ROGUES | S01E10: True Grits

ROGUES | S01E10: True Grits

(interior of restaurant)

JON: Thank fuck for that. I’ve had to piss for about two hours.

EDWARD: You could have said something. Or, you know, anything.

JON: You had me in a straitjacket. What could you do, hold it for me?

EDWARD: Not likely; I didn’t bring my tweezers.

JON: That’s funny. You’re funny. Well since you love annoyin’ the piss outta me so much, you won’t mind if some of it ends up on your seats.

EDWARD: (dramatic) And then I killed him, Your Honour. No court would convict me.

JON: Maybe not. But you wouldn’t have crashed your car just on the off chance of killin’ me, no matter what you say. 

EDWARD: So you called my bluff. What do you want, a prize?

JON: You got one?

EDWARD: Actually, I do. (rattling) Your pills. (laughing) Take them in good health.

JON: Shut up. (takes one) 

EDWARD: Well, you look like an ad for famine relief - hungry yet?

JON: Starvin’. You payin’ for this, moneybags?

EDWARD: Of course, I’m a more benevolent kidnapper than most. Get whatever you want: I insist.

JON: Famous last words.

EDWARD: Alright, let’s see here… oh, have mercy. Is there anything on here that hasn’t had all the honest nourishment fried out of it?

JON: Possibly the grits.

EDWARD: What the hell are grits? Dyslexic grist? 

JON: In a manner of speakin’.

EDWARD: Now, is it a food, or is it a penance? 

JON: You talk a lotta shit, you know that?

EDWARD: I’m just saying that I haven’t been so wicked lately, that I deserve to be chastised with food.

JON: You really don’t know what grits are?

EDWARD: Edward Nygma is not found this far south of the Mason Dixon Line, Jon.

JON: You don’t. Say.

EDWARD: Normally a point of personal pride. I confess to finding myself out of my element. 

JON: What’s your point, if you have one?

EDWARD: This is Russian Roulette with food. What do I eat?

JON: You poor stupid baby.

EDWARD: What’s it going to take? Hm? Begging? Is that it?

JON: It might help.

EDWARD: Typical. (under his breath) Sadistic bastard… (sarcastic) Dr. Crane. I implore  you. I require your assistance with decoding this… this… tablet of hieroglyphs.

JON: Try the Rosetta stone. By the way, that was some of the worst begging I’ve ever heard.

EDWARD: I was never a good supplicant; but still, you can’t have heard Tetch yet. 

JON: Oh yeah? He finally annoy you enough to off him?

EDWARD: Yes, and then no. The bespawling cuckoo knows just enough information to allow him to keep on ticking. I’d call it cunning if it weren’t garden-variety insanity.

JON: He got somethin’ worth knowin’?

EDWARD: Maybe. What of it?

JON: Dr. Crane has ways of makin’ people talk.

EDWARD: What? You never offer to help.

JON: I’m not usually interested.

EDWARD: I’ll keep it in mind. But since you’re in a helpful mood… what can I eat here that has the least chance of giving me a hellish combination of malnutrition and dysentery?

JON: Maybe you deserve to get dysentery.

EDWARD: What did I do?

JON: You made Waylon stuff me in that straitjacket, dragged me from my home, and then made me listen to you rattle on unmerciless about nothin’ for miles and miles.

EDWARD: Some people would kill for the opportunity to hear me rattle on. 

JON: And I’d kill not to. Gimme one good reason why I shouldn’t just gouge your face open with this spoon and toss this Tabasco in it.

EDWARD: Because you’re a kind and generous soul who holds himself above petty negative emotions and doesn’t hold a grudge?

(pause)

(both laugh)

EDWARD: Alright, alright. Seriously though - I needed Waylon because you wouldn’t have come willingly, and he was the person least likely to lost patience and kill you. You’re a miserable drunk, and stubborn with it. You persist in digging your heels in even when your position makes no logical sense. 

JON: I s’pose. (grin) But I do that sober, too.

EDWARD: Yes, I’m aware of that. I swear you do it simply to annoy me.

JON: Sometimes. That twitch you get in your left eye adds years to my life. (chuckles)

EDWARD: My left - (grumbles) You may live to see middle-age, yet. But I can stop myself from falling victim to your little ruses.

