duplicitymemes | TDM #12

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TDM #12

« « « TEST DRIVE MEME » » »

« « « THEY LIED IN EVERY WORD

It's discouraging to think how many people are shocked by honesty and how few by deceit. Yet, solace is found in the lies we tell each other, comforted by the peace of knowing that we're not alone in our depravity, and once on this path, sin itself becomes the lesser of two evils masked in a cloud of normalcy.

This is how Duplicity has functioned since the beginning. The divide of power and social standing is overt in that Dominants influence the decisions made both publicly and privately while Submissives cater to the rules presented to them. It is the way of Duplicity to assign random designations at birth with no leeway in altering what has been given. Climate in the Up is far stricter than that of the Down; violating outlined personas for a Dominant or Submissive while in full view of others is punished by degree of infraction. In the Down, many tend to turn a blind eye to these sorts of offenses.

To counteract the discovery of the Deceit Gene – a natural "negative" response to all stimuli – the L.I.E.S. program was founded. The program had been designed to introduce new subjects to the current environment and test for the Deceit Gene through immersion in Duplicity's standing society. Sexual impulses and encounters increase the chances of detecting the gene within these individuals. Participants are typically released from L.I.E.S. after a year; however, results have remained unsatisfactory and testing still continues.

... and you’re here! Finally! Welcome to Duplicity.

After choosing a door and stepping through to the other side, the first thing that greets you are the enthusiastic faces of people in medical scrubs and pristine lab coats. Their enthusiasm translates to eagerness as they strip you of your clothes to perform a thorough examination—you will be healed, bathed, and given a paper gown to wear until your items can be processed and delivered to your residence later in the evening. You are also given a device that accesses the network as well as the time and location of orientation.

If you enter Duplicity into the Up, congratulations! You’re a Dominant, which means you are immediately picked up by a limo after processing and taken to your highrise. Here, it is two Dominants per floor with separate apartments. If you enter Duplicity into the Down, congratulations! You’re a Submissive, which means you are directed towards public transportation with the address of the motel you’ll be living in. Here, it is two Submissives per room with a shared common space for all rooms.

Enjoy your free time until orientation! Participation is mandatory by all new and old arrivals.

The weather is a windy 69 degrees.

» » » SUPPRESSION OF GLEE

It's time for the monthly Duplicity train tour. Seats are in pairs and randomly assigned to Dominants and Submissives alike. Traveling from Fiddler's Square, the train journeys through various parts of the Up, showcasing society and examples of lifestyle. Along the way, frequent stops are made; a variety of passengers can be seen exiting and entering the doors. A Dominant with a kneeling Submissive takes a seat near the front of the train at one stop. A small group of Submissives board and sit closer to the LIERS at another, all seemingly content in their roles. As the tour continues through the Up, the train passes close to the Market and White Wall Bridge and zips by North Park before heading into the Down and bypassing Red Wall Bridge and South Park.

The train makes a "final" stop at Riddler's Square, where inhabitants of the Down are instructed to return to their temporary housing. Those who live in the Up are permitted to stay on the train and revisit the same locations while returning.

CAUTION
On the second day that new arrivals have been in the city, the train will derail due to a malfunction in the computer systems. Anyone on board at the time, Noon, could be injured, stuck, or killed. Emergency services will light up asking for immediate assistance.

« « « ASK THE ROAD

Two of Duplicity’s largest film production companies are out to recruit new, exciting talent. With the warring success of Subliminal, Sublingual, Sublime and You Scratch My Back, I Claw Yours, they have the influence and the funds to go big. They have reached out to the LIEs program for help with the idea that inclusion in local culture will make incoming LIErs more compliant, not to mention bring fresh blood into the industry.

Orientation is just a little different this month. Welcome to the casting couch, LIErs and those unlucky graduates of the program mistakenly sent notice of mandatory attendance, or else…

Not everyone has what it takes to be a star. Both Domination Station Films and Studio Hott are in need of plenty of extras to fill in the background of their newest productions. After an initial sorting in the lobby of the newly refurbished Orientation center, some newcomers, LIErs, and graduates are hustled into a quick and dirty costume fitting. The costumes aren’t as nice or detailed as those for potential stars and may be safety pinned in awkward places. Makeup is cheap and sometimes gaudy. It gets the job done.

