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ROGUES | S01E13: Sins of the Fathers
🕑 Added 2018-09-28 22:33:54 +0000 UTC ROGUES | S01E13: Sins of the FathersOPHELIA: (intercom) Monsieur Cobblepot, votre dix heure est ici.
OSWALD: Thank you Ophelia. Send him in, my dear.
(door opens)
OSWALD: Mr. Wayne. A rare pleasure, indeed.
BRUCE: Mayor Cobblepot.
HARVEY: Bruce.
BRUCE: How are you, Harvey?
HARVEY: I’m… we’re good, Bruce.
OSWALD: Take a seat, won’t you?
BRUCE: Thank you.
OSWALD: You’re looking tired, Mr. Wayne.
BRUCE: I’m fine.
OSWALD: Are you sure you’ve been getting enough sleep? Surely you have… underlings who can pick up your slack, if you’re at risk of overextending yourself.
BRUCE: Don’t worry yourself. Shall we?
OSWALD: As you wish.
BRUCE: Hm. Just a moment.
OSWALD: Is there a problem, Mr. Wayne?
BRUCE: (reaching) Well, that’s interesting. A bug.
OSWALD: Oh, that’s… unfortunate.
HARVEY: Where’d that come from?
BRUCE: Your security appears to be lacking, Mr. Mayor.
OSWALD: Yes, well. Usually, I have a man for that.
BRUCE: Speaking of - where is Edward?
OSWALD: Running one of my little errands.
HARVEY: It’s irrelevant.
BRUCE: If you say so.
OSWALD: As I was saying, to business. The topic I wish to discuss with you is the fate of Arkham Asylum.
BRUCE: Yes?
OSWALD: The recent - security breach - has served to highlight glaring infrastructure problems desperately in need of improvement and revision.
BRUCE: Agreed, but what might your solution be?
OSWALD: Not a man to beat about the bush, I see. (chuckles) I propose that we enter into a voluntary partnership, Mr. Wayne - for the purpose of a business transaction.
BRUCE: What are we buying?
OSWALD: Arkham Asylum, of course.
BRUCE: What?
OSWALD: Privately owned by you and myself, and dragged into this century.
BRUCE: A privately owned and run insane asylum? You must be joking.
OSWALD: Do I look like a man who would jape for no other reason but japery, Mr. Wayne?
BRUCE: No.
OSWALD: Much like yourself. Let us cut to the quick: how amenable are you to this proposition?
BRUCE: Not at all. I find the suggestion offensive.
OSWALD: (sighs) Very well. Then I shall let you in on a small secret that may serve to sway your thinking.
HARVEY: Careful.
OSWALD: I know what I’m doing, Harvey. Mr. Wayne, our esteemed (cough) President, Lex Luthor, has expressed clear intent to purchase Arkham Asylum in its totality using his personal funds. It is to be done under the guise of rehabilitating the asylum, but it is in actuality to be done with the definite view to control the facility in its entirety - including the patients, be they past, current, or future.
BRUCE: What? He can’t do that, it’s a clear conflict of interest.
OSWALD: Oh, yes he can. He has found that rules are either ignored or rewritten when he breaks them - there is simply no way of telling that man no. The only solution is to act before he does and acquire the thing right out from under his nose.
BRUCE: I see.
OSWALD: Yes. We must prevent Arkham Asylum from falling into his hands.
BRUCE: You’re right. I’m going to need some time to think about this.
OSWALD: Oh come now, Mr. Wayne - what is there to wait for? We are men of action, are we not? (chuckles)
(uncomfortable pause)
OSWALD: (musing) You know, you may not be aware of this, but I was familiar with your father - the prematurely deceased Thomas Wayne. Such a tragic loss. He was such a patron for the underclass; I can only imagine how he would hate to see the mentally ill and physically infirm so unfairly exploited. Surely he would see this matter done, and with the maximum of haste?
(smashing noise)
OSWALD: Oh dear, you seem to have broken your glass. Are you hurt, sir?
BRUCE: … No.
OSWALD: Amazing; you didn’t cut your hand.
HARVEY: A damn miracle.
OSWALD: (intercom) Ophelia, send someone in to sweep up this mess and bring Mr. Wayne a new coffee.