JON: Not likely. How will you tell what’s a ruse, and what ain’t?

EDWARD: I’m sure I can stop myself from being irritated by you.

JON: Can’t change your programming.

EDWARD: There’s no programming written that I cannot change. I’m Edward Nygma.

JON: Christ, it’s like talkin’ to Orson Welles. Where’s the rest of your good reason?

EDWARD: I did do you a favour going to get you. You hate staying in Georgia.

JON: Yeah, too many memories. Didn’t have a lotta choice in it, though. Some asshole gave me the shove outta Gotham without explaining why first.

EDWARD: Shows that you trust me, though - took my word for it, sight unseen… hmmm?

JON: Don’t flatter yourself. I assumed the cops were comin’ fer me.

EDWARD: (snickers) Narcissist.

JON: Pragmatist. There any more justifications up your sleeve?

EDWARD: You would have killed yourself, left to your own devices.

JON: Yup. But what a way to go.

EDWARD: I can think of prettier ways. All told, I’d say a chauffeured ride out of Dodge is worth the preservation of my precious visage, wouldn’t you?

JON: I s’pose. 

EDWARD: Now tell me what to get, or you don’t get your trough of food to stuff in your craw.

JON: If it’ll shut you up. What d’you usually eat?

EDWARD: Vegetables. Nutrients. Aesthetically pleasant things that don’t make my heart grow three sizes.

JON: You know you're in a Waffle House, right?

EDWARD: I’m sane enough to realise that it’s the only thing open at this hour, yes.

JON: Sounds like you oughta take what you can get.

EDWARD: So that means…?

JON: Fiesta omelet.

EDWARD: The what… oh! This one. I see. (exhales) Vaya, que fiesta. Yes, that’ll have to do.

DORIS: You boys ready?

EDWARD: Yes. I’ll have the... Fiesta omelet. No peppers. Egg whites only.

DORIS: Hold the yolks?

EDWARD: … If you like? And coffee. With an orange juice. Is it freshly squeezed?

DORIS: Huh?

EDWARD: Never mind. What the hell, I’m on vacation. Toss something orangey in something glassy.

DORIS: Okey-dokey. Toast or biscuit?

EDWARD: Dry wheat toast.

DORIS: Grits, hashbrowns, or tomatoes?

EDWARD: The agony of choice. Tomatoes. So long as they’re not fried.

DORIS: Sure thing. And for you, hon?

JON: (clears throat) All-Star Special - biscuit, grits, with bacon, sausage, and both kinds of ham. Cheesesteak omelet, biscuit, hash browns. T-bone and eggs, biscuit, hash browns. Sausage, egg, cheese texas melt. Double everything. And triple hash browns. Smothered, capped, country. Double waffles. And a pie.

EDWARD: (stifling a laugh) You hearing this (reads), Doris? And he calls me Orson Welles.

DORIS: (mishearing) A slice of pie?

JON: No ma’am. One whole pie. Whatever flavour you have around; I ain’t picky.

EDWARD: (actually laughing) Good grief.

DORIS: …Pie feeds ‘bout six people.

JON: I know what I’m about, darlin’. And bring more coffee. 

DORIS: Refills are...

EDWARD: Doris, you sweet little passion flower. I’m sure it has not escaped your notice that it is presently 3 in the morning. Be so good as to put down that pot you’re holding and then brew us another to join it - and bring us a pitcher of water, too.

DORIS: … Okaaay… (leaves)

JON: Water?

EDWARD: You’re clearly dehydrated.

JON: Hm. I guess. 

(coffee pouring)

EDWARD: I thought I was kidding when I said trough.

JON: I wasn’t kiddin’ when I said famous last words.

EDWARD: Now, do tell - when was the last time you ate?

JON: Uhh…

EDWARD: Thaaat’s promising.

JON: (snaps fingers) I had breakfast on Thursday. See? ‘M fine.

EDWARD: … I hate to burst your happy little bubble, but it’s Saturday.

JON: Huh. 

EDWARD: Was it a Kentucky breakfast?

JON: Maybe. Shut up.