You may not have a speaking role. It doesn’t mean you’re any less important, so get comfy on the furniture or in the pool and get busy promoting the Dominant/submissive culture that drives Duplicity’s society. Unsure of how to act? Better listen closely to the director. There are shock collars and bracelets to “encourage” the unwilling, and the camera will keep rolling until the scene is right.

Scenes may be sexually explicit or merely instructive, such as proper seating and kneeling, feeding and serving of Dominants, and keeping a respectful distance in walking. Extras fill any and all roles required by the director for that realistic setting feel.

If you are a Dominant extra, be sure to claim elevated seating and show a firm hand toward any submissives cast as your partner. If you’re submissive, it’s the ground or floor for you, depending on where the scene is set. Be attentive to your Dominant’s needs. It’s OK to talk, as long as you keep it down. Anything you say will be taken out in post.

Craft services has just what it takes to set the mood. Stop by for a drink or snack. Soon enough those pesky inhibitions will be a thing of the past.

(Some, but not all, of the food and drink contains mid to high level aphro effects. The film companies are taking no chances. The scene doesn’t call for intimacy? Good luck keeping your hands to yourself. You may be in for a shocking experience. Repeatedly.)

« « « SOME END MIGHT

You’ve caught the eye of the studio. You’re ushered into a small room to wait your turn. Whether you’re new to the city or not, you find yourself paired with someone for a screen test. Do they want you for Hungry Hearts or It’s in the Pizza? Read your lines convincingly, make some chemistry with your partner, and you could see your name and other things in lights very soon. Don’t worry if the dialog is cheesy. It’s part of the charm.

Having trouble getting into your part? There are costumes hanging on a rack. Try one on. You may find the experience transformative, as though you were made for your role, or it was made for you…

(Costumes may or may not affect the personality of the wearer. Those that do will make it much easier to get into character and greatly lower inhibitions when it comes to the more demanding scenes.)

Be aware that any sexually explicit scenes will only be filmed between a Dom and a sub, or a Dom and multiple subs. If you are a Dom cast in the scene with another Dom, it will be gen only.

(We’re assuming you’ve seen a porn or two, or at least a parody. Go crazy on the cheesy dialog and stupid set-ups. It’s just pretend, right?)

« « « NOT FIT TO COPE

Some people just aren’t meant for film. If you don’t catch the eye of any of the studio reps, you are recruited to work on set building and painting, helping dress extras or potential stars, or providing that extra stimulation to keep them going between scenes. Individuals who complain too much about the circumstance may find themselves assigned to the more unfortunate jobs. Somebody needs to clean up those sets after they’re finished.

(Just put your role in your top level if there’s something specific you have in mind you’d like to play out, like “set building” or “fluffer.” We won’t judge.)

« « « MOD & OOC NOTES

Please read carefully.

On each Test Drive Meme, there will be a section noting character roles; these will vary each TDM. On an IC level, characters will still have gone through the doors but assignments OOCly are still randomized. When applying, there is a section of the application that denotes whether the character chooses "left" or "right". When participating on the TDM, there will be a third option. Players may link either a top level or a thread (five or more comments from their character) from the TDM and title the link as "Door Pass". This means that the player is choosing to take the designation that they were randomly assigned on the TDM, rather than taking the designation of a door. If the player decides to select a door rather than use the pass, then they are trying their luck; they may get the same designation they had on the TDM or the opposite. Once the application is submitted, players can't change their choice.

To assign roles to characters for this TDM, use the following guide: There's a table with items on it. Your character selects one. If they chose the jar of pickles or ballpoint pen they are a Submissive and if they chose a clothespin or mini baguette they are a Dominant.

Please remember to mark any necessary content, and have fun!!

» » » MAIN NAVIGATION « « «

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Quiet again, Oswald wills his mind to work, to process, to think. He doesn't look at Ed directly as he does so, his eyes instead falling somewhere at the other man's collar in an unfocused stare, nostrils flaring every so often with deep, heavy breathes from a combination of trying to keep firm hold of his various squirming emotions while simultaneously trying to force this nonsensical situation into something that even vaguely makes sense.

Then, his shoulders start to tremor ever so slightly, silent chuckles slowly coming into sound as a smile draws out across his face and wags a finger in Ed's general direction.

"This? This is a dream. And you--" he pauses for effect, making a sardonic little humming sound as he goes, "Are not real!"

He spreads his arms out widely.

