dear_mun | on the sudden impulse to voicetest

You think so little of us. That should offend me.

[ Us, as opposed to me. Barsad has been with the League for nearly two decades; that's easily more than half of his life spent fighting with the men you call monsters. He remembers when your Batman came with Ra's al Ghul, though he himself wasn't there to see him train - the League needed him elsewhere, and he goes where he's told.

It wasn't long after that when Ra's al Ghul himself died in the hands of Gotham's champion, and Barsad still wasn't there when that happened. But he was there when Talia took the mantle, and was there when Bane took up the role of protector once more. What you call devotion to chaos is only devotion to what his brothers fight for, what your own Batman had once believed in.

It should be insulting that you wouldn't shake a man's hand because you think him insane, but you would protect the life of a liar who himself has put other innocent men to suffer injustice. But that's not for Barsad to judge. Bane's already given the sentence, anyway. ]

I was sent to Latvia, before Gotham. A friend went missing somewhere around there, you see.

[ He was a smart friend too, that doctor. Gave him and his men a bit of trouble. ]

[To Blake, the League's is the calculated cruelty of Gotham's worst criminals on a much, much larger scale, dangerous because there is method to what appears madness, as unpleasant to even consider as the method is. Literally insane? Probably not. But that just makes the attempted mass murder all the more abhorrent.]

[More thorough knowledge of all that's come before might sharpen Blake's sentiment, but despite whatever intuition had illuminated of the past, a little information (primarily on a need-to-know basis so far) courtesy of Gordon, and some legwork of his own, what presses most inescapably in his mind is the horror of the present. Past apologies, extenuating circumstances and excuses -- they could never be a justification. Surely not.]

[If he feels a short surge of annoyance, though, it's due to the last of it. 'You know what I mean,' is the retort bitten back. Instead:] Did you find him? [Flatly.]

We did.

[ Dr. Pavel's neck snapped with a loud crack; he will admit to some satisfaction to that, having stood there on the field with Bane breaking the first seal on their plans. It had been predictable after that point, when human madness descended into riots and break-ins as was expected - he had a little hope it wouldn't be so banal.

He turns to Blake, as stranger might turn to his neighbor to ask about the time. ]

Is your Commissioner Gordon still alive?

[For about five minutes, Blake had dared to hope for something less predictable, too. And/or less retaliatory, but realistically, such a violent tipping of the scales -- and sudden (apparent) upending of entrenched inequality -- didn't leave room for many other results.]

[The question is unanticipated, and alarmingly to the point, but any initial outward reaction is trained deliberately into evenness. It's impossible in the space of a few seconds of heightened tension to get a read on whether or not it's even genuine (the man could make a killing at poker if he were so inclined). Either way, answering to the affirmative would obviously be one of the more stupid things Blake could do.] Having trouble with intel?

[ And you wonder why your city is being destroyed. Look at its corruption - it's seeped into the very bones of its structure. But that's then, here is now, and everyone's picking up the pieces of what's left.

He tips the smallest smile in his limited repertoire at Blake, though. There's no need for poker when he can just skip to killing - efficiency is a virtue they uphold, after all, when theatrics and drama fails them, and Barsad was never a good student with that school in his education with the League. He is the shadow to Bane's shadow, and he's content with it.

Perhaps one day you'll have something like it, too, Blake of Gotham. ]

We found him by accident. We're sorry for the leg.

[Maybe poker's not necessary to his ends, but he has got a talent, too, for throwing people for a loop. That's putting it very mildly, though, because the words hit like a punch straight to the gut, immediate denial (no way they'd fucked up now, not when Gordon was able to take down two of Bane's men from a hospital bed and not when they'd been so careful; Blake had been so careful--) mixing with hot rage and, dangerously, the instinctive grab of panic.]

[For whatever it's worth, he avoids visibly starting, but a man with more training might not have made the subtle mistake of falling silent -- all it takes is a beat to be telling in just the way he'd sought to avoid, he'd guess. No more, though. That has to be the last of the missteps, and the second they're done here (whatever that might mean), he's touching base with the first person he can to get confirmation.]

