Needing his drink to cool first, Bruce doesn't have a built-in stall, but he also doesn't need one.
"It was to get a reaction out of you," he said quietly. "But I didn't have a set reaction in mind. I wasn't aiming to set off a particular one from you. I wanted to see your natural reaction to the aftermath of your work."
Something in Omi's stomach twists. He's pretty sure it's anger, but who it's for is anyone's guess. Maybe everyone. Angry at the man in front of him for manipulating his feelings, apparently just for curiosity's sake no less. Angry at him for presenting the situation as more tragic than was warranted. Angry at himself for falling for it. Angry at the target all over again for everything he did to warrant that death sentence.
Maybe Mr. Wayne got a false impression of remorse from that day. If he did, Omi isn't going to correct him, no matter how much he wants to make the point clear: he'd kill the bastard again. In a heartbeat.
So instead, he focuses back on his real purpose of getting answers. That means asking questions. And under all of this anger and panic and worry about what's going to become of Kritiker, of his friends, of the city if their work is stamped out, there's another question burning a hole through that knotted stomach.
"Why?" Omi presses, just as quietly. "What does it matter to you?"
"Because I've seen the road you're on," he says. "I spent a long time staring down it."
Talented people... use their talents. And it is such an easy trap to fall into, the lack of success the authorities have means the authorities are useless. Someone else needs to take the place of the authorities... eventually, it isn't difficult at all to find yourself at "Someone needs to do what the authorities won't."
"But well aside from whether or not this or what criminal deserves it, you don't deserve to be the one..."
How to describe it without turning Omi against him?
"You don't deserve to be the one who has to sacrifice his soul."
That's the polite way to say it. What he means is that Mr. Wayne's words don't make any sense in any context-- foremost of all in the one that framed this as about him. It wasn't. At least, it shouldn't be. It wasn't even about the criminal. It was about the community. The city needed people who would protect it, who had the power to help in ways that the police couldn't. Through those sacrifices, they prevented additional deaths among the innocent people around them. Protecting those people was more important than any cost to themselves.
Having established that someone had to do it, then, how could someone who still had a life and family and dreams of their own be a more fitting choice? Of course it made sense he should be the one to make that kind of sacrifice. He's the one who died in every meaningful sense of the word years ago.
For just a moment, memories of that dark night in the sewers flash before his eyes. The chill in the air, the suffocating stench, the claustrophobic feeling as the kidnapper closed in with murderous intent...
From his own perspective, of course he doesn't. Bruce felt a deep swell of anger, yet again, for the entire Takatori clan.
Not for the first time, he's glad he decided to take on Dick Grayson. He still makes a mess of things with him, Bruce was never the sort of person who should be a parent, but he is... capable of learning. He is capable of remembering things that happened before, like the times he's tried to force Dick into making the conclusion he wants him to make.
And he also remembers what's happened the times he's left him to be, when he really needed guidance, even if it was guidance that Black Canary provided more skillfully and delicately than he ever could.
"Well, I won't ask you to understand my perspective," he began, mostly to give himself a moment to figure out his phrasing.
"Though, I will offer some elaboration. I think your intentions are good, and your reasoning makes more sense than I wish it did, for what you do. But the slope you're on is a slippery one. My own parents were killed," and while that is common knowledge, his grip around his coffee cup tightens.
"I was eight, and I saw it happen. I've never been able to solve the mystery of who did it, and that's the cross I bear, will probably always bear. If I had him in front of me, I'd certainly want to kill him. But I'm..."
This is a hard thing to admit.
"I'm afraid that, if I did kill him, or anyone else, I would be... used to it. Things get easier over time, even the ones we hate about ourselves. My fear is that, if I could justify killing someone, I could justify doing nearly anything else to them. After all, nothing is as bad as killing them.
"From that perspective, I can almost admire those friends of yours, who risked a lot to get you back. The ire of the Justice League is no small thing, and most of the members have known Robin since he was nine. Yet they looked at that, and decided that you were more important. That's a special kind of courage, and I plan to honor it by not pursuing them for that specific crime, since I see no risk for them doing it again."
