Chapter Text
“Yes...Yes, Mother! I am fine. Yes, the ride was okay. I am in one piece. Yes...I know. Okay, fine, I will call soon. Okay...goodbye mother... goodbye ”
Finally able to put down the phone, his neck and arm having cramped whilst attempting to lug his bulky suitcase through the halls and the elevator, the joints in his neck popped painfully as he stretched it from side to side. A soft curse came from his chapped lips as the jolt of pain shot down his spine and somehow into his damned knee. Sweat peppered his brow in a crown that expressed his exertion, and he grimaced at it, not wanting to swipe it away with his sleeve, but loathing the sensation of it on his skin. One hand grasping the handle of the heavy bag, knuckles more pale than usual as he gripped the old thing, and he pulled furiously to drag it along the floor on the wheels that were no help at all, dark eyes surveying the numbers posted along each door. He searched for his own, glancing down at the ugly orange, small envelope he had been given upon entry, having to delcare his name and show an ID to gain the small, old metallic key. The ID had a photo in which he loathed, eyes more sunken than usual, face red and shoulders high, the picture of someone who was ready to snap at the government employees whom had made the past hours of his life a living hell. He hated the bureaucracy of it all, having to wait in line with others, like cattle herded to death, he thought, extremely. It did not help that he was not a fan of other people in general.
His mood, particularly nasty, was attributed to the mentally arduous trek across half of the continental United States via public bus system, Greyhound. It was the most financially feasible option, and thusly mostly out of his hands. The passengers were what he would document as undesirable at the very best, people he would have avoided like the plague otherwise. A few had stared at him, earning back deadly glares and the turn of his pointed nose. Their eyes on the back of his neck made his teeth grind until he shot a nerve and jolted in his seat at the unexpected pain, massaging his jaw afterwards and jamming in his headphones in an effort to fall asleep and hope no one jumped him or his belongings. It had been a shitty journey, and his patience had strung thin by the time he had arrived. At least the weather was nice. Stepping out of the horrible bus and into the open-air had been a refreshment that Oswald hadn’t known he wanted, and the smell of late summer wafted all around him, trees, something tangy cooking nearby, and warmth. The subtle smells and sensations had made his taut body relax for once, but he still ruminated angrily on those that had anguished him on the bus.
Oswald had been lost a bit in thought, his muscles working on auto-pilot to move himself along the endless corridor, lit with drab incandescent light that did no justice to the bland walls and old carpeting, nearly missing the door labelled as his, 437. Ignoring the throb in his knee, the niggling bite in the popliteal and pulse that he could feel in the veins. Oswald stopped in front of the wooden door, noting its fake-looking exterior, a tacky wood panelling stylization, and reading his own name on a name tag with a small clip art penguin, beside his was one labelled ‘ Edward’ with a cartoon magnifying glass. The things seemed a bit childish, but every door had a pair of names and images, so Oswald left the thing up for now, but not before giving a small scowl before jamming the key into the lock and fidgeting with it for far too long until the damn thing clicked open. Oswald pushed up against the door with his good leg, dragging the other at this point, and yanked his suitcase inside, giving and small huff in exertion and letting the door close behind him with a loud thunk. He flung the old backpack slung across his shoulders on the floor, where it sounded lamely and sunk down. Exhausted, Oswald sat down on the floor, his back against the lumpy backpack, and massaged at his knee a bit, hissing as he accidentally pinched a bundle of muscle that had knotted up by the flesh part of his upper knee. Using his thumb, he worked at the knot and grimaced as he did so, pain shooting up his spine more than usual. He cursed creatively as the hurt continued, things that his mother would faint at.
