Edward Nigma | The Riddler (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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mayfield_logs2012-03-20 08:04 pm
questionauthority) wrote in mayfield_logs2012-03-20 08:04 pm
Entry tags:
When Irish Skyes Are Smiling
Who: The Riddler and Ema Skye
What: Some much-needed downtime on St. Patrick's Day
Where: Olney's Tavern
When: Backdated to Saturday, March 17th, 195X
Warnings: Drunkenness and potentially inappropriate behavior for a public setting.
[After being threatened by a Nazi cyborg and discovering that your seven-year-old daughter has been turned into yet another mindless drone, pretty much anyone would say they've had a considerably lousy week. And though Edward's continued to hide behind that signature smugness of his, Ema's gotten much better at seeing right through his bullshit.
So with St. Patrick's Day on the rise, she'd suggested spending the evening at Olney's. And Edward had been quick to agree.
They've been there for some time already, Edward decked out in his most viridian attire and Ema having stolen his hat in an attempt to prevent him from pinching her for the fifteenth time, but the night is still young. And there's certainly no shortage of alcohol. Music to their moderately-buzzed ears.
Eddie folds his arms across the counter, staring down at his reflection in the frothy mug for a moment before glancing over at Ema. He gazes at her contemplatively before rolling back his shoulders in an indifferent shrug and moving to pinch her arm.
Who cares if she's wearing green now?]
What: Some much-needed downtime on St. Patrick's Day
Where: Olney's Tavern
When: Backdated to Saturday, March 17th, 195X
Warnings: Drunkenness and potentially inappropriate behavior for a public setting.
[After being threatened by a Nazi cyborg and discovering that your seven-year-old daughter has been turned into yet another mindless drone, pretty much anyone would say they've had a considerably lousy week. And though Edward's continued to hide behind that signature smugness of his, Ema's gotten much better at seeing right through his bullshit.
So with St. Patrick's Day on the rise, she'd suggested spending the evening at Olney's. And Edward had been quick to agree.
They've been there for some time already, Edward decked out in his most viridian attire and Ema having stolen his hat in an attempt to prevent him from pinching her for the fifteenth time, but the night is still young. And there's certainly no shortage of alcohol. Music to their moderately-buzzed ears.
Eddie folds his arms across the counter, staring down at his reflection in the frothy mug for a moment before glancing over at Ema. He gazes at her contemplatively before rolling back his shoulders in an indifferent shrug and moving to pinch her arm.
Who cares if she's wearing green now?]
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Hey! Ow!
I'm wearing green! You're going to leave a bruise if you keep that up.
[Stupid asshat boyfriend.]
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[Smiiiiiirk. He's practically chuckling into his next sip of beer.]
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Of course I'm still here! I know better than to drink myself into unconsciousness.
[She does not, however, know better than to drink herself into stupidity.]
You're just being a jerk.
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I'm not being a jerk. I'm having fun. Isn't that why we're here? To have fun?
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[She takes a long drink of her beer and sets the empty mug down.]
You're sure you don't want to talk about it? Because I'll ask again tomorrow if you're sure.
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But for now, Edward elects to down the rest of his beer in one continuous drink as opposed to answering her question. Unfortunately, the glass is soon emptied and Eddie, after taking a long gasp or two for air, has to force himself to answer.]
We'll talk about it when I feel like talking about it. That's my answer for tonight and I'm sure that will be my answer for tomorrow as well.
[He's still a pretty big grouch about it, and the alcohol's not really helping center his already fluctuating mood. Though with a few more drinks and enough prodding? He may give her the answer she's looking for.]
Now then. Another round?
[Before she has time to object, he's already motioned to the bartenders for some refills.]
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Fine, fine. Let's just drink and enjoy the night, then.
[She nods her thanks to the barkeep who brings them more beer.]
What do you want to talk about? Anything you'd like, we can discuss over drinks.
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Anything I'd like?
[Wink wink.]
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I did say anything, didn't I?
