The last abandoned here is the most misleading.

[enigmaestro]

WHO: EDWARD NYGMA and CONCERNED ACQUAINTANCES.
WHERE: Eddie's brownstone.
WHEN: 06.19.2013.
WARNINGS: References to torture.
SUMMARY: Eddie discovers that death is easier to shake off than invested friends.
FORMAT: Whatever!


His brownstone was a flood of scribbled papers, his written hand soaking every countertop and table. Every furnishing surface had scraps of riddles -- some screaming of feverish composure -- that puddled and coagulated like esoteric raindrops. Even days after Norman spent those hours carving into his skin, Edward still flinched at the phantom touch. Even after he began to repress the humiliation of the exposure, the trauma of electricity surging through his limbs -- forcing them to burn and twitching his muscles for him -- even then he couldn't sleep for more than minutes at time. He couldn't taste. He couldn't attend work. He dropped Fahrenheit before Felicia, ignoring her. He balked at the Network until, Tuesday evening, rage replaced despondence for a few gasping moments.

But he could still hear his own screams.

Edward had turned off his communicator and de-batterized his cell phone. All landlines were unplugged, along with any other socket-dependent electronic.

He only had his mind as sanctuary.

And his paper fortresses.

The citadels shared his riddles, enigmatic bulwark born from notepads and phonebooks, from old mail envelopes and read magazines. Everything a prop for his word.

Edward sat in his office, up the stairs. He sat in his leather chair, staring at the setting ink on paper.

Beware this glean: true glass, first Latinized, as cut too soon before reflection.

From his ribcage hung darkness. His hands found companions in whiskey glasses and ballpoint pens.

Comments

[glassbox]

[ she had never been the sort of woman anyone praised for her particular intellect or any sort of cleverness. they were probably more likely to compare her to a grizzly bear, in stature and temperament. but lil was surprisingly attentive. it came maybe, with the territory of being equal parts obsessive and possessive in her relationships. even if she couldn't describe specifically what she thought was wrong, she knew instinctively when something felt out of place with anyone that remotely mattered.

besides that, with eddie nygma, it was literally her job. and she had yet to know the man to miss a day of work.

she'd put the intern serving as eddie's messenger through the wringer. she'd tried calling. she'd asked around. impatience built. finally -- impulsively, maybe, and with all the subtly of a battle ram -- lillian showed up at his front step, knocking on the door and raising her voice to be heard: ]

Hey. It's Lil. Don't make me kick down the door or nothin', 'cause y'sure as hell know I will.

[enigmaestro]

[He heard her, of course. He figured his neighboring brownstone denizens had heard her, too, given the power of her bellows. Nevertheless, Edward found himself reluctant to invoke her company -- or, more accurately, any sentient company whatsoever. But Lillian's doggedness was not to be underestimated; she was titanium steel, she redefined determination. It was in how she moved, how she reacted.

He never made inquiries over the tragedy she surely had suffered, to forge her metal like that.]

What is it.

[He asked behind the still locked door, after a few minutes of dilemma.]

[glassbox]

You tell me.

[ her arms folded over her chest, resolute, even though she can't actually be seen through the door. by her body language, it was obvious at least to anyone passing by that she wasn't going to leave short of being hit by a meteor. ]

Y'gonna let me in or what? 'Cause I ain't above usin' force.

[ maybe she was exaggerating. but it wasn't likely. this door wouldn't be the first to fall, and it probably wouldn't be the last. ]

[enigmaestro]

Don't break down my door. I need it to keep people out.

[It was a pointed statement, about as passive-aggressive as Eddie allowed himself to be. Despite his sour wording, he knew this battle was already lost: one doesn't just deny Lillian Crawley.

Edward unbolted the door, allowing it to slowly open and reveal his deadpan expression. He was in his green robe and complementary shorts -- it was somewhat evident that he hadn't bothered to clean himself as regularly as he was wont to do.

That's how Edward Nygma responded to depression.]

Coming in?

