‹ Prequel: Just Paint Your Face
Sequel: Half Jack ›
Terra Firma
No Cheese
Homer
Adults are so silly.
They were standing on the roof of the police station before I began to feel drowsy. Sure, I met the Batman as he swept in (took him long enough) to meet Jay next to the bright searing light that I registered as what he called, "the bat signal".
All the kids at school talked about Batman like he was a hero. But to me, he was a big black shape, almost so black he blended in with the other hazing neutral colors in the background.
He smelled like rainclouds and concrete and metal.
I don't like those things. They're too severe, too serious. Like my principal or the newsman on TV. So when I could feel Batman smirk at me in greeting and pat my head in a friendly gesture, I pulled away stiffly.
I could also feel what he felt for me--pity for a little blind boy.
But I am not blind. Far, far from it.
"He's just shy..." I could hear Angel explain politely.
But I wasn't. I walk right up to adults all the time. When you don't see how scary adults are... when you just hear their voices and feel their true feelings bouncing against thick walls--they're really just the same as a newborn baby. Naked, unprotected, screaming frustration to the world.
Now they were clustered: Angel, the glowing white shape, Jay: the chocolate brown shape that smelled like the funny drinks Angel would make 'tsk tsk tsk' noises over in the grocery store, like a judgmental clock. And the large foreboding presence that was Batman, like a watchtower---all speaking in low voices about 'The Joker' 'Poison Ivy' and 'catching The Riddler'.
Their voices were scared, frantic, and harsh. I wished my friends--The Purple Man and The Flower Lady--could be here with me now. Maybe they could cheer these guys up. I was slightly disappointed that I could only spend one evening with them, that they hadn't come to visit when I woke up or the next morning when Sis went to work.
I sighed, sniffing in the cool night air. Cosette was in trouble. I knew that.
I wish they were there to help. Maybe they would be.
This thought brought a smile to my face, stretching it and make me warm. I felt myself slip into bedtime mode from my position on the rooftop.
They must've heard me snoring lightly, because when I woke up I was in one of those beds in the copy-cat "hospital" room of the station. I knew it was morning. I smelled freshly brewing coffee and it was so much more quiet. I hopped off the uncomfortable little cot, taking a minute to listen.
They were in Jay's office again. I could hear Angel crying, probably on his shoulder.
Cosette really was in trouble, wasn't she?
Jay
"We need to find them! We need to find them! My fault... all my fault..."
She sobbed against me, shaking. She blamed it all on herself.
But I was at the carnival, wasn't I? What was I doing? Getting drunk to hell. I was in bed the morning of the Arkham bust. And what was I doing? Complaining of a hangover.
I sighed softly, refusing to show emotion in this time of need and uncertainty, stroking my best friend's hair.
"We'll find them. Something will help us, Angel. We'll get a break. You'll see."
Homer
I don't like hearing people cry.
I thought quietly to myself.
Maybe I could get her some food. Some breakfast. After all, she hadn't eaten in the day or two that Cosette was gone and the newspeople were yelling around in a panic about her work.
Food. That would make things all better again! I reached into my jeans pocket, feeling a few dollar bills. I might not have enough but I remember Cosette telling me a story at the park one day about a boy named Oliver Twist. Maybe I could snag something.
I settled, walking down the empty long hall and passing silently right under the nose of a couple of police officers at the entrance, pushing the glass door open and sniffing the cool misty morning air. Must've been just after dawn. There weren't many cars out and things would be easier to navigate. Cars were troublesome for me. The bright lights, like silver orbs, were very distracting--and the revving of the engines blocked out a lot of useful sounds in the background.
I smiled again, walking in the direction of the smell of greasy fryers, suddenly realizing my stomach was growling.
Ivy
"I AM AN ANTICHRIST! I AM ANARCHIST! DON'T KNOW WHAT I WANT BUT I KNOW HOW TO GET IT... YOUR FUTURE DREAM IS A SHOPPING SCHEME... CAUSE I WAAANNNA BEEEE ANARCHY...!"
Three things were frustrating me right now.
1. Jack's driving.
2. Jack's singing.
3. The noise blaring out of the car stereo.
My hair was up in that wild ball again. He swerved around wildly, leaning out the driver's seat window carelessly. I leaned my head against the window and concentrated on the "beautiful" gray of Gotham's morning sky, trying my hardest not to throw up the contents of my empty stomach.
"What are we doing?" I yelled over the loud blaring of guitars, trying to get him to stop hanging his head out of the window like a filthy dog. I tugged at his jacket stubbornly, watching the road before us with cringing eyes, and he finally retreated into the car.
