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theknightshift) wrote2024-11-12 08:56 pm
theknightshift) wrote2024-11-12 08:56 pm
theknightshift) wrote2024-11-12 08:56 pm
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Maybe not for anything tangible. But in my experience, it's perfect for motivation.
[ He orders a drink when the bartender turns his way and then he looks at Oswsald again, to catch that smile thin smile. The tight way his fingers fits around the glass in his hand. Bruce thinks it's partly the nerves of situation. Not knowing if there's someone out there trying to kill you, is a nerve wracking thing. But Bruce has to wonder if that's all there is to it. ]
I thought the least I could do was come to apologize in person. I hadn't meant to disappear like that. I admit I was a little embarrassed.
no subject
Yes, I was wondering where you had made off to after leaving me with quite the headache.Ā
[He notes, humourlessly - annoyed, but not pissed.
Graceless exits arenāt unusual for Bruce Wayne; tales abound of abrupt endings to candlelit dinners and occasional no-shows, the trail of broken expectations and broken hearts left in his wake. Itās the kind of reputation that couldāve been damaging if not for the privilege granted by his status, effortless charm, and generous philanthropic donations. Oswald wouldāve thought Casanova Bruce Wayne to be more inured to embarrassment, as one of the most unserious men that he has ever met. But then again, Oswald Cobblepot isnāt just anyone to wake up next to - or accidentally knock out. Heās not some airheaded socialite prattling on about the country club, his inheritance, or his nonexistent yachts.Ā
Oswaldās lips press together, the look on his face sobering. When he speaks again, his irritation has mostly settled.]
I would have very much liked for usĀ to have parted under better circumstances.
[He never had the chance to explain himself and make it clearĀ that what happened to them wasnāt normal, not here, not for him. Standing here now, he feels compelled to say something, anything, to distance himself from the class of criminal who would've seen a compromised Bruce and taken advantage of him. Oswald may be an incurable opportunist, but a rapist, he is not.]
I am not so ignorant as to believe that my reputation has not shaped your opinion of me, Mr. Wayne; the realities of overseeing the businesses that I doĀ can, at times, be rather... unglamorous.
[His own embarrassment is bearing down on him. But he refuses to squirm under the brutal, uncompromising weight of a very public failure, offering Bruce nothing less than his full, unblinking attention.]
But, I want you to know that I would never, under any circumstances, engage you or anyone else in a manner that is vulgar and untoward.
[His brows draw together, his expression unusually open and honest - the look of a man both aching to be understood, and who understands well what it's like to be preyed on.]
I am not that kind of man.
no subject
He shelves the thought for now.
Instead he offers the bartender a generous tip. Fifty dollars, crumpled in the pocket of his shirt. He has what he's came for. Friends waiting for him on the other side of the room. But he lingers near Oswald a little while longer, sipping slowly and letting the other man give himself away, one unconscious gesture at a time. ]
Ah, I've woken up in worse places. There was this one time when I was on the coast. Woke up in a Holiday Inn with a popcorn bucket on my face and two left shoes.
[ He chuckles. Amused, self deprecating, maybe even a little honest. Its an absurd story. But it serves a purpose ā setting Oswald at ease so he'd keep talking. Bruce isn't offended by what happened. There's no reason they couldn't be friends, even if Bruce bashed his face in with his head. The smile he offers Oswald looks sincere enough. ]
I try not to let what other people think shape my opinion, Mr. Cobblepot. My friends circle would be incredibly small if I did.
[ Not that kind of man. Oswald says with sincerity Bruce doesn't exactly expect to find in him. He can see it in the way Oswald's brows draw together, the look in his eye ā it's an openness Bruce cannot help but notice. He murders and steals and runs guns. But Oswald does not drug his patrons. Bruce could believe that. He did believe it. ]
I believe you. It was just a weird thing that happened. I'm not upset about it if that's what you're worried about.
/runs
Worried almost feels like an exaggeration on Bruceās part. But Oswald canāt deny the flutter of relief he feels at Bruceās willingness to extend him the benefit of the doubt. As someone too used to being assumed guilty by default, and yet, never so used to it that it doesnāt hurt, he canāt help the slight softening of his features any more than he can help the click in his throat when he swallows.]
Thank you, Mr. Wayne.
[Real or not, Bruceās grace has given him something else to think about. Something heād think about long after the clubās doors closed for the night. But for now, his moment of vulnerability passes, and heās sucked back into the hungry black hole of his anger.]
But, with all due respect, what you call a mere inconvenience was a brazen, calculated attack - one that could have ended very differently for you. Whether you were the intended target or simply caught in the crossfire, I cannot, in good conscience, let this slide - nor do I have the luxury.
[He inhales sharply, with the bold, almost defiant energy of a man drawing himself up before a firing squad.]
I made a promise to this city the day I first stood before the lectern outside City Hall as its mayor. The people of Gotham turned to me in their hour of need - brothers, sisters, families - and, time and again, I delivered on that promise. I answered their pleas when the GCPD had failed them.
[He insists, the fierceness in his eye daring anyone to tell him differently with more than a few public safety reports speaking to his success.]