OPHELIA: (intercom) Bien sûr, Monsieur Cobblepot; immédiatement.
BRUCE: Forget it.
OSWALD: Oh, not at all, Mr. Wayne.
(door opens; someone sets down a new mug)
OSWALD: Much better. So what say you, Mr. Wayne?
BRUCE: Cobblepot -
HARVEY: Mayor, Bruce.
(OSWALD snickers)
BRUCE: (soft hiss) Mayor Cobblepot. Your plan of action appears to be sound, in the face of evidence you have presented.
OSWALD: Much obliged.
BRUCE: It appears that I have no choice but to acquiesce.
OSWALD: Oh, you make it sound so unseemly.
BRUCE: (unhappy grunt) There’s something else going on, here. Harvey?
HARVEY: No more than what you see, Bruce.
BRUCE: Mayor Cobblepot?
OSWALD: Something else, you say. What do you suppose might it be?
BRUCE: This is to cover up what happened in Arkham Asylum in October, isn’t it?
OSWALD: Do you know what happened, Mr. Wayne?
BRUCE: Not personally. But I believe you do.
OSWALD: Quite the contrary, you’ll find; my deputy and my district attorney here wisely sequestered me in a guard’s station for my own safety when Lyle Bolton went on his little power trip. I saw nothing.
BRUCE: (scoff) Didn’t have to.
OSWALD: What are you implying?
BRUCE: This has something to do with Jonathan Crane. He’s been missing since October - the GCPD, and Amanda Waller in particular, are paying close attention to that fact.
OSWALD: Really? Now that is fascinating.
BRUCE: Amanda Waller is very keen on finding out his whereabouts. And now you tell me Edward Nygma is out of town. Coincidence?
OSWALD: Clearly. My deputy is away on business. That’s all there is to it.
ELSEWHERE…
EDWARD: Here it is - Holy Trinity Church; the old worshipping ground.
JON: You, worship?
EDWARD: Lip service at the decree of my decidedly more devout parents. Given what I tended to get for existing, one dreads to think what I would have gotten for being a heretic.
JON: Hm. Why are we here, again?
EDWARD: I must ready myself before I meet with my father.
JON: Crock o’ shit. What’s the reason?
EDWARD: I have something to ask.
JON: What?
EDWARD: It’s private. Stop asking.
JON: Have it your way. Come on, then.
EDWARD: (ah-buh-buh noise) No, you can wait outside.
JON: What? I can’t even come in and sit down?
EDWARD: I fear if you cross the threshold, you may burst in flames. Affluent as I may be, I don’t care to stretch to rebuilding a church.
JON: Oh hilarious. Like you’re any better.
EDWARD: My lily-white hands are clean.
JON: Whatever helps you sleep at night. (scoff) Fine. I’ll be in the graveyard.
EDWARD: No digging up the deceased.
JON: No promises.
(footsteps; door opens; footsteps; curtain pulled open and closed)
(pause)
EDWARD: Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been… two months since my last confession.
MULDOON: Is that you, Edward?
EDWARD: Oh for the love of (snickers) - Father Muldoon. The Catholic Church does so love to hold onto its relics. How the hell are ya?
MULDOON: (sighs) Edward, it’s been twenty years since I last took confession from you. Unless you’ve confessed yourself since, do you really want to begin this with a lie?
EDWARD: Not so much a lie as a… fragment of the truth, but fine. It has been close to twenty years since my last confession. Do you remember it?
MULDOON: I’ll never forget it. You confessed your desire to murder your father.
EDWARD: You notice that did not come to pass, however?
MULDOON: No. You left town, instead.
EDWARD: It was better for all concerned, particularly numero uno, that I no longer be here. How did you know it was me?
MULDOON: People here don’t keep up with the news; I do. (fond) You look well, my son.
EDWARD: The urge to make an unseemly joke is nigh irresistible. Someone, applaud my restraint.
MULDOON: You also kept that little ‘told you so’ way of talking you always had.
EDWARD: Oh, the one that made my father grind his teeth?
MULDOON: I was talking to your father; your absence made him express some regret.
EDWARD: (laughs) He can express his own anal glands, for all I care.
