milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

Jonathon, glasses off and rubbing his forehead.

Stress? Could be amusing. Feel free to bother the head doctor.

He chuckles.

"Well, of course," he says. "Surely you don't expect to find sense in any of them?"

"Not anymore." Jonathon shrugged. "A waste of time, mostly."

Mostly.

He tilts his head to the side.

"What made you think it was a good idea in the first place?"

"The need for a job," he replied. An addiction to fear toxin doesn't pay for itself. "The city seems to have everlasting hope that they can be treated."

"Mortals hope for so many impossible things," he says with a smile. "They seem never to tire of it."

"Especially when it costs money," Jonathon agreed wearily.

The smile stays, but becomes appropriately sympathetic.

"Money is a tiresome thing; I'm glad I've little use for it. It has strange effects on mortals in large quantities."

He chuckles, thinking of the old trick of "fairy gold"-- just a lot of leaves and dirt with an illusion upon them to make them shine. Still, it's a rare mortal who isn't fooled by it.

"But not you, it would seem. Or am I wrong?"

Jonathon shrugged. "In my line of work, it seems money is a necessary evil. But I've never had any enchantment with it beyond getting enough to survive on. It's a means to an end, and little more."

Chrematophobia, he thought, almost unconsciously; fear of money.

"Wise of you," Puck says with something like approval. He leans back in his seat, hands behind his head. It's just lucky he doesn't prop his feet up; clothes will only civilize him so far. "Wiser than most, at the very least."

He quirked a small smile. "My colleagues are usually very intelligent, and use it wisely, however in a city like Gotham... money is sometimes a rare commodity."

There, I've blamed society, he thought again, self-deprecating. Now I should mention how society's rules cripple the human mind. Then I can join Freud in the funny farm.

"Your board rides you hard for it, then?" he asks.

Crane raised one eloquent eyebrow behind his glasses.

Puck blinks.

What? It's an expression.

Coy, are we?

"They take it away," he said simply.

He nods, beaming.

"What I meant."

Oh, certainly it was.

"Naturally." He tilted his head.

"Do you doubt it?" His smile is as sweet as his tone.

Jonathon waggled a hand, nonchalant. "Don't think of me as brainless," he smirked.

He holds up his hands defensively, laughing.

"Oh, never," he says. "I have tremendous respect for your intellect."

He chuckled. "I'm glad to hear it."

Puck watches him curiously for a moment.

Hm, and we were just about to come to something, Jonathon. You mustn't think of me as forward, of course.

"You have a great deal of experience boxing people into corners, Puck," Jonathon remarked softly.

He smiles slightly.

"I suppose I do."

He looked out from behind his glasses, a faint smirk on his lips.

"I do doubt it," he replied, to Puck's original question.

Puck tilts his head to the side.

"Then the question, I suppose," he says, "is what's to be done about it?"