[Blake doesn't quite have the presence of mind to return Barsad's smile with a more sarcastic one of his own, but his tone is measured enough when he speaks -- if a touch sharper than before.]

I don't know what you're trying to play at here, but that's bullshit and you know it.

Did you think we forced him to write the letter?

[ blake's attempts to hold his ground is admirable - the skill is lacking in grace, but the potential that fuels it could be so much more. he sees why this one survived the city and all that came after it; he has an ember stuck between his grit and naivete, and in a different time and circumstance, barsad would consider killing him peacefully or throwing him into the pit where his brothers have been spat out, just to see him fly.

it would be a good call, he thinks, if the boy's roots hadn't been so deep into gotham's soil. ]

Your Commissioner Gordon gave us a gift. A man can be grateful and still aim to kill.

[ it was a fortunate turn, really; he remembers the shape of blake's head now, while he'd given cover fire for his brothers as they slipped back to the sewers, unaware of the commissioner on their heels.

mildly amusing is the thought that this boy could have been dead then, had barsad not left too early to try and stop fools from taking a "hostage". ]

[The letter. No, that was all Gordon, too obviously, but at least now long ago enough that the bite of disappointment has leveled out. They've got bigger things to worry about than loss of innocence. Blake's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.]

[If they had in fact aimed to kill (instinct says, of course they had), that clearly hadn't worked out as planned. --But surely they knew that. Surely Bane's second in command would know, wouldn't he? Despite Blake's suspicions as to Barsad's motives here and now. The men left on the floor of Gordon's hospital room, they would've instantly been missed, wouldn't they?]

[The uncertainty is beginning to wear on his nerves.]

[Shit. The scope of Bane's operation had always been hard to pin exactly; despite the very public figure Bane himself presents, Gotham under martial law is, certainly by design, a ruthless paradigm of seemingly-decentralized power. It's easy to be fooled without an eye on the bigger picture.]

I guess a man can be a hopeless Gothamite and do the same, right? [Deflection. A rather poor attempt, maybe. He's gotten places with calculated antagonism before, but realistically, it's probably not even worth a try here -- any note of it that creeps into his voice is just what's slipped from a hold on himself.]

I'll accede to it, Blake of Gotham.

[ See? This doesn't have to be a complicated conversation. It's when you try to make sense of it the way you think it should make sense that trips you up on making good with dangerous men - but Barsad thinks, perhaps he doesn't want to make good with dangerous men.

Everyone has a type they irrationally avoid, or some such thing. Don't mind him if he takes a moment to sit and rest his heels, too - he has over seventy pounds of gear on him, and even the strongest man cannot stand forever. ]

Your Captain Foley, as well - he has a fortunate hand with guns. Have you fought both men? [ It's the only language Barsad truly understands, the one language the League is best at speaking — the speech of pain, both dealt and taken. ]

[Really, there's little chance Blake would take a metaphorical step back and allow it to be anything but complicated. Making good with dangerous men in itself isn't a problem. Dangerous doesn't have to equate with wrong, after all, but it's when danger goes hand-in-hand with moral bankruptcy that the problems do begin.]

[And maybe one of the worst parts of this odd rendezvous is feeling so on guard, only to be thrown so off balance by the smallest things. He couldn't feel any more like an inept rookie to have the tension of his stance suddenly directed at a man feeling at ease enough to sit. What would Gordon do in a situation like this? Blake's shoulders drop just slightly at the thought. Wouldn't let it even get this far, that's what. Too late for that.]

What? No. We don't-- [Honest confusion. What kind of feudal alternate reality would you have to come from to even ask something like that?] --We don't fight each other. Think it'd be a waste of time when you've got people actually depending on you. [Not to mention just kind of crazy.] Is that what Bane makes you do? Fight him? ... Why? [Not to let the assumptions carry him away or anything.]

