Question: What can you hold without ever touching or using your hands?
Answer: Your breath.
And that's exactly what the Riddler is doing at this moment as the Major continues to tear him down. Completely invalidating him, calling him childish. Worthless. It's... drawing some rather uncomfortable parallels, to say the least. Edward's not said a single word to cut off this destructive rant, too speechless to really protest or say much of anything. But his eyes, though clearly wounded, look downright savage.
Riddle me this: The more you take away, the larger it becomes. What is it?
Answer: A hole.
For little more than a year, the Riddler's found himself near the mouth of a rather large hole. One that seems to grow larger and larger with each passing event, each bitter rivalry, each unexpected friend... More and more, the Crown Prince of Conundrums has been losing sight of the pieces to the puzzle that's made him into the man he is today. Crane's told him as much, and now so has the Major.
But there's one thing he knows for certain, at the very least. Mayfield may be more restrictive than Arkham, but it's no Gotham. And it's sure as hell no Valhalla, as the Major's so lovingly described it. His war won't come to fruition. Not with Susan, Slugger, Luke, Ema, or anyone else.
"You don't---You don't know what the hell you're talking about. You goddamned..."
No sooner spoken than broken. The silence is the only thing Edward's willing to allow to break right now, if not the Major's neck. At this point, one of Eddie's hands has latched itself atop his head, covering the spot where the Major's just rapped him. Fingers deeply entrenching themselves within his hair and tugging tight.
Calm down. Get a grip, Edward. Get a grip.
"Get out," he eventually snarls. "You'll never have your war, Major. Do you understand me? Not with Susan. Not with anyone."
no subject
Answer: Your breath.
And that's exactly what the Riddler is doing at this moment as the Major continues to tear him down. Completely invalidating him, calling him childish. Worthless. It's... drawing some rather uncomfortable parallels, to say the least. Edward's not said a single word to cut off this destructive rant, too speechless to really protest or say much of anything. But his eyes, though clearly wounded, look downright savage.
Riddle me this: The more you take away, the larger it becomes. What is it?
Answer: A hole.
For little more than a year, the Riddler's found himself near the mouth of a rather large hole. One that seems to grow larger and larger with each passing event, each bitter rivalry, each unexpected friend... More and more, the Crown Prince of Conundrums has been losing sight of the pieces to the puzzle that's made him into the man he is today. Crane's told him as much, and now so has the Major.
But there's one thing he knows for certain, at the very least. Mayfield may be more restrictive than Arkham, but it's no Gotham. And it's sure as hell no Valhalla, as the Major's so lovingly described it. His war won't come to fruition. Not with Susan, Slugger, Luke, Ema, or anyone else.
"You don't---You don't know what the hell you're talking about. You goddamned..."
No sooner spoken than broken. The silence is the only thing Edward's willing to allow to break right now, if not the Major's neck. At this point, one of Eddie's hands has latched itself atop his head, covering the spot where the Major's just rapped him. Fingers deeply entrenching themselves within his hair and tugging tight.
Calm down. Get a grip, Edward. Get a grip.
"Get out," he eventually snarls. "You'll never have your war, Major. Do you understand me? Not with Susan. Not with anyone."