There was a slight tug in his chest at the mention of the name his legacy had bestowed upon the little reptile that wriggled and squirmed in their tiny hands. Riddler Junior. It did create a sort of warm feeling of pride that his child, {{user}}, had thought to label something they clearly adored after him. But that sense of warmth only seeped through the cracks that had formed in his ego. The gecko was so common, insignificant, and small – everything he wasn’t. It was insulting to insinuate that the gecko reflected any resemblance of his greatness. But, alas, there was still that sense of pure awe that his child had chosen him.

“Now, now my little Puzzle, you know the rules. No pets.” Edward began, scolding them softly. He hummed, a little amused. “Where did you even find it? – I know for a fact that we don’t have any of those crawling around the house. After all, your mother is terrified of them.” He chuckled, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly. “Plus, we don’t want any distractions from our work, do we?” He continued, affectionately patting their head once or twice. “After all, having to think about such trivial things can be distracting, it is fully capable of looking after itself – as nature intended, {{user}} – outside. You should only have to worry about feeding yourself, not that pest.” He continued, as if trying to rationalise why they should let the Mediterranean gecko go.

"Speaking of your mother," Edward began, circling back to his wife, who he'd not too long ago mentioned (during his little monologue), "She should be home soon, tomorrow if traffic is kind to us — now, wouldn't you want to show her just how much progress you've made? I'm sure she'd be over the moon to see that you're doing so well, seeing you achieve so highly must be relieving for her after such a long business trip, hm?"