Edward
Edward Nashton had many faces, he probably had many names to go around with them too, he didn't know, he couldn't be certain anymore; ever since that day, he's been a walking mass of puzzle, even his mastermind couldn't crack this one with ease, maybe it was because his mastermind was already
cracked itself. He knew everything about life's wonders but he knew so little of himself; was he just that amazing to were even he—the master of problem solving—couldn't even figure it out? Probably so... yes, he'll allow himself that mental praise. His memory loss was obviously selective, since he knew how to function as an average—super intelligent—male in his thirties... probably, but he didn't know anything about himself at first; he didn't even know his own age! Sure, doing a health check and a bit of guessing, he was probably thirty—something—but even he knew a guess without the proper evidence was a good as sex statistics, virtually impossible to be even half correct.
There was people who were claiming to know so much about him, people who he couldn't even remember; Batman, Nightwing, the
Joker. That wasn't fun at all, getting a 'call' from the Joker; having people he didn't know, know more about himself was actually a bit thrilling to Edward, to think that he was given a problem that everyone knew but him, and they may even end up making it hard and feeding him false answers—what excitement! Though even then, it all still felt too easy! He was remembering, and though that was a good thing, the high he once felt was slowly dragging down as he was realizing that he was remembering things rather quickly, which wasn't unnatural for someone suffering memory loss, but if it was with how he lost his, then he at least wanted it to take some time, give him a moment to enjoy this puzzle! Thinking about it, if things kept going the way it was, he'd probably have his full memory back before the year was out. But he was digressing, the contact from the Joker wasn't nearly as fun as when he ran into others, the guy just asked him for a bit of his technology, that was it; of course the interaction wasn't that simple, but passed the tomfoolery and horrible puns, and crazy laughter, that was the gist of it.
But the Joker still put him off, it was something about him, something that seemed a bit... ridiculing, maybe it was just him—from what he's heard, the Joker ridiculed everyone! Besides that, he agreed, he allowed the clowned freak to use his technology (of which not many people knew about, seriously, if those who knew were fingers, the Joker would help get them halfway to a hand). Why'd he do it? Curiosity, the Joker was a grand puzzle, he was one of those math questions that were impossible to solve, but Edward wouldn't here that! He was still trying to completely solve one of those 'impossible' math problems. It's not that he wanted to solve the Joker (he had a feeling he was long over that, and probably really never wanted to if he knew the guy in the past), but for the fact that the Joker was a walking problem made him interesting. However, the Joker was... strange. He gave off an unstable feeling that aroused distrust in the mastermind. Something said the Joker was a loose cannon, and allowing him to come in contact while he was still rather... vulnerable wouldn't be too smart.
Edward didn't know it personally, but the Joker was a mastermind as well, let the people of Gotham tell it; hell, even Batman, and for two masterminds to be in the same room as each other, one of them was going to want to out top the other, and with Edward being uncertain with the years behind this one, the Joker could say anything, and it could lead Edward spiraling in a mist of confusion on if the Joker was actually messing with him. Of course, Edward was smart enough to know bullshit when he smelt it, but even still, it was pretty risky, though Edward was never a pussyfooter, so he would allow this little interaction with the notorious Gotham Apocalypse. Besides, Edward had been feeling rather... antsy, lately; he notice he had been changing jobs a lot, he was rich enough, sure a lot of it was from his crime days, back in the past, but even now, he was making a bit of money that shouldn't have anyone complaining. It was just that recently, he's been feeling rather dry, as if each day he was just waking up and doing the same thing, it was like playing chest and both players continued to go in the exact same movement of the last game that ended them in a stale mate; it was boring, it was redundant, and the end result was pointless for all.