"None of this is real! How could it be? I mean, honestly! World hopping? Time travel? Pffff!" one hand makes a swatting gesture, like the very idea of Duplicity, and Ed for that matter, are flies to bat away. "Definitely a dream!"

Ed sighs and glances around. So far, the guards are ignoring them, because some hysterics from new people with the mark was expected, emotional, fragile things prone to irrationality. So far, the prejudices are working for them.

"Oswald, you need to be quiet and keep your head down until we get out of here. You can scream and protest and deny as much as you want, once we're at my house." He straightens up a bit, to use his height to force Oswald's attention on his, Riddler looking down with a sharp gaze. "Right now, in this city, you have nothing but the two of us to rely on, because to the officials, you are nothing because of the wretched mark on your throat."

Five months of nothing but the memory of Ed and his stupidly named alter ego, and yet when Riddler draws up like that it's like no time has passed at all.

Oswald is not a tall man and has had a lifetime of people trying to make him feel small, though there's something in Ed's form that is a unique kind of threat. And this side of Ed is especially dangerous.

Pressing his lower lip up slightly against his upper teeth, Oswald forces his own back upright as well, knowing he can't match Edward's height, but that he can be a rock against that stare. He knows what these two are capable of and he is not prepared to be fooled again or let his impulsive desires reach out for what Ed is offering. The oldest trick in the book is a poisoned apple that looks delicious.

"Oh, is that so, Ed? You think that I'm going to, what, skip merrily along with you to your cozy little chateau and... then what? Let me guess, is it made of gingerbread with little question marks all over it?"

His jaw tightens as he steps up to Ed to bring his glare closer.

"Dream or not, what kind of a fool do you take me for?"

Riddler leans in. Being called Ed doesn't bother him, not like the Riddler Oswald thinks he knows, but this Riddler has an entire new toolset to play with, honed by the forced, overt sexuality of this place.

He leans in close enough that Oswald can feel the heat of his skin. "Oswald. My house is owned by my contract holder. It's hideous, bright pink, and I hate it, but she also lets me do anything I want and had given me written permission to do whatever I want here. Now, you can stop carrying on, put on this coat and come somewhere safe with me, or I will ignore everything Ed is carrying on about, I will forget that you are the only person or thing that means anything to me in that wonderful, terrible city of home and I will leave you on your own. You will be forced into public housing, that you will have to share with others. You will be denied the ability to buy anything, or to go most places, and you will face terrible, humiliating public sexual assault if you transgress any number of rules that you don't know yet."

He stands up again, takes a step back and offers out the coat once more. "Your choice, Oswald. Please put on the coat and we can go somewhere quiet and private. Even a cafe if you prefer."

After everything that's happened, all that Oswald thinks he knows about his and Ed's broken tatters of a friendship and the glacial sculpture that Oswald had that broken, sad fantasy memorialised in, he has absolutely no frame of reference for how to deal with this.

Something spider creeps up the back of his neck, hot prickles of fear and something else he wants to choke the life out of almost as much as he wants for Ed himself before it turns cold and icy, a different brand of terror that he doesn't understand the shape or size of that makes his throat tighten and his mouth go dry. None of this is what he knows, but unknowingness has never stopped him before.

The temptation is there to square up to Ed further, hiss at him that he'll take his chances alone, because that is what he should do rather than willingly act the lamb taking the wolf by the outstretched paw, but the vivid image Ed paints is notably more terrifying than anything he could imagine from any one of his enemies. Fear, pain, betrayal, death, that is all familiar territory. Public degradation of a sexual nature? That is a level even Gotham doesn't stoop to.

His cool glare has slipped, replaced instead with that kind of fearful expression that he finds hard to mask, lips slightly parted and caught between various possible retorts, eyes slightly wide. Not the most befitting look for a crime lord who has seen a city tremble before him and all because Edward Nygma's darker self has spun the nightmare image of the dream.

Oswald swallows, then pulls himself together.

"Fine," he hisses, snatching a hand forward and letting his fingers fist in the green shimmer of the coat.

"Lead the way to this Barbie Dream House of yours."

Oswald relents and Riddler slips back, leaving Ed to handle it. "Right. Thank you. I'm sorry to have to put it like that, but that's what they do to us who have been marked. I've seen it. It terrified me. Even Riddler gets chills thinking of it."