[He squinted in the sunlight, mock-bowing and scooting a few steps back, to give her entry.]

[glassbox]

[ she was, of course, not at all phased by his reluctance and the mocking gesture, instead walking right into the place as if she belonged there -- even if it was obvious that she didn't.

she gave him a skeptical once over, her hands finding her hips. ]

You're a mess.

[ but the words didn't come out unkindly. her concern was just rough around the edges, like her. ]

What's the matter?

[viced]

The word from the interns had been enough of a concern. He'd expected at least word from his deputy mayor personally, if he was taking a vacation. An email, a text, something that was similar to personal contact. Something to indicate that he was alright. No word.

It wasn't that he didn't trust his deputy mayor. He worried, more than anything, about Edward, in a place like the City. The kind of worry that you got about an employee who was important, vital to daily operation. He worried, because there was no contact.

If Edward were calling in, he'd expect some contact, if even a gloating email that he was getting a day off, despite his mandate to work harder. He feared he was pushing Edward too hard, too much work. He didn't expect for everyone to work themselves like a dog. And yet, here he'd done just that.

Maybe it wasn't working.

He knocked on the door, soft, but firm. Authoritative. The same knock he made every time he knocked on his office door.

He expected an answer.

[enigmaestro]

Eddie answered, but not with expectation. Mitchell suffered an aching lull between his knocks, a silent heat that lasted minutes. Three minutes. Eddie didn't respond with any sounds of his own.

And suddenly, a window popped. Something fluttered.

From the top floor window of his brownstone flew down a pointed paper airplane -- one that was aimed for Mitchell's head. Upon it was written a message.

The echo to its jester onomatopoeia.

Edward was asking: who's there? Companion to the "knock knock" prelude. It was a riddle in answer, which he decided not to justify right then as a riddle proper (contrary to his prior behavior, in other situations, but such was Eddie's whimsy). He knew how Mitchell felt about riddles.

They had experienced The Talk, after all.

[viced]

He'd looked up, squinting into the sunlight, a surprise that he was out during daylight hours, but he was there nonetheless. His hand serving as a visor over his eyes kept one from being poked out by paper, but only barely. It still fluttered to the ground, after glancing off his hand, and he had to bend over to grab it.

"A little sophomoric?" he called up at the window, opening it up, his eyes scanned over the words. Word to describe a sound. Echo. Jester. He rolled his eyes. Fucking jokes? He peered up at the window, crossing his arms and squinting up into the sunlight unguarded this time.

"Come the fuck on, Edward! It's me, your fucking boss?" Annoyance cut in the squint in his eyes, frown turned down, he barely offered a glance for the security detail behind him.

[enigmaestro]

Another minute passed. Bird chirped overhead, oblivious to the unspoken drama unfolding. Another paper plane took flight, spiraling down. The wafted summer heat didn't challenge its descent.

Yorick, with a state of being within him, it read in Edward's same elegant hand. It was the type of handwriting that looked easily smooth, somewhat defiant in its mild flamboyance. A carefully learned style.

Those minutes of landing bought him time to move. The door cracked open, its chained latch still in place. A blue eye glowered out at Mitchell and Bradbury.

"Don't you have work?"

[waiting]

Bradbury was, at this point, little more than Mitch's mildly disgruntled shadow, but it would remiss to say Eddie's absence didn't concern him in one fashion or another. While he certainly didn't miss getting harassed, the reasons for the Deputy Mayor's missing presence in City Hall were ones that he was interested in knowing, too.

He probably would have found time to come here on his own, even if Mitch hadn't insisted on absconding from City Hall on his lunch break (the lunch break he never took) to be here. Perhaps the prospect of a lack of any food in his near future was the reason for the particularly sour look on his face when Eddie peeked out.

"Told you letting me kick down the door would've been faster." That was, naturally, for Mitch's benefit.

[acrossyourpath]

This sort of game wasn't particularly new; Felicia could tell when she was being rebuffed, kept at a distance even if she wasn't sure why. She didn't push because there was no point to pushing, it wasn't how their relationship was designed. Neither of them gave answers.

