Blake nods, smiling out of reflex at his friend's comment. Reaching up, he combs his fingers through the dark hair like he's saying goodbye and then releases it completely to Wes to do what he does best. There aren't a lot of people who can get it just right as far as Blake's concerned, but at least he knows he's in good hands. Add in the fact that Wes takes pride in what he does and the odds are good that he won't be coming out of this with a shaved head or a mullet.
Knowing he came here for a reason doesn't make it any easier, but Blake's making an attempt regardless. He makes sure he can keep his hands free and clear and signs, Have you ever heard of Gotham City?
If nothing else, it's a starting point, although he suspects that it's probably something more likely to be known by Grady than Wes — most pop culture seems to elude the man with the shears that not so long ago needed help in modernizing his look.
It would be easy to let himself fall back into his own habits. Wes knows that he's well-poised to use his silence and natural intimidation to draw the story out of Blake. A few narrow-eyed glances in the mirror, the refusal to set down his tools to pick up his end of the conversation, and the threat of shears to a man's head. It's the perfect setup. But he finds himself almost disgusted by the thought of wielding that power. The memories of all the times he's used it to his advantage in the past swirl inside him and make him wonder if he'll ever be any different. If he's even capable of change.
Yes, he knocks his fist in the air, signing at his own reflection to the mirror. But I don't know very much. That's where you're from?
Blake nods at the question. He's fairly certain that's not news to Wes — it has to have come up at least once — but he's no so sure about the greater implications. Most people have two reactions to hearing the name of his hometown: either they immediately recognize it, or they know nothing of it at all. The former has been much more frequent than the latter in Blake's experience.
We're famous for corruption, hopelessness, and theatrics, Blake points out, and a V-I-G-I-L-A-N-T-E... that dresses like a B-A-T. Of all the words he doesn't know, these are probably the most ironic. And wanting to clarify despite it being fairly obvious, he stretches out his arms to mimic flight before waiting to see Wes' reaction.
Wes does have a particularly good poker face, but nothing about the man's expression points to any obvious familiarity. Instead, he nods in acknowledgment. The concept of superheroes and vigilantes is one that he's only become familiar with through Deerington, but he can't possibly make his home with three members of a group called the X-Men and think that the idea of a man who dresses like a bat and carries out the kind of justice that lives outside the law is too strange.
Blake nods. For a time. And then I gave it up to do something a little more... He considers his wording and finally decides there's really no way around it. ...dramatic, he finishes with a smirk.
He suspects on some level that most people in Deerington wouldn't be greatly surprised about such things after any amount of time, but he can't ignore the knot in his throat at the very real lesson passed down from Bruce Wayne. It's one of the few done in-person and it had been a sobering aspect of the job Blake hadn't considered: those close to him could be at risk just by association. The Joker, had he not disappeared like some figment of Blake's imagination, likely would have continued his track record of taking lives for the sake of his own sick interest in bringing out the worst in others.
I told you it was complicated. He's sure he's said so at some point.
I don't mind complicated, Wes responds simply. Maybe it hasn't always been true, but certainly the man's own life has been something of a complication. He's always known that there's plenty he's not aware of, but since arriving in this place that has been made even more abundantly clear. Meeting witches and mutants and people from other worlds entirely has been quite a complication, so whatever Blake means by "dramatic," he's sure that he can stomach it.
What Wes is less certain of is what his friend must think it'll change between them. Surely something major, for him to have kept it a secret all this time. Who was Blake trying to protect by retreating in the way that he has, and from what? Wes continues the man's trim uninterrupted for a few moments, letting the silence stretch to the point of wondering if what he's shared so far will really be sufficient.
After a time, he lays down his scissors to check his progress. So you gave up being a cop even before you were taken?
Blake nods at the question, his mind briefly wandering as he reflects back on what's now so many years behind him. It seems so far away, and yet the hurt he had felt as his perception of the world had been shattered still makes his chest ache even to this day.
Corruption was everywhere. The line between the good guys and the bad guys was blurred more than ever. Even the people I looked up to were guilty.
Frowning, Blake can't help the shadow that crosses his features at the memory of Bane tearing the roof off the building that held gently Blake's expectations. The light that had flooded in showed him that even the incorruptible — the people who risked everything (including themselves) for the greater good — could twist a perspective to suit their own means.
As a cop, I could only do so much, he signs, and boy does it hurt even now to admit as much. Then again, the world was never black and white and some small measure of success shouldn't have been able to convince him otherwise after everything he'd live through. That was his mistake, and one he intends to never make again.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Knowing he came here for a reason doesn't make it any easier, but Blake's making an attempt regardless. He makes sure he can keep his hands free and clear and signs, Have you ever heard of Gotham City?
If nothing else, it's a starting point, although he suspects that it's probably something more likely to be known by Grady than Wes — most pop culture seems to elude the man with the shears that not so long ago needed help in modernizing his look.
no subject
Yes, he knocks his fist in the air, signing at his own reflection to the mirror. But I don't know very much. That's where you're from?
no subject
We're famous for corruption, hopelessness, and theatrics, Blake points out, and a V-I-G-I-L-A-N-T-E... that dresses like a B-A-T. Of all the words he doesn't know, these are probably the most ironic. And wanting to clarify despite it being fairly obvious, he stretches out his arms to mimic flight before waiting to see Wes' reaction.
no subject
And you were a cop in the middle of all that?
no subject
He suspects on some level that most people in Deerington wouldn't be greatly surprised about such things after any amount of time, but he can't ignore the knot in his throat at the very real lesson passed down from Bruce Wayne. It's one of the few done in-person and it had been a sobering aspect of the job Blake hadn't considered: those close to him could be at risk just by association. The Joker, had he not disappeared like some figment of Blake's imagination, likely would have continued his track record of taking lives for the sake of his own sick interest in bringing out the worst in others.
I told you it was complicated. He's sure he's said so at some point.
no subject
What Wes is less certain of is what his friend must think it'll change between them. Surely something major, for him to have kept it a secret all this time. Who was Blake trying to protect by retreating in the way that he has, and from what? Wes continues the man's trim uninterrupted for a few moments, letting the silence stretch to the point of wondering if what he's shared so far will really be sufficient.
After a time, he lays down his scissors to check his progress. So you gave up being a cop even before you were taken?
no subject
Corruption was everywhere. The line between the good guys and the bad guys was blurred more than ever. Even the people I looked up to were guilty.
Frowning, Blake can't help the shadow that crosses his features at the memory of Bane tearing the roof off the building that held gently Blake's expectations. The light that had flooded in showed him that even the incorruptible — the people who risked everything (including themselves) for the greater good — could twist a perspective to suit their own means.
As a cop, I could only do so much, he signs, and boy does it hurt even now to admit as much. Then again, the world was never black and white and some small measure of success shouldn't have been able to convince him otherwise after everything he'd live through. That was his mistake, and one he intends to never make again.