Omi recognizes how painful it must be, and what a gesture it is, for Bruce Wayne to speak so personally to him about his own traumatic losses. That knot of anger in his stomach triples in size anyway, and drowns it out.
He has the uncomfortable sense that as he tells his story, Bruce Wayne might just be sympathizing with the target, imagining the child he might be orphaning in that action rather than the families of ten innocents he might be sparing the same grief. Like that visit to the shop just to introduce the people left behind.
His memories flash again, to Kuro. To Hirofumi. Those occasions where he'd had to play both sides: the executioner and the one left behind.
"It's brainwashing. Textbook, actually."
He remembers nights spent crying in his bed, aching for those severed connections. For just a second, he can see a little girl with the surname of Kanazawa in his place.
Mr. Wayne must think he's being noble, or earning himself more trust, by saying he won't pursue his friends for that specific crime. But the implication is that he does still plan to pursue them for other crimes. Plans this knowing full well that they had good intentions and were even, by his own admission, taking an action that made far more sense than he wished it did. Plans this, perhaps, even after seeing how capturing any of them could be an effective death sentence. Yet he still sits there speaking as though he never wants to be responsible for a human death?
Batman hadn't known Omi existed when he and his collection of teenaged superhero affiliates flew out here. What was their purpose then? Deep down, didn't that original purpose still exist? Of course it did. And that purpose was to destroy Kritiker completely. He could claim concern for Omi's soul, but this wasn't about him at all, except insofar as he was a strategy. Use him and his willingness to associate with them to stop Weiss from the inside out.
"--people who'd brainwash you to think every criminal needs to die, it's hard to believe they wouldn't convince you your life is just as worthless."
But it was. Even his own parents-- and that was before Persia ever found him! It had nothing to do with Kritiker.
Omi really wished Robin's voice would get out of his head right about then. Weiss. Batman. Batman was trying to use him to destroy Weiss. He couldn't let that happen.
There's a small slip in his composure when he answers.
"I have no comment on what things I have or haven't done. Nor on anything my friends have or haven't done. But if you really care so much about preventing deaths, then why don't you attack the problem instead of the solution?"
"You've got Dick's memories," he says, after a long moment. "You know how seriously I take the mission... and that I'm not at all opposed to multitasking."
With that, it was clear that Omi had enough on his mind to absorb him for a long time.
He hated to leave things this way, but pushing too hard risked too much. He did leave a Japanese-language business card on the table as he stood up to leave.
"I appreciate your hospitality, and I'll be in the country a while longer."
Dick needed the immersion, anyway, and there were dozens of things he could pursue, both in his work and his work. He'd tasked Katana with investigating a potential lead on the whereabouts of the original Roy Harper; if she found anything, he could pass that on to the team to keep them busy and on hand.
He couldn't stay forever, but he could try to see this through. He would try.
Omi has to actively resist the desire to start yelling at him. Because he's leaving already? Because he doesn't understand anything? Because Omi's frustration simply has nowhere else to go? Every passing moment spent with Bruce Wayne makes him that much angrier, and he can't even pinpoint why. (Perhaps, Omi, this is why he's leaving.)
He keeps his mouth shut, sucking in a quiet breath and clenching his fists to contain himself. Fine, fine! It wasn't like there was ever anything Omi could do to go up against the Batman himself. What is he supposed to do for Weiss? For his friends?
He has no idea what to make of the business card either, or what the hell kind of way that was to offer one, like it was a piece of garbage for the barista to collect next time she came by to wipe the table. Of course, Bruce Wayne's phone number was Bruce Wayne's phone number. That could not be an easy commodity to come by. But Omi doesn't even have a card case with him! Where is he going to put such a valuable thing?
He drinks down the rest of the iced coffee so fast he gives himself a headache. He stands, tosses the cup of ice expertly into a trash bin four feet away, and looks again at the business card on the table. Somehow, in the time between Mr. Wayne's exit and finishing the coffee, all of his anger has drained off, leaving mostly a hollow sense of despair in its wake.
