#with bane

[picsoftwoface]

I’d love an entire canon show where the rogues are just buddies like this :)

[batmanismisguided]

Recollections and Reflections of an Exile (chatzy) | Bane and Anarky

"Fate, coincidence, both are beliefs held by people who put their faith in something bigger than themselves. I'm talking about Choice, Bane. I don't doubt that you're Batman's equal. But I don't belong to you, and neither does Gotham." Synopsis: Anarky tracks down and invites Bane to meet one another formally. They reflect on the steadfastness of humanity, and Bane lectures Anarky on self actualization, identity, and ruling. 

The birds in the Narrows were loud, and their song mixed dully into the noise of the streets. The noises of the street were, namely: Puerto Rican anti-government rap blaring proudly from a boombox that look as though it had not been moved, cleaned, or adjusted in thirty years; two old men bargaining en español over a hand of cards; a group of young hoods struggling with fists and elbows against a break wall, until one draws a blade; and the crackle of a barrel fire as the sun set over the skyline. There was also the protest of the rocks against rusting wheels — the old man, Legs, led the giant down the alleyway and through a door. The old man left the giant behind, returning to the city outside, but a dog slipped through as he passed. When the door shut there was only the sounds of creaking pipes, and the hallow beat of the music outside trying to bleed through the walls. The dog, a tired scrappy looking thing of gold and brown, sat by the door and watched.

Bane bent over to get through the door. Finding people in the city was not difficult. Being found was another matter entirely. There had to be a network. Not the same one that was run by Barbara Gordon. Another network that was born and bred in the streets. He had business in the Narrows. The buildings were so close together that the tiny apartments were more like cells. And the people were looking for work. The promise of greatness. Power they did not have otherwise. It was the ones that strove for their own slice of power that did the best. The ones who just wanted money were unreliable. There was no loyalty. If they would not fight and die, they were not worthy. A drip of venom kept him at the brink. Slow cirulation. If Anarky wanted a battle, he would get a war, and he would not win. That was the beginning and end of it. He stepped into the warehouse. Bare. Underinsulated. The beat that was beginning to drive its way through his skull still sunk in. "Animals should be kept outside." It was half fact, half announcement.

Anarky quirked a smile, expression safe behind the mask. He whistled - a sharp, harsh noise - and it danced in the air for a moment, revealing him where he crouched on an overhead pipe above the behemoth below him. Yap responded to it at once, leaving his station at the door with a low growl before following behind Bane. Calmed by Anarky's presence, and lacking the intimidation of men, he licked at the man's hulking fingers. His words came with quiet speed, a low and strong Spanish. He wasn't unafraid of the man below him, but he was a symbol; he carried the strength of hundreds of men in his young voice. "He usually agrees with you, Bane. Likes to sleep out on the fire escape most nights."

Bane looked up. The rest of his body was impassive. Clenched hands, crossed arms, a shift of weight, all things that can betray at any moment. And when the dog licked his hand, there was a split second decision. Flick it on the nose, hard enough to send it whining, or do nothing. Nothing was preferable. It would not start off the meeting on the wrong foot. And the dog could be a future point of interest. The voice was young. It was not unfamiliar. The broadcasts had been impassioned, yet wrong. The product of resentment mixed with knowledge. And here was Anarky above on a pipe. Fear? Yes. If he had sense. More than that. Humor? Making the man who did not look up at anyone crane his neck. "The fire escapes here fall apart." Two had given under his weight. Property damage was of no concern. Not in a place like The Narrows. Not in a place like Gotham, where everything was for sale. "We are not here to talk of dogs and fire escapes." It was a pointless gesture, the small talk. His wrist, around the watch, was bruised purple. Venom made him grow. The watch did not accomidate. It did not break either.

"Everything falls apart here," Anarky replied quietly, reminded for a moment of the fire he'd left behind only a few months ago. Where he'd broken his arm still stung when he moved wrong, and the skin there seemed permanently bruised. The memories haunted him, but he steeled himself and nodded. "Why are you here, Bane?" His words were respectful; he didn't abandon Bane's earned usted. He was still his elder, and Anarky didn't need to abandon formality to sound in charge. "Why Gotham? There are countless cities like us around the world. What do you want from this one?"