MULDOON: Are you here to see him?
EDWARD: Oh I have to; I had to see if he was really dying; that perhaps Zuzu’s dandelions had granted my wish some thirty years too late.
MULDOON: (sigh) Such acrimony between father and son. If only you could find common ground for the sake of forgiveness at this sorrowful time.
EDWARD: The only common ground we have is being obsessed with me.
MULDOON: Well, you were always a clever boy.
EDWARD: That as may be, but it was of no value to my father.
MULDOON: I always had high hopes for you.
EDWARD: Oh, past tense, is it? My current elevated status has dashed your hopes?
MULDOON: From what I’ve seen, you’re positively flourishing. But I cannot condone your methods in getting there.
EDWARD: To say I’m sorry to disappoint would be a diabolical lie; disappointing authority figures is one of my favourite hobbies.
MULDOON: Have you come to confess your sins?
EDWARD: Oh, if only someone had asked me that sooner! I could have avoided this wicked life of crime and dissolution; now, you could draft my memoirs, while we’re about it. But this could take some time - do you have a pen?
MULDOON: I have all the time in the world, for you.
EDWARD: I should have known better than to attempt any irony on a priest. I have no need for absolution, Father; I feel no guilt, no shame, no stoic self-recrimination.
MULDOON: You have lost your faith, then.
EDWARD: (laughs) I have as much faith now as I ever did.
MULDOON: Yet you used to confess.
EDWARD: You were someone to talk to; sounding board, if you like.
MULDOON: Surely I brought you some solace.
EDWARD: Merely respite.
MULDOON: Such anger still lives in you, Edward.
EDWARD: I’d call it good old-fashioned cynicism.
MULDOON: (sighs) Tell me, son - do you still sing?
EDWARD: Sometimes. Why do you ask?
MULDOON: You seemed happiest in church when you were singing… hands clasped.
EDWARD: Clinging for dear life. In truth, it was simply more respite, though burdened as it was with parental expectation. Now, I sing alone. Whenever, and whatever I like.
MULDOON: So if you are not here for confession, then why are you here?
EDWARD: I came to see if the holy roller in residence could give me their thoughts on the one topic I can’t discuss with a friend of mine. I didn’t expect you to still be here, like a particularly virulent bindweed.
MULDOON: Then by all means, allow me to be your willing confidant.
EDWARD: Down, boy; let the man speak.
MULDOON: In your own time, then.
EDWARD: If you knew a truth that would ease the suffering of another, but would exponentially affect the wellbeing of many others, would you keep that truth a secret?
MULDOON: You mean, keeping quiet for a greater good?
EDWARD: In a manner of speaking, yes. What say you?
MULDOON: Keeping the secret to yourself implies that you know what is best, and that you can control people. I would advise honesty, and let life take its natural course as a result.
EDWARD: I knew you’d say something like that; how disappointing. I see you’re not a man of the utilitarian philosophy.
MULDOON: Then why did you come in here?
EDWARD: I wasn’t expecting to have you toss holy water in my face; I was vainly expecting personal validation from an impersonal entity.
MULDOON: Sorry to disappoint.
EDWARD: Good. Therefore, I’m disregarding your advice completely. I can fix this.
MULDOON: That sounds right. From what I’ve seen, you no longer feel the need for advice. Or morals, for that matter.
EDWARD: Ooh, that was bitchy. (laughs)
MULDOON: Is it so difficult for you to do the right thing?
EDWARD: This is the right thing.
MULDOON: To you, yes.
EDWARD: Alright, what question are you dancing around? I can hear it in your tone.
MULDOON: Dare I ask... (sighs) Have you come back here to kill your father?
EDWARD: Now that I feel unencumbered by such trivial restraints as traditional social mores, you mean?
MULDOON: Yes.
EDWARD: If he’s in St. Joseph’s, would it not be doing him a favour, Father?
MULDOON: Not in the eyes of God.
EDWARD: Could He not put his blinders on, just for little old me? He owes me a couple, on account.
MULDOON: I would be compelled to stop you, Edward. Despite your sins, you still don’t deserve the stain of patricide.
EDWARD: Oh no? I know a patricide, Father. He has never once expressed regret for what he did.