He had half a mind to go back to private investigators' work, sure, every day it was the same crime with a different face, but every other day he'd get something good, something Batman worthy, but when every other day started to turn into every other week, then every other month, it became stale, and he packed up and moved on. Edward missed those times, but he grown to realized the excitement wasn't the solving the mystery, but was in seeing new and creative ways things were done—anyone could solve something, but how many could create a unique, competent puzzle of their own? How creative was a woman found raped in a bar's ally? Even an pseudo-scientists could throw something out there and get closed to the truth it was done so stereotypically. He enjoyed solving the crime, and catching every bastard, but he was no Harvey Dent, he didn't want to just say 'Don't do it bad guys' and threaten them with jail if they decided to do it anyway, he wanted some real tricky bastard to try something amazing, only to have Edward crack the case and throw his sorry ass in jail; to see the pure horror in their eyes as they wondered how exactly he caught them, thinking their planning was foolproof. Though that was never the case now, it seemed as if those he caught knew exactly their every flaw and weren't surprised they were found out, probably surprised it took the police officials so long to find and cuff them.
Where was these thugs getting this ideas? It was as if they were watching an old television program and then using them as guidebooks as they went out to do crime on the streets—no one had any creativity anymore—everything was quiet and calm now, just the average mugging and gang fights that were always present in Gotham, like a stray dog or cat on the streets. “... You're appointment sir...?” The brunette woman asked, holding a file of papers as she looked at Edward quizzically, peaking into the door of his office.
Edward looked up from his desk, he was slouched over it horribly with his elbows propped up on them, his posture indicated that his legs were probably spread and stretched under the desk as the hump of his arched back showed from resting his head in his palms, his fingers were laced through his hair as if he sighed into the position, he probably did a double face-palm and pulled his fingers upward from there. He was glaring at his desk, which had papers spread about them, particularly between his elbows, but he wasn't reading them; he was indeed brooding in irritable frustration. Looking up at the woman, he said nothing as they just held a staring contest; she wasn't obvious with it, but she moved her body—or rather torso, as that was about all he could see—in a gesture that indicated she wanted him to say something.
She sighed, “You didn't hear a word I said.” The woman huffed, scooting a bit more in the door to show her navy heeled foot was tapping. Edward wanted to say 'yes', that he did, but he truly hadn't, he was rather deep in thought, he hadn't even known she was there. “Admit it, I thought your intercom was broke, you weren't even answering.” She continued, showing all signs of a sassy agitated assistant.
“I know what you said.” Edward told, that was about the farthest from the truth he could get, before she could say anything, he cut her off, “Bring him in.” He said, and raised from his slouching, then combing through his hair to fix whatever his fingers had raised muttled up.
The woman's jaw dropped as she stared at him shocked; had he really heard her? She had called his name multiple times over the intercom (not to mention she had told him about it the first time she paged; he hated the whole 'Mr. Nashton...' and pause, thing, he always said it was a complete waste of time for him to reply with a 'yes?' and then have her say whatever she was bothering him for), then when he wouldn't answer, she had walked down the hall to his office, knocked, waited, knocked again, opened the door, called his name, restated what she wanted to tell him, and called his name again; though he didn't even flinch. So either he was a big liar, or he was ignoring her, though she couldn't call him a liar now as he just gave her an order that was completely valid to what she wanted to tell him.
It was simple really, to figure out what she wanted to say, and not just because he was intelligent, or so he assume even simple minded people could do it, he had set up an appointment with a gentleman a few days ago, and they had agreed on today's date and the current time; if one remembered their appointments, checked the time, and knew what date it was, it was very simple to figure out what she wanted of him when she said 'your appointment'. Though she could have said, and meant, 'he canceled', but he doubted it, coming from who he had set it with, plus she wouldn't have wasted her
precious time walking all the way here to tell him his six o'clock appointment bailed on him, she had to have been coming to tell Edward that his appointment was waiting outside.
It was now Edward's turn to mimic her body movement she had done earlier, prompting her to do something—'go', to be more precise. The brunette assistant slipped from the door and left to go get the appointed man, it only took a few seconds to have her return with the familiar face he's been waiting for, “Ah, Mr. Fox, Mr. Wayne still have you doing all his public work?” Edward greeted friendly, standing up to reach over his desk and shake the man's hand, he then gestured to either of the chairs in front of his desk and uttered a breath that held the word 'sit' somewhere in it. Edward had spoken to Bruce and Lucius a few days ago, they spoke on behalf of the Wayne Enterprise's financial standings, which not to say they were bad, but they weren't good either; no, they were good, 'good' was a perfectly boring word that fit its status completely. Their profit were on a steady roller coaster of up and downs, up equally matching down, so in fact they were making the same amount for a straight full year, which was nothing wrong with that, unless Wayne wanted the competition to best him with their steady green arrow shooting upwards. Edward propose he make some changes with his finances to increase his profit, he had spoken to Bruce about it first, as he hadn't met Lucius the first time the talked of it, but the third time Lucius was present, and the three came to an agreement for a meeting. Bruce was supposed to come instead (at the very least along with Mr. Fox), but as was noted, he was not here, “Or is he just avoiding me.” Edward love to ask questions, but this one was more statement than anything, as if he already knew the answer and was certain it needed no time wasted in guessing.
