He tries not to look like a child in a candy store as they walk through the lab, fingers twitching and aching to touch a few of the vials full of something he can only assume to be both poisonous and corrosive to him. For now however he manages to stuff his hand into his pocket and follow after like a pup on a lead.
When Jonathan lets go of his hand he flexes it a few times, hand lifting to rub at the back of his neck for a second, spreading the chemicals a bit more without his knowledge before he reaches for Jonathans hand again as soon as it’s no longer occupied with the vials and the fridge. Jonathan started this, he sure as hell was gonna keep it going.
Even if Jonathan is talking like his Arkham psychiatrists. And it makes his skin crawl, and even if it’s only a few seconds, his anxiety builds at the words and the way they seemed to just pour out of the other mans mouth. Just a soon as they started however, Jonathan stops and laughs. Instead of putting him at ease it seems to make his anxiety just a little worse despite the way the sound usually made him smile.
Slowly, Edward shifts his footing cautiously before following after Jonathan once again, waiting for him to pull the chess out before finally just doing exactly what Jonathan is expecting and settling more than contently in his boyfriends lap.
“Good. Cause I probably would have bothered you anyway.”
Ⅰ- ☣ —- ;; Ⅰ Taking a moment to get settled in, the professor adjusts his own pose to best accommodate the new body in his lap. Edward smells like his cologne and it’s a comfortable sensation to be at the receiving end of; prompting the retrieval of the plaid flannel blanket he keeps tossed over the arm of the couch in the event that he ends up sleeping there. After constructing an adequate cocoon, he rests his chin on Edward’s shoulder and counts heartbeats as he feels them underneath.
Elevated pulse, dilated pupils. Jonathan smiled. Edward was experiencing fear. Anxiety, more specifically. More than likely a bleak sort of preamble to his oncoming emotional low, but also very possibly a result of those pesky chemicals that our dear doctor has a much higher tolerance toward. Poor Edward.
Setting up the board, Crane kept his mouth close to Nygma’s ear.
”White moves first. Would you like for me to move your pieces for you so that you don’t have to pull your arms out from under the blanket?”
The thought that the chemicals he was working on would rub off and into his skin doesn’t even pass his mind, he’s too distracted by the fact that Jonathan took his hand this time. Jonathan did it. Not Eddie.
Jon was initiating contact and for a few seconds Eddie feels ecstatic. His heart rate picks up momentarily and he tightens his grip. The scientific ramblings already had him grinning a bit despite the way that his mood was plummeting. At least he could lay here like a lump and Jonathan would find his body almost entirely useful. At least he could be drugged and observed when his mind was rebelling.
“You can take black. And don’t worry about not being good at chess I’m sure you’re better than most of the other people I’ve played against.” He squeezes the hand in his once again, tapping his fingers almost playfully against the back of the larger mans hand.
“Thanks. For distracting my brain.”
Ⅰ- ☣ —- ;; Ⅰ Passing through a doorway and flicking the lights on, the professor holds fast to the younger man’s hand as he weaves his way past lab benches and fume hoods, racks filled with beakers with handwritten-labels, et cetera. It smells vaguely of ammonia and salt, and, returning a quick squeeze, he departs from contact only long enough to fridge the samples and set the combination lock on the freezer.
”Forgive me for dredging up terminology that I’m sure you’ve associated with the dreaded cells of Arkham, but you need a more conducive form of occupational therapy. In your frenzied mind, your fixations and obsessions are your only option for distraction, so it only makes sense that another party’s involvement in the process of much-needed distraction would be more…” Stopping mid-sentence, he gives Edward a long look and ends up just laughing instead of finishing. “Heh. Never mind. Don’t mention it; I, ah. I’m actually happy to spend a bit of time with you. Come on, I’ve got a chess board under the sofa.”
Sitting down, he pulls out the promised prize and waits for the inevitability of Nygma easing into his lap like a feline, minus the kneading.
“But I have to finish working on my new Riddle house.” Though to be honest, with the way his mentality has been spiraling it was more likely that he would get to the warehouse, begin building and then just lay on the floor face down for a few days.
Begrudgingly Edward nods and steps over to the larger man.
“Chess. And tell me what you’re concocting. In your fancy chemistry terms, that always makes me happy.”
Ⅰ- ☣ —- ;; Ⅰ "Working with a few new isotopes that have been exposed to heavy amounts of gamma radiation." Damn it, Nygma, now he’s smiling, pushing those glasses up further on his nose and scratching his scalp like a teen at a science fair. "Given recent research and events surrounding another experimental bio-chemist in the New York area, I have reason to believe that, via chemical exposure, I can not only make a person experience their worst fear through the use of my pre-established formula, but also physically transform them into a nightmare by using isotopes high on gamma radiation scales. Of course, I’ll need to be quite delicate; else the birth of a new Croc transpires as a result."
Stopping for breath, Crane had already started walking back towards the lab before so much as finishing his rather long-winded explanation. He reaches out and hesitantly grabs hold of Nygma’s hand. Has he washed his hands since his last chemical exposure? It would be interesting to see what sorts of things are absorbed through the skin…
”So. Black or white? Admittedly, I’m not very good. So do bear with me, as I’m sure without the added benefit of other patients howling in the background, I’ll surely be thwarted,” cue a very poorly timed and poorly executed wink. God, is he trying. That silently crying, motionless heap of a man on the floor really isn’t his preferred mental state for Edward, all things considered.