Gotham had a way of stamping out beautiful fires, or sparking new ones— ugly fires. Fires that consumed and charred the soul, a blazing frenzy meant to hurt. Sometimes, Becky thought of this. The time of the day when the sun was just beginning to rise, and her house was half light and half dark, existing between the two definers. The time she groggily stares in the mirror, and can look at the differences not just in her appearance but in her personality. The early morning chill was the perfect excuse to rationalize away the goosebumps that had crawled up her spine, and why she couldn’t stand her cold bathroom for so long, despising the tiles that nipped at her toes instead of the mirror that existed nowhere else but there. Was she still her, or had the old Becky Albright been snatched away by a life in Gotham at some point?
“For admiring me so much, you have a funny way of showing it.” Becky bit back. Her lips were pulled into a tense, flat line. Her body was poised to act if anything abnormal happened. “We’ll see how true your words ring in time. I am no stranger to liars and con-men and everything that lies between and past that.” She craned her neck and back to keep a close eye on him, determined to not be taken advantage of. Also, perhaps a tad paranoid he’d begin rifling through her belongings with her back turned on him.
She remained defiantly bold. “You’re right. I will never be your pawn, but it’s not because you chose not to make me one. It’s because I didn’t allow you to make me one.” There was an edge to her tone, as evident as anything in front of the eye. “Do not pat yourself on the back for being so good to me. It doesn’t make you a better person, and it doesn’t make me more inclined to partner with you.”
Eddie’s audacity made her knuckles flex on both hands. This was frustrating. Becky wanted him gone. She wanted the old Eddie. The boy who may have been misguided, but still could have been called pure. The boy she had considered akin to a younger brother, not this twisted, thorny path of bad intentions (for none of this will never be good).
“Whatever you can do, whatever you can’t do, we’ll have to see because I am not moving from my position for you or anybody. Do you think you can break into my house, threaten me with… manipulation, mental violence, and think I will bend my knee for you? You believe yourself to be so strong, so untouchable that you can tug the rug from out beneath my feet and claim that’s not what you did. I have news for you.” Becky leaned forward in her spot, and pulled out the gun from her purse and aimed it upwards without hesitation. There wasn’t much space between them to give hope of missing. Something in her mien told Eddie that she wouldn’t pull the trigger at this moment, but it was just a… motivator. “I’ve faced psychological horrors. I’ve been forced to seen the worse of the worse. If you think you can do better than what the so-called Master of Fear tried to do to me, then do it. I can use a good laugh. Maybe you can sew me up a better outfit.”
“Now, shut your mouth and get the hell out of my house.”
far from being melted and recast in the flames-- oh, eddie's a blaze himself, all right; and he's set to consume all of gotham like a wildfire channeled. it's not a molten fire, though, and becky of all people should know that. he's all cold, all ice, lapping up kindling like waves on a shore only to snap it into pieces-- smaller, smaller, into smoke. deceptively gentle, sheltered in politesse and gentility until he struck. becky's seen it. thanks to their history, her fate would be much different if eddie had any say in it.
he took another step closer, shoes setting down with a soft clack on her floor.
and then becky had the gall-- or was it guile?-- to point her gun at his face. his eyes stay focused into hers. oh, truly; if eyes could shoot bullets, he'd be riddled. wordplay an incidental bonus and nothing more. their eyes weren't clouded, neither with rage nor hate nor tracer rounds. it's all too clear, raw, like sore teeth nicked with cold and left to twinge.
“ah. the original point and click interface.” the quip covered up the nerves that decided to rear their ugly heads when she made the choice to hedge upon violence. or, perhaps, hedge against it; but! she knew eddie wasn't one to stoop to base violence, be it fisticuffs or lead. “i find it intriguing that you would favor a double action revolver, miss albright... but who am i to judge? your safety is paramount, after all. there are a lot of people who would ache to see you a corpse.”
eddie smiled as serenely as possible as he leaned forwards—letting the muzzle gun nudge up against his chin like a stolen kiss. he knew she wouldn’t. in a way, just like how-- again-- she knew he wouldn't actually do anything-- he respected her too much. valued her too much. loved her too much. “there's no silencer. unless you feel like drawing the police to your house, i recommend you put that right back into your bag, miss albright.”
but… she wins. he couldn’t contest, and he couldn't even without the firearm to push him along. and, even more a deficit to the shallow well of his favor, pushing further now will leave him no choice but to seem a sore loser when he eventually does have to concede defeat. he'll take this out, the one he's so generously been given, right now—be graceful about it, return later when there’s no way she can say no. and he knows that the day where she can’t say no will come, and when it does…
he'll be ready to grab it by the throat and take full advantage. but for now, he finally leaned back from the cold barrel of the gun and his eyes, colder yet, stayed fixed on becky. blue, piercing.. “i respect you, miss albright. do not mistake that for weakness.”
and then, he took his leave-- unable to let go of his last word, though, like a dog at a bone, he walked gracefully—slunk, more like—down the hall and out the door and gripped the doorknob, rolled it in his palm to watch the latch slide in and out. “farewell, miss albright.”
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