Lucius laughed softly as he sat down, “Mr. Wayne has always been a rather... busy man.” Lucius said, calm and composed, his hesitation seemed to be more in thought, rather than a slip to try and cover something.
“He had to go into the tower today?” Edward asked casually, he was sure Bruce cleared his schedule for work so that they could have this talk.
“Not with the corporation, more of a social problem situation; whenever he has a free day, the public seemed to demand his attention of Gotham's problems.” Lucius made small talk.
“Not another pedestrian vigilantly, I hope?” Edward joked, but he was rather serious.
“No, they want him to attend public outings, it's nothing to do with Gotham's crime problems.” Lucius laughed, shaking his head as if that would be a bad idea, “Besides, Mr. Wayne's not really very... diligent.” Lucius, gesturing not only to his work in general, but also to the obvious of him not being here.
“So I've heard.” Edward said, not removing the pleasant smile from his face.
Trishell
Great, this was so great, these same words were uttered this morning, but weren't sarcastic until she was told exactly what would be featured at Gotham's 'Moon Bathing' event. Supposedly from when Trishell was first told of, she would be doing a report on tonight Moon Bathing, where the moon would be absent, and for once (in a rare Gotham night) the stars in the sky would be clearly seen without any sort of enhancement. Rumors were that something special, space/astrology related was going to be presented here, and everyone was going to sleep in the fields together around here. Seeing as Trishell's news coworkers weren't going to take the story on since it was rather lame and unimportant, when they did decide to adopt it, they didn't get much information since a few other news had slipped in and taken up the people who knew anything about what was going on. Trishell thought it would be something special like a glowing moon rock, she really wasn't one for dirt, but a moon rock sound like a nice addition to her collection, it was supposedly supposed to be as big as an apple, let Ami tell it.
Bryon was hoping it would be some sort of piece of the first spaceship ever created, though none of them held hopes for Gotham receiving something that special, plus give that to a bunch of hippie nuts in
Gotham? So he was shot down pretty quickly, no one else tried to make a guess, but Trisha and Ami was pretty certain of the probability that it would be some sort of moon rock to commemorate the stars (or at the very least a meteor piece). No one expected a damn giant quilt! A quilt that was created somethime long ago before Gotham became polluted and blocked the stars with it's bright lights and other retro nonsense. Trishell was rather put out, mainly because a quilt was not something she wanted to place her hopes up in stealing, so here she was in casual black
suit jacket that had dried leave green shorts underneath and a circled pattern neck scarf, her shoes where two inch heeled boots that went to her mid calves. It was a bit city/campish, as that was the sort of people who would be at this event, and the night of Gotham was rather hot today.
Trishell didn't look too happy standing out in the field were tiny insects were biting at her bare legs and the back of her neck—no matter that she tried wearing boots and a scarf to prevent this tender parts from getting attacked. She didn't have to look happy right now as her back was to the people attending the festivities, and the cameraman was still setting up, their news show probably didn't even turn on TV yet—this was to be live. Trishell checked herself without a mirror, she remembered that her once pale pink lips were now a little darker from lipstick, her even tone cheeks now held a redness to it, and that her golden eyeshadow made her lids look lighter and allowed her plain brown eyes to pop, her short hair was in a slick down crop today, and her wi-fi clips were ever present in her hair, her nose ring was gone like always during work, and she was sure everything was good and set, all she had to do was wait for her cue.
They were a bit off from the festivities as they didn't want people bothering them until they set up, but when the cameraman was ready, and they had their earpiece in to hear the anchorpeople back at the station speaking to each other, Trishell began to walk backwards as the cameraman followed, lens on her but recorder off. Ofter a bit of talking about random evening happenings, Trishell placed a bright cheery smile on her face in prepare for the record button to flash on.