Edited 2013-01-18 07:16 (UTC)

[ The first step to winning is, perhaps, accepting that you might lose. Don't worry; Barsad doesn't judge your lack of footing. Everyone has to start somewhere, but he sees you that you try. It's a poor attempt now, but it will do. If you live long enough to improve. ]

How can you trust a man with your life if you haven't fought him at least once?

[ There's something to be said about the brotherhood formed through combat, and especially for the ones forged in the fires of war. Those are tested by the true measure - that of death, and surviving it - and with an uncharacteristically fond quirk of the mouth does Barsad remember the times when Bane had struck him down.

He owes Bane his life several times over. (The man will never be dead to him, even if Talia is a ghost of his past now.) The life they lead within the League is unforgiving; it is what it teaches its sons to be - unyielding, unbound, unwavering.

Your Commissioner was like one. Your Batman was one of ours. Like calls to like, you see? ]

I would not trust a man who has not bested me in combat. You'd save your life by doing the same.

Edited 2013-01-18 08:08 (UTC)

[What a comforting sentiment.]

[The cryptic uplift of Barsad's expression only gets a frown in return.] But strength isn't all there is to it, it's-- [--Barsad knows this. Their philosophies are just about dichotomous, for all Blake can tell, but there's no denying they both have a close-kept sense of what Barsad calls, more evocatively than Blake would think to term it, 'brotherhood'. That's what's most important. He pauses, feeling distinctly uncomfortable.]

[Then settles for a shake of his head, a motion more decisive than he's been feeling for the last few minutes.] Thanks for the tip, but I guess I don't need to see stars to know I can trust someone. You'd probably save yourself a few headaches if you tried a different method.

That is wise.

[ Maybe he's fucking with you; maybe he means it. Take your pick on which is more comfortable for your ego, as you've found yourself making good with a dangerous man, despite your best intentions. ]

Why did you choose to be a protector?

[ It's an idle question, for himself, but he sees no harm in asking. What is there to lose? The man is a son of Gotham, possibly born and bred (and bled, and raised, and taught). For some men, that is reason enough. But some have selfish reasons too, like Bruce Wayne - whose hurts from the loss of loved ones drove him to Ra's al Ghul's hands (perhaps not, perhaps still).

Men don't choose the shadows without choosing to turn their backs on the light, is what Barsad believes. ]

[Fucking with him, definitely, chosen without a second thought and in small part because the alternative is not something Blake wants to puzzle through just now. Especially not when there are already at least ten other things he could be preoccupied with.]

[Suspicion like this is never expected to fade so easily. Nor does Blake want it to, as it's quite likely the only thing resembling normality he's going to get here. (Until, just maybe, the situation tips into violence. Given the current state of affairs, that would be pretty normal, and painfully predictable.) And it's a defense -- tiring, yes, but still an undeniably practical move to keep yourself on your toes.]

[It takes a few rapid run-throughs of all the insidious psychological machinations Blake can imagine (all unlikely and more or less shaken off with an invocation of Occam's razor) before he answers with a tight shrug.] It's the right thing to do. [Almost absurdly simple, and spoken with utter certainty. And as it's the truth, it's all that needs to be said, and in its tacitness dodges the risk of finding further along that he'd said too much. All in all, it feels like relatively firm footing for a change. With a small swell of very welcome self-assurance, he pockets his hands.]

[Incidentally, Barsad would find they believe much the same thing.] Why are you with Bane?

[ This, he understands. ]

I owe him my life several times over. I would follow him to my death.

[ And all too true, he had. He will, and and he shall, in this place where time means so little and the dead do not die. He knows how he ended; following the order, following Talia, a step behind to take a bullet never intended to catch him in the back.

He wonders if it's payment enough; he knows it isn't. Talia died for certain, and he failed to protect her. Plain and simple, he carries his life debt with him, unpaid. ]

Perhaps I already have.

[ If he cared for what you thought of his mental stability, Barsad would have kindly (quietly) corrected you on several points. But he does not care that you think he's playing a game with your head, or that you think there's an ulterior motive to the line of questioning; the first because it assumes so much of who he is, the second because it assumes so much of what he intends to do. No matter - there's time to have that conversation, fates permitting. ]

Does my answer change anything for you?