MULDOON: A wretched soul indeed.
EDWARD: (laughs) Oh, I’d adore the chance to see you say that to his face. What’s more, he’d positively delight in the opportunity to kill his father all over again. I’d sooner listen to his advice on that subject than yours; at least he speaks from personal experience.
MULDOON: What do you mean?
EDWARD: You have no idea what it is to suffer under a tyrant. True that one could call gods tyrants - but your God… your God is just a condescending hand on your shoulder, murmuring soothing platitudes; impotence itself; a blanket to keep out the cold and hold over your head to block out the evil that men do right in front of your eyes.
MULDOON: I don’t know what you want me to say.
EDWARD: (laughs)
MULDOON: What’s so funny about that?
EDWARD: You’d say that our parents make us the people we are today, yes?
MULDOON: For better or worse, that tends to be the case.
EDWARD: The patricide - he’s a… special kind of man. It would take another, particular kind of special parent to forge a man like that.
MULDOON: Then for his troubles, he is fortunate to have you as his friend.
EDWARD: Good grief. (laughs) Now, if he deigned to tell you about his father, I have every confidence that you would spare no thought for forgiveness, choosing instead to congratulate him most heartily for throwing aside the shackles of his oppressor.
MULDOON: I can understand that that is what you believe. Whether you care to admit it or not, there was a bright light inside you, Edward - and I always cared for you. When I saw you on Sundays, your eyes would look around, working everything out. You used to tremble like a small fawn, ready to bolt into the trees at any moment.
EDWARD: ... I was looking to escape.
MULDOON: I wish things could have been different, for you.
EDWARD: (pause)
MULDOON: Are you still there?
EDWARD: You - you said you’d be compelled to stop me, if I admitted to the intent of killing my father.
MULDOON: Yes?
EDWARD: I just… I took it for granted that people knew - I assumed. But then…
MULDOON: …
EDWARD: And this whole time... you’ve shown not a flicker of emotion, not even one note of surprise. … Just like before. (laugh) Of course.
MULDOON: Edward?
EDWARD: You did know.
MULDOON: Know what?
EDWARD: You knew what my father did. As a god-fearing man, he confessed to you; he cleansed his sins on a weekly basis. What did he say to you?
MULDOON: You know I can’t disclose the contents of my discussions with your father.
EDWARD: You saw me. You’d have to be blind not to see what was going on. You - you knew how he made me suffer, and you did nothing.
MULDOON: You - you never told me what he did. In confession.
EDWARD: (scoff) You know, he would give me that look before I went in, every time. That look that said not only would you not believe me, but that telling you would warrant nothing but more punishment from him. I had to lie. I had to confess my guilt at making him punish me.
MULDOON: … I remember.
EDWARD: But I stopped being afraid of him when I was fourteen.
MULDOON: That’s when you stopped confession.
EDWARD: Ahh - except for one.
MULDOON: The last, before you left.
EDWARD: Were you surprised when I confessed that what I desired more than anything else in this world was to watch the life leave my father’s eyes, under my hands?
MULDOON: … No.
EDWARD: My first and last honest confession, at the age of 18. You encouraged me to seek non-violent ends, but you weren’t shocked. That should have been odd, to me - but, but then, I put my lack of awareness down to a compromised mental state.
MULDOON: But you followed my advice. You chose to leave.
EDWARD: (scoff) Not because of you. Did you never think to examine the jarring juxtaposition? That perhaps the truth of confession was a lie, and that you should have believed your own eyes?
MULDOON: Not until recently. You - you were a lapse in judgement.
EDWARD: Lapse in judgement? Is that the best you can do?
MULDOON: I made the mistake of thinking your father was being honest with me. I believed that confession meant something to him.
EDWARD: Ohh, let me guess - Jackie said I was not what he had hoped for from a son; I was… wrong. I deserved the discipline he so heroically took upon himself to give me, because I all but begged for it; he believed that if he persevered, he could someday make me, if not better, then different.
MULDOON: (silence)
EDWARD: Hah! Forever justifying to himself that he was doing the right thing. (bitter laugh) I think that gorilla actually believed it, too. Did you think I was as bad as he said - or as guilty as I said?
