capeandcowllogs | What hungers without stomachs, what burns without passion?

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What hungers without stomachs, what burns without passion?

WHO: EDWARD NYGMA and NORMAN OSBORN
WHERE: NOHoPE; Cell block 12.
WHEN: 2/18; evening.
WARNINGS: It's Norman and Eddie. Norman. And. Eddie.
SUMMARY: Reformation at its finest.

The back of his neck prickled with tinged ire as he strolled under the brightly illuminated bulbs above. He didn't want to be here, he didn't want to humor the delusions of Norman Osborn -- much less expose himself in degrees that only Norman could touch. He didn't crave this game, didn't like the risk. Edward had been played into a corner, his house of cards threatened by a king, his hand armed only with a joker and an ace.

Dead man's hand.

The idea ignited a scoff from the detective's throat.

But he was far from losing, far from surrender -- he'd do what was necessary, he'd simply change the game. If Norman wanted to play dirty, if that was the case. The clipboard in hand was clenched by whitening knuckles, his tie smooth, his smile sharp. Nothing up his sleeve (too obvious a place). The visitor's pass pinned on his blazer shone brightly under the heat of florescent lights. Edward passed Katurian's wing without blinking, without even a glance.

The orderly outside Norman's room was waiting for Eddie. With a nod, Eddie instructed to be let in. Alone. The first step was always the greatest struggle.

"Hello, Norman," said Eddie as he took his second step in, strolling over towards a vacant chair. "Ready for our little interview?"

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"Edward," Norman said briskly, watching him with hands folded across his lap. His orange uniform was neatly pressed, a small pile of books in one corner of the room and a typewriter tucked neatly against them. Beside the typewriter sat a stack of paper.

"So glad you could make it. It's been a while -- what do you think of the place?" He gestured proudly. "I've come a long way since last you dropped in."

"A typewriter. They simply let you have a typewriter?" The incredulity pitched his voice. The pen in his hand quivered. "What audacity." Eddie folded a leg over the other, claiming the corner that the chair occupied as his own. His gaze absorbed the detail of the room, disdain written in his mouth.

"Are they so deeply humoring your book?"

"They have faith in my progress," Norman said with a smirk, glancing at the machine. "My doctor brought it. Writing really does hold curative properties -- I feel much better. Have you ever seen Misery? It's a similar principle."

He sat back against his wall, eyes smugly watching Eddie. "Though of course, my legs aren't broken."

"Just your mind, right?" The words sounded jovial, even if the cut of the smile was nothing but malignant. He winked, for the cameras, in case any audio picked up the hint of antagonism.

"Glad to hear you're busying yourself with something constructive, Norman. Truly." Another theatrical glance at the papers on his lap. "I'll make apt note of it. There are, of course, other concerns -- concepts, really -- that we must discuss before we move forward with your --" A dry beat followed. "Rehabilitation."

The sarcasm wasn't masked at all.

"First of all, I need to know your level of introspection. Self-insight. What, Norman Osborn, do you think is wrong with you?"

Norman frowned, though it lasted only a brief moment. His eyes were completely calm, fixed on Eddie cruelly and unrelentingly. He swept the air with his hand.

"Mm. What is wrong with me? That's a loaded question. Nothing is wrong with me. What is wrong is society's response to me. They don't understand what I'm trying to do, and thus their solution is to lock me up and pretend the problem has gone away. But what is the problem? That I look at the world for how it is and know the best ways to fix it? Hah."

The pen slipped onto paper, his fingers quick and sinister.

"Huge denial issues -- tsk, that's something we'll need to work on, Norman." Eddie smiled, casually. He had savored the muted outrage, the indignation. He loved lording this power over Norman -- loved showing it off. Eddie glanced down at his papers, seemingly musing over the next set. None of his intended queries were actually dictated by the procedure. The ease of which he could enrage, the graspable potential was stimulating. Oh, all he needed was one outburst from Norman Osborn, and relief would be imminent.

Perhaps he did have something up his sleeve, after all.

"Next question: how sexually active were you, before incarceration? And did such proclivities include both genders?"

