The door, quite literally, has just been closed on that topic and even left alone the look of absolute shock and bewilderment on Oswald's face that Riddler would just leave things at that is the picture of affronted entitlement, even if its only present for a moment.
It makes sense though, it's not like they're in a place where sharing personal secrets is really on the table.
Taking a moment to himself, Oswald is momentarily torn between following after Ed and staying where he. Ultimately, discussing a lack of privacy and then pushing open Ed's door is a kind of irony even he isn't in for, so instead he moves more fully into the bathroom to turn off the faucet.
Standing there in relative silence with only a few quiet drips falling from the head of the tap into the bathtub, Oswald curls his fingers over the edge of the sink and lets his head hang for a time with his eyes closed and his head racing. This is the first time he's been alone in a long time, usually flanked by guards and cronies, but he's also alone. Except for Ed. Who, by some strange strange twist of cruel fate is here. Saving him. Again.
The sighs Oswald gives out is more shaky than he might have liked, especially considering how very secure in life he had been not hours earlier. Everything was finally coming up aces and this is just another reminder of his life being a house of cards.
"Pull yourself together," he mutters at himself, lifting his head and steeling himself. A bath, some time to think, some fresh clothes, an opportunity to regroup, and he'll be fine. He always is.
Pulling Ed's emerald green coat from his shoulders, Oswald pauses with the garment in his hands for a time, fingers running across the material and the stitching in quiet, private appreciation. Before he's even thinking about it on a conscious level, he's lifting the jacket up, toward his face as if to smell it, but about half-way to his face Oswald catches himself and forces his arms to a rigid stop, an embarrassed scowl crossing his face. He's not thinking clearly. It's the stress, the shock, the churned up emotions. He's not himself.
His gut response is to toss the coat to the floor, but he can't bring himself to. Instead, it goes on the back of the bathroom door that he pushes closed reminding himself of the plan: bath, think, clean up, regroup. Start at stage one, work up. Step by step.
no subject
It makes sense though, it's not like they're in a place where sharing personal secrets is really on the table.
Taking a moment to himself, Oswald is momentarily torn between following after Ed and staying where he. Ultimately, discussing a lack of privacy and then pushing open Ed's door is a kind of irony even he isn't in for, so instead he moves more fully into the bathroom to turn off the faucet.
Standing there in relative silence with only a few quiet drips falling from the head of the tap into the bathtub, Oswald curls his fingers over the edge of the sink and lets his head hang for a time with his eyes closed and his head racing. This is the first time he's been alone in a long time, usually flanked by guards and cronies, but he's also alone. Except for Ed. Who, by some strange strange twist of cruel fate is here. Saving him. Again.
The sighs Oswald gives out is more shaky than he might have liked, especially considering how very secure in life he had been not hours earlier. Everything was finally coming up aces and this is just another reminder of his life being a house of cards.
"Pull yourself together," he mutters at himself, lifting his head and steeling himself. A bath, some time to think, some fresh clothes, an opportunity to regroup, and he'll be fine. He always is.
Pulling Ed's emerald green coat from his shoulders, Oswald pauses with the garment in his hands for a time, fingers running across the material and the stitching in quiet, private appreciation. Before he's even thinking about it on a conscious level, he's lifting the jacket up, toward his face as if to smell it, but about half-way to his face Oswald catches himself and forces his arms to a rigid stop, an embarrassed scowl crossing his face. He's not thinking clearly. It's the stress, the shock, the churned up emotions. He's not himself.
His gut response is to toss the coat to the floor, but he can't bring himself to. Instead, it goes on the back of the bathroom door that he pushes closed reminding himself of the plan: bath, think, clean up, regroup. Start at stage one, work up. Step by step.
Step one: bath.