ROGUES | S01E06: On The Road Again (Patreon)

EDWARD: (amused) Enjoying that hot chocolate, Waylon?

WAYLON: ‘S yummy. I never get stuff like this.

EDWARD: You’re so easy to please; it’s a gratifying change from the usual company I keep.

WAYLON: Didn’t you usedta drink this stuff, too?

EDWARD: There’s no going back from the wonders of coffee, I’m afraid. You are quite correct, however - it was years ago, now. However, its ability to keep this particular workaholic going through the night is rather specious. It’s the mark of a former Riddler - who also used to wear spandex, mind you. (chuckles) Life does rather tend to go on. (dramatic) “The snake which cannot cast its skin has to die.”

WAYLON: Das neat. You come up with that?

EDWARD: Nietzsche.

WAYLON: God bless you.

EDWARD: I - (surprised laugh) Ohh, my. That is - that is adorable.

WAYLON: How long till we get to Jonny?

EDWARD: About another six hours. (checks watch) We’ll get there about 10pm.

WAYLON: Isn’t that late?

EDWARD: If Jon’s been keeping regular hours, I’ll be very surprised. If anything, we may catch him at his most lucid.

WAYLON: I wanna tell ya somethin’.

EDWARD: Hmm?

WAYLON: I bin havin’ fun. I don’t get ta have much fun, bein’ on my own all the time. You’re a good man to have aroun’, Eddie. 

EDWARD: (touched) If anyone but you called me a good man, Waylon, I’d be quite offended. But... thank you, all the same.

WAYLON: Hey - can I read ya another question? That be okay wit’ you?

EDWARD: Heh. Sure you can. Here you go.

WAYLON: Lessee. Um… Did you... at-attend... any post… post… secon-secondary?

EDWARD: Sounds right to me. Go on.

WAYLON: In-in-inst- (frustrated) dangit.

EDWARD: Break it up into bite-size pieces.

WAYLON: In-st-it-ut-ion?

EDWARD: Sounds like…?

WAYLON: Instit-ution?

EDWARD: Wonderful! Is there any more to that question?

WAYLON: If so, do you… have any… fond… mem-ories of it?

EDWARD: Post-secondary institutions, is it? I see. It was only a matter of time until this came up. There is a popular misconception about me - heh, believe me, there are many - that I am preternaturally (that means beyond natural, Waylon) gifted. My genius is apparently a mighty beast, separate from myself, a thing that needs no encouragement to grow. This is not so, oh no no - not even close. As a child, I was bored by the sporadic spoonfed nature of elementary and pre-tertiary education, and slipped that yoke as soon as I could. But during the quieter years of my career - downtime, if you like - I chose to pursue my chosen paths of education.

WAYLON: I never knew that.

EDWARD: Oh yes. You see, intelligence, and the capacity for it, is merely a seed that one is given at an early age. It requires light, and to be fed. My father, (hearty) God bless him, did all he could to smother the poplar of my potential, but it turned out to be hardier than he thought. My intelligence suffered in the shade, but did not perish. It lay dormant for years, biding its time. I suppose to put it lyrically, the twin fires of my burning hatred and desire to be free kept it warm.

WAYLON: Das pretty.

EDWARD: You’re too kind. Now as soon as I was able to escape, I took off for Gotham City. I had heard that if you could make it there, you could make it anywhere. (emphatic) And believe you me, I was going to make it. (thumps the wheel)

(pause)

EDWARD: (clears throat) Ahem. But I’m straying from my original point. I cherry-picked my tertiary education, and found myself revelling in the focused environment they offered. I was asked for fond memories - hm. I could say how I aced my exams, blitzed my finals, and irritated my professors, but somehow I doubt that was the answer they were seeking.

WAYLON: (chuckles) People lookin’ to hear yer secrets?

EDWARD: Always. Did I hit every kegger, nail anyone who offered, and wake up in a ditch the next morning? Hah, no - not me. I thrived; I sucked down all the knowledge I possibly could like downing a milkshake. Let’s call that my fond memory.

WAYLON: What’d yeh go ta school fo’?

EDWARD: Let’s see. By way of some elegant hacking, I went straight into a Masters of Business, then a Masters of Business Engineering - because, obviously. Then came my doctorate of Engineering, my favourite. 

WAYLON: You a doctor?

EDWARD:Well, to everyone but other doctors, apparently. 

WAYLON: You think yeh’d go back to learn anythin’ else?

EDWARD: I’m not ruling anything out. Sometimes I entertain the prospect of a professional degree in Law simply to irritate Harvey Dent and meet him on his own turf.

WAYLON: (chuckles) O’ course ya would.

EDWARD: But still, the book of my mind remains open, with many blank pages begging to be filled. The moral of the story is - education is a beautiful thing, on one’s own terms.

WAYLON: I bin missin’ out. Yeh must think I’m stupid.

EDWARD: What? 

WAYLON: I din’t get past my three r’s. Readin’, ritin’, and rithmatic. Yer lucky, yeh’ve always bin smart. 

EDWARD: Look - potential is only the beginning of the story. In my humble opinion, no purportedly intelligent creature should satisfy themselves with pleading ignorance, or having the gall to authoritatively speak upon that which they know nothing. What I like about you is that you are willing to learn. You’re not so much ignorant as deprived.