[Long drink of her beer.]
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Riddle me this. What's the difference between... [He whispers the rest of his dirty little riddle in Ema's ear. Then he pulls back and grins.]
Answer: You don't have to beg your girlfriend to blow your paycheck.
[There's a wide smirk on his face and it almost looks like he's fighting the urge to laugh at his own riddles. Ema, your boyfriend is a ridiculous lightweight.]
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That's awful! And sexist! Women do more than blowjobs and spending money, you know!
[Pause, and out of nowhere she snorts a bit with laughter.]
Besides, since when do you beg? You demand and then pout if you don't get your way.
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I do not pout. [Okay, one more swig.] ...Often. If I usually do get my way, what reason would I have to pout? And I've certainly given you little reason to, I would think.
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Except that I have to beg for you to do it to me.
[Only sometimes, but who's counting? Not her, she's buzzed and getting drunker.]
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[Eddie's got a large enough shred of sobriety left to make that distinction. But he's nearing that point of inebriation where he feels as though he has to articulate almost every point he makes with a loopy wave of his index finger.]
And don't pretend you hate having to beg. You enjoy it.
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I-I do not!
You just think I do because it strokes your ego!
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[The words leave him without any real thought. And when he takes a moment to consider them, he realizes that the sentiment applies to far more than just bedroom banter. He makes to finish his drink, hardly seeming to notice the way his shoulders have slumped. The way his face seems to have fallen right into that mug.]
Every bit helps.
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[Given the level of inebriation she's working herself into, it takes her some time to follow the mood whiplash on his part. She thought for sure he'd tease her about stroking things beyond his ego. Whatever's on his mind, it's really weighing on him.
After almost two whole minutes of silence she sets her half-empty mug down on the table and moves closer to him, reaching for his face to pull it away from his drink and toward her. Her eyes are glassy and her cheeks pink from all the alcohol, and she's still more than a bit confused. But her expression registers equal parts affection and concern.]
Edward.
What happened?
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You know perfectly well what happened.
[Well, maybe not perfectly, but Eddie had given Ema a pretty basic idea of what the Major had done not long after their most recent confrontation.]
I was never worth his time. That's what he told me. Not once was I taken seriously. He'd been toying with me for months. Just like everything else in this insipid... [He eventually trails off, faltering from her gaze and continuing on as he apologetically places a hand over hers.] Almost everything else.
[He pauses for a moment before eventually pulling her hand away from his face and pivoting to the counter once more, resting his chin atop his hands.]
At the very least, the Major won't get his grubby hands on her. In an ironic way, she's safer now than she was before. As a drone, she wouldn't... Enigma wouldn't be of any significant value to... to...
[He trails off once more, staring down into his near-empty mug and allowing himself to slouch a bit lower.]
...She was only seven, for God's sake. And she---she worshipped me. As if I could do no wrong, and... and I was as attentive to her needs as...
[A heavy sigh.]
I was no better than my own father.
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Besides, he's already beating himself up pretty hard over both the Major and Enigma's droning. They hadn't really talked about either at any length, largely because Edward himself didn't seem very up for it, so this conversation is more than overdue.]
First of all. The Major can go die somewhere. You're worth my, and I think it's more important than his.
[You can almost hear the "so there" at the end of that sentence.
After that, there's a long pause as she ponders what to say. She's quiet for several minutes, her brow furrowed with the intense concentration required for thought.]
Secondly... Edward, she worshipped you. Do you realize what that actually means? Back home, back in her world where you are her parent, you had to have at least been an attentive one. I didn't get the impression that she was just trying to get your attention with the hero worship. She seemed used to receiving it.
Proof of concept: you can make a decent father. Maybe even a good one.
But she wasn't yours, exactly. Like... like you and Harley know each other but not precisely. Worlds and all. I think that makes a difference, even if it doesn't make it okay.
You're sitting here feeling bad about it. I bet your father didn't even have the decency to do that much. You're not him, Edward.
[She reaches over and runs her fingers through his hair.]
