Send “talk about” and a name…

“Tell me about Bruce Wayne.”

"He’s the same as the rest of them, fake.” Roman sneered, barely paying attention to the psychiatrist on the other side of the room. He didn’t usually. They rarely stuck around for long, either frightened off by his volatile temper or preferring to hand his case over for some other overworked and underpaid shrink in this nuthouse to deal with instead. However, he wasn’t referring to the man in glasses waiting patiently to hear his answer. The instant Doctor Crane (or whatever the fuck he was called) mentioned that name, Roman’s attention immediately became fixated on the topic. Bruce Fucking Wayne. How he detested that name. The sound of his knuckles cracking was audible as he clenched his fists in familiar hatred, not unlike the last time he’d been dragged into this very room before his ire had gotten the better of him, resulting in their little ‘session’ ending early. If the new guy had heard anything about that, he didn’t seem bothered at all. Maybe they’d learned their lesson from his last outburst, finding somebody made of sterner stuff. “Perfect little Bruce Wayne, Prince of Gotham. That son of a bitch is the Prince of Lies if you ask me! I knew him years ago and I’ll tell you he’s every bit the same, scheming piece of shit as he was back then just like all the other socialite scumbags sitting pretty at the top of the food chain. My parents actually wanted us to be friends, can you believe that??” Roman scoffed, rolling his eyes in annoyance as he struggled to relax in his seat. Had the good doctor mentioned literally anybody else, he might not have allowed himself to get so flustered but the name of the one man he loathed to his bitter core was akin to waving a red flag before a raging bull. And just like that sorry bull, Crane’s flag proved too irresistible a target to ignore. He remembered that day they’d met, the first time he’d been allowed to meet somebody his own age. That face. The hair. The manners. Bruce had it all, always did, even the love of his parents as they ushered their boy into the Sionis’ family hall. Mother had acted graciously just like she always done while entertaining finer company, his parents called it, her manners impeccable as she fussed and fretted about their ‘guests’ in a way she’d never done when it came to her own flesh and blood. It had been an eye-opening experience, the moment when Roman realized everything he’d ever known was all bullshit. ”Who am I kidding? Of course you don’t, but we were a big name back in the day when all the Waynes were still alive and kicking. Yeah, I could tell you a thing or two about that...” He said in a voice calmer than usual, dark gaze flickering towards the other man’s face as as he finally paid attention to Doctor Crane. Blue eyes. The man had blue eyes, startlingly reminiscent of when he’d known a younger Bruce Wayne. At the time, it baffled Roman why his parents wanted so badly for him to be friends with Thomas and Martha’s golden boy when behind closed doors, the things they said about the family would have made a sailor blush. He knew better now, of course; his parents had only cared about the prestige, hoped maybe they’d become something more one day. All he’d wanted was this intruder out of his home, to send him packing along with his fake, perfect family. Instead he’d been forced to play along with the delusion, to show Bruce his room including his collection of masks to which the boy only seemed politely interested about. It was ironic how none of them understood that the masks they wore every day was what was truly strange instead of the ones he collected. Roman might have said something similar out loud in that moment, his parents overhearing with a gasp while Bruce pretended he’d heard no such thing. He clenched his fists again, glaring at Crane as though it was the psychiatrist’s fault that had happened way back then. He’d simply been honest about his dislike of Bruce and for exposing the truth, he’d paid most dearly indeed. After the Waynes left, only then did his mother finally remove her own mask, unleashing her pent-up vitriol as she screamed and screamed for hours at Roman. Her fury at his refusal to play along with their false narrative was so great she’d even slapped him, causing the man to subconsciously press a hand to his cheek as he recalled the sharp, sudden sting of her punishing touch. But he wasn’t here to think about that bitch, was he? He was here to talk about Wayne. "Breaks my heart that dear old mom and dad didn’t get to live long enough to see what he’s really like, buying out the family business for a pittance when it was most vulnerable. Some friend he’d have made. You think Old Bruce did that out of the goodness of his own heart? Like hell he did! They’re all in it for themselves up there, pretending to care when all they want is more! People think he’s so wonderful just because he’s rich, that he lost his parents as a kid. Wasn’t enough that he had it all but then he had to go steal MY legacy too? And they call him a humanitarian?? Fuck that!!!” Roman screamed, slamming his fist down on the table as hard as he could, relishing the pain doing so caused his hand. Fuck Bruce Wayne, and fuck Arkham too for that matter.