He was prepared to help Oswald into the coat, just like he would at home, but if Oswald wants to pull the coat from him to put on, that's fine. He can do that. "Anything else can wait until we're away from the guards and back in the Down. The Down is much more like Gotham, active crime syndicates, few guards, those that are there travel in groups to avoid being preyed on by the residents..."

Home.

Turning away from Ed as he pulls the coat on, Oswald holds a hard scowl despite the explanation-cum-apology he's given; he's far too prideful, stubborn and mistrustful to let Ed help him this time.

Strangely though, the way Ed speaks about the Down is a kind of comfort. Maybe some people would find the Down more of a threat conceptually than the Up, but it does sound like home. What is life without threat? Where is the life of a city if not in the veins deep beneath its flesh?

"Yes, well. It isn't Gotham, is it?"

Everything about this is suitably ridiculous. Ed's cut and size of clothes are bigger than Oswald's, leaving him effectively swimming in a sea of emerald fabric, but it's certainly better than the shameful paper gown they're pushed him out into the world in. Shifting a little, one hand clasped at the front of Ed's coat to hold the two front halves together, Oswald heaves out a deep, full-bodied exhale, trying to clear through the muddled thoughts in his brain as he prepares to walk.

"Five months, you said."

Ed refused to live in the Up. He would only live in the Down and even now, he avoids the Up as much as possible. He hates the fact that they force those stupid collars on them... and he draws his own out now, copper and green enamel with an open front that looks suspiciously like a curling question mark wrapped around his slender neck.

"Revolting thing, but camouflage is important here. You can get away with murder, so long as you seem to be playing your part." He double checks his papers and then tilts his head. "This way." He offers his arm for Oswald, in case his leg is particularly bad and Oswald's pride isn't in the way. (It will be. He knows that. He still offers.)

Camouflage, Ed calls it. All Oswald can see is something utterly degrading and humiliating as he watches Ed slide the coiling copper around his neck with only mildly suppressed horror. Edward would never allow such a blatant symbol of subjugation to be put around his throat, let alone put it on himself. Another point for it all being a dream.

Ed's expectation that Oswald wouldn't take the offered arm is quite on the money though as he drags himself alongside the taller man, ever determined to keep his step in time regardless of discomfort or pain. It's just the way of things and no freakish sex prison city is going to get in the way of that.

"And does 'playing the part' also mean prostrating oneself at the drop of a hat?" he mutters, intending it as sarcasm and not fully appreciating that, yes, that is exactly what it means sometimes.

Ed has done far worse to survive and blend in. This is nothing.

He slides his hands into his pockets and keeps his pace a touch slower, not quite as long a stride, subtly adjusting to accommodate Oswald's impairment. Nothing obvious, he knows better. "Sometimes. Generally, nothing more than you'd have to do with your average Mafia Don. There are unmarked outsiders as well, they tend to have the same disgusted view that we do and thus are as accommodating as the system allows. I, genuinely hoped to never see you here, my friend, but I can't lie and say I'm not glad to see you. I've missed you terribly. But you're going to hate this place more than we do. And we really, really hate it."

Pressing his back teeth together firmly, Oswald forces himself to endure Ed's vague gushing in favour of trying to hear what's in and around the words themselves, piece them together with what else he's been told so far and try and make sense of everything as best he can.

Maybe he has to entertain that this dream is real for now, just in the hypothetical.

Say it is real, he reasons with himself, say that Ed has been here for almost half a year. Oswald had five months of Edward on ice only to find that nothing has truly settled in terms of his feelings about their whole messy departure from one another.

But this Ed, if what he says is true, doesn't know about their 'argument.' Hell, this Ed has never even met Isabelle. Isabella. Whatever.

Whatever happens, has happened, you are my only friend and I am attempting to help you right now.

It would be such an impressively good ploy, an opportunity to reenact the very play Ed used on Oswald before, a true feat of 'fool me twice' of epic proportions.

Oswald sucks on his teeth, the tip of his tongue caught between them behind his lips as he tries to keep himself grounded.

"I already hate this place," he admits, "Dream, nightmare, hallucination. Whatever it may be. It's a vicious mockery of a place purely in its inception."

Just as you are. He imagines stabbing Ed in the throat for a brief moment, flexes his fingers a few times, forces them still and into a fist instead as he remembers something else.

"You said Victor is here also. That he told you about our... disagreement," he pauses, watching Ed's reactions out the corner of his eye, "He didn't tell you about the nature of it? What it was about?"