WAYLON: That’s kind o’ yeh.

EDWARD: Merely speaking the truth. You know what, now that I think of it - next town we get to, I’m buying you some books.

WAYLON: Really? What kinda books?

EDWARD: Whatever catches my eye. Or yours, for that matter. We’ll get you a pile of them so you can fill that brain of yours with as much knowledge as you can.

WAYLON: (chuckles, peters off)

(pause)

WAYLON: I haven’t bin this far South in a long while.

EDWARD: Me neither. Not my usual locale at all.

WAYLON: (sighs)

EDWARD: Something wrong?

WAYLON: It’s nuthin’. Just thinkin’.

EDWARD: Anything you want to talk about?

WAYLON: Not yet. I don’t got the words.

EDWARD: Mm.

(pause)

WAYLON: Hey, Eddie?

EDWARD: Yes?

WAYLON: Do ya know anythin’ ‘bout Jonboy’s daddy?

EDWARD: Hm. Is that what you were thinking about?

WAYLON: Nah, just got ta thinkin’.

EDWARD: Well, Jon doesn’t talk about his father much - you know that already.

WAYLON: Yeh. It’s ain’t somethin’ I think I get to ask.

EDWARD: He hasn’t told me anything terribly specific. Jon’s a reticent man at the best of times, and as far as I know, he hasn’t talked about his father to anyone. He just leaves… impressions of what his father was like.

WAYLON: How ya mean?

EDWARD: Well - this is all speculation, you understand. I don’t know anything concrete, but I can hypothesise. To get a son like Jon, you can assume that Elijah Crane must have been at least somewhat intelligent. 

WAYLON: Yer daddy smart, too?

EDWARD: (burst of laughter) God, no. My father is an imbecilic oaf, and far too proud of it. My genius was like… recessive genes combining to make one bright spark. A fluke. 

WAYLON: But ya don’t think the same for Jonny?

EDWARD: No. I’ve found that regular intelligence tends to be inherited. The thing about Jon is - he’s never talked about his father in basic terms. What he looked like, things he said, that sort of thing. However, the aspect I am sure of is that Jon had a hand in his ‘accidental’ death. 

WAYLON: He admit to that?

EDWARD: More or less.

WAYLON: Cops wouldn’t get ‘im for that?

EDWARD: No one would investigate because his father died of a sudden heart attack; according to the coroner’s report, there wasn’t a mark on him. Now, knowing Jon and his - predilections - one can assume that he could have helped his father into his grave.

WAYLON: He scared ‘im?

EDWARD: It seems a safe bet. Now, again - knowing the kind of man Jon is, would you say he was the kind of man who would scare just anyone to death?

WAYLON: Naw. Jonboy keep to hisself. He need a reason to get real mean.

EDWARD: Exactly. In general, he’s apathetic. However, like the mad scientist that he is, Jon likes to push people. He tinkers with his toxin and creates newer and better ways to terrify, but killing people with it merely deprives him of a repeat subject. Hence why the formula has become so refined over the years - you could date those damned toxins like wine. (under his breath) Chateau la Crainte, 1995. (snorts) Good grief.

WAYLON: He make a mistake, ya think?

EDWARD: It’s possible - perhaps his father was his first test, and it was more effective than he thought. Another possibility exists, however. 

WAYLON: Mebbe his daddy deserve it?

EDWARD: That’s the hypothesis I support most strongly. The first life we take does tend to be the one closest to us. So what do we have so far?

WAYLON: We got a daddy that was mebbe smart, but kinda dumb ‘cos he did sumthin’ that made Jonboy want ‘im dead.

EDWARD: Eloquence itself. What that something is, I’ve never found out. I’ve looked through Jon’s records before he came to Gotham. The only records remaining are a birth certificate with Calhoun as the birthplace, and no record of his mother. I couldn’t find the death certificate for his father - I’m led to assume Jon has it somewhere. Perhaps just to take it out and look at it.

WAYLON: (shivers) Dat’s dark, Eddie.

EDWARD: (speculative) Would I do any differently? I don’t think I would. Except that I would get my father’s death certificate framed and mounted on my wall so that I could salute it as I walk by.

WAYLON: What about yer daddy? What’s he like?

EDWARD: He’s a pig-ignorant, loutish, alcoholic, wastrel of a man propped up by staggering impotence masquerading as importance. (laughs) I’ve never made any secret of my father’s misdeeds - he used to beat me, Waylon. And I’m not talking about light discipline. I’m talking about his trying to sculpt me into a different person, one fist at a time.

WAYLON: Dat’s awful. I’m sorry, Eddie.

EDWARD: Kind of you, but it doesn’t affect me anymore. I’ve long come to terms with myself and my father being the proverbial unstoppable force and immovable object.

WAYLON: It’s a damn shame, is all. You two are my friends. You deserve better than what you got.

EDWARD: (sardonic chuckle) It’s made us the men we are today - for better or for worse. Speaking of father figures - what was your father like, Waylon?

WAYLON: (sniff; crosses his arms and looks out the window)

(pause)

EDWARD: (quiet) Fair enough.

(long pause)

EDWARD: There’s a rest stop up ahead. 

WAYLON: …

EDWARD: I’d say we could use some ice cream. What do you think, Waylon?

WAYLON: … Yeah. Yeah, I could go for that.