EDWARD: I suppose I’d better hope that that charming Doris is speedy with your feedbag then, lest you eat the table. 

JON: I’m sure I can contain myself for a few minutes.

EDWARD: Or, since Valentino introduced you to the joys of ‘long pig’, you might well eat me.

JON: All the conceit oozin’ out of your pores would make your flesh all salty. 

EDWARD: Now there’s a philosophical debate: should I be offended or pleased that my firm yet tender flesh has been rejected by a cannibal? Hmm...

JON: Unintentional one, Ed. He never said what it was.

EDWARD: And after reading his magnum opus, you just ate what he put it in front of you?

JON: (shrugs) People put food in front of me, I ain’t gonna question it.

EDWARD: You have no natural warning signs. 

JON: Still got no fear, remember?

EDWARD: Yes, but you can’t always blame a numb amygdala for being an imbecile. Surely your palate is not so jaded that you couldn’t tell something was off about the meat?

JON: I knew it wasn’t pork, that’s for sure. Human flesh didn’t seem the natural next step.

EDWARD: But would you have it again, is the question.

JON: Same way I had it last time; only if I didn’t know it first.

EDWARD: So the next time you eat a gas station hot dog, then.

JON: (snickers) Alright. I hafta ask you something.

EDWARD: (wary) Must you?

JON: My memories are erratic, so I wanna fill in some gaps. First thing. Did I try to kill you?

EDWARD: Only a few times. As you can see, you were unsuccessful.

JON: Well shit. Wait, a few times?

EDWARD: The first was in your office.

JON: What were you doin’ in there?

EDWARD: I was on my way out. Release day, remember?

JON: Right, right. I don’t remember that at all. 

EDWARD: Probably for the best. I did hit you in the face with your own telephone.

JON: That explains the black eye. There a reason, or you just felt like it?

EDWARD: I don’t do well when cornered, so I took the necessary action. Kudos on having the last rotary phone in the world, by the way. You may as well have had Grace shout at you through a tin can.

JON: Shut up. And the second time I tried to kill you?

EDWARD: You popped up like a jack o’lantern-in-the-box and cut my cane in half with that damn scythe when I was defending myself, so thanks for that. 

JON: I remember that. Pieces of it, anyway.

EDWARD: Pieces. Yes. Like my cane.

JON: Don’t tell me you can’t afford a new one.

EDWARD: Well, no. But that one was special.

JON: You want me to offer to replace it? That what you’re gettin’ at?

EDWARD: God, no. You couldn’t afford a bamboo switch, let alone a cane.

JON: (laugh) Fuck off. I remember you were fightin’ for Harley. What happened to her?

EDWARD: Merely a mild choking. 

JON: What d’you call mild?

EDWARD: I intervened before you managed to crush her windpipe. 

JON: Why’d she get so close?

EDWARD: She believed she could help you.

JON: (sighs) That kid. 

EDWARD: She seemed perfectly willing to die. Funny, that. I can’t say you inspire me to throw myself in harm’s way.

JON: Pity.

(pause)

EDWARD: You didn’t hurt her, Jon. She and Joker call that ‘foreplay’.

JON: Thought they were more about playin’ Doctors and Nurses. You saw that?

EDWARD: (sighs) Yes. When I was held captive by them for that delightful couple of weeks, well... let’s just say I know for certain that they have absolutely no shame. Like cats in heat. I never wished for a spray bottle so much in my life.

JON: (snickers) Talkin’ of him, am I gonna have trouble with Joker, now?

EDWARD: Oh no, you messed him up well in advance. 

JON: How d’you mean?

EDWARD: He bumped into you when you weren’t in a terribly receptive mood; the clown’s lucky to be alive.

JON: Huh. I s’pose that’s somethin’. 

EDWARD: Indeed.

JON: And the next time I tried to kill you?

EDWARD: That was just before we managed to stop Scarecrow. You tried to kill me, and Harvey. 

JON: You and Harvey?

EDWARD: (sighs) Not my choice.

JON: How’d I do?

EDWARD: Well, you were never one for multitasking. You inevitably failed to get the speedy results you were seeking, and then you dosed us with toxin - as is your perverse little wont.

JON: Did Harv get out?