MULDOON: No. The situation didn’t seem to make sense. But I would still encourage your father to seek better ways than corporal punishment.
EDWARD: When he could walk out into the sunshine every week, so absolved with a squeaky clean soul, why would he ever feel the need to change? He was never punished, only forgiven; he practically acted under God’s own orders. For fuck’s sake.
MULDOON: You’re right.
EDWARD: I’m always right. (scoffs) And people wonder why I have no respect for authority, when I am constantly surrounded by nothing but failure?
MULDOON: I’m sorry, Edward. I take full responsibility.
EDWARD: Oh, don’t flatter yourself. Spare me the wailing of mea culpa over the lost Nashton lamb. This may seem a revelation to you, but in actuality it changes nothing.
MULDOON: Of course it does! I know the truth, now.
EDWARD: The past is set in stone. What does the truth matter?
MULDOON: I could help you change things. Inform people they were misled.
EDWARD: Changing the opinions of narrow people does not make my short list. As for you - (cruel laugh) this confession is as sacrosanct as those of my blessed father.
MULDOON: Yes.
EDWARD: You can’t say a damn word.
MULDOON: (sigh) No.
EDWARD: Unless you’d break your vows - for me?
MULDOON: …
EDWARD: For known criminal Edward Nygma, whom they knew as Nashton; that naughty little boy grew into such a wicked man. You should hear what he gets up to; who his friends are! What a buncha freaks. I knew he was too insolent for his own good, that thrice-damned little smartass; thought he was so fucking clever, that face just askin’ for a slap. Old Jackie was right to do what he did… y’know, it sounds to me like he didn’t beat him enough.
MULDOON: I can’t - I don’t - Edward, I want to help you. What do you want from me?
EDWARD: (laugh) Why, exactly what I always received. Nothing.
MULDOON: Please, Edward. Allow me to make amends -
EDWARD: I’ll give your best wishes to dear old Dad. (opens the curtain_ Oh, one more thing: don’t forget to don the cilice for your confession, Father. Take it from me - a due amount of suffering will make you a better person.
(MULDOON weeps; echoing footsteps as Edward leaves; closes the door)
ELSEWHERE…
(bayou noises)
WAYLON: Well, uh… mornin’ sir. I know it’s uh… it’s been a long while now. I’m sorry for that… it ain’t easy for me to take the bus down ‘ere, and… heh, well I only managed to get out this way ‘coz I’m helping out a friend, see.
(pause)
WAYLON: I got a drive ‘round from a real nice man. His name’s Eddie, and… well, I think you’da really taken a shine to him. He smart like you was, and he don’t rub it in my face like the other folks useta. He been teachin’ me words n’ the like. I got - I got books now, and not just ones with the pictures no more.
(pause)
WAYLON: I just… I been hearin’ so much lately from Ed, and ol’ Jonny, ‘bout how they old mans were straight from the bad place. How they useta lay in whoopins and all sorts a evil, and it got me thinkin’ o just how… how good you was to me.
(pause)
WAYLON: It made me realise that these here scales… this, this face… it don’t make me a monster…. Because plenty o’ folk got normal lookin’ faces and they just… oh, they rotten, daddy. Rotten on the inside. Like the folk that took you from me… the folks you sang with on Sundays. Never thought they’d a been the ones to run me out… the ones to put you down.
(pause; WAYLON sniffles)
WAYLON: Well, I won’t keep ya… heh, ya don’t need your boy talkin’ y’ear off all day. Just wanted to thank ya… you did real good.. Helpin’ me see the good in people.. Just like - well, just like that Jesus’d do - nobody got it perfect and we can’t just go ‘round. I… I think you’d be proud o’ me, Daddy. I got friends now, I do good, or least try to. People’re helpin’ to look after ol’ Waylon now. I wish you could meet ‘em all… Eddie, Jonny… hell, for a while there, you’d a been Grandpa Jones… heh… Goodbye, Daddy… you take care-a momma up there.
(pause)
WAYLON: I love you.
Comments
Mage
*makes several roblox OOF noises* ow my feelings
This was ridiculously awesome. And Waylon at the end was just.... I've never really cared for Croc as a character, but I love your version of him.
