goodheadbadhead

Harvey's days have become rather routine by this point.

Get out of bed. Deal with bad eye. Brush teeth--hard to do on that side now. Shower. Brush hair--it's coming in again on his bad side. Coming in white, for some reason. Dress. Have breakfast. Go to work. Have lunch. Work some more. Come home. Have dinner. Brush teeth. Shower. Sleep.


Currently, he is at lunch. He is also rather bored.

I never thought I'd miss the excitement of being shot at.
Mostly we were doing the shooting, actually.
Close enough--well, not really . . . So, what should we have?
Flip for it.

Out comes the coin.

Italian, apparently. Where's a good Italian place?
Haven't the foggiest.

"Anyone know a good Italian restaurant around here? We feel like eating out."

There is a reason, a very good reason, why Harvey Dent never reads the newspaper anymore. Never watches television, either, once the news comes on.

The deaths don't make the front page, not in a city the size of this one. But the obituaries of two
(Scum, bastards, small-time mob killers)
men can be found in the back pages today. Their killer won't be caught--as so many killers aren't caught, especially when the mob is involved. But in this case, the reason for that is the killer's knowledge of forensics. Knowledge that is only available to a cop--or, perhaps, a lawyer.

Harvey Dent doesn't like the news. It always gets him (them) so very upset . . .

Ethan had suggested that Harvey have the occasional psych test, and Harvey had agreed. So, strangely, had 'Harv'.

We do need to talk about what made us this way with someone, Harvey. We don't want to go even crazier than we already are.
I'm surprised you care.
Don't be. I may be a bastard, but I was created because you need me. You're trying to follow two conflicting moral codes at once, and you can't do that.
What's fair and what's just, I know. But that doesn't explain why you're trying to help me.
Because my job is to protect you, dumbass. To keep you from falling apart any more than you already have. Now fucking well get this test over with, already!
Alright, alright. Will you shut up now?
. . . no.
Sigh.

So here they are. Care to play the 'figure out Harvey-Harv' game, anyone?
 

Harvey is sitting sideways in his chair, feet on his new desk, flipping through reports and paperwork.

Every few seconds he idly flicks his coin, keeping it spinning. He's always been fond of coin tricks.