Leaving his leg be, Oswald lifted his neck to glance around the room that he was to call his own, or at least, until this ‘Edward’ showed up. Oswald frowned and pulled back his lip at the idea of sharing such a small space with someone he didn’t know. It sounded so unpleasant, yet that was what he signed up for. What was he supposed to do, the scholarship granted him this, and it was not like he could afford anything else. He was stuck with sharing even if he hated it immensely. His mother had insisted it would be good for him anyways, and that he would get with someone good. He scoffed at the memory, as if anyone would be good to live with. He prayed that they were neat, and respectful of boundaries, and if he was lucky, dropped out after a few days and let him be alone. Too hopeful, Oswald thought, just hope that they aren’t complete imbeciles.
It took a few moments for Oswald to notice that one side of room had been set-up as a living space, the bunk-bed fully clothed in sheets, blankets, and a pillow, and the desk arranged nicely with personal belongings, books, and an open laptop. Apparently Edward had arrived before him, leaving Oswald with the other side of the room he supposed. The dorm room itself was small, split up nearly in half with a raised bed and a large desk with drawers underneath. There really was no room for the beds on the floor, which Oswald hated, imagining himself having to clamber up the bed’s damned side to get into it. He didn’t think he’d be able at this rate. There wasn’t any proper ladder or anything to get up, just a set of parallel planks on the bed’s foot that he supposed was used to climb up like an idiot. Oswald hissed at the idea and pushed it from his mind. He’d rather sleep on the floor. His knee throbbed angrily as Oswald pressed against the one of the bony masses, sparking a nerve and lighting up the bundle, and he groaned audibly, flopping back unto the floor and rubbing his eyes with pale fingers. The day was going much like he had predicted; badly. Unlike most people his age, Oswald was not looking forward to the so-called ‘college experience’.
After a few minutes of rubbing at his leg, eyes closed as he tried to re-center himself and keep from breaking anything, Oswald sighed and took a better look around the tiny room he would have to dub home for the next 8 months. Nosy, Oswald pushed himself up with an arm on the desk under his bed and wobbled over to the other desk, leaning his weight against it as he leaned over and gazed at the belongings on it. Convinced that the best way to get to know someone was by rifling through their belongings, Oswald allowed himself to paw at the objects laid out. A short stack of paperbacks caught his initial attention, surprised at the fact that someone else his age would even imagine reading for leisure. The entire population, as far as Oswald had observed, was a slave to their electronic devices. A light hand came to the top book and pulled it away from the small tower, bringing it up into better lighting so that Oswald could read the title. Dancer from the Dance . Oswald furrowed his brow at the title, finding it as if something he had heard about before, but could not truly find in his memory. He flipped it over to read the back cover for more context. “Oh…” Oswald quirked his expression and murmured to himself. He quickly placed the book back, but not before thumbing through the other titles quickly. Him. Cut and Run. Shattered Glass. It took but a few seconds for the correlation to make itself evident. The odd part was not necessarily the fact that this Edward has a collection of gay romance novels, but that they were laying out in plain sight, and that some were flagged with colored sticky notes with illegible scribbles. It was unusual, and Oswald did not want to linger on it.
Oswald shook his head and huffed, moving on. He swiftly nabbed a large bottle with a colorful content, the movement making a loud rattling sound from the stuff inside moving about. Pills. A bulk size bottle of allergy pills from what Oswald could read. He didn’t think it was even allergy season, but item was more boring than expected. If it had been Adderall or some sort of illicit substance, that would have been worth investigating further. Pushing the bottle back into place, Oswald used his other hand to open one of the desk drawers, humming slightly to himself as he discovered a stash of goods. The only thing in the drawer was multiple boxes of Laffy Taffys, the candy that Oswald associated with accidentally gluing his teeth together. He, like many people, had a sweet tooth, but this seemed like overkill. There had to be over a hundred candies in the bulky boxes. This Edward seemed odd, but Oswald was odd himself, so maybe that wasn’t terrible. Besides, it seemed that Edward appreciated organization. While Edward’s side was full of his belongings, it all looked very put-together and neat, his bed was made perfectly, not a wrinkle on the sheets or blankets, his books, while weird content-wise, were stacked nicely and straight, and an array of school supplies were all set-up fashionably on the desk in labelled bins and boxes.