"Getting food. I'm hungry." He shrugged simply.
I let out a disgruntled sigh and he swerved sharply in reply, right into the drive-thru of some grease-filled fast food place.
At least there were no cars here, and he'd neglected to put on the make-up. Not that it would stop him, of course. I shut my eyes, turning down the stereo stubbornly and trying to block out the sickening smell coming from the place.
"Yeah?" The voice on the poor-quality speaker sounded like a grumpy middle-aged man, probably angry that the first costumers arrived so early in the morning.
"Uh...hmm... gimmee a number two."
"You want hash browns?"
"Duuuuuuh. No cheese either."
A sigh from the man behind the speaker, "Okay. Anything else."
Jack shifted in his seat, giving me a ghostly smile in the pale morning light. I responded to him with a look of disgust and the wave of my hand, shaking my head angrily. I didn't eat sausage. I hated biscuits. And both of them put together was worse. Also, I couldn't stand the thought of devouring anything from this greasy spoon.
He turned back to the speaker, "Extra hash browns."
"Total's $6.66. Pull up at the next window."
Probably the only time men ever obeyed, was when it came to food. Or sex.
But that's just my observation.
He cackled softly at the angry look I gave him, "Potatoes are a vegetable."
A greasy, non-nutritional, heart-attack-in-the-mouth sort of vegetable.
But then again, so was he.
He threw a bundle of cash through the window, ignoring the look of complete shock and horror from the man holding out our bag of food. He tore open his pre-processed, pre-packaged mess of ingredients he called a meal and I could sense the anger spark instantly as he reached for a gun he carried in his pocket.
"This has cheese on it." He said simply, twitching, raising his gun to the window and shooting without a second glance.
"Wanna bite?" He turned and smiled, waving the biscuit in my face and dropping the greasy bag into my lap.
I shook my head and he rolled his brown eyes, devouring the thing hungrily. He paused through a mouthful to say, "Eat the damn hash browns."
And he sped forward.
Homer
I was darting across the drive thru exit to get to the entrance, thinking about what Angel and Jay might like. Then there was a short gunshot, an unmistakable thud.
Adults are so silly.
I remember that very clearly.
Because that's right before the squealing tires and the burst of light came.
Adults are so silly.
They were standing on the roof of the police station before I began to feel drowsy. Sure, I met the Batman as he swept in (took him long enough) to meet Jay next to the bright searing light that I registered as what he called, "the bat signal".
All the kids at school talked about Batman like he was a hero. But to me, he was a big black shape, almost so black he blended in with the other hazing neutral colors in the background.
He smelled like rainclouds and concrete and metal.
I don't like those things. They're too severe, too serious. Like my principal or the newsman on TV. So when I could feel Batman smirk at me in greeting and pat my head in a friendly gesture, I pulled away stiffly.
I could also feel what he felt for me--pity for a little blind boy.
But I am not blind. Far, far from it.
"He's just shy..." I could hear Angel explain politely.
But I wasn't. I walk right up to adults all the time. When you don't see how scary adults are... when you just hear their voices and feel their true feelings bouncing against thick walls--they're really just the same as a newborn baby. Naked, unprotected, screaming frustration to the world.
Now they were clustered: Angel, the glowing white shape, Jay: the chocolate brown shape that smelled like the funny drinks Angel would make 'tsk tsk tsk' noises over in the grocery store, like a judgmental clock. And the large foreboding presence that was Batman, like a watchtower---all speaking in low voices about 'The Joker' 'Poison Ivy' and 'catching The Riddler'.
Their voices were scared, frantic, and harsh. I wished my friends--The Purple Man and The Flower Lady--could be here with me now. Maybe they could cheer these guys up. I was slightly disappointed that I could only spend one evening with them, that they hadn't come to visit when I woke up or the next morning when Sis went to work.
I sighed, sniffing in the cool night air. Cosette was in trouble. I knew that.
I wish they were there to help. Maybe they would be.
This thought brought a smile to my face, stretching it and make me warm. I felt myself slip into bedtime mode from my position on the rooftop.
They must've heard me snoring lightly, because when I woke up I was in one of those beds in the copy-cat "hospital" room of the station. I knew it was morning. I smelled freshly brewing coffee and it was so much more quiet. I hopped off the uncomfortable little cot, taking a minute to listen.
They were in Jay's office again. I could hear Angel crying, probably on his shoulder.
