Lorne had caught onto the name’s meaning quickly. It didn’t impress Bane, because he had come to expect these sorts of behaviors wherever it was the least expected. It made the larger man’s eyes light up subtly, pleased that the symbolism was not lost upon the doctor. In a vague sort of way, Keene had given him hints and reminders of Gotham’s good doctor Jonathan Crane. Except, only Lorne seemed more aware of his “flaws” and the city’s falsities. He liked those who were self-aware, but he didn’t like those who faked an idea of their will. That was where Jonathan had started to fallen, and that was also where Lorne had started to rise up the stairway in Bane’s mind. He found himself tilting his head.
“An astute observation,” he complimented kindly, eyes crinkling a little at the corners to imply fondness. Was it real, though? Was it true? Was it genuine? Only Bane knew, and was he about to expose himself? No. That was part of the game. That was part of the fun. That was part of why he was the way he was. The Pit had taught him how to survive. The vaguest features of smile tugged at his lips, the action scratching against the innards of his mask and releasing a soft puff of static. A name that had barely suited him, yet Lorne was quick to catch onto one of the few meanings of it that drew Bane to it. It wasn’t impressive, though, as was already stated. It was smart, but that was all.
“Gotham is hardly a home to those already here,” Bane returned to the conversation easily, eyes flickering down to glance at Lorne’s hands before immediately returning back to the man’s expression.
Still emotionless. Bane found that curious.
He took one step forward as he started to lower his arm, the want to be animated not yet dawning upon him. It would hardly suit him nor it would it actually, truly benefit him in a situation such as this. It was best to retain a civil enough conversation and to wean out as much information as they could from one another. Truth be told, Bane was curious of the good doctor’s methods. When the explanation was spoken– clichés– he resumed a more casual and somewhat lackadaisical manner to his body language, tone, and approaches. It wasn’t hard nor was it sudden of him to adjust so easily and so fluidly. Merely, he’d laugh a little at the answer. It was unexpected, but Bane could understand what he meant. Offering his gaze up to the building, he understood what said clichés were.
Tall. Large windows. High staircase.
The building reminded him of Wayne Manor, and he felt a twang of disgust hit him. He was skilled enough in hiding it, but he knew he would be feeling that for a long time. It disgusted him. The mere fact that the building was so… similar yet so different. Part of Bane wanted Lorne to move to it anyway, but the other part was appreciative of Lorne’s self-awareness.
It was a simple retort that said a decent amount. He had listened patently and with a respectful ear to Lorne’s explanation. He was not a typical therapist, was what he had gathered. He wanted something smaller, did he not? That was understandable. Bane recalled that the doctors in the Pit had small rooms– even if it were their choice. He himself preferred the smaller rooms, anyway. Rolling his shoulders, he turned his head over the left shoulder after and paused to let his mind think. This hell of a city had much to offer. The buildings were a mixture of large, small, and everything in-between. It was only a matter of if any of them would suit Lorne. In a sense, he wanted to help but to also mislead. Misleading, though, he knew would be caught almost immediately. Never underestimate one’s opponent, even if they were not enemies quite yet.
“Try the next street over,” he answered almost immediately after Lorne had finished his subtle and simple request. He had an idea of what he was already thinking of. It was a small building used mostly for warehousing, but the citizens who used to come to it had suddenly stopped coming to it. Bane remembered walking around in it once upon a time. It was at that time he had just come back to Gotham. Everything in that building felt like it didn’t belong in such an amazing city known as Gotham. It was simple yet, somehow, extravagant. The exterior was simple. Smooth. The interior was separated by thick enough walls. He knew that some furniture was left over. He wasn’t certain about the paint job, but in his eyes beggars couldn’t be choosers.
“I could show you if you wish,” Bane started while returning his gaze back onto the smaller man, “on one humble condition.”
Sincerity had never interested him - people lie all the time. Many little tales said over the day for reassurance and acknowledgement of personal flaws, yet once again, it was nothing that truly would bother the therapist, for himself was not in mind nor interest to really accept what was given without looking deeper and adjusting to the many small meanings and possibilities that could be hidden behind charms and smiles presented easily. To keep in mind that, all the time, an analysis will be placed but no judgment to be found ( he finds himself unwilling to do so ), to every single word, every single expression before the naked eye to catch shifts and differences of something long learned, and still learning about---
---if one would even know.
Emotionless was a word to be used by many regarding the psychologist, no mind paid to the idle observation turning into markings of discomfort whenever there was a trial to elicit something else but the stoic monotone drone of a voice, the very much cemented reactions of a face unmoving beyond the very eloquence, once again, caught and internalized meticulously over the past decades of life. Too much time on hand, perhaps, to do exactly that - find nothing else but this very reason to strive forward, and find something far more delighting ( how strange, to place such human emotions onto a man like him ) than the normal strive of a normal life.
Shift in body-language, in tone, the way he’s announcing to be attentive with mere eyes alone - all enough so that it would greet a wariness into those that, by default, were even able to feel such an emotion rising in the pit of one’s chest and the uncomfortable numbness to dawn upon by alone how words were offered and the continuous hiding behind mechanism far so inhumane - yet expressions conveyed that showed the same mortality at its finest. Curious, indeed, to not have those eyes of his wander. Understandable was what his host pronounced as a word; understood, perhaps what the doctor would feel himself to be, if there was even any need or want to have that consideration in their engagement, or to even need any words of content and comprehension.
“How pleasant of a help.”
And still as calm and quick to react like formerly displayed. It was far too easy to play his part in those educated pleasantries that meant nothing but to keep an encounter civil that would have, with more movement in suitable direction, been of fire and ice. Misleading, indeed, would have been recognised immediately - misleading was, after all, something himself never did. It was a sign of a mind gambling for attention where none would be presented or even was due, for all of those to step up before the doctor, were just the same and would not rise above an equal level of humanity’s weakness, the same Lorne himself found suitable to look at and only accept. A picture-perfect little identifying of the possible - an experiment was only that; an experiment.
Turning on his heel, following the direction ( there was only one street to really go to, from the given ones ), and pondering not longer on the forgotten structure now left behind both men engaging in this shallow togetherness that - for an outside onlooker - might appear strained, but for himself had no ideal to it. It was what it was, a man with enough resources, trying to establish a growing on his work ( how it was recognised? no care to that ). A stop, with that slightest tilt of his head towards the voice reaching out once again towards the intruder of this city’s rather haunting calm. Whatever suddenly came to his ‘companion’s’ mind, it was enough to warrant hearing him out in that polite little exchange of intelligent minds.
More guidance presented, a condition requested. No one to really push it aside and away, there was few the therapist really would be unable to give. And if it turned out to be one of the very cases of a choice? Then honesty was still the best to resort to, everything else - as dawning slightly it perhaps would turn out to be - brushed past and aside with that well-placed and educated picked out hum in regards to listening to whatever there was needed in pursue. “What may it be?” Strung and pondering, slightly tilted to a side of lilt. “I do take up your time, so your request for a condition is only equitable.”