Oswald yawned and rubbed at his face, wondering what the time was and tempted to literally just sleep on the floor. Luckily, the computer open on Edward’s desk caught his eye. A small sticky note with clean handwriting had been affixed to the desk space beside the computer. Press Enter, read the note. Oswald quirked his brow and glanced down at the open laptop. He pressed the button and leered at the screen as it spit out some text at him.
Hello. Please take the time to fill this out so that I may become acquainted with you. :)
At this point, Oswald had nothing better to do, and decided to humour himself and the computer by pulling the chair out from Edward’s desk and sitting in it, his bad leg stretched out. The computer continued.
First, a riddle: What do you use every single day, but never pay for? What is truly yours but came from somewhere else? What is very personal but shared with everyone?
A name!
That said; Please type your first name:
Oswald was the furthest thing from a computer expert. He knew how to use one, but he still had to ask for IT help online when his WiFi gave out or his laptop contracted a virus from some damn program he’d accidentally downloaded. Not necessarily knowing how the computer was doing what it was doing made interacting with it a bit fun. Oswald tapped in his name, never having learned how to properly type and thus doing so slowly, glancing at the keys while doing so.
That said; Please type your first name: Oswald
Please type your last name: Cobblepot
Nice to meet you, Oswald Cobblepot!
Cute. Oswald thought cheekily, nipping at his inner cheek and snorting.
I suppose it is customary for me to introduce myself at this point, but I am not truly 'here' persay so I will save such introductions for later.
Oswald frowned a bit, his nose crinkling. Quite a character you are. He mused for a moment, but then the prompter spat out more text.
More questions for now!
Oh goody...
Do you have an intended major? (yes or no)
Oswald winced. He felt an unnerving guilt at not having a clue what he was doing. Not in life, and most definitely not in college. He really had nowhere else to go, the streets were his only other option. Either rack up debt for life at some prestige institution of higher education - he scoffed - or work at a menial labor job until some robot takes it from him. Oswald swallowed and jabbed in an answer, hoping he would not be judged wrongly for it.
no
Being undeclared at this stage in college is pretty common. Indecisiveness is a symptom of being human. :D
A smile twitched at Oswald’s lip and the statement. He knew it was hollow in meaning, something a soulless machine was simply told to spew, but he could not help the the fact that the vague reassurance made him feel a bit less turmoiled by his current dilemma. Something about Ed’s way of writing was peculiar, but not in an off-putting sense. Oswald was peculiar as well, so he supposed that was why it sat with him.
I've got another riddle for you. I'll give you a chance to guess this time.
How lovely.
'I have an end but no beginning, a home but no family, a space without room. I never speak but there is no word I cannot make. What am I?' Simply press enter if you give up.
Oswald changed his mind. He hated these riddles for no reason. Why in the hell would anyone enjoy these? He groaned and jammed the words into a Google search on his battered phone, frowning. Why was he doing this anyways? Well, it was not as if there was anything better to do, and why not indulge this Ed, or program, whichever. Oswald pulled up the answer and typed it in quickly, raising his brow as if to question his correctness to the machine itself.
keyboard ?
Correct! I do hope you came up with that yourself and not with the assistance of the internet.
Oswald flattened his lips into a large frown. How dare he predict Oswald’s use of handy resources - cheating. It was a bit interesting, knowing that Ed would might be a step ahead of the players in his game. Dealing with someone doubtful of human integrity and intelligent enough to counter it in some way made this whole thing feel a little less stupid.
In case you have not noted, I am a fan of riddles. I appreciate brain picking and problem solving, and these word puzzles are a fun way to do both!
Oswald simply frowned and adjusted his leg.
Do you like riddles?
If Oswald hadn't disliked them before, he wasn't too big a fan now. With his index finger extended, Oswald tapped two keys and then enter, watching the prompter blink once, waiting.
no
Oh, well. I am sure that you will get used to them.