But there's something else, too. Omi carefully picks up the card with both hands and takes a few seconds to read it. And he becomes aware of a painful sensation in his chest that he doesn't understand. Like something is missing. Like a scared and childish part of himself wants to go running after Bruce Wayne and beg him not to leave him alone.
It's got to be bleed from Robin's memories.
Omi grits his teeth and runs away to the nearest supplies store for a card case.
Two minutes later, a man seated at the table behind Omi stands and disposes of his Americano, then looks off in the direction Bruce Wayne had gone. Without fanfare, he walks away in the opposite direction.
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no subject
"It was to get a reaction out of you," he said quietly. "But I didn't have a set reaction in mind. I wasn't aiming to set off a particular one from you. I wanted to see your natural reaction to the aftermath of your work."
no subject
Maybe Mr. Wayne got a false impression of remorse from that day. If he did, Omi isn't going to correct him, no matter how much he wants to make the point clear: he'd kill the bastard again. In a heartbeat.
So instead, he focuses back on his real purpose of getting answers. That means asking questions. And under all of this anger and panic and worry about what's going to become of Kritiker, of his friends, of the city if their work is stamped out, there's another question burning a hole through that knotted stomach.
"Why?" Omi presses, just as quietly. "What does it matter to you?"
What does he matter to you?
no subject
"Because I've seen the road you're on," he says. "I spent a long time staring down it."
Talented people... use their talents. And it is such an easy trap to fall into, the lack of success the authorities have means the authorities are useless. Someone else needs to take the place of the authorities... eventually, it isn't difficult at all to find yourself at "Someone needs to do what the authorities won't."
"But well aside from whether or not this or what criminal deserves it, you don't deserve to be the one..."
How to describe it without turning Omi against him?
"You don't deserve to be the one who has to sacrifice his soul."
no subject
That's the polite way to say it. What he means is that Mr. Wayne's words don't make any sense in any context-- foremost of all in the one that framed this as about him. It wasn't. At least, it shouldn't be. It wasn't even about the criminal. It was about the community. The city needed people who would protect it, who had the power to help in ways that the police couldn't. Through those sacrifices, they prevented additional deaths among the innocent people around them. Protecting those people was more important than any cost to themselves.
Having established that someone had to do it, then, how could someone who still had a life and family and dreams of their own be a more fitting choice? Of course it made sense he should be the one to make that kind of sacrifice. He's the one who died in every meaningful sense of the word years ago.
For just a moment, memories of that dark night in the sewers flash before his eyes. The chill in the air, the suffocating stench, the claustrophobic feeling as the kidnapper closed in with murderous intent...
He sucks in a long sip of iced coffee.
i need to use these icons while i have 'em
Not for the first time, he's glad he decided to take on Dick Grayson. He still makes a mess of things with him, Bruce was never the sort of person who should be a parent, but he is... capable of learning. He is capable of remembering things that happened before, like the times he's tried to force Dick into making the conclusion he wants him to make.
And he also remembers what's happened the times he's left him to be, when he really needed guidance, even if it was guidance that Black Canary provided more skillfully and delicately than he ever could.
"Well, I won't ask you to understand my perspective," he began, mostly to give himself a moment to figure out his phrasing.
"Though, I will offer some elaboration. I think your intentions are good, and your reasoning makes more sense than I wish it did, for what you do. But the slope you're on is a slippery one. My own parents were killed," and while that is common knowledge, his grip around his coffee cup tightens.
"I was eight, and I saw it happen. I've never been able to solve the mystery of who did it, and that's the cross I bear, will probably always bear. If I had him in front of me, I'd certainly want to kill him. But I'm..."
This is a hard thing to admit.
"I'm afraid that, if I did kill him, or anyone else, I would be... used to it. Things get easier over time, even the ones we hate about ourselves. My fear is that, if I could justify killing someone, I could justify doing nearly anything else to them. After all, nothing is as bad as killing them.