Eyes rolling, Norman crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to dignify Eddie's 'denial' comment with a response. Even at Eddie's next question he kept his face relatively impassive, though there was a notable hardening in his eyes, a notable quirk to his eyebrow. He sat up.

"Is this question relevant in any capacity?"

"I'm sorry," drawled Edward. "If you're going to be uncooperative, perhaps you're not yet ready for the program initiation."

He shuffled his papers over the clipboard, standing up. Smirking.

Hissing, Norman shot a glare in Eddie's direction. After a few moments hesitation, he complied.

"Very healthy. If I'm in the mood to enjoy myself, it's not difficult to find a woman to spend the evening with. A woman," he finished coldly, glare still leveled. "Although I'm hardly the type to need frequent intimacy. I'm no addict."

Eddie's eyebrows rose, but he said nothing. A moment's stare sizzled before he resumed his seat.

"There now, was that so hard?" The condescension could paralyze. "The first step is admitting what you are, Norman -- that includes your habits and appetites."

The sense of control electrified his fingertips. Norman was complying, yes, but Eddie still had so many buttons to push. So much more potential to burn.

"Now. What are your thoughts about your control issues? Can you manage being managed?"

"They're hardly outside the realm of normal," Norman said, irritation tainting his tone. "There aren't many women here that meet my standards. My companion--" He spoke of Madelyne Pryor, "Is no longer with us. A shame, I suppose, but hardly anything to cry about. There's no shortage of women here, nor difficulty in attracting them."

He truly had no doubts had he desired to seduce Selina Kyle, he would had succeeded. Norman held his flirtation skills in high regard; they'd rarely failed him in recent years.

"I can manage anything. Hospitalization is hardly a dire affront."

"My, how you protest."

The implication was clear, Eddie didn't pursue it. Norman was sharp enough to notice the jibe.

"But really, I meant outside your hospital affairs. As we approach your recovery, you will be working under me. You will be taking my advice, my guidance, and my discipline."

The words fell like a execution order.

Smiling snidely, Norman just raised his eyebrow. His expression was smug, wrought with undeserved condescension. He let the insult slide.

"A necessary evil. The process of reformation is a journey, after all -- I don't expect to just walk out the door and into my old job. I didn't do it back home, I certainly don't expect to do it here."

His eyes brightened.

"I'm sure this will be a very productive process."

Norman's bright eyes were met with Eddie's narrowed ones.

"Good to see you so optimistic, Norman. Not many in your position would be able to muster the happy delusion," he said, his tone polite. "But moving on -- how do you foresee your eventual contribution to society, assuming you're allowed to mingle with sane people again?"

The inflammatory language was, in fact, not approved by the nonprofit agency Eddie was an agent of.

He assumed Norman knew as much.

"Oh, there's plenty I can do. Even Tony Stark could attest to that, if he were to put aside his ego long enough. I reinvented the Thunderbolts program; before I got my hands on them, they were nothing. I can create something from where before there was nothing. You may underestimate what I can do, Edward, but I would advise against it. My business skills are unmatched."

Norman smiled. Everything he said he at the very least considered true, but in some cases it was hard to argue he had a magic touch. He hadn't won the world by accident, after all.

"Mm," mused Eddie. It was clear by his anticipation arched in his smile that he hadn't paid attention to Norman's words. It didn't matter, he had the ultimate ammunition.

"And what would Spider-Man have to say about that?"

Norman frowned, eyebrow raising higher along his forehead. The corner of his mouth quirked downward, mouth-lines sharp.

"Spider-Man is a non-issue."

"He put you away, didn't he?" The corners of Eddie's mouth jerked upwards, a direct inverse of Norman's. "He's why you're in a mental asylum here, in the first place?"

The both knew that answer was incomplete.

"No," Norman said sharply, eyes narrowed into hateful slits. "He didn't 'put me away,' and even if he had it makes no difference. I've seen Spider-Man's so-called 'evidence' and I know it won't hold water if he tries to argue my reformation. He is an utter non-issue."

Edward leaned forward, his voice dropping. His lips barely moving, lest the cameras picked up distinct syllables. His voice grated gravel in whispers, low and focused.

"Do you really think I'll let this happen? After everything I did to stop you?"