Gotham. Was there any other place to go? A place where the police force was spread thin. A populated city where everything was for sale. An extended prison. Its warden- The Bat. The reason. Gotham, his first taste of the outside world through stories. Badly worded stories that were recounted with changes every time. Bird, one of the few Americans in the prison. Caught smuggling cocaine on a plane flight. His plan had been smart. Inserting the powder into a small tube, then weaving the tube into a rug. A rug delivered from Gotham to Santa Prisca. His plan had been smart. But the Santa Priscan government had been smarter. Life sentences were given out freely. Bird, who talked of the bat-creature from his dreams. The final piece to the puzzle of his greatness. Venom was the frame the completed picture went into. That was not something to be explained to this stranger. This young stranger, who would not face him. "I am here because of fate. There are no coincidences. The Bat is my equal. I have broken him. What was his becomes mine. It is the nature of conquerors." Bane paused. Talking to a pipe, talking to a man seated above him, it was ridiculous. "If you intend to speak as an equal, leave your pipe." Fear would keep him up there. There was no curiosity or puzzle in fear. Nothing to figure out. It was universal. Predictable.

"Fate, coincidence, both are beliefs held by people who put their faith in something bigger than themselves. I'm talking about Choice, Bane." There was a challenge in there air, at Bane's ultimatum, and Anarky acquiesced. There was the clamor on metal against metal as he lowered himself, hanging from the pipe now by his hands. "I don't doubt that you're Batman's equal. But I don't belong to you, and neither does Gotham." He dropped then. Neglected any sort of fancy flip (which he imagined the robins might employ) for the solid thud of his feet hitting the ground. He hissed at the sharp pain of the dismount, then stood. The fear in his gut only fed his courage, and he looked up at the man with confidence. "You should recognize that now. Even Batman's grip on the city was faltering, before you injured him," they stood nearly a yard apart, and yap took the few steps to join him, "and we are not so easily won."

"Choice. There is only the illusion of choice." He said it with the tone that only came from explaining the same concept many times over, to people that were never receptive. Anarky dismounted. Unsurprising. If there had been any doubt of his caller's resolve, he would not have come to begin with. The steady bump of music coming from the outside matched his own heartbeat. He had become increasingly aware of the rhythm in his chest since returning to venom. People told him that Gotham was not his over and over. It was a daily occurance. They told him that he could not own a city. They told him that the city had a life of its own. People who thought that humanity had somehow grown and matured over the past thousand years. Their self delusion had long since stopped being amusing. It could be another rallying cry of Anarky's. Another incorrect view in a sea of them. He let the comment slide by. The Bat, however, that was something of interest. That was something that could be discussed. "The Bat has no grip. The power, his rule, it has been spread. An oligarchy. You do not know how this city could change. Our goals, they are not so different. Your own are tucked within mine. A people ignored, a people looking to a symbol of hope that lets troublemakers end them in a cycle, the majority who only wants to work and to live. A state to serve them. They cannot be trusted to govern themselves. Elected officials who only want to extend their careers. With the Bat toppled, the life of the supressed majority will imrpove. You cringe at the idea of a totalitarian state. Ones who do not understand power often do. This is a place of infinite possibility. Yet the Asylum is kept within it. The chaos lovers escape and are recapured only to escape again. And when handed choice, Anarky, people do not choose effectively. Take away the illusion of choice, and they will not suffer."

"You're wrong." His voice wasn't hard, it didn't need to be, but it held his conviction in it. His intensity bordered on temerity, and he took a step forward. "Even if some people are comfortable without it, there's always choice." The music outside fed the heart beat in his ears, and it was it's own sort of freedom. It felt like he was grounded into his city, tied to it somehow, and speaking for it. He lifted a hand to his chin, fingers curling around the edge of the mask, and it came off without resistance. Pushing his hood back too, he held the mask out to Bane with a nod. "That mask is a symbol. Anarky is. It's proof the people in this city want something more. They want freedom."

"You are a symbol of freedom. The Bat is a symbol of hope. I do not aspire to be a symbol. I aspire to be a man." A god. The unspoken last part. Under his own mask, the space between his brows twitched in slight surprise. They all valued their duality. These vigilantes. These double people. Yet there was Anarky's face. Young. Not yet battered down by life. Capable of expressing the idealism that was woven through the broadcasts. Unrelenting optimism- the belief that change was possible. The belief that the nature of humans was not inherently flawed. Bane looked into his eyes. "Pick one. Symbol or man. You cannot be both. The Bat tries to be both. He is failing." Anarky's face was the face of open honesty. Beliefs that could be transformed into facts, just with a voice. Bane reached back and undid the snap on the back of his mask and pulled it off. Without his mask pushing it down, the small, single line of venom tucked into his flak vest sprang upwards. The drip. "Symbols create disappointment. They create disillusionment. Both are poison to your cause."