All you can do is be better to her if she ends up her again. And if you end up with a daughter somewhere along the line when you go back home, be good to her, too.
[A kiss to his temple, followed my a soft laugh.]
With any luck, her mother'd be like me and not let you get away with your bullshit.
[Harsh words, but there's warmth in them.]
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Don't underestimate me. I wouldn't be me if I couldn't at least get away with some of my bullshit. Even if she did have a mother like you. [Finally, he turns to face her once more.]
But you're right. I'm no failure. Not like him. And even if she wasn't strictly mine, so to speak, she came from a world where, for the most part, I must have been doing something right.
...Thanks for the vote of confidence.
[He then leans in to give her a lingering kiss. Eventually he pulls away, looking less forlorn but still somewhat contemplative. Maybe it's the alcohol buzzing around in his brain, yet the question still manages to be raised: What if Enigma really did have a mother like Ema? And not in the sense of Mayfield's so-called "maternity." But for once, the question leaves his mind just as quickly as it arrived.
...Again. Probably just the alcohol talking.]
I suppose I still have Luke to consider, hmm? Slugger, too.
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Honestly, Edward becoming an actual parent probably started (would start?) like this. A woman who actually knows him beyond the Riddler persona. Warmth. Love. Alcohol. Poor planning. Realizing too late that poor planning has consequences. Being too invested not to simply abandon the other.
The thought that it could actually happen if not for Mayfield being Mayfield occurs to her, but is quickly dismissed. She's too drunk to really consider it, and it's not exactly a result that either of them want regardless.
She has condoms in her purse, just in case.]
You're welcome. And you do. And you're good to them, usually.
[She takes a drink from her mug for emphasis. Or something. Once that's done, she elbows him a bit and gives him a smile.]
Do you feel better now that you've gotten it all out? Was that so hard to do?
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[There's a good deal of smugness and self-satisfaction in his tone, as if he were saying, "I told you so." Regardless of the fact that Ema had been the one to suggest talking things out to begin with. But her smile's infectious, and Edward can't help but return it with a somewhat goofy one of his own, craning his neck and affectionately leaning his head against her shoulder. Surely Ema's realized this by now, but liquor tends to make his mood swings far more extreme and unpredictable.]
Do you know what I think?
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Besides, that giddy smile and the way he's looking up at her are far more worth focusing on.]
You're going to tell me what you think whether I want to hear it or not. So, what do you think?
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[He drums on the counter like a little kid to get the barkeep's attention, and the next question he asks is spoken in a terrible attempt at an Irish brogue.]
What do ya say, barkeep? Another pint a'fine ale for me 'n my bird?
[Terrible.]
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That was awful! What was that accent supposed to be?
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[In the faux brogue:] I got the Luck o' the Irish in me, lass.
[Well, at the very least, he's got no shortage of the alcohol of the Irish in him.
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[At that point, a thought occurs to her. Because she's been drinking at about the same pace as Edward, she goes with it.]
And what about getting the luck of the Irish in me?
I cheered you up just now. I deserve a reward.
[1/3]
Didn't I just...?
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I suppose you do. [He leans in to whisper into her ear, coming in a bit too close and knocking the bowler hat atop her head slightly askew.] Should we be off, then?
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What was that about making poor decisions before?]Unless you really want that round of drinks.
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[They're already out of mind
even though they've just been served to them.Eddie pulls out his wallet in order to pay the tab they owe and then some, spreading around plenty of green in honor of the great Irish tradition. Or something like that.He unsteadily plops back onto his feet, gallantly offering Ema his arm. You could almost mistake him for a proper gentleman.]
Right. Let's go and find that pot of gold together, shall we?
[Almost.]
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[Ema wrinkles her nose as she takes his arm and lets him help her up.]
That's a stupid euphah... eupheh... way to say we're going to go have sex.
[There's no mistaking her for anything other than a drunk 20something right now.]
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[Priorities, Edward, priorities. And out the door they go.]