Disclaimer: Arnie Wesker is the property of DC comics.
Arnold Wesker is not a mean person. He does not do things out of cruelty, and he does not enjoy causing misery. If he ever saw you sprawled flat on your face on the sidewalk, he might help you up, dust you off, and would never laugh in your face. He would not be the person who pushed you down.
Scarface would. Scarface laughs at other people's pain. He likes hurting people, especially if he's bored. He's the one that pushed you down.
Arnold Wesker is a generally kind and thoughtful person. He remembered your birthday and even got you a card. He helped you pick your groceries up in the hall, and threw away the ripped bag. He doesn't step on spiders, and he feeds the rats in his apartment. If he saw a person drop a single penny on the sidewalk, he'd chase them down six blocks on a hot summer day just to return it.
Sometimes Scarface has to be reminded that Wesker is even in the room. He has never, to anyone's knowledge, referred to Wesker as anything but "dummy". He carries a tommy gun to mow down everyone and everything in his way. He'll shoot you if you even think of picking up that penny.
Arnold Wesker is polite and courteous. If you walked up to a line and Wesker was next, he would insist you go before him. He speaks softly and will never, ever interrupt you. He uses a knife and fork, and is one of the few men alive who actually dabs his mouth with his napkin.
Scarface never stops talking over other people. He cuts in line and yells with his mouth full of food so it flies out and hits you in the face. That napkin? He threw it at you. And the fork. And the knife.
Arnold Wesker doesn't like doing bad things. He has a deeply ingrained sense of right and wrong, mostly from having to face so much wrong over the course of his life. He knows the laws, and tries so hard not to break them. But his boss is Mr. Scarface, you see, and he's so sorry to have to do this but he doesn't really have a choice– here, bite down on this, it'll make things a little easier.
Scarface doesn't care about telling right from wrong, they're just words. There are only two things in life: what he wants and the rest of you schmoes that get in the way, screamin' through a gag and dribblin' blood on your nice suit.
Arnold Wesker hates violence. He doesn't like guns, or knives, or bombs. He doesn't like being hurt, and absolutely abhors the thought of you being hurt. He'd actually willingly put himself between you and your attacker, that's how much he hates it. He hates the fact that his only job in life is ferrying around a murderous psychopath who has no respect for human life. He hates being hit every day of his life with no way to escape his attacker.
Scarface is violence. It is the only reason he exists. The heists, the bank jobs, the high-society massacres, all just icing on the cake. He giggles when he thinks of hurting people (it makes him all tingly) and spends a lot of his free time thinking of new ways to do so. The reason Wesker is between you and your attacker is because your attacker is Scarface.
Arnold Wesker is weak. Weak, weak, weak, so weak. He doesn't have the willpower to fight his boss anymore; he just meekly does whatever he's told. He's a non-entity, a ghost at Mr. Scarface's side. He's a whisper of a human being, and can't save you. He can't save himself, so why bother asking? He walked into his cage a long time ago, shut the door neatly behind him, and locked it obediently.
Scarface is beginning to tire of just how weak Wesker is. Did he really need a dummy who was always mopey and bringin' him down? He could shop around for a new one, a dame maybe, who took orders and knew how to light a friggin' cigar. Wesker would be pretty easy to put away, might even do it himself if Scarface told him to. He wonders if Wesker would make a noise as he died.
Arnold Wesker is not a happy man. He wants very desperately to be happy, to look to the little things in life that make it worth living. But the little things don't last, and it's hard to be cheerful if you know at the back of your mind that sooner or later you're going to have to go back to your soul-grinding existence. He hates his job, he hates his boss, he hates the things that put him where he is in life and he hates his life.
Scarface is fine wit' da dummy not bein' happy. He's never happy. But when Scarface is unhappy, you better bet you're gonna be unhappy too, until you fix whatever it is that's makin' him unhappy. One of the few little things that brings him out is spoilin' da dummy's cute little attempts to escape their life.
Arnold Wesker wonders why God hates him so much. He wasn't a bad man, was he? What had he done to be saddled with Mr. Scarface? A tiny, microscopic, miniscule part of him knows what Mr. Scarface really is, so why can't he bring himself to face it? Why does he take so much abuse from what is basically his dark side?
Scarface wonders why he hasn't popped the dummy yet. Sure complains a helluva lot, can't pitch in when they plan a job, dresses like Holly Hobby's undertaker. He drives the chicks away, his breath reeks, and he lets Scarface down at crucial times. Why doesn't he just plug his melon head?
Arnold Wesker hates being alone.
Scarface hates being alone, too.
Author's note: finally figured out how to make midnight ideas work: edit, edit, edit. Rest. Lather, rinse repeat. This is probably as close as I get to a drabble, now that I look at it.(it's still over 1,000 words, though.) I toyed with doing a short story with split narrative from their different perspectives, but decided to do that for another villain later on.(I'll be naughty and make you guess who it will be.)