He did not expect Bane to reciprocate, and he studied him intently. He held age and the scars of life lived with a sort of fierce dignity on his face, and for a minute Anarky felt out of his depth. There were wars, past and future in the elder man's eyes, but he did not break from them. "My name is Alonso, and I am Anarky. They are not two things, and I am not hiding in either name. I am not Batman. I don't need another life, with family, with schooling, with money. This is my life, and those are my names. "

Bane allowed himself a lapse of silence. Curious. Perhaps he knew that his identity would be uncovered soon anyway. Or it was a ploy to set him apart. The honesty- no, it was more than honesty. Nothing had been asked. It was a bald rebellion. What against? The vigilantes who insisted there was nothing behind the mask. General communication habits. Alonso. His name was unimportant. The 'and' instead of 'or' between the names was. "Then do not become a symbol of freedom. Symbols can be twisted. They can be turned into something unrecognizable. People die. And they are done. Symbols decay. They do not wink from existence. They fall apart. Those left to watch are powerless." It was the nature of all things. The Narrows, fire escapes, intent. Movements. Armies. Countries. Prisons. "How long will you keep your hope for?" Too young to realize that hope, worry, they are only phases to grow out of.

Anarky hesitated, and then nodded. There was something to what Bane said, and Anarky could not reject the truth in it; the strength of his convictions was what kept his philosophy evolving and as solid as fact. "I am a man," he said, and he thought, not for the first time, about his death. It would come sooner than most, but it would be worth it. He didn't need to live on as a symbol; the movement would live for itself, and the people in it. He answered the next question with a fiercer gaze. How long will you keep your hope for? "For as long as it keeps me angry, and fighting."

The nod, another sign of sense. Those who opposed Bane, they could not bring themselves to agreement. Even on simple matters. Their minds were so narrow that any belief that did not come from their inner circle was wrong. Dogmatic. Dangerously enough that it would be their undoing. His assertion of humanity, so different than the Bat's lack of it. The fuzzy smudge that barely existed under the cowl. A false persona that had started off inorganizally and become twisted into a caricature. "You have a right to your hope and your fight. One day the hope will be gone. The fight and the anger will remain." It was the end result of anyone with conviction. They faded, they warped until they were unrecognizable. In youth, every philosophy is permenant. Until they're not. "You do not have to accept it. Just know it." He returned the stare, but put no effort into altering it for emphasis.

"I understand that, but I have lasted this long." Anarky knelt for a moment, pet Yap and buried his hand in the fur ruff under his ears. "I fought Batman seven years ago, and I sat in prison waiting for years - as a kid. I didn't lose my purpose then." The dog licked at his fingers, and then his cheek, and Anarky smiled for a second before sobering. He left his mask behind on the floor and stood again. "I don't know, you're probably right. But maybe I won't live long enough for my hope to fade. I'll still see the revolution live, and the corrupt behind this city lost in that fire."

The animal. Still present. Anarky, interacting with it. Possibly engineered to highlight his innocence. Probably not. This was one who was not thinking their actions through. This was not one who planned facial expressions and responses to generate an effect. There was sincerity. Along with the passion, just another engine driving a broken set of ideals forward. The capability for speed, for victory, it was there. Yet stuffed inside a vehicle that was holding it back. He had said his piece. Anarky had asked his question. The one question that others asked, the question common to everyone who was still in the city. He mentally prepared to slip his mask back on and take his leave. Prison. Then Anarky- Alonso, he was twenty, give or take some years. Still. Confinement at an early age. It would not have been among grown men, and it would not have been for no reason. Not for the sins of a father that had never materialized. "I am right." Probably. The last stage before total agreement. "The Bat was gone. Healing his spine with wealth. Tell me, did you rejoice? Did your followers, the ones who resent the Bat beyond all else, did they fall from the cause? Your revolution. It wipes away the corrupt. And they will return. It is human nature. My rule, it also wipes away the corrupt. And it makes it impossible for them to exist."

Anarky nodded again, not mocking or dismissing. "I am not convinced, Bane." He'd rolled his shoulder, then rubbed it with a hand. It was only then that he realized the music outside had stopped; the night had faded in while they talked, and the boys had gone home. "... But I am not an immovable wall. I am an unstoppable force, though, and I will continue to fight. You will see more of me." At that, he glanced down to his mask, the hacked display on its inside glowing with a lining of green light. "The game will grab us again tomorrow. If I'm going to succeed, I have to find a place to sleep. Maybe we will be paired by our captor, and we can talk again." He frowned toward Bane, and the venom he'd been tracking for months now. His phrased what came next carefully, expression open and not accusatory. "Next time, maybe, more about control we don't have."

The look he returned to Anarky was very much closed. What he had said was reminiscent of the Bat. How he had said it was not. He turned away and pulled on his mask. The comment was more of an observation than a jab. The words had come out in a level way. A reminder. A reminder than Minax Maros had trapped them both. A reminder of the watch and purple bruises splotched across his wrist. A reminder of relapse. "We will speak again, Alonso." Bane made a mental note to find a last name. And he walked away from the pipe, and the animal, and the revolutionary, and then out the door.