Edited 2013-01-18 16:39 (UTC)

[Blake has to fight back the impulse to immediately shake his head again.]

[But no, it doesn't really, does it? The motives had baffled him, and the most fundamental of them logically had to be linked to a twisted idea of reality, but at the same time, at the bottom of it, at the human level, they still had to be real -- he supposes, in retrospect. It may have been something in the way Barsad spoke (thoughtfully, which makes his utter lack of regard for humanity all the more disturbing) that had prepared him for such a response, the sort another man in Blake's position -- one less certain of his convictions -- may not have wanted to hear.]

It doesn't change a thing. [Humanization is dangerous. It's so much easier to accept monstrosity when there are monsters to be held accountable, and, true to nature, with an aggravating swiftness, it's become more difficult to meet Barsad's eyes and not begin to dream up last chances. There's not a whole lot of room left for miracles, and his crisis negotiation skills admittedly leave much to be desired. Blake bites his tongue only for a moment before continuing anyway.] I get it, though. That kind of debt, you'll never feel like you've paid it off. But why does it have to be this? I mean-- [With a quick pause to surrender to the growing likelihood that he'll be directly responsible for any escalation of the situation. At least it will have been born of the best (misguided) intentions.] How many people is it going to take? How many cities? 'Cause after a while, it's not about them, is it? It's not about actually repaying them; it's about you. [If Blake were aware of the end, of Barsad's end, he might think differently. But maybe not.]

The darker the night, the brighter the stars. [ His tone is light, but his voice is sharp, cutting like the hardest rock. ] The deeper the grief, the closer is God.

Dostoevsky, if you read.

[ The core of the League's teaching — that only tragedy, true pain on a grand scale, can fully shake the foundations of a civilization to change. And history has proven them right: all the wars that forced the world to change, all that loss, all those dead - why else do countries have monuments for, if not to remember the glory and the death that gives them their luxuries today? Even your America with its civil wars, with its history in slavery and class that even now still has ghost-fingers clawing into society.

Barsad will gladly accept the label of a monster; he made himself what he is, and he owes his loyalties that honesty. He doesn't need pity or forgiveness, or even sympathy, because the time for them has long passed him over. The sentiment is appreciated, Blake - the sentiment is wasted.

He has no trouble meeting your gaze head-on. You cannot build on land until you've torn it down, Barsad knows; you cannot sow nor reap until the rubble has been scorched. How can someone claim to protect and not see this basic truth? ]

I do not pay my debts with another man's life.

[ The implications of this is both beautiful and horrifying. ]

[He's silent, a sharp tug of pained frustration arresting his next breath. He reads, but not Dostoevsky; can understand with too-keen personal recollection how pain can work as a catalyst for progress, but this is incomparable to anything Blake would imagine (all of it relatively conventional, of course) in its devastation -- and that in ways seen and unseen. And here, rather tragically on its own, is the difference in fundamental belief. It's a matter of faith in some better way of repairing things -- surely, Blake would say, we don't remember the bloody upheavals of the past so they can be used as instruction manuals. History is a cautionary tale, refrains of 'never again' and 'now we know' sobering and grimly encouraging, and from that foundation of tragedy, but also abiding resilience, there must come a more peaceful way to fix what's broken. The monuments to horror are not monuments of triumph, but of caution.]

[A little more sedate than before:] I don't think God has anything to do with it. [Wasted sentiment is just about a constant in Blake's life, but he would never say it wasn't worth a shot. And against better rationality, inborn tenacity is hardly letting him call it the last he'll get, bolstered at least in part by Barsad's last statement. He can't, however, allow himself to keep trying just now (really, he could probably confirm from Dostoevsky's name alone that he'd let this get too involved). He pulls his hands from his pockets, the academy-taught officer's demeanor slipped back over simple honesty.]

I should bring you in. [Less clear is how, but his tone is steady enough that some might even believe it possible.]