Edited 2020-05-13 11:42 (UTC)

"Mm. It's a bit like that." Ed is hurrying them as much as he dares to get them to the Down. Away from the guards. And while Oswald showers, he can sort out a signature for him, let him buy his own things at least.

"Yes. He did, but he didn't offer details and I didn't ask. I was tempted, believe me, but I didn't want to focus on what may or may not happen for me. Your friendship? Has kept me from going- hm. I am crazy, I suppose, but maybe I should say dangerously, recklessly crazy." He barely brushes by a Dominant who scowls at him, but takes in Ed's quiet, head down demeanour and leaves it.

Ed hands the money clip to Oswald. "I can get you the papers you need to be able to spend that."

There is a part of Oswald that feels the draw of this, like a tiny flame in the darkness or an island to make land at during a storm. There's a fantasy forming, tempting and dangerous--a true what if from some cartoon or science fiction story. He could pretend it never happened. Ed sounds like he doesn't want it to happen and he doesn't even know what it is. It's an opportunity for pre-forgiveness.

It's so painfully tantalising. He'd have to be an idiot to fall for it, like seeing a Free Money! Definitely Not Secretly A Trap! sign and then being shocked to find himself tumbling into a pit when he went to grab the cash.

And then, Ed is nudging him with the money he's just swiped. It makes Oswald's chest tighten, the temptation there all over again, the desire to grab hold of Ed right then and there and beg him to let them be what they'd been in those early weeks of Oswald becoming Mayor of Gotham. Oswald allows himself a brief smile, a very faint little exhale that could almost be a pleased sob if he allowed it be, and then he swallows and squeezes his eyes closed.

Ed killed that version of himself. Shot him in the stomach, pushed him in the river. Oswald has the scar to prove it. If Oswald needs to kill that weak version of himself again, he'll do it.

He nudges the clip with the back of his knuckle, pushing it back toward Ed.

"I think you should keep hold of that for now," he puts on one of his faker smiles, not fully able to muster the ability to smooth the sharper edges, "Safer keeping with someone who knows all their own pockets already."

Safer than Ed trying to pull a bait and switch and tell that Unmarked that it was Oswald who was the real pickpocket.

Ed is getting the strongest suggestion that the 'argument' might be something a little more severe than Zsasz suggested. Ed was clear, he didn't want or need to know, especially since it was just them, but now he's aware of the schism.

He takes the money back, counting it out of the clip and putting it in his own wallet, which is comfortably full enough. The clip is tossed into a bin they walk past.

Ed, notably, is wearing leather gloves. They're a staple for him now. Just in case he has to stab more people.

"There's a switchblade in the right pocket. Just so you know." One of his few belongings from home. "Please don't use it on me. Whatever happened, will happen, in this place, those of us from our Gotham need to stick together. I promised Zsasz I'd look after him, since you weren't here to be his boss. I got him a good contract, comfortable place. He actually lives in the Barbie house as well, did you know, you can actually make a hand press for bullets from scrap metal and car parts? Uh-huh. It's surprisingly easy, and gunpowder can be manufactured if you need it and don't want anything traceable, I'm rambling, stupid Ed, he doesn't care about that."

At least it's still Ed talking.

Instinctively, Oswald's eyes flicker down, his right hand coming up to press his palm against the outside of the pocket and, sure enough, he can feel the shape of a switchblade.

For most people--most normal people--this would be rather unsettling. For Oswald, it catches something awkwardly inside him, like the string of instrument that hums and vibrates long after contact has left. He continues to stare in the general direction of the blade as they walk, listening to Ed speak in a way he hasn't heard for a long time. It's suddenly very hard to swallow.

This shouldn't be cause for such emotional whiplash, but Ed didn't have to tell Oswald that he had access to a blade right there and instead effectively offered Oswald a means to end him at any second. Part of him wants to just get this over with, drive the blade into the side of Ed's neck, or up through his ribs, or any other number of squishy fatal places. Another part of him wants to indulge in this moment, just for a little longer.

He moves his hand away from the pocket, returning his grip to the front of Ed's coat instead. He's quiet for a few moments, his lips pursed as he tries to refind the steely crime lord he is and not the blubbering, over-emotional idiot he had been half a year ago.

"Car parts," he says finally, before turning his head slightly to look up and sidelong at Ed, "Goodness. Have you found yourself in need of bullets since arriving here?"