“... Now we'll go to our reporter Miss Boom for an update on that; Boom, how's it looking over there?” Trishell heard that of a male voice faintly in her ear.
“It's looking great, Kim, as you see everyone's excited, children are excited, the elderly are excited, I think I even see a few teens that showed up to celebrate this special Moon Bathing.” Trishell recited with prep, her alto voice contrasting with her chipper words.
“You sure they didn't just come to make out?” Mr. Kim asked faintly in her ear, and she could hear Miss Coily laugh to humor him.
“I don't know, Kim, but I don't think they'd get much privacy tonight seeing as we have a new moon so a lot of stars is going to be lighting the way for us; that's what plays into the full exposure of our star show tonight.” Trishell responded, still smiling cheerfully.
“Oh good, isn't it said the full moon is what cause us to act so crazy during those nights; less crime right?” Miss Coily said; to someone watching, it would have flicked to her as she turned to address Mr. Kim.
“But doesn't the absent light from the moon makes it easier to be concealed? More privacy for debauchery, right?” Mr. Kim said, laughing at his own 'joke'.
“I wouldn't know.” Miss Coily laughed, though it flicked back to Trishell.
“Tell us, how does it feel out there; it's pretty cool in here, but we cranked the air up.” Mr. Kim asked through Trishell's earpiece.
“Hot, Kim, it's very muggy and humid—” Trishell told.
“O~, ideal for insects, huh?” Miss Coily asked.
“Oh, a lot of them.” Trishell sighed, the camera then zoomed out to show that there was an elderly looking man standing next to her.
“Doesn't sound like ideal quilt weather...” Kim said.
“Well, actually, the quilt is large and cool, and they're not actually going to lay
under the quilt, but
on top of it, so it'll not only keep them from the dirt ground, but also block any heat that tries to seep from the soil.” Trishell explained. “Here's a man who says he's been to every Moon Bathing activity since 'the very beginning', let's learn more from him.” Trishell said, then moved her mic to rest in front of the elderly guy.
“I've been here star gaze'n since I was a little kid, not every time there's a lot of stars though—not a lot of stars every new moon—Gotham's lights too bright, block out everything.” The old man grumbled, occasionally Trishell would smile and nod her head, then retreat the microphone to ask him a question about the 'customs'.
She moved on from him and introduced a few more people, most of them were normal average people who just wanted to star gaze, so she sighed eternally that she didn't get the loons.
“How's that weather out there?” Mr. Kim asked once they came off of commercial break, and from another story.
“Not so good, Kim, the clouds are still blanketing the sky, I don't see any breaking yet.” Trishell responded, placing a hand over her eyes and looking up in the sky as if that was actually helping, but she was just acting cute, especially since she needlessly raised her leg in strain.
“That's no good, a lot of people are going to be disappointed if they don't see the stars tonight; any signs of it ever clearing up, Boom.” Mr. Kim said this with all the emotion appropriate for television.
Trishell's eyes slanted some, it sounded as if he was blaming her for the shitty weather? Though her face stayed smiling, “Well,
I'm not a meteorologist, Kim,” Trishell said with a bit more spiff than was needed, as she started to back up and move to the side, cameraman following her and stopping at a figure of a middle age woman dancing, with a group of people sitting in a circle around her, patting their legs and giving yodeled calls; their boom mic was turned on and extended so that the people watching at home could hear them, “I can't predict the weather, but I'm sure what I'm seeing here is a weather dance; am I correct?” Trishell asked, leaning down to one guy who was one of the few with a drum and was beating against it as he watched the woman dance.
He was nice enough to pause for her and turn to speak into the mic, the when he spoke, he banged on the drum, “That's right.” He said, and Trishell beamed and looked at the camera as if she was just shooting in the dark with her guess. “We're praying for clearer skies.” The guy continued, after pausing to beat out some notes.
“And brighter stars!” The woman dancing said breathlessly, but then continued her dance.
“Oh, my, well I hope it works, I think we're all looking forward to some clear sky as the hours pass on.” Trishell said, standing up and looking at the sky again.