He leaned back, all smiles, the momentary darkness obscured by sharp eyes and feigned enthusiasm.

"I never give up, Norman. You're in good hands."

Norman's lips tightened, his eyes remaining fixed in place onto Eddie's. He forced, with effort, his mouth into a smirk. His hand gestured openly, fingers curling into the palm.

"I don't doubt it. You do have an art. If anyone can work their miracles on societal re-integration, I couldn't ask for a better sponsor."

His fingers twitched with irritation, but the smile remained.

One glance at those fingers told him everything he needed to know. Satisfaction crept down his spine, even if the glow was brief. Norman, for all the agitation Eddie was coaxing, still wanted to play ball.

"Good answer," he said, his tone light. "Now -- how have you felt you've been treated here, at NOHoPE?"

A loaded question. They both knew why.

"Hm. It hasn't been anything I wouldn't have expected," Norman said slowly, one eyebrow arching. The displeasure was just a hint, an implication under his skin. "Doctor Sorenson has been handling my medication and therapy sessions."

"I'm sure that sits so well with you," cooed Eddie. Cruelty flooded his tone, even while the words themselves issued restraint. "Doctor Sorenson is a talented psychiatrist, one who's keen on updated models of therapy. Not like ECT, or anything."

Well. Nearly restraint, anyway.

"No," Norman said coldly, lips tightening at the corners of his mouth. "Nothing that dire. We have a very strong verbal repartee, if you will. ECT hardly comes into the picture."

He crossed his arms.

"I don't need my power to know you're lying, Osborn." Eddie leaned closely again, hiding his face from the camera. His whisper touched Norman's ear.

"Angelica followed my orders beautifully."

The twitch was visible, a flicker of movement on his lower eyelid. Norman glared at Eddie piercing blue daggers, that kernel of suspicion finally confirmed.

He bared his teeth in what may have been a grin.

"Aha," he said, through his teeth. "Where is the reformation program for you?"

"I already paid for my troubles, Norman." The remark was made pleasantly, without snide hues. If only to contrast with Norman's radiating hate.

"Besides, not many would care about what happens behind closed doors to psychopaths."

"No, not many would. Though I'm sure your reputation would suffer all the same," Norman said casually, sitting back and looking at his fingernails. "But it's hardly worth the effort when there's so much else to accomplish."

Eyes narrowed at that, Eddie's smile dropping to a sneer.

"You cannot touch me. You won't."

"Won't, but not can't. Never can't, Nygma." Norman raised his eyebrow, almost coyly. "Remember that."

"It's like you want me to impose more control over you, Norman, it really is." Eddie stood, his arms folded, looking down at Norman Osborn.

Looking down. At Norman Osborn.

Norman only flicked his gaze upward, eyelids heavy with annoyance.

"You're free to try. No one's ever managed for long."

"Ah, but that's the beauty of this program, Norman." He smiled, his voice smooth. "You have to submit to my authority. Or you won't succeed."

Eddie took a step around Norman's sitting position, examining the remainder of the room.

"Or you could find another way."

"Oh, not to worry. I'll pass your little program with flying colors." Norman smiled back, tilting his head and letting his eyes follow Eddie around the room.

"I can be patient."

"Correction, you are a patient. A mental patient." Eddie paused, examining Norman's lone typewriter. "What allies do you have, Norman? What reputation? It will be a hard enough battle for me to champion your redemption."

Eddie turned.

"And you know damn well I don't even want to."

"No, maybe you don't. But what choice do you have? I fit your qualifications. My behavioral record is spotless. I'm more than ready to leave this place, and I truly would love to see you stop me."

His smile grew, his expression not acknowledging Eddie's questions. He crossed his legs, hands folded smugly on his knee.

"You cocky son of a bitch." Eddie took two, three rushed steps towards Norman before he remembered the cameras. His fourth step stalled, boiling in muted fumes.

"Why can't you accept that you lost?"

"I never lose," Norman hissed quietly, leaning close, arms still folded in his lap. "There may be set-backs. There may be obstacles. But nothing has ever stopped me before. Not a single person."

He sat back.

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What hungers without stomachs, what burns without passion?

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