capeandcowllogs | 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 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.

What hungers without stomachs, what burns without passion?

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