capeandcowl | twenty-five. video. backdated to late last night.

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† katurian katurian | the pillowman

twenty-five. video. backdated to late last night.

[The feed is filled with the sound of heavy breathing. Then choked laughter. Then the video snaps on.]

I'm so fucking bored today, City. What should I do?

[Something has snapped quite palpably in the man who was playing with shadow puppets only days before. The feed is focused on his face, on his manic eyes and disheveled hair. He's rocking on a chair that isn't meant to rock.]

I know. I know what I'll do. I'll kill someone!

[He stops rocking. Drums his fingers on the bottom of the seat.]

Maybe I'll blow up a hospital, show that off. Maybe I'll kidnap a bunch of other fucking imports, tie them to chairs, torture them, and broadcast their sorry, knife-ridden bodies to the network. Maybe I'll shoot a child in cold blood, you little bastard. [He affects, quite accurately, Ladd's accent.] Torture with spells. Slash throats. Decapitate. Trick people into solving madlibs and then beat them to death with sticks. Kidnap people weaker than me and cut into their heads ahah-ha--

[His breaths dissolve into something like the beginning of tears hitch hitch hitch and then spits into laughter instead. He drags his hands over his face. His voice is a frail whisper:]

Oh my God. You monsters.

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I don't know where you stand.

God, you humans are so fuckin' picky about this shit.

[SIGH.]

He's threatenin' Ed with this little stunt a his. Ed bein' my palest a pals, that's basically beggin' for me to rip that mask off his fuckin' skull.

Which I am goin' to do, incidentally.

I'm basically offerin' you the chance to do that stranglin' you seemed so goddamn eager about like fiwe minutes ago, and then get the fuck outta my hair afterwards.

Now do I gotta explain that again in smaller words, or do you got it by now?

No. N-No, I-- I've got it.

Can we meet first? Talk?

Sure. When?

[flipping through his rolodex, which is in fact filled with absolutely nothing. he just wants the background noise to make him sound important.]

Whenever. Tonight?

Tomorrow?

Tonight's fine.

[because tomorrow he will be busy eating all the chocolate nobody accepted from him, and crying.]

You like coffee, Kat? 'Cos I know this great place.

That's great. That's wonderful, I-- I like coffee.

[A pause.]

Give me three hours. Please. I would like to put myself together.

[and an address!]

We're goin' to one a the classier places I know, so don't show up lookin' like shit. I don't want to hawe to pretend I don't know you.

[Katurian does not look like shit when he arrives at the specified address. He took a shower, and his mental state is really only betrayed by his unfocussed eyes, his fidgeting fingers. It's been too recent, really, for him to have lost sleep over it.]

[Eridan's already there, having chased some poor random hipster out of his table and claimed it as his own, sipping at an improbably expensive coffee and skimming a newspaper. he glances up at the sound of the door, folds the paper, and flips his horrendously ugly scarf back over his shoulder.

considering he's the only person in the building with fins, he figures Katurian can spot him pretty easily.]

[And he does. He approaches Eridan with uncertain steps, his hands clasping the strap of his messenger bag.

Without a word, he sits down at the chair across from him.]

So.

[in the most dignified and princeliest of manners, he sets his elbow on the table, and plops his chin in his hand. and he stares.]

What exactly did you feel like makin' dumb bubbly fuckin' fishnoises about, Kat?

[He masks a laugh with a cough. He is certainly going to need to adjust to those speech patterns. He gathers himself quickly enough, though, resting his fist on the table like a punctuation.]

You've done this before.

What, murder? [he makes a noise somewhere between scoffing and smugness.] Let's just say I got this shit down to an art form.

[and then, in an entirely casual tone of voice, like they're discussing the weather, or a book, or some band nobody's ever heard of:]

What about you? [conspiratorially:] You ewer put any blood in the water?

[He flicks a tense look at the other tables before drawing his attention back to Eridan.]

Yes.

Good. I won't need to hold your fuckin' fin while we're doin' this.

[he begins flipping through the newspaper again, this time looking for something in particular.]

Whale, I'm thinkin' that since it was your matesprit he offed all hideously and whatnot, you got the honor a pickin' how he dies. Or doin' it yourself, if you feel suchlike inclinations.

I'm bringin' the mask back for Ed, though. That's my only real stipulation.

[He translates fin to hand, whale to well. Matesprit to, rather incorrectly, mate. As in friend. No corrections necessary.]

I can do it myself. [Too unsteady. He clears his throat.] I can do it myself. What do you know about Black Mask?

I know he's from Gotham. Got a penchant for torture. Sadist. Mobster sort. Merciless. Blueblood a the human wariety; his hideout's goin' to be upper class, probably with a basement to torture folk in. Nicer part a town.

Not goin' to like us tryin' to off him in the fuckin' least. An' on the slim chance he somehow gets the better a us, I'd suggest clawin' your throat out aforehand and sawe yourself some agony.

[finding what he's looking for, Eridan tosses a small stack of the coffee place's napkins on the table - except he's written all over them, hypothetical house layouts and possible attack plans and all sorts of things in both English and Alternian, all in purple ink pen.]

And, from my sources, he's dead back in Gotham. So if Ed's managed stayin' kickin' despite bein' the hugest asshole I met in my life, Mask's obwiously fucked up before.

[He's quietly surprised at the napkins - at the detail on the napkins, those possibilities and plots and plans. He understands, he thinks, why Edward must be so fond of him.]

There's a possibility Andy has his address. I haven't looked through his things. But I do know a place where he eats his lunch.

[He digs into the side pocket of his messenger bag, pulling out a torn piece of paper. On that paper, there's the name and address to a restaurant. It's transcribed in his own hand. He slides it forward.]

If we catch him here, we can follow him. And-- And it may be better if we catch him outside of his home if he has-- a torture chamber of sorts, like you said, which I think is a very reasonable assumption, given-- given everything we know.

[Eridan picks up the paper, scrutinizing the address. under his breath:]

Think I ate lunch here once.

[he passes it back, smirking.]

Good thinkin'. No tellin' what kinda armament he might hawe in the buildin' proper, after all. Don't know his powers either, so we're walkin' in blind.

[beat.]

Speakin' a which, what kinda powers do you got? They goin' to be of any help here?

Well.

[A pause. He straightens his back.]

I can travel through time. In a limited sense. In a-- very limited sense, but it should be enough to help us because you see, when I go back in time, I can only change the past of people who are--

[Pause. He glances at Eridan, then back down at the note.]

A certain number of "sweeps." So to speak.

So basically you got the capability a seein' Mask's past? 'Cos we could always dig up some trauma or somethin'.

[whoops most of that went completely over his head. he props his chin up in his hand, thinking.]

And you don't gotta use troll terminology with me. It ain't like I got trouble with English.

I can see his past. Yes. [Beat.] What I'm trying to say is that I can change yours.

[and that does give him pause; he glances up, a touch wide-eyed.]

Why would you do that?

[knee-jerk, defensive; he sets down his coffee and leans back in his seat, arms crossed. he takes the few seconds of doing that to recompose himself.]

Are you insinuatin' I'we done some things I oughta want changed, Kat?

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twenty-five. video. backdated to late last night.

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