Of course, Ed hasn't mentioned that people who die generally come back. He hasn't thought to, because he's far too caught up in trying to do everything at the same time while taking in all the new information as well.

"Car parts. And not personally, I don't have a gun, but Victor does and I make bullets for him sometimes. I've done some freelance work for a couple of people, but primary occupation as been private pharmaceuticals. I can basically only get work from other people who have been kidnapped and have their own businesses. So I do and it pays well when you're as good as I am. Though John might be more knowledgeable on existing drugs and their interactions, I don't say that lightly, he has a lot of experience with them though and it's a relatively recent hobby for me. Well, for Riddler, I didn't know he had another name until we came here and someone called us that. Well, he didn't know either, until that moment, but someone used it for us and it-"

He trails off, thinking, maybe. Or just listening.

"There's another person from our Gotham here. He's apparently from further along the timeline than any of us. Alfred Pennyworth, the Wayne boy's guardian. I don't see him much, he seems to spend half his time being arrested for rebelling."

Of course Victor does. It is, after all, what Victor does. And what Ed seems to be doing now makes perfect sense for his skill set, one of them anyway.

There's a lot that Oswald needs to put mental pins in here to make sure they don't escape, the people Edward is mentioning knowing here, what he does, who is from Gotham--though when he mentions that he didn't know about his other name, Oswald briefly sucks his lips in, willing himself to keep that comment behind his teeth.

I told you it was a ridiculous name...

He lifts his head a little more attentively when Ed namedrops Alfred though.

"Pennyworth? Yes, we've met. Several times. But he's... here? Wait, just how many others from Gotham are we talking about here?"

"From our Gotham? Four, including you. Myself, I'm from that night that Butch revealed his true colours. Victor Zsasz, he says he's from some time on, maybe a year? After Sofia Falcone returned to Gotham." He glances at Oswald for recognition of who she is. "And Pennyworth, who is from some time later, but I've never found out much more. Usually there's more pressing matters, like his impending arrest."

He hums for a moment. "There's at least four others from a Gotham, but they all seem to be from several decades ahead of us and a different history than our own timeline. None of them have known the name Galavan, or that you were Mayor. That's Tim Drake-Wayne, Jason Todd from the Narrows, Dick Grayson, of the Flying Graysons, apparently, that clown and acrobat who got engaged in the police station are his parents and Roman Sionis, who is Richard Sionis' son who was obviously not ever conceived in our Gotham." He ticks them all off his fingers.

"Now, them aside, I've met several people who know of Gotham, which a lot of these people and their worlds don't seem to, but they're further ahead than us, again, and seem to be closer to contemporaries with Tim and the others." He nods firmly. "I think that's most of them. I know I've just given you a lot of information. The most relevant are Victor and Pennyworth."

The mention of Falcone makes Oswald's eyes widen momentarily, but then his brain backtracks. Sofia. Not Carmine. A slow creasing of his brow replaces the surprise, but he says nothing on the matter. He knows the name, in the way that most people know what arms of the Falcone family are well and truly off limits as far as negotiations are concerned, but he's never met the girl who was whisked away from Gotham for her own safety.

If what Ed is saying is true (and that remains a big if) then Oswald has some questions for Zsasz. If Zsasz will converse; Zsasz isn't really much of a conversationalist. Or one for intel. He's got a very particular job that he does very well and it involves getting rid of heartbeats.

Idly, Oswald strokes his lower lip with the flat of his thumbnail, distracted temporarily from the question of whether Ed is secretly leading him somewhere to kill him.

"It is... quite a lot of information, that is true."

But processing lots of information is what he does. What they do. Did. Ugh! He grimaces briefly, realising again how disarmingly easy it would be to fall in step with Ed once more, how he's virtually laid a table, prepared a fest and is pulling out a chair for Oswald to sit at. It makes it hard to decide where to focus his mental energy more.

"Boiling this down, there are four of us and then a bunch of what ifs to contend with, all while we merrily traverse the wicked and wonderful ways of a transdimensional sex prison city."

He nods slowly, a humourless, disbelieving smile spreading across his face as he looks up at Ed.

"That about cover it?"

Ed considers the summary as they walk and then starts to slowly nod. "Yes, that about sums it up." More or less. "Also, if there's an event with free food and drink, don't eat, don't drink. They like to lace things with all kinds of interesting drugs to make us more amenable to their lifestyle. If you don't meet 'quota'," and Ed air quotes, and blushes, distinctly blushes. "You go to be retrained. Which is anything from a day being told how to be 'good' to- hm." The People Zoo. Public rape. Any number of horrors.