While Oswald was unsure as what to expect, this was surely not it. It sounded as if the program had disliked his response and rebuked his opinion. You’ll get used to it , “No I very much will not.” Oswald muttered under his breath to Edward, the computer, no one truly. Riddles were just questions asked in stupid ways.
What is your favorite color? (Mine's green) black
Frivolous things like favorite colors were never something Oswald cared to dwindle on. He tended to wear black and preferred it to bright, gaudy colors, but in truth it wasn’t something he cared about. He typed in the first thing that came to mind.
black is nice too, I suppose. Good to know!
Oswald began to wonder what Edward was intending to do with this information. It is not as if he could blackmail Oswald for liking the color black and not having a declared major, so he quickly lost track of his thoughts concerning the potential for this to somehow come back to haunt like everything else in life. Maybe, for once, someone was just doing some for the sake of being able to do it. It was a nice distraction from the throb in his leg anyways.
Do you have a favorite animal, what is it?
penguins
He liked them before the incident, though afterwards his passion was bittersweet. A love for the tuxedoed birds tainted by cruel teasing, he had tried initially to cease his waddling walk, but when he attempted to bend the knee to often it sent sparks up his leg and gave out, sending him to the floor and causing more jeers than if he had simply taken his forced gait. Though he still loathed the title that had thrown upon him in the aftermath of his leg, he refused to let it make him give up his personal passion for ornithology. Like hell they would get to him. He’d sooner slit their throats than ditch his Sibley guides and ignore his memories. He’d imagined doing so, imagined hitting the jugular, watching a dark surge gurgle and spurt, then soon lose pressure and flow like a weak stream down their pale bodies. Only in the darkest of mindsets did he regret never doing so.
A responding line on the promptor called him back to reality, and Oswald blinked dark green eyes to adjust to the screen.
I don't really have a favorite, but I would love to learn about penguins if you would want to tell me. I love learning about new things.
The sentiment seemed genuine, as if the writer would truly like to hear Oswald explain all his knowledge of the flightless avians. Oswald let out a breath of a chuckle and grinned lopsidedly. Sure . As if anyone would listen to him, even his own mother could barely stand him when he got into the topic at an extent. She only bared it because she was his mother, but he knew she grew weary of them. Anyone else would simply shake their head and grumble at him to shut up. No one nowadays appreciated listening to someone passionate about a subject. Everyone simply on their phones, as if the tiny electronics could hold the secret to life itself. Maybe, there was a slight possibility, this Edward wasn’t as bad as the rest. Oswald pondered for a second and then shook his head. No. That wasn’t possible. Besides, it was useless to get his hope up only for it to be buried into the Earth. Hope was a stupid feeling.
The computer called him back again.
Hmmm...what else to inquire about...
Aha! Yes, one last thing before I go. Or...until the program stops, I guess.
Do you have a preferred name? (yes or no?)
Did he? He’d gone by many through his years, some variations on ‘Oswald’, some vulgar slurs, many forms of ‘penguin’, and his mother had many much too embarrassing to repeat in the light of day. Oswald had always preferred the brevity of one name, additionally it was one of the only titles that had not been used to insult or aggravate him, thus it felt like one of the few things he truly owned in this world.
Do you have a preferred name? (yes or no?)
yes
Oh, okay! Do you mind telling me it?
Oz
Nice! I will address you as Oz if that is what you prefer. :)
Oswald smiled, not sarcastically, nor jokingly, but honestly. It was a quick quirk of his lips, bringing creases to his eyes. There was a sort of innocence in all of this. He was so used to everything having an ulterior motive against him, but this, this just seemed to really be for the honest benefit of the two parties. It had led him to instill some small amount of trust to whomever was behind the text on the screen, to give him the chance to trust, something Oswald had not had the willingness to do for a while. Maybe things would be different now. He was in a different place. No one here knew him for his sordid past. Maybe those here would be less cruel, more educated than the idiots back in his hometown, more understanding. Maybe residents of this place would not need to build their self-worth by crushing others, maybe he wouldn’t have to fight the desire to harm others and himself, wouldn’t have to wish the incident had taken more than his dignity and his leg. Just Maybe...
