Terra Firma

Ivy

The no good bastard. The dirty, slinking weasel. The little sonofabitch snake...

Keep your cool, honey, or it's your daughter's head against that cane.

I shivered, rubbing my face in my hands. This room was too white. It made me think of the asylum, with the sickeningly fake woman attendents and...

I could hear them beating him, even through the thick cement and metal walls. It seems crazies have excellent selective hearing. I could hear each word from the brawny men's mouths, all identical to Dennis, all looking down upon the defenseless madman--enjoying the control they had over someone who'd normally make them shiver in their boots--had he been dressed as a clown.

We are a disgusting race of creatures.

Four years or so, I didn't mind Happy. He was an extra in my life, something the camera spans over quickly, perhaps focuses in on for a few choice seconds for that little reaction shot. I'd probably glanced over at him no more than I could count on my long fingernails. I remember feeling that primal womanly sense of sweetness, despite my nerves, in that elevator ride to the party all those years ago. I'd turned to see him, young and smiley, patting the back of Daisy's head.

(and did you see what he did to the wall that's what he'll do to her

kill him kill him kill him

he's faster than me he knows my weakness he knows

just do it do it NAIL HIM NAