Terra Firma

Ivy

There was murderous, suffocating silence in the room after the young cop's statement, as if you could hear thunder building through the entryway, worse than a cloud of poisonous, choking gas. It crept, filling the floor and walls with that tense, primal feeling--as gracefully as my killer vines and as clumsily as the way my partner held his gun beside me.

All mouths were shut, all eyes glazed over in horror and apprehension. Guns lay on the floor and they were all bent low, looking up at us and breathing hard. The young woman--Cosette's friend--looked pensive, almost respectful, but still undoubtedly nervous. The little boy, Homer, was grinning smugly at this sudden realization that we were not just imaginary.

He was the only one that was standing, the only one who didn't reek of poisonous, pitiful fear.

A cat may look at a king,

was the only thing I could think, looking at him. He had to know who we really were by now. We were the town's boogie-man, after all.

"If you don't eat your peas, son, Ivy'll make you eat your peas."

"There's no Joker in your closet. See? Now shut up and go back to bed."

Which I find ironic, considering I love children and my crazed partner felt they were too much like himself--honest, germ-covered, humorous, clumsy--to want to kill them with his own hands, like he did so mercilessly to adults.

But like he was always ranting to me in private, people just assume.

"We're horrible people, Ivy. Not even people. Creeps. Y-you know why? Hey, c'mere. We kill people. We kill people who do things you and I'd never ever do. Like cheat or drink or hide money away in safes. We take what we want and spell things out for these schemers. We strip them. We show them what ugly faces they have. When the chips are down, they're cannibals. Worse than us, because they try to deny it. They're liars. Worse than us. And they call us freaks! They think we're crazy...! Hm? C'mere. Look at me..."

He always said that. It was some sort of complusion he had. He ate up attention like it was something he never got until he started wearing the makeup.

LOOK AT ME!

But I was always looking at him. I couldn't tear myself away from those brown/black eyes, even if I wanted to.

And Mother Nature knows how many times I'd tried. I'd tried to break free of the man who was not like any other man. Tried so hard to break free from the sadistic clown who would prove, in the sensual black velvet cloak of night, that he was only a man.

Sure, I could walk away, turn my back on him. Do my own thing. Go my own way. But my vines would curl limply, my hair hang lank around my head. Whether I like it or not, I was tethered to him. Because around him, I lived. I understood. I loved.

But I could never tell him to his face. I was too bitter, too cynical. My heart was packed in ice within my chest and my brain had become as boiling hot as the poison lipstick I'd become so known for.

Mother Nature knows I loved the man with a painted face and the clown who killed without blinking. And only she would know.

Until the day I would die.

Homer

I was not afraid. Not like the grown ups were.

How could you be afraid of a fellow who knew The Odyssey by heart? Of a lady that smelled prettier than what was leftover of Gotham Memorial Park?

Besides. They'd brought me back to my sister.

So they had to help us find Cosette.

Right?

Ivy

The thick black moment in the entryway of The Gotham Police Department ran for several more moments, suspended in time. It was so silent you could taste it. I could hear the little squeaking noises The Joker's purple gloves made as each muscle in his twitchy hands moved, one caressing his favorite knife in the pocket, the gun in his other hand. I could hear him lick his lip contemplatively, his right cheek moving slightly as he twitched and blinked. I could hear his head turn to me, and in response I turned my own, staring back at him.

There was the unmistakable sound of the adults tensing in front of us letting a sharp intake of breath pass through clenched teeth and tight lips.

"Did you, uh.. you hear that Ivy? ...They want us... to ... to..."

We couldn't even get the final phrase out. We laughed. We laughed with the conviction of two people completely comfortable with the fact that they were nutty, two people living an honest life in a society full of red tape and hypocritical rules. Two people that called cesspools home and thrived on chaos.

Two people that knew life's biggest joke--death. That could laugh over it in that full, unbridled way.

Two people that were, through it all, secretly happy.

We laughed so hard that a few began to chuckle. Very slowly now. We were channeling it, covering them in it. The laughter grew--a dangerous tidal wave in a sea of fear and boundaries. Soon, the whole police force was with us, creating that bone-chilling sound.

BANG.BANG.BANG.

The Joker regained control. Pure silence. The young woman who'd done 'research' on us now had her hands clamped over Homer's ears. Despite the darkness in the situation, he kept smiling lightly.

A cat may look at a king...

"Now, uh.." The Joker cleared his throat, "I'll humor you here, for a second..."

He didn't say 'what do you want' 'what do you need help with' or the ever popular 'why'?

He expected them to come to him. And that's exactly what he got.

