Name's Two-Face. You hear anything else, you're crazy. Harvey? Yeah, he's around, too. But don't waste your breath.
As the silver dollar spun upward through the air, Evan’s hand was already on the gun in his jacket. Not a revolver or anything like what he’d used back in the old days, but a mirror gun. In a way, it made him feel safer than his old pieces ever had; at the first sign of trouble he could just run away, or trap Dent or Two-Face or whatever he wanted to call himself in a dimensional void, or shatter him like glass. But he didn’t always have to kill, and he liked that. If he didn’t always kill, then he wasn’t a mercenary anymore, and the less he felt like a mercenary the further he felt from what he’d done when he had been one.
With the coin sailing back down to the open palm across from him, Evan thought of shooting behind Dent now; extracting him into an environment where he didn’t have his coin and where Evan was in control so he could just get a straight answer out of him, but he thought better of it. He wasn’t stupid; he’d done his homework on Dent before he came, but he still wasn’t certain enough to bet on his theory that separation from the coin’d make Dent malleable as opposed to dangerous. Besides, he was new here; if he fucked up with Harvey now he’d probably ruin the chances of having an ally for years to come. That was one of the reasons why he’d chosen to approach him in the first place; for all his problems and obsessions, Two-Face was loyal.
Goods heads. Thank God. As a goodwill gesture more than anything else, Evan lowered his hands to his sides, leaving them hovering awkwardly in the air. In their world, the meaning was unequivocal; ‘I’m not holding weapons, I’m not reaching for weapons. For now, I trust you.’
Internally, Evan baulked at the harsh voice issuing from the former DA’s mouth. He’d heard that Two-Face sounded different, but… Jesus. He fancied he could see him in Dent’s face, too; even on the unscarred side. Evan had dug up some old campaign footage of Dent as part of his research, and now he almost wished he hadn’t. The voice, the gun half-lowered away from him, the twist to the features… he looked like a whole different person. Maybe he really was a whole different person.
Evan caught himself. So he’d just have to play it by ear, so what? Central hadn’t made him that soft. “Name’s Mirror Master, used tae be Evan McCulloch. Ah’m with the Injustice League an’ the Central City Rogues. Ah’m here tae offer you a proposition, Two-Face. Somethin’ high profit an’ high profile, but no’ too murky. Sound like your kinda deal, pal?”
Two-Face sneered at that. Central City. Like anyone cared about Rogues from there. They’d all made some sort of pact. Gone soft.
<He’ll be eaten alive.>
Two-Face leaned back, comfortable in the seat of power. ”And what do you have to offer me that I couldn’t get from someone else?”
Two-Face frowned. He hated it when Harvey piped up, like he had any damn thing useful to say.
<This is business, Harv. Be a good boy and shut it.>
<I mean it. He’s not from here. He’s not supposed to be here.>
<No shit, Sher—>
<Which means he won’t be expected to be here.>
Two-Face looked over Mirror Master again. Harvey did have a point. If nothing else, the element of surprise, of facing a different Rogue, could be enough to tip the advantage to their side.
<I knew I kept you around for a reason.>
He glanced over the plans on the desk, sorting out which ones could be likely, looking for whatever could work to both their strengths. Assuming this kid had any.