EDWARD: No. I figured you could have pieced that together, since you’re still alive. 

JON: Fair point.

EDWARD: Regardless, I couldn’t risk that happening again. I shoved Janus out of the way and took the hit myself, for what good it did me.

JON: … What did you see?

EDWARD: I’m not telling you. 

JON: Why not?

EDWARD: Must you be so interested in my dirty laundry? I’m allowed some secrets.

JON: (miffed) Hmph. You know, I am your therapist.

EDWARD: (amused) You’re pulling out that card? 

JON: You don’t know what’s good for you, I’m the judge of that. 

EDWARD: Despite this situation being one I’m paying for, we’re not in session, doctor.

JON: So? 

EDWARD: So I’m not telling you. End of story.

(pause)

JON: Am I... supposed to say that I’m sorry?

EDWARD: What?

JON: I’m not good at this. But it seems like a place I’m supposed to apologise.

EDWARD: What are you playing at?

JON: This isn’t some trick. I did try to kill you. Several times.

EDWARD: It wasn’t you. I mean it was, but - it wasn’t. Besides, like Harley said. What’s a few near-death experiences between friends?

JON: Yeah, but… is that not the thing people do?

EDWARD: You’re the therapist. Don’t you know?

JON: (shrug) I’m more the information-gathering type.

EDWARD: Pretending to listen while wrestling with a formula on your notepad?

JON: You know me far too well.

EDWARD: I do indeed. (claps hands together) Alrighty Jon, let’s gather some information.

JON: Alright.

EDWARD: Let’s see. So far, I’ve driven from Gotham to Georgia to dig you up, with the pleasant company of Waylon to keep me sane during those long hours on the road.

JON: Yeah.

EDWARD: When I knocked at your door, you rudely attempted to shoot me in the face.

JON: (chuckles) Yeah.

EDWARD: I took several potshots from your drunken ass before Waylon trussed you up like a Thanksgiving turkey, tossed you over his shoulder, and strapped you into my car.

JON: (grunt) Hm.

EDWARD: I offered to feed you, which subsequently opened the floodgates to your ordering the whole kitchen.

JON: Yeah. 

EDWARD: Also, I have been and will continue to pay for everything along the way, because I am a gracious host. And because only I can keep me in the manner to which I am accustomed.

JON: Mm.

EDWARD: I’ve also put up with your… musk, which - good God, man. I need a shower just from being around you. You’re going to need about eight baths. The first two should be only boiling water and carbolic soap.

JON: Shut up. (scratching his face) I’ll get to it.

EDWARD: Now consider this next question seriously. Does that sound like the behaviour of someone, someone like me, who’s waiting for an apology?

JON: (small laugh) Well. No. You being you, I’d have seen a pink fit by now if you were actually put out by all this.

EDWARD: Hm. It’s all so much water under so many bridges Jon, you have no idea. There are more pressing matters to consider than the trifling old ‘who tried to kill whom’.

JON: Sounds like Deputy Mayor talk. That mean you’re writin’ this up to expenses?

EDWARD: I could. But I prefer to keep this is unconnected to City Hall. 

JON: I take that to mean you’re plannin’ on somethin’ more... extracurricular?

EDWARD: It’s simply best to plan for every contingency, I find.

JON: What -

DORIS: Here you go, boys.

EDWARD: (delight) Oh look, the table isn’t big enough so they brought yours on a personal buffet cart. 

JON: Hm.

EDWARD: Good lord, I feel bad watching this without purchasing a ticket, first. Oh wait! I did. Ringside seat! Every last bite now, Mr. Welles - I’m the one paying for this sideshow attraction. I can’t wait to see the part where you unhinge your jaw.

JON: (half-hearted threat) I’ll unhinge yours, in a minute.

EDWARD: The Comeback Kid strikes out again.

DORIS: And here’s your water, and your new pot of coffee. Enjoy.

JON: Thank you kindly, Doris.

EDWARD: (still chuckling) Thank you, my dear. (She leaves) Well. This looks... edible.

JON: You’re welcome. (deadpan, but joking) You gonna eat that?

EDWARD: Must I stab your hand with my fork, you vaguely humanoid black hole? At least let me try it, first.

(laughing)