apartment and organizing his room compulsively before eventually retiring to the internet to buy things on Amazon and pirate swing music before launching an attempt towards legitimate villainy and finally giving up because 'virtual terrorism isn't flashy enough'. Edward was, of course, mad for Jonathan to come home when he did happen to leave, dressed in burlap sometimes and tweed, others. Poor fellow. His beautiful, twiggy body was too good for the tripe he wore.

But, right. Back to to the point. Edward had plans.

Gauging by his attire, he assumed that Jonathan was leaving for a drug deal or something of that nature -- as he wore his glasses and blazer. Which meant he wouldn't be gone for long, but just long enough. Leaving all the time Edward needed to set the scene. Skittering into his room and shedding himself of his purples and greens, he put on a black shirt and a black pair of trousers before digging through Jonathan's closet to find a moth-eaten tweed blazer, begrudgingly putting it on. There. It wouldn't be for long, and Eddie could spare his own personal tastes in what was considered worthy to be worn by a genius like him if it would help Daddy. Jonathan. If it would help Jonathan.

Of course, when that key slipped back into the lock and Jonathan did arrive home, he'd find Edward sitting comfortably in the chair in the living room, across from the sofa, with a clip board in his lap and his glasses sitting on the low bridge of his nose, looking rather professional with his hair slicked back. He had, of course, stayed up all night researching childhood trauma, abuse by a female authority figure, Christian fundamentalism, and the South. Not to mention the pages upon pages upon pages of general psychology textbooks he'd pirated in PDF and mastered in a matter of hours. He was, for all intents and purposes, bringing the big guns.

He had said that he wouldn't be opposed to waking up next to Eddie...

Sneaking out into the kitchen, Edward got for himself a roll of bandages from the drawer and wrapped up his arms before getting himself a glass of water -- buying time so that he could tiptoe into Jonathan's room just over ten minutes after he'd signed off of the instant messenger.

Good. Out like a light. Even though his bed was wrinkled to hell and one of the three pillows had fallen off. Actually, Edward took the liberty of bringing in three of his own pillows to balance out the bed -- three pillows per occupant -- before climbing in, finally finding a comfortable spot beside Jonathan and not worrying about being at fault. God. Didn't that feel amazing. None of his doubts mattered anymore. None of his worries or his angers. Just the smell of chemicals on Jonathan's shirt and the warmth of his old, springy mattress.

*Consent to Treatment

Tag: #C!verse

Plot: Jonathan Crane has a plan up his sleeve -- and no one quite knows what it is, but it involves being the personal supplier of Jervis Tetch and imposing a certain Riddler with what can only be called Stockholm Syndrome.

Players involved:

fearmongerer

dontthinkxdonttalk

*Not to be confused with the thread of the same name

Puttin' on the Ritz

Tag: #P!verse

Plot: Selina and Eddie are making more progress together than any group therapy session at Arkham. Seems all they needed was a shoulder to cry on. And someone to buy some fabulous Gucci shoes with.

Players involved:

nothingyouownissafe

A Quiet Mind

Tag: #Q!verse

Plot: Edward is overmedicated and facing the possibility of electro-shock therapy in Arkham. His doctors, Megan Walker and Juliet Wunsch, PhDs, are working together and apart to try to solve the ultimate riddle: what makes the Riddler tick? 

Players involved:

thenewdoctorofarkham

thislittlefinch

Other roleplays will be considered a part of the 'General Universe' of which everyone is a part, even those of whom are listed above. All posts in prose with above players are to be assumed relevant to their respective universes, and all posts tagged with the aforementioned tags are to be considered relevant to the respective universes associated with them.

This page will be edited with the addition of new universes.

Who would ship two people IC and OOC