"Joe..." The dark-skinned young man that looked so familair to me got up slowly, staring at us,

(it's not fear in his eyes it's admiration ??)

"Get a riddle."

"W-Which one..." A pretty, muscle-y looking guy shook and stared at the mad clown beside me with frightened eyes. He looked as if hated the young man giving him orders. The Joker smirked his deviant smirk.

"ANY FUCKING ONE." The younger cop spat at him in hatred and impatience. The Joker sensed the tension between them and clicked his tongue, eyes shifting in silent calculation.

"Yeah, Joe. Go get a riddle Joe," he mocked and chuckled in his whiny, gruffened voice, "HURRY UP BEFORE I CHANGE THE PLAN HAHA."

Joe-pretty-boy hurried, returning with a scrap of paper housed in a plastic bag. He was too afraid to hand it to us outright, instead he gave it to the man he obviously hated.

The dark-skinned young man walked forward, hand stretched out steadily and walk set straight. He held a tiny air of feminism around him that I liked. I smiled as he placed it in my partner's hand, which put away his gun and was beckoning him forward in a way that was both awkward and commanded authority.

The familair face put the bag of evidence into the purple gloved hand, eyes meeting his soot-rimmed ones for just a moment.

The Joker grasped his face quickly. A flicker of fear passed over the young man's expression.

"How's your Daddy?" He cackled suddenly, pushing the man--who I now recognized as having traits of Gambol set in his stern facial structure.

The man actually responded, smoothing out his face with a hand, "He's better, thanks to you two."

I couldn't help but laugh, winking over at Mr. Prettyboy, who shuddered. This delighted me.

The Joker simply chuckled, tearing open the fragile evidence bag and flicking out the paper, speckled with bloodstains, holding it between two fingers.

"Nice penmanship." He smacked his lips, brown eyes hardly even grazing over what looked like a bunch of jumbled letters crowded together on the page, like the stinking passengers of Gotham's Transit System--the one I refused to take home some years ago. I stood slightly over his shoulder, nose up in the air, sneering down at the "riddle". The Joker's eyes flickered to mine and that familair disturbing smile came over his face. He held out his gloved hands, dangling the paper in the direction of the confused looking group before us, like a strange magician about to reveal his next trick.

"Help, hm?..." He muttered darkly, "Help. This is the only help you'll get from us."

Slowly, he tore the coded message in half. Several protests rang out, the loudest coming from Gambol's supposed son. This only worsened things, for The Joker then began tearing it into more peices, giggling excitedly, making goofy noises as he flung each peice to the ground, stomping his shoes on them and spitting on the ground.

"You're going to sit there and let him get away with that, you FAGGOT?! Ruining evidence?"

That Joe boy got up suddenly, rushing over with his face enraged, his own gun now pointed at Gambol's fixated eyes.

"JAY WATCH--" Cosette's friend spoke for the first time, her voice panicky, her hands still clasped tightly around Homer's ears.

A gunshot rattled.

Joe looked at his own bloodied hand, horrified and shaking, screaming. The Joker pocketed his own gun again, laughing in a high voice. The man named Jay opened his eyes, closed instinctively from the noise, and stared at us dumbly. My daughter's friend looked like she was going to be sick. I shoved my sympathy for her away, concentrating on the lesson at hand. I grabbed the terrified Joe up in my vines, bringing him close.

"You homophobes.." I said, smiling into his gaping and pained face, "...you homophobic men are the ones who end up turning gay the fastest."

I didn't kill him; I didn't want the little boy seeing anything more. To my satisfaction, the man passed out as I shook him lightly. I set him down roughly on the main police desk, pausing to run a hand through my hair.

The room's fear level blared up again, to astounding levels.

"Why so serious?" The Joker smiled endearingly, whether he'd winked or twitched was hard to tell; he was cackling madly, firing bullets into the ceiling and turning with me to leave.

I heard Cosette's friend whisper something lightly, barely audible, hidden beneath The Joker's shrill laughter,

(he's got her)

as we walked out;

(he's got my best friend)

but I didn't register what it was she said.

(oh, oh, he's got)

Until much later.

(Cosette...

your little girl.)

Riddler

She slept. And I watched.

I ran my tatooed hands obsessively through my hair, trying to slick it back into place. I scowled, counting the buttons on the blouse she wore. Oh, her hands were probably dirty. And she touched my hair. Touched me with her hands. This thought made the gears in my head spin wildly. I pulled out a cigarette from the ever-present pack in my coat pocket, lighting it, dragging in the comforting fumes thankfully.

Something about the way her nose was shaped, the innocent pout of her lips--it made me feel strange and I pushed it away firmly, concentrating on her faults. Her skin was a grey pale color, her cheeks imperfectly blushing. Her eyebrows were uneven.