"From that perspective, I can almost admire those friends of yours, who risked a lot to get you back. The ire of the Justice League is no small thing, and most of the members have known Robin since he was nine. Yet they looked at that, and decided that you were more important. That's a special kind of courage, and I plan to honor it by not pursuing them for that specific crime, since I see no risk for them doing it again."
no subject
He has the uncomfortable sense that as he tells his story, Bruce Wayne might just be sympathizing with the target, imagining the child he might be orphaning in that action rather than the families of ten innocents he might be sparing the same grief. Like that visit to the shop just to introduce the people left behind.
His memories flash again, to Kuro. To Hirofumi. Those occasions where he'd had to play both sides: the executioner and the one left behind.
"It's brainwashing. Textbook, actually."
He remembers nights spent crying in his bed, aching for those severed connections. For just a second, he can see a little girl with the surname of Kanazawa in his place.
Mr. Wayne must think he's being noble, or earning himself more trust, by saying he won't pursue his friends for that specific crime. But the implication is that he does still plan to pursue them for other crimes. Plans this knowing full well that they had good intentions and were even, by his own admission, taking an action that made far more sense than he wished it did. Plans this, perhaps, even after seeing how capturing any of them could be an effective death sentence. Yet he still sits there speaking as though he never wants to be responsible for a human death?
Batman hadn't known Omi existed when he and his collection of teenaged superhero affiliates flew out here. What was their purpose then? Deep down, didn't that original purpose still exist? Of course it did. And that purpose was to destroy Kritiker completely. He could claim concern for Omi's soul, but this wasn't about him at all, except insofar as he was a strategy. Use him and his willingness to associate with them to stop Weiss from the inside out.
"--people who'd brainwash you to think every criminal needs to die, it's hard to believe they wouldn't convince you your life is just as worthless."
But it was. Even his own parents-- and that was before Persia ever found him! It had nothing to do with Kritiker.
Omi really wished Robin's voice would get out of his head right about then. Weiss. Batman. Batman was trying to use him to destroy Weiss. He couldn't let that happen.
There's a small slip in his composure when he answers.
"I have no comment on what things I have or haven't done. Nor on anything my friends have or haven't done. But if you really care so much about preventing deaths, then why don't you attack the problem instead of the solution?"
no subject
With that, it was clear that Omi had enough on his mind to absorb him for a long time.
He hated to leave things this way, but pushing too hard risked too much. He did leave a Japanese-language business card on the table as he stood up to leave.
"I appreciate your hospitality, and I'll be in the country a while longer."
Dick needed the immersion, anyway, and there were dozens of things he could pursue, both in his work and his work. He'd tasked Katana with investigating a potential lead on the whereabouts of the original Roy Harper; if she found anything, he could pass that on to the team to keep them busy and on hand.
He couldn't stay forever, but he could try to see this through. He would try.
no subject
He keeps his mouth shut, sucking in a quiet breath and clenching his fists to contain himself. Fine, fine! It wasn't like there was ever anything Omi could do to go up against the Batman himself. What is he supposed to do for Weiss? For his friends?
He has no idea what to make of the business card either, or what the hell kind of way that was to offer one, like it was a piece of garbage for the barista to collect next time she came by to wipe the table. Of course, Bruce Wayne's phone number was Bruce Wayne's phone number. That could not be an easy commodity to come by. But Omi doesn't even have a card case with him! Where is he going to put such a valuable thing?
He drinks down the rest of the iced coffee so fast he gives himself a headache. He stands, tosses the cup of ice expertly into a trash bin four feet away, and looks again at the business card on the table. Somehow, in the time between Mr. Wayne's exit and finishing the coffee, all of his anger has drained off, leaving mostly a hollow sense of despair in its wake.
But there's something else, too. Omi carefully picks up the card with both hands and takes a few seconds to read it. And he becomes aware of a painful sensation in his chest that he doesn't understand. Like something is missing. Like a scared and childish part of himself wants to go running after Bruce Wayne and beg him not to leave him alone.
It's got to be bleed from Robin's memories.
Omi grits his teeth and runs away to the nearest supplies store for a card case.
Two minutes later, a man seated at the table behind Omi stands and disposes of his Americano, then looks off in the direction Bruce Wayne had gone. Without fanfare, he walks away in the opposite direction.