"I missed you, but I never wanted you here. As bad as I've found it, I can't help but this it's going to be a hundred times worse for someone who doesn't like being touched and doesn't feel attraction." As far as he's ever been aware. Certainly Oswald's always acted like sexuality was something that happened to other people.

Yes, of course his dream version of Ed would confirm that the dream version of everything that makes no sense makes perfect sense. He sort of can't stop himself from flitting back and forth between refusing to believe this is real and trying to process everything so he can get ahead of it.

The way Ed says 'quota' and flushes in that way makes Oswald's jaw tighten, watching how serious he is about all this, and how concerned he is about Oswald expressly.

Maybe it's just that Oswald hasn't be exposed to the reality of the situation yet, but he has a hard time truly believing that the things he's been told are true, that anyone would really be imprisoned for a lack of sex. How would anyone possibly police that?

And unfortunately, what Ed likely intends to sound like sympathy sounds like some kind of sugar-coated threat, or at the very least brushes up against something that's still raw and uncomfortable for Oswald, something he hasn't properly grappled with and instead locked away as something to not deal with. Like he did to his version of Ed.

"That's not--!" He bites his tongue, almost literally, a moment of silent, flared up rage mixed with a kind of embarrassment flooding his face as he realises he's stopped dead in the street to glare at Ed.

It's not what, though? Not true? Not exactly--Ed's right, he generally doesn't like to be touched. And ordinarily attraction isn't a language he understands. But once, not even that long ago, he did know them both. Or at least he knew he wanted and felt both, even if he never fully dared to let himself think about the shapes he'd actually want either one to take.

And he wanted it with this man, the one whose heart he broke, who shot him, who dumped him in the river, who came back to try and kill him, who did a stupid thing and tempted the Court of Owls, who Oswald went to find, and who he broke out with when they were both imprisoned.

The thing about Oswald is he wants. He wants and wants from a life that had always told him no. And now this cruel dream, this trick, this trap has dropped him in this hellscape with Edward Nygma right in front of him, virtually with his arms outstretched to welcome Oswald into them. Like a balm on a burn.

His breathing is jolted and shaky through long, loud exhales through his nose, his entire body frozen in a sort of pre-explosive state, but he doesn't know what he wants to explode at or how. Finally, he throws his hands up with a nondescript growl of frustration before starting to hobble-stalk ahead again. The fact that he doesn't know where they're going doesn't actually matter.

Ed had had a single encounter before this place, one that had ended with death and madness. And the scars he has from his childhood and his upbringing kept him tangled up about himself until Vrenille had whirlwinded him into something like acceptance of his own sexuality.

He knows pointing out Oswald's own dislike and mistrust of being touched will spark him, but he also has confidence that even time hasn't changed Oswald so much that he'll kick off right now.

He waits, sighs and falls into step behind Oswald, hands still in pockets. "There's elevators ahead, to go to the Down."

That's the problem, isn't it? One of many, at any rate. Oswald will posture about how much he knows Edward Nygma, understands and built him into what he is. Or was. Or will be. But the other side of the coin is that Ed also knows Oswald.

Stubborn as Oswald can be, Ed's directive makes him glance back briefly, slow his shuffling storming off and wait for the taller man to draw closer, to guide them as Oswald had told him too. He still looks rather fluffed up and irritated, though not dangerously so.

Right now, Oswald is lashing out because he's vulnerable. The promise of clothing and food will stop him lashing too much, not until he can armour up against this place.

He resumes guiding them to the elevators, physically biting his tongue to stop himself rambling, or asking, or quizzing, just trying not to annoy Oswald more with pointless noise.

The truth is, Oswald can't tell what is worse--Ed's declarations that he's missed him, or the silence. He endures it for a while, as they make their way toward the elevators, but eventually the impatience gets the better of him. There's too much crackling in the air for Oswald to settle into comfortable quiet shared presence and he makes a wordless little grumpy sound as he lifts and lightly smacks the side of his own good thigh with his hand.

"Fine!" he says in an exasperated kind of way like Ed's forced silence is too loud, "Tell me about the city. Not the rules and the regulations and all that... stuff, but the city itself. What's it like here? You said the Down was more akin to Gotham in terms of its personality, but tell me about what you have come to understand of it."

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