She was plain. Boring. Nothing special. Right?

I nodded twice, trying to physically affirm it.

but her eyes they sparkle... they're so pretty you can't think to let the light fade from them...

I took another nervous drag on my cigarette, focusing instead on her hair. Sure, it was a nice color. But it was so messy. The way it stuck out in some places made me angry. I twitched. And the way her bangs were styled. It was uneven, not right. NOT EVEN. Not correct!

I forgot all about my fear of touch in that quick moment, bending over her and touching my hand to her hot forehead. I twitched more, pulling my lip back in hesitation. I persisted, sweeping the hair of her bangs gently back.

it's so messed up I have to fix it I have to fix it keep it even part it even or I'll lose something important like last time like her

I found myself closing my eyes, suddenly realizing how soft and smooth she was. I kept stroking her face with my fingers. This wasn't so bad... wasn't so bad...

She moved slightly, mumbling,

"A cat may look at a king..."

I jumped back, waiting for her to settle. My hands found themselves on her skin again.

Smooth soft perfect a bump...

A bump?

I frowned, moving her hair quickly away from her forehead, gazing in shock upon a twisting scar extending from the roots of her strawberry hair down to the end of her eyebrow, twisting in the form of

(a question mark a riddle who is this girl who is she?)

I took a long drag, scowling.

Don't start getting your hopes up. For one, she can speak. And remember what you did to all the others...

I nodded again, twice, looking up as the door opened and Two-Face came in, sneering at me contemptously.

"I heard noise. You killed her?"

"No, no, my friend." I said smoothly, flicking ashes quickly into a tray on the bedside table, "she's asleep."

"What the hell are you doing? At least put her on the bed..." He snarled angrily, plucking her up and setting her down on top of the blankets. Guy had a soft spot. He wouldn't last long.

I rolled my eyes, staring at the small revolver he'd lain on the bedside table. It never left him, it seemed, like his little quarter.

Guns.

Guns...

"So about this Ivy..." I began, snapping my fingers restlessly, the gears in my brain sparking with a distant memory revealing itself beneath the shadows.

"The Ivy."

"Yes, yes." I responded impatiently, "I can get her. Give me three days. Tops."

Two-Face raised his eyebrows in question.

"But first," I smiled widely, "Two things."

"...What?"

"I'll have to do something different with that building for that little nightclub. Now that Penguin's out of this picture.."

(supposedly)

"And?"

"And. I want you to find out more. About this girl."

"What do you want with her?"

"I don't know." I replied cooly, "What do you want with Poison Ivy?"

Silence.

"You can get her ...you're sure?"

"I've never been wrong. Ever."

Two-Face stared at me, crossing his arms, "Everyone's been wrong about something."

I smiled. I didn't mind this guy's face so much. Two sides. Good number for me. Also, the one bulging eye in his sunken socket matched the burning madness I could see in my own when I stared in the mirror. This guy had something in common with me. Not like Penguin. Penguin was all about cash money.

Forget that. I just wanted questions. Answers.

I smiled at my new friend, and for once, the live part of his face smiled back and his blue eye twinkled.

I responded quickly with one of the first codes I'd ever slipped into the hands of a dead woman in this town:

"I'm not Everyone. I'm The Riddler."

Homer

"We have to go after them!" A lady cop, crouching by the front desk, screamed suddenly as they disappeared.

"No..." Jay insisted.

"Gambol, if the press finds out we just let two criminals walk in and out..."

"THE PRESS DOESN'T FIND OUT," he screamed darkly, "A fight broke out between a couple officers. WE KEEP THIS HERE. GOT IT?"

I could feel shudders within the room. Jay was shaking, I could feel that too.

Angel hugged me close, crying silently, "Don't you ever, ever/i] go off like that again."

I nodded slowly, staring off at nothing, at the spot the paper was now scattered, ruffling softly.

"I'm sorry..." Jay said now, looking up at bullets in the ceiling, "It's my fault.. I shouldn't have let them stay... shouldn't have said anything... me and my big mouth..."

I heard Angel go over to him, patting a hand on his back gently, suddenly gasping and pointing to the middle of the floor, where that shattered bunch of paper lay.

Jay

"Jay... Jay..."

"Leave me alone, Angel, there's no point... they've got no rules, they're too crazy..."

"No. No. Jay, look!"

My eyes snapped up, meeting the massacre of paper that lay stomped firmly into the floor.

The letters were arranged haphazardly, crookedly, the paper dirty and crumpled and torn up sloppily.

But it was there.

I'M NOT EVERYONE. I'M THE RIDDLER.