Dramatics was Edward’s middle name, well no it wasn’t his real middle name, it was just the expression to say something you were rather good at, so maybe “riddles” would fit better, no matter. Dramatics. He was known for being out in the open, putting on a show for unsuspecting civilians just to put on a play of how clever and powerful he could be if he put effort into it, so why was he here.

Edward was finding it best to stay in a cramped apartment for the moment, certainly wasn’t to his liking—it was Gotham, who would possibly want to own a shitty apartment here? But owning such a common area of property was just the blend-in he needed. Seemed his last scheme of blowing up a factory had caught the lazy policemen’s attention for real, name rather at large at the moment. Yes, him laying low was maybe showing weakness—a fear of the authority—but no, that was far beneath him. He just wasn’t in the mood to want to escape Gotham Asylum, a common act he would perform with little attention.

So instead, he was considering this a month off—a vacation, if you will—a nice time to sit on the couch and stare at the stained ceiling in his thoughts. He could be thinking of future plans, yes, but the unnecessary clabber from across the hall was getting on his nerves.

It was a pair of a girl and boy, boyfriend-girlfriend most likely, especially with how much the man would yell and the woman would beg. It was pathetic how they hadn’t parted yet. He didn’t care much, but the real-life situation was catching his attention in both good and bad ways more than any TV program.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊ [?] ₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Edward flinched out of his thoughts with a crash of glass across the hall, letting out a groan once realizing what it was. It was the scheduled time, wasn’t it... seemed a bit more intense today though. How often did they fight? Every two days? How had their neighbors not reported it? Maybe they had moved with all the racket, not wanting to stick their nose into such matters, or maybe Edward wasn’t used to the apartment racket as much as they were. Whatever it was, it was brain-itching today.

Edward had nothing to lose. He was already walking out of his door, closing it behind him, feeling the knife in his pocket just in case he needed to threaten the couple. He’d just pop in, give a polite “shut up,” and leave. Whether they would listen, he didn’t care, but he’d like to get the point across.

“Bitch, what have I told you? Just because you want to go out don’t mean you should. I get the money, I expect you to do shit around here.” The man yelled, another crash heard. Edward let out a huff. Well wasn’t that cute, really? That’s the best the man could think of for reasoning to yell?

“Y’know what? Out! Get out!” The man demands. Edward's eyebrows peak up. Shit, well would this be awkward? Should he retreat back to his room since the noise would dismiss? No, Edward wasn’t going to run away and besides, the door had already opened.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊ [?] ₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You get roughly pushed out by your boyfriend, seeing the red anger in his eyes was spine-chilling. Your back hits something to stop your fall before the door slams in your face. A tear rolls down your cheek as you stare. Your hand reaches back to figure out what could’ve aided you from falling—pants fabric, a leg—you look up, somehow able to make features through the blurriness… green eyes and… striking ginger hair.