You can call me Ed.
So Edward went by ‘Ed’, or maybe that was just something people called him naturally without regard to what he actually preferred. Oswald was too tired to ponder it longer than a moment. The screen blinked another line.
:3 (People tell me this is a funny emoji...I hope they are right...?)
The display of social awkwardness in the form of text was funny to Oswald. It was something he could relate to. There was also something endearing in the attempt, despite the fact that questioning his own action made it painfully obvious that he was socially inept to some degree.
Well, I am going to say goodbye for now...
It was nice to meet you, Oz!
Bye for now! I shall see you soon!
Oswald blinked at the computer for a few moments, waiting to see if something else would pop up, but the computer simply turned its screen black after a couple seconds and then shut down. Oswald shrugged his shoulders to work a bit of stiffness in his lower neck and then he stretched out in the chair, yawning wide and running a hand through his greasy hair. He needed a shower, but doing so would no doubt annoy his knee and thusly annoy him, so he instead opted to lounging in the chair a bit more. Oswald placed his leg along the side of his desk, lower calf and foot hanging off the end. He knee rested on the desk, the throbbing lessening with the elevation. Oswald reached down with reddish, pale hands to yank up on his pant leg, pulling until it revealed a mess of flesh from his upper shin to his lower thigh.
The skin was an angry, gnarled red, twisted and bubbling like the roots of a disgruntled tree trying to grow through cement. Scar tissue boiled and churned on his flesh, creating disgusting patterns of shiny skin and jagged valleys of tissue all along the area. Oswald flinched as the air touched the mass. It was no longer as sensitive as it had been before, a few months after the damage had been done, but not keeping it under a cloth of some sort tended to aggravate it. Oswald ran hesitant fingers along the grooves and dips of the knee, noting how he could barely feel his own touch. The injury had essentially ripped all nerves from their proper places and now Oswald had a bare ability to sense with the dermis. Whereas most people would be able to sense pressure and temperature easily, Oswald could not, only when he pressed down hard could he feel, and only when he touched ice or brought a flame close could he sense. It was not as if the loss was truly important, but when he ghosted his fingers over and could feel nothing at all, it felt like the flesh was no longer his own, like he had not only had physical loss, but a loss of his self. As if a literal chunk of his body had been taken away, a part of his life torn free and smeared along the ground. Memories caused Oswald to dig his nails into the knee until it drew droplets of blood at where his nails had embedded in the skin, and he gasped, eyes wide and neck curled back as he gaped at the thunder that rumbled in his leg at his stupid actions. “Fuck!” Oswald cried out and bit at his lip, immediately pulling his hand away and yanking his pant leg down, panting and then sinking over the desk.
Oswald’s forehead bumped softly against the desk and he gritted his teeth and damned himself for letting his emotions wreak his state. He damned himself and thanked no god - if there was a god they would have made his life so hellacious - for the fact that Ed was not here to play witness. He would think Oswald insane, and maybe he was right in doing so, but Oswald did not want to spend the next half of a year with a roommate who thought him crazy. It would lead to bad things. Oswald knew how these things always came back to stab him in the back. Oswald let himself hunch over the desk for a few moments, breathing steadying, chest rising and falling, belly churning with a mixture of emotions and exhaustion.
Oswald then pushed himself up and hobbled over to where he had dropped his stuff. He lowered himself to the ground and leaned against one of the posts that held up the bunk bed, sighing and letting his legs lazily fall apart. Oswald’s green eyes glanced at the window, he watched a bird go by and blinked, realizing how difficult it was becoming to open them back up. He yawned again, wide, making a small noise with his throat as he did so. Oswald kicked off his shoes with his feet and leaned back, his lower back sliding further down unto the floor. It only took a few moments for Oswald to find himself unable to open his eyes again, and his jaw went slack as he let the tiredness take over. He hoped this sleep would be dreamless, just darkness, just silence, just him at peace for a moment.