“Dance with us!” Another woman said, coming over to dance by Trishell and in front of the camera—damn, she hooked in the crazies. Trishell smiled and did a halfass dance that just consisted of her wiggling her torso side to side a bit, though her face showed joyous humor and a bit embarrassment, she was actually just a tad bit annoyed, especially when she could hear the anchorpeople's prosthetic laughter.
“Oh!” Trishell cried out when a guy stood up and hugged her from behind, lifting her off the ground, Trishell was feeling rather panicked, as people of Gotham was pretty unstable, especially the loons, and being touched by one was always a problem; though she showed no indication of this, besides the typical 'humor them yet look shocked and annoyed at the same time' reporters often had. Once she was placed down and away from them, they went to commercial again, and came back on with a few more stories as Trishell collected more information and scouted out people she would talk to. Once it came back on, Mr. Kim asked her about the wither.
“I'm seeing some breaks in the clouds, but it's still rather uncertain if it's going to clear up once nine comes around.” Trishell told, it was about eight, and the stars was supposed to be out since it should be fully dark now. “I hope Mr. Wayne's efforts don't go to waste, he worked really hard convincing the city to go green for this night; he even managed to get a few towers to turn their outward lights off.” Trishell told, she didn't learn this from anyone else, this was information she had gotten from the company; when it was known that Bruce Wayne was supporting this Moon Bathing, that was when all the news decided to take on the story, believing they'd find the bachelor millionaire lounging around somewhere. They were all just as disappointed as Trishell was when she found out the 'special item' was a old dusty quilt.
“Mr. Wayne? Yeah~, he's quite handsome, isn't he?” Miss Coily asked, but the Trishell heard them share a laugh as she asked the question to the male anchorman as if he was going to agree with her.
“Very popular, I wonder how he managed to get all those companies to listen to him?” Mr. Kim asked, and Trishell just stayed animated as she smiled and showed that she was listening, their words can be heard on the TV as well.
“He's a one in a life time guy.” Trishell complimented.
The rest of the hour went on rather boring, when it hit nine, it was like magic and just as the weatherman predicted, the clouds were gone, the stars shone brightly, it was no country hill top sky, but anything was an improvement compared to everyday Gotham nights. Trishell endured more false excitement, and mingled with the people—she was molested more than once (not all were males)—She was even forced to lay down on the quilt with all the other bodies who agreed to spend the night (it wasn't an overwhelming number, but it was shockingly more than what one would expect for a simple activity). Laying down, she looked up at the camera as she held her hand microphone, she was smiling like a child at a sleepover, waiting for the news to flick back over to her.
“Here it is, Gotham, the big Moon Bathing, the stars are bright—the quilt is comfy—” Trishell used this moment to rub at the quilt beneath her, it was a rather nice quilt, it was stitched together with many different materials, it seemed as if no texture was used more than once, where Trishell laid, anyways. Besides her you could see a few people laying down, they were staring at the sky, but sometimes the camera's eye was too powerful for them, or uncomfortable, and they glanced at the camera. “Look,” Trishell said, pointing, “You can even see Ophiuchus.” She said, that wasn't a line she was giving, she actually could point out the constellations. After that statement, the TV screen would flick to the sky, and glide about it in a fluid way that would make the moment seem 'majestic'.
Trishell was finally left to herself, for once the stars was done being displayed and the ending tune of the Channel 3 News were finish, the show would be over. Camera's already off, Trishell stood, and once far from the quilt, she let her face slip into bewildered irritation; she wasn't sleeping out on some dirty ancient quilt! God knows how many bodies been all over it, not to mention if something like that had ever been washed; now there were hordes of people—who were probably filthy—mucking it up. But it didn't matter, she was still going to steal it, maybe not tonight, as she couldn't risk all those people possibly being woke, but she will be taking the quilt home with her sooner or later. Not that she liked the quilt, but Trishell couldn't help it, she had to take it, it was some sort of valuable, and people liked it, so to see them distraught over losing their possession was like an aphrodisiac to her. She'll have to go get her group ready, because the heir to the quilt was this wealthy old woman who lived on the borders of Gotham, and they would be returning it to her place once this foolishness was over. So Tera Byte would be paying her a visit.
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