And while I may no longer hold office, my commitment to order remains unchanged - here, and in the streets. I give you my word, Bruce: I will find whoever was responsible for this, and they will be brought to justice.
no subject
That billion dollar smile and that somewhat crass humor would only carry him so far with someone like Oswald. Eventually, he'd see right through him--or worse, get bored of him. So it's often better to lean into something a little more sincere. Men like Oswald didn't want to be jerked around. Selectively offered sincerity could keep the conversation flowing just as effectively.
Bruce softens the smile, so it doesn't feel quite so forced. Lowers his pitch and slows the pace of his words. Not enough to be noticed outright. But it's enough to shift the rhythm, make the conversation flow a little slower. He leans in against the bar, shifts just so, so he's leaning that much closer to Oswald. Like they're old friends having a quiet chat over drinks. ]
I don't know if I was or not. People think they'll get something out of me if they threaten me or kidnap me. Maybe that's what happened last night. Maybe not. [ He shrugs a little; like it happens often enough Bruce barely thinks about it anymore. ]
I remember that speech. [ And it made him recoil. ] I think you know what Gotham needs, probably better than any of us. You're out here in the trenches, I guess you could say.
[ He shifts a little where he stands, like something inside won't let him be still. Like something anxious is pushing and pulling him. ]
If I can help you in anyway, will you let me know?
no subject
[A lifetime of being ruthlessly bullied has made him hypersensitive to anything even vaguely resembling mockery. But he believes Bruce is being honest with him, because he wants it to be true. Because, most days, in the trenches couldnāt feel more accurate.
Chasing his dreams have come at a cost, like all dreams do. Heās been threatened in nearly every way a man can be, and there are limits, he has realized, to how far his cunning can take him, the situations it can weasel him out of. He knows the grinding crunch his own bones can make; knows the rusty tang of blood in his mouth. With every passing year, he leans more heavily on his cane, the pain in his leg reaching further up into his hip. But heās still swift on his feet when he needs to be, always keeping a few paces ahead of this life he chose, or that has chosen him. What hasnāt killed him has only made him meaner; whatever good is left in him survives buried deep under sarcasm and scar tissue, and even there, it isnāt always safe. Yet, despite the worst the city has dashed him against, how close heās come to giving up, Oswald canāt imagine quitting. Canāt imagine letting go of the dream - for the effort and loss and pain to have all been for nothing. He will live and die a great man, just like his mom had promised him. He canāt do it being good; if Gotham has taught him anything, itās that kindness and mercy donāt get results. Sooner or later, they just get a man killed.
Bruceās slow, conspiratorial lean, their shared closeness, makes it more noticeable when a sort of restlessness comes over Bruce. Had his conviction come off as too fierce? Had the force of his unflinching resolve - his idea of justice, and the lengths he was willing to go to see it realized - stirred something dark and ugly in Bruce? Oswald doesnāt ask. He doesnāt apologize, either.]
Of course. [Said like an old friend to an old friend, a smoky hint of whisky on his breath. His intensity has dropped off a notch. But the line of his shoulders holds a piano-wire tightness.] If there is anything you feel I should know about - anything at all - you can tell me.
[Anything, with a caveat. But he trusts Bruce not to abuse the invitation.
His smile finally reappears: small and lopsided. All lips, no teeth. He polishes off the rest of his glass in a single, wincing gulp and sets it down to give Bruceās arm a pat. A soft puff of laughter escapes him, despite himself, at the firmness of his arm.]
Someoneās been hitting the gym. [He notes, his eyebrows lifting.] ...Well. Donāt let me keep you. I am sure your companion would love to have your ear back.
no subject
It's just sometimes, Gotham has to be dragged into the light ā kicking and screaming and leaving claw marks on the floor. Bruce knows that. Oswald did too.
The shame is that for all their similarities, their differences keep them at odds. Bruce hates that they couldn't meet somewhere in the middle. Hates that Oswald dresses his ambition up like its salvation. Hates that a man's desire for something better could put him on the wrong side of Arkham's walls. Could make him so diametrically opposed to what the Bat's mission that is shattered the foundation for an alliance before it could ever truly exist.
Must be the Gotham in them though. Divide and conquer. Keep them divided so there's never a united front to root out all the ugly parts of her.
Oswald reassures him that he could speak freely and for some that might seem like an invitation to babble endlessly about the most inane of topics and Bruce almost takes him up on it. He has a name in mind, and it would be an easy thing to weave it into the conversation. Let it slip like it's an accident. He makes a show of it, like he's holding something back ā opening his mouth and closing it again. Then smiling and nodding when Oswald pats his arm. It's permission to walk away. The grin widens into something bright and sunny while he flexes a bit. ]
Can you tell? I've been going to the gym four days a week. Vanessa Stirling told me my arms felt flabby last summer and I haven't slept right since.
[ He turns to go, leaving his drink behind. Then pretending to remember it. When he turns to look at Oswald, he finally leans in again and says in a low voice ]
If you really mean that I can tell you anything, well I think you should know this. I hear Alberto Falcone is pushing Crocodile Tears.
[ Then he snags his drink, gives a friendly wave, and heads back to his friends. ]