#tenchs

❝     𝐇𝐄'𝐒    𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆    𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐄     !     ❞

The    room    glowed    under    the    dim    lamp    that    hung    from    the    ceiling ,    and    Arthur    stared    in    contest    with    himself    into    the    mirror .

The    riots    had    been    becoming    incrementally    worse    on    the    garbage - ridden    Gotham    streets .    The    sensibility    of    folks    was    growing    grim ,    and    the    precursory    scent    of    mania    lingered    distastefully    on    the    air .

And    Arthur    Fleck    was    at    the    centre    of    it    all .    Three    homicides ,    no    witnesses .    Just    the    dead    Wayne    Investments    ‘ prodigies , ’    and    talk    of    a    killer    that    looked    like    a    clown .

When    the    agents    came    through    the    door    to    his    left ,    Fleck    crossed    his    sinewy    arms    over    the    chest    of    his    sweater .    He    twisted    his    mouth    anxiously ,    avoiding    their    eyes ,    favouring    the    sight    of    the    cracking    leather    of    his    shoes .        ‘    I    really —    I    shouldn’t    be    here .    My    mom’s    in    the    hospital .    I    shouldn’t    be    here ,    ’        his    voice    cracked ,    tremulously .        ‘    How    long    is    this    gonna    take ?    ’

PILLS  POPPED  ENDLESSLY ,   RELENTLESSLY ,    a  drowning  man  seeking  solace  with  each  new  𝐓𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋  absorbed  in  the  peak  of  despair .     her  scent  once  still  heavily  present  on  the  𝙗𝙡𝙪𝙚  𝙧𝙞𝙗𝙗𝙤𝙣  worn  in  her  hair  now  bears  vague  traces  of  NOSTALGIA  dipped  in  shattering  memories          (     BLUE  WAS  ALWAYS  HER  FAVORITE  COLOR     ) .          &    in  the  faint  release  found  within  the  lulling  embrace  of  𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲  𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧    &    booze  do  the  surroundings  take  on  a  hint  of  brightness ,    as  if  offering  the  𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐅  a  passing  relief ;     sought  -  out  yet  short  -  lived .     hands  form  into  fist  at  the  remark ,    fingers  reaching  out  for  his  glass ,    firmly  raising  it  from  the  counter  to  CONCEAL  the  symptoms  of  his  indisputable  𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧     ━━     tench  can  be  such  a  drag ,    but  he  means  well .     hopper’s  stash’s  running  low ,    &    it’s  really  starting  to  SHOW .          ❝     an’   what’s   the   alternative ,    bill     ?     constant   memories   that   keep   you   awake   at   night     ?     nightmares   when   you   finally   manage   to   collapse   from   exhaustion     ?     ❞          sara’s  laughter ,    mercilessly  ringing  in  his  ear .     the  list   could  𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆  𝐎𝐍  forever ,    each  item  more  traitorously  painful  than  the  previous .          ❝     might   as   well   put   a   bullet   through   my   head ,    right   now .     ❞          more  bourbon  poured    &    drowned  with  frightful  ease ,    but  he’s  well  passed  fretting  over  it .          ❝     how’s   brian     ?     ❞

To say she was excited would be an understatement. I mean, it isn't every day one receives visitors while in Arkham after all. Hannah enters the room with wide smile, taking in all there is to see. She was certain she had never been in this room before, it seemed more like an area for staff or the likes. They wouldn't allow prisoners... er... "patients" to venture here under normal circumstances. Too many would find a secluded space like this and cause problems. The first surprise comes as restraints are removed, allowing her some sense of freedom. The second is found within the guard leaving her here to speak with the visitors, sapphire hues watching him walk away as the door slams shut.

 agent tench is a peculiar member of her personal pantheon : though the stories surrounding him are not as boldly erratic or myth - infused as that of agent ford’s , something about him as always enraptured camille’s fixations . it’s a question , perhaps , underlying every second in which she’s discreetly staring and trying to profile from a distance — how do you stay a good man , with the horror crawling around you and welcoming you inside ? how do you live a normal life , if all you know is the abnormal ? a peculiar one — there’s a sharp edge to anything he utters , subtle irony to be caught by the best trained minds . she’d like to believe she is one — made privy to the exclusive privilege of his wisdom and his sarcasm , perhaps entwined and not to ever be separated . her smirk is only vaguely amused : most of all , it’s surprised . “ shouldn’t you be supposed to teach us the value of doing things by the book ?” , a question , but perhaps a trap : most of the times , she could do much better without the book . 

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