[ 'Hope springs eternal' is a very cliche thing to think, and yet he can't fault a man for having it. He looks away for a moment, wondering if the world ahead for this stupid young man will be as painful as he thinks it will be; he's certain it's in the cards, and that they're waiting for the details to make themselves clear.

In a different life, Blake could have been a good lieutenant. In that same life perhaps Ra's al Ghul would not have trained the man who will have killed him. In a different life— they're all dreams. Live while you live. Tomorrow you die. Truer words have never been written yet.

Barsad doesn't move from where he's seated, only answering with a cocked brow and tipped head. ]

Alive? [ Or dead? Does your company have preference? ]

Alive. Just to talk. [It's not even a euphemism, coming from Blake, although they both would know it's a simplification. He wouldn't jump to correct any misconceptions Barsad may or may not have, either way -- as far as leverage goes, he's not in an ideal position for it, even as the only one standing, staring down at a man who apparently couldn't be less impressed. Most importantly, he's aware he's working far, far above his paygrade in pursuing this at all, but if there's anything still out of the question in a situation verging on surreal, it's retreat.]

[Remembering the zip ties in his jacket brings him one ridiculous moment of cold comfort. This is without a doubt the stupidest thing he's ever done.]

[His voice is deliberately clipped:] Get up.

[ If his eyebrow could go high enough - if it were sufficient enough to express what he thinks of that. Still, he holds out his hands, palms and wrists upturned, hands curled in loose fists. This should be a familiar gesture, for a police officer. ]

I would enjoy it to see you try.

[ He won't resist your "arrest", in the sense that a cop is familiar; being arrested and being taken into custody can be two things, can they not? Perhaps it's not a good idea to forget that Barsad had a life before the League, too, and there's a reason for his expertise with a sniper rifle. There is a reason he made it as Bane's lieutenant, the shadow of a shadow.

Still, he finds himself warmed to Blake, foolish as he is; there's something of a child in him, some nugget of faith that refuses to be dislodged from inside him that might never be touched by the world. In a way, he's reminded of— But that would sour his day. The past has passed for a reason. ]

I would find it wasteful if you died, Blake. Most men would have had a gun at me by now. [ It earns you some degree of respect. (It probably only means you won't die bloody.) ]

Edited 2013-01-20 17:20 (UTC)

[ Barsad's physical compliance coupled with phrasing Blake can only interpret as pointedly ambiguous strike unnecessarily at a few more internal alarms, another tug of tension within a cacophony of nerves. As far as Blake knows, and has so far cared to guess, most, if not all, of Bane's men have been with him from the unspecified 'beginning'. From childhood and youth, he figures, indoctrinated to the point of accepting this contradictory kind of nihilism as an inevitable matter of course, and Bane as a savior. He could ask, given time, in order to color in some of the missing pieces and gain a more comprehensive picture of the man in front of him. Foolishly, he wouldn't hesitate to take the chance at another time.]

['Wasteful' is an interesting way to put it, perhaps would-be telling, even, if Blake had a better insight into Barsad's psyche. He matches the skepticism with a brief look of his own, digging in his pocket for a tie.] Thanks. [Most men probably would indeed fall back on the one tool that could guarantee them a lethal edge, and most men wouldn't have approached this quite so rashly. But guns had never been his preferred means to any end, at best a necessary evil (too necessary in recent weeks; Blake could admit his sleep had suffered for the worst of it).]

[In the interest of efficiency, he almost reaches for a wrist, planning to twist both behind Barsad as quickly as possible, but -- if there is a time for precaution, this is it. Entirely contingent on Barsad's continued willingness to play along, of course.]

You guys may have suspended habeas corpus, but some standard procedure is just common sense. Hands behind your back.

on the sudden impulse to voicetest

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lmao sorry, I totally misunderstood the last tag

hey man it's cool with me

Re: hey man it's cool with me

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saying this now: i've really enjoyed this thread a lot

ahh me too! thanks so much for keeping it up with me!

hey if you ever wanna do more stuff, i'm totally down with it

yeah, definitely! I'll pm you