Cosette really was in trouble, wasn't she?
Jay
"We need to find them! We need to find them! My fault... all my fault..."
She sobbed against me, shaking. She blamed it all on herself.
But I was at the carnival, wasn't I? What was I doing? Getting drunk to hell. I was in bed the morning of the Arkham bust. And what was I doing? Complaining of a hangover.
I sighed softly, refusing to show emotion in this time of need and uncertainty, stroking my best friend's hair.
"We'll find them. Something will help us, Angel. We'll get a break. You'll see."
Homer
I don't like hearing people cry.
I thought quietly to myself.
Maybe I could get her some food. Some breakfast. After all, she hadn't eaten in the day or two that Cosette was gone and the newspeople were yelling around in a panic about her work.
Food. That would make things all better again! I reached into my jeans pocket, feeling a few dollar bills. I might not have enough but I remember Cosette telling me a story at the park one day about a boy named Oliver Twist. Maybe I could snag something.
I settled, walking down the empty long hall and passing silently right under the nose of a couple of police officers at the entrance, pushing the glass door open and sniffing the cool misty morning air. Must've been just after dawn. There weren't many cars out and things would be easier to navigate. Cars were troublesome for me. The bright lights, like silver orbs, were very distracting--and the revving of the engines blocked out a lot of useful sounds in the background.
I smiled again, walking in the direction of the smell of greasy fryers, suddenly realizing my stomach was growling.
Ivy
"I AM AN ANTICHRIST! I AM ANARCHIST! DON'T KNOW WHAT I WANT BUT I KNOW HOW TO GET IT... YOUR FUTURE DREAM IS A SHOPPING SCHEME... CAUSE I WAAANNNA BEEEE ANARCHY...!"
Three things were frustrating me right now.
1. Jack's driving.
2. Jack's singing.
3. The noise blaring out of the car stereo.
My hair was up in that wild ball again. He swerved around wildly, leaning out the driver's seat window carelessly. I leaned my head against the window and concentrated on the "beautiful" gray of Gotham's morning sky, trying my hardest not to throw up the contents of my empty stomach.
"What are we doing?" I yelled over the loud blaring of guitars, trying to get him to stop hanging his head out of the window like a filthy dog. I tugged at his jacket stubbornly, watching the road before us with cringing eyes, and he finally retreated into the car.
"Getting food. I'm hungry." He shrugged simply.
I let out a disgruntled sigh and he swerved sharply in reply, right into the drive-thru of some grease-filled fast food place.
At least there were no cars here, and he'd neglected to put on the make-up. Not that it would stop him, of course. I shut my eyes, turning down the stereo stubbornly and trying to block out the sickening smell coming from the place.
"Yeah?" The voice on the poor-quality speaker sounded like a grumpy middle-aged man, probably angry that the first costumers arrived so early in the morning.
"Uh...hmm... gimmee a number two."
"You want hash browns?"
"Duuuuuuh. No cheese either."
A sigh from the man behind the speaker, "Okay. Anything else."
Jack shifted in his seat, giving me a ghostly smile in the pale morning light. I responded to him with a look of disgust and the wave of my hand, shaking my head angrily. I didn't eat sausage. I hated biscuits. And both of them put together was worse. Also, I couldn't stand the thought of devouring anything from this greasy spoon.
He turned back to the speaker, "Extra hash browns."
"Total's $6.66. Pull up at the next window."
Probably the only time men ever obeyed, was when it came to food. Or sex.
But that's just my observation.
He cackled softly at the angry look I gave him, "Potatoes are a vegetable."
A greasy, non-nutritional, heart-attack-in-the-mouth sort of vegetable.
But then again, so was he.
He threw a bundle of cash through the window, ignoring the look of complete shock and horror from the man holding out our bag of food. He tore open his pre-processed, pre-packaged mess of ingredients he called a meal and I could sense the anger spark instantly as he reached for a gun he carried in his pocket.
"This has cheese on it." He said simply, twitching, raising his gun to the window and shooting without a second glance.
"Wanna bite?" He turned and smiled, waving the biscuit in my face and dropping the greasy bag into my lap.
I shook my head and he rolled his brown eyes, devouring the thing hungrily. He paused through a mouthful to say, "Eat the damn hash browns."
And he sped forward.
Homer
I was darting across the drive thru exit to get to the entrance, thinking about what Angel and Jay might like. Then there was a short gunshot, an unmistakable thud.
Adults are so silly.
I remember that very clearly.
Because that's right before the squealing tires and the burst of light came.