tentacruelest | 8th Wave

8th Wave

Th' next time this Barge feels like poking around in my head, I'll be keeping to my quarters. The lot of yeh - useless dregs not fit to scrub a floor. It's bad enough I'm locked in here with you, I don't need to call any of yeh friends.

[Private to Bush]

Was dealing with me yerself so difficult that you sought to work through less offensive channels, Captain?

[Private to Arthas]

A word, my king.

[Can you feel that heavy sarcasm, Arthas?]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

First, I am no boy. I have ruled Gotham with an iron fist, decimated my enemies, and the Bat can't keep me caged.

Second, I always think twice. We're just fine with your anger. Welcome it, even.

You are a boy to someone who's lived near as long as I have. I've seen men like you born, live, and die as old men, and still they were boys.

So what you're saying is you want to pick on old women and children. Since we're all so young -- except Iris.

[ It is so easy to twist these words around. ]

And Iris willnae fight me.

But she's got so many boys who will. We'd love to take you to the crab boil: just say the word.

You're a fine idiot, Dent. A very fine one. I can see why she keeps yeh around. Not good for much else, are yeh? Just one more boy in her trophy case to collect.

It's less about her, and more about... justice, Captain.

We are very keen on justice. And when we watched the two of you, listened to you snip and snipe we flipped for it. And I win. There is no justice in letting you continue, holding everyone on edge with the will you or won't you, go after who she cares about.

Well, I'm calling you out. Fool that she is, she cares about us. An we will gladly meet you the field.

Put your money where your mouth is, Captain.

Name me the time and place, Dent, and I'd be happy t'show yeh what for if'n yeh be so eager to die.

When's good for you? Funny thing about being in a prison; you have a lot of free time and I don't need to alert next of kin.

After I've gone fighting with my warden; if he's exhausted, he'll be less likely to interfere.

T'night, late. On the deck.

Be there with bells on.

Good.

See you after dark.

[And Davy clicks off his comm. The next time he appears, it will be on deck, past midnight]

[ Harvey's in his usual spot, smoking at the deck -- watching the sky twist by. There's a little package at his feet, wrapped and obscured, under a lounge chair. ]

[Having warmed himself up from earlier fighting with his warden inside the CTS, Davy comes up to the deck in better spirits than he last left it. He sees Dent smoking and takes the opportunity to light up his own pipe, watching the man]

[ Harvey's noticed. He doesn't mind the company anymore than he minds the potential combat. He glances over, before he smiles to himself. Jim was a pipe-smoker; the memory it stirs is bittersweet. ]

So can I ask you a question? Before we proceed with senseless violence.

[Jones gives an indifferent shrug in response, setting his claw down on the railing]

Ask your question.

Why are we bothering?

[ He's had time past his initial foolish impulse to think on it, to mull it over with his better half, and now they want to know why. ]

Iris means you no real harm, and her offense is sharp, but men of our stature should be able to handle the nattering of one woman. And she does natter. God, does she.

I understand pride. I've hurt men for less. But here, it seems... meaningless, the longer we engage it. Tiring.

[ He takes a drag, smoke slipping through the gap in his cheek, though most of it makes it down into his lungs. ]

Or maybe that's just our black mood talking. The mirror told us harsh truths, and we have found little pleasure since.

[Davy allows himself a slight smirk at the nattering comment for how true it is, before he breathes deep against his pipe, soothing his prickly nerves down]

There is nothing in my life that has meaning any longer. Life now is nothing but a long, slow trudge to the grave. Bloodshed - the suffering of men who are not myself - is one of the few pleasures I have left. It allows me to recall the days when I was feared and free.

That is why I bother.

[ Harvey indulges in a silence, tapping his thumb against his cigarette to get the ashes to fall. At this hour, with the skies above the barge in the strange darkness, the embers flicker visibly as they fall. ]

Well, to the days when we were feared and free, then.

[ He misses them too, sometime. ]

[He gives a cold nod in return; the night air is chilly, but he's unaffected. Few things rarely penetrate his thick hide, ideal for protection against the elements]

They were excellent days. The best ones. There will ne'er be a time come again for them.

[ Harvey cannot share that sentiment; he doesn't long for them. He doesn't long for anything, anymore. He's ready for it to be over. Davy has his demands, and sometimes Two-Face has his, but Harvey? He's done. ]

[ The days he misses have nothing to do with violence or rage. The latter was always present, but there was a time it didn't rule him. ]

Well. When you're ready.

[With an obliging scowl, Jones douses his pipe and puts it away. He gives one last look over his shoulder for any sign of casual observers, before thundering his way over to Dent]

[ With a very large crabman trundling over, Dent's quick to flick his cigarette butt over the side of the barge; it's ember twinkles just a bit, before it vanishes among the pulsating, muted colors of the 'night'. ]

[ Harvey doesn't notice. He's already on the move, snagging his bundle and letting the cloth fall away; two rods, metal. Traditional yantok are made from rattan, if they're for sparring; these are the Bat's, and there is no way the rattan would hold up under the use that people like Barbara or Dick put them through. ]

[ They feel right, in the moment, in Harvey's big hands. He buys himself some space with sharp flicks, cutting the air with the tips. ]

At least ask me to dance nicely, Captain. God knows we need it much as you do.

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