Content Warning: Alcohol use; language
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"I should have your hat for that!" Jervis cried. He swung an ineffectual arm in his companion's direction, but for all its haughty bluster, the intended blow missed horribly, and the little man only stumbled forward clumsily for his efforts.
This had seemed like a good idea at the time. It really had.
Perhaps he was sobering up, but as he glanced around the high walls of Gotham First National Bank's largest vault, The Riddler found himself having very serious second thoughts, though he could barely hear them over the piercing ring of alarm bells. Somewhere along the lines, The Hatter's mood had turned from giddy to sour, and like a fussy toddler, he'd decided he'd had enough crime for one night mid-heist, and dedicated what energy he had left to being completely unhelpful. Edward stared at him in disbelief, and right then and there, decided to drop the entire endeavor.
He gave his impromptu collaborator a serious look. "Bail?" he suggested. The Hatter sneered up belligerently and produced an irreplicably annoying sound. This was apparently meant to serve as a reply. Eddie gave it another shot, this time more authoritatively. "Bail Jervis." He snagged the inebriated haberdasher by the crux of his elbow and gave a harsh tug. It was time to go.
"No!" Jervis pulled in the opposite direction like a dog on a leash, drawing haphazardly back into the dark, visible only through disorienting flashes from the alarms' lights.
The Riddler clenched and unclenched his newly freed, outstretched fists in barely stifled, drunken anger.
Stupid friends. Why even have friends. Stupid friends will get you tossed back into Arkham, or at the very least the drunk tank. If he'd had his wits with him, perhaps he would have abandoned the foolish thing minutes ago, scrambling to safety and leaving Tetch to be dragged away by the police, kicking and babbling mindlessly. However, the less mature side of his ego had gotten the better of him, and now the world-renown Prince of Puzzles was locked in a willful battle with a hissy dwarf in spats.
"Jervis, come on," he insisted, venturing further into the vault after him.
In a remarkable display of childlike petulance, perhaps inspired by his utter lack of balance, Jervis plopped to the floor, with legs stretched out before him and arms crossed over his chest. "No!"
"We have to get out of here now—"
"Oh, you're sure to do that," the Hatter spat, "if you only walk long enough."
This was no time for insipid games, Edward thought as he brought a hand up to claw at the side of his face helplessly, though the silken purple gloves protected his cheek. The noise he made in time sounded something like a cross between an exasperated groan and a relinquishing sigh.
"Jervis, please—"
"No you Jervis please!" He snapped his fingers arrogantly and swung at nothing again, uncaring in spite of the police sirens wailing nearby. In the meantime, Edward had given up on finesse and joined his co-burglar in reverting to the age of ten, bending down and putting his back into shoving the smaller man to his feet. "Go. We have to go..!"
Tetch dug his heels into more of the nothing he'd been attacking earlier and let his meager body drop at full force, however unimpressive it was. Eddie accommodated for this new weight, bracing himself and shoving harder.
"Don't touch me!"
"Jervis listen to me—"
"'Listen to me, listen to me!' No one ever listens to me!"
"Tetch I swear to fuck—"
"I don't think I like your tone Edward."
The scuffle continued ineffectually while both the spoils of attempted thievery and all remaining suggestions of dignity lay abandoned at their feet. Somehow the gods of crime had taken pity on Mr. Nigma, and before he knew it, he found himself sprinting out of the bank with a tiny little man tucked under his arm like a surfboard, though he'd never met a surfboard with such foul mouth. Jervis wiggled ferociously and hurdled verbal abuse all the while. Most of this was directed at The Riddler, but a handful of his jabs were intended for others who were not present and sometimes not even real. His hat had also been purposefully abandoned, courtesy of his rescuer's spite. However, all the spite in the world would surely fail to save either of them from the minefield of cops ahead, and why Edward allowed himself to barrel towards their numbers he could not possibly begin to guess.