[ The whole thing feels like a setup, but ultimately Edward reckons that he'll want any and all information their adversaries could be gaining through bugging the residence ahead of time. It couldn't be much worse than any company party, really. He rallies himself, dresses in his best approximation of Contented Period-Appropriate Man Who Parties, and arrives promptly as instructed and with a smile on his face that dims immediately after the door is shut behind him. Not absent entirely, he takes care to not look dour, but the performance isn't permitted to eat more of his energy than necessary. He needs to focus. He sets his offering, a supermarket deli platter, with the rest and winces while doing so — clearly no one present is overly accustomed to even normal parties of this nature. There are no bake sale moms or church potluck types here.
Cup of Tang in hand, he selects a spot on the wall and plants himself with his free hand in his pocket and eyes lowered to the ground. There's no shrinking in a crowd so small and that isn't wholly his goal, but he wants to be unobtrusive. Let others talk, mill about as they might. He's silent as groupwide introductions are made, pretending to busy himself with a topping off his drink or making a stop by the restroom while people have their separate conversations, eavesdropping as best he's able. It isn't actively suspicious so much as his default. He's polite in passing, quick with an excuse me or sorry.
When talk suddenly takes a sharp turn toward premeditating murder and other crimes, however, he decides both that the risk outweighs the reward and that he'll obtain little of use until the topic shifts. Again he excuses himself, this time to the porch. He's reluctantly acquiring the taste for cigarettes, which he deems an easy ticket to hitting pause. Coat abandoned, a sign he'll return, he immerses himself in the bitter cold and focuses idly on the positives. The moonlight glinting off of the snow, the way the slight discomfort helps him think. ]
Needed some air. [ He's quick to explain, should anyone join him then. If they seem amenable he'll offer his pack of cigarettes. ] Doesn't it seem warm in there to you?
Edward Nashton | The Batman | Husband
Cup of Tang in hand, he selects a spot on the wall and plants himself with his free hand in his pocket and eyes lowered to the ground. There's no shrinking in a crowd so small and that isn't wholly his goal, but he wants to be unobtrusive. Let others talk, mill about as they might. He's silent as groupwide introductions are made, pretending to busy himself with a topping off his drink or making a stop by the restroom while people have their separate conversations, eavesdropping as best he's able. It isn't actively suspicious so much as his default. He's polite in passing, quick with an excuse me or sorry.
When talk suddenly takes a sharp turn toward premeditating murder and other crimes, however, he decides both that the risk outweighs the reward and that he'll obtain little of use until the topic shifts. Again he excuses himself, this time to the porch. He's reluctantly acquiring the taste for cigarettes, which he deems an easy ticket to hitting pause. Coat abandoned, a sign he'll return, he immerses himself in the bitter cold and focuses idly on the positives. The moonlight glinting off of the snow, the way the slight discomfort helps him think. ]
Needed some air. [ He's quick to explain, should anyone join him then. If they seem amenable he'll offer his pack of cigarettes. ] Doesn't it seem warm in there to you?