When she returned home later that evening, she slid quietly inside into the painted silence, shadows a step ahead of her. She wasn't in costume, holding a bag of Chinese take-out rather than diamonds.

"Anyone home?" She asked as she ventured further into the darkened house, the irony in her tone sharp and dry. She'd kept her distance, but she knew Eddie hadn't left in some time.

[enigmaestro]

He could smell the food, the blatant lure that it was. But nearing the end of the third day -- his hermitage measured to an end. This was anticipated by Felicia, he suspected. She knew where to find him.

He was curled on the West Elm sofa overlooking their main view, compliments of their living room. He wasn't wearing any socks.

"I'm home."

Came the halfhearted yell.

[acrossyourpath]

Within moments Felicia was hovering in the doorway, more like a breeze than a person. Brushing some hair from her face, she gave Eddie a careful look over; her eyes lingered to observe his eyes, the shade of his skin, the state of care his jaw was in.

"I hope you weren't waiting too long," she said casually, crossing the room so that she could curl beside him on the sofa. She nudged his bare feet with her knees. "And I hope you didn't eat already, because I brought home dinner."

The bag was set on the table, still tied, so she could lean and give his cheek a kiss.

"You seem comfortable."

[enigmaestro]

"Do I now?" Edward gave hazard to a light grin, a fleeting graze of his prior demeanor. "How observant of you," he said.

He scooted his long legs closer, tucking them behind his butt, and glanced up at Felicia. The contrast was stark: one bold in her confidence, immortal in her stance, and the other clinging onto some foundation in the form of a sofa. This difference was not lost on Edward, who easily found himself begrudging her. The sentiment snuffed out soon enough.

"Looks can be deceiving, however," he muttered.

[acrossyourpath]

With Eddie's legs tucked under him, Felicia had more room to move closer, though she only closed the gap about halfway. Not looking at him, she focused on getting the food open; the mingling scents of chicken and noodles soon permeated the slightly stale air.

"How deceiving?" She asked, fishing some food out onto her chopsticks and offering it toward him. Her eyes turned back toward him, inquisitive. "Here."

[aggressiveapathy]

Truth be told, Eddie missing work wasn't exactly the most earth shattering thing that could happen. Mitch? Now that probably meant he was dead, time for a new black dress. But random venturing off into the unknown land of Don't Ask Because I Won't Tell was a hobby she and her boss occasionally shared. And any any other week she'd have left it there, particularly with that, what was the term? Oh, right. Still eternal burning annoyance at having to do community service for something that was if not directly than at least partially Eddie's doing.

Yeah. That was the term for it. That thing hanging over them.

But it wasn't just any week. It was the week after Father's Day. A fact she'd been reminded of more by her City youtube knock-off changing it's advertisements for the past month than anything else. And not that she was developing some weird Elektra complex or anything, but last Father's Day had been spent gunning it through the City to this very house to deliver a fresh box of bullets. To shoot a ghost. So April figured even the mild vendetta gods couldn't fault her for putting the plots to destroy Eddie's office on hold long enough to make sure the man was even alive to appreciate her petty work.

Which is how she ended up knocking on the door, fully prepared to make the raccoons crawl through a window and unlock it for her if need be. Because whatever. Concern might not be their thing, but it didn't hurt to dabble. If nothing else, maybe Felicia would make her another margarita before she left.

[enigmaestro]

"Seriously Mitchell, I'm not about to--" and he swung open the door, meeting April's face. A stunned few seconds followed. April wasn't his most anticipated company, especially now -- the popular word seemed to indicate that most people thought Eddie had spiraled into a swirl of vulnerability, which was entirely true. And nevertheless degrading.

April, it seemed, wasn't the type to coddle his presumed difficulties. He naturally then assumed, within the following moments, that her presence here was more an opportunity for mockery. Sighing loudly (and so dramatically), he leaned against the door frame.

He hadn't shaved the past few days. An unusual sight of stubble shadowed his jawline and cheeks.

"Have we voted to relocate City Hall to Chelsea?"

[aggressiveapathy]

April frowned- not just at the appearance. Which was pretty gross. That side of Bohemia was for more boring people than April usually hung out with. She was mostly scowling at that fact he was taking up all the prime doorway slouching turf- her signature move when getting dragged into a conversation she didn't really want to have but was going to power through anyway.

Jerk.

"Did you give Mitch acid this time or something."

[enigmaestro]

Edward shot a quick glare at his companion, noting the fluidity of her barb.

"Keen to arm yourself, this quickly?" He inquired with a light tone himself, the sort of voice that proved contrary to his battered visage. Edward walked past the living room area, sneaking in what was calculated to be April's peripheral eyesight. He felt safer, keeping a physical distance to mirror that emotional.

"And here I was about to offer you a drink."

[aggressiveapathy]

April rolled her eyes before following him in. Arming. Yeah. Like that wasn't a foundation of interacting with one E.nygma, even when he was gross and potentially sulking...or whatever this was. She was still deciding that detail. She stopped just after the doorway, glancing around for what she didn't know. Some banner that spelled out what the hell was happening.

"I know how to make them. Or the minions do. So. Are you dying. Did you get SARs or something. Was it a goat?"

gently splits off

[waiting]

Bradbury was never particularly one to pry where he obviously didn't belong, but special circumstances merited a change in the routine. He wouldn't poke around Eddie's belongings more than he had to to accomplish his self-appointed tasks, but a quick rifle through the refrigerator and the pantry had his lips pursing in disapproval.

He couldn't be assed to figure out where Edward kept his phone, so while he salvaged what he could from the refrigerator and disposed of what was beyond inedible, he used his own comm to place two calls -- the first, to the deli that he usually picked his lunch (and Mitch's) up from; the second, to the same place Mitch usually charged his groceries to.

Cynically, he figured the guy wouldn't miss one week's worth of professionally picked groceries being directed to his Deputy Mayor instead of his own kitchen. Might as well put it to good use. Self-appointed nosing about done, there was little to occupy him except sit around in the kitchen until the food arrived, so he sprawled out on a seat and prepared to be bored to tears.

[enigmaestro]

"What are you doing?" Edward, having shaken Mitchell for the moment (he had claimed he required a trip to the bathroom, and if the toilet ratted him out, well -- he'd have it replaced), wandered into the very room that a bored Bradbury was biding his time. A careful scan across the room was enough to arouse his host's darker suspicions.

"What are you touching? Have you touched anything?"

Not the most welcoming of gestures, but at least Bradbury had Eddie talking. The deputy mayor walked over, his hands on his hips, and hovered by Bradbury.

"You're suspicious."

[waiting]

He blinked, surprised to be addressed -- mainly, because he hadn't expected Eddie out so early, and he resisted the impulse to check his watch. He knew it hadn't been that long.

He raised his hands to show he wasn't touching anything, though he was pretty sure it would do nothing for Eddie's paranoia.

"That was fast." Wait, that probably won't amend the paranoia, would it. "I checked out your kitchen. I'm obviously touching your chair because I'm sitting in it. That's all, I swear."

[enigmaestro]

"You're rather sanguine to be sitting in my chair. Sanguine for a dead man, I mean," he said -- but his threat was holstered. No bullets ran from his teeth as he walked around Bradbury, simmering a glare downwards. Edward on an average day would likely take glee in assaulting Bradbury with pointed commentary, but today was a highly unusual day.

He just watched the other man, for a few moments.

"Why were you timing me? 'That was fast', you had said."

At least, the clue was called.

[waiting]

He could feel the off-kilter rhythm, even if he couldn't figure out the cause for it.

"I was planning on having enough time for a nap. I know the boss can be pretty longwinded once he starts bit--"

The doorbell rang, interrupting his words, and his gaze swung up, going from lazy to alert in a moment. He slipped out of the chair and to his feet, stepping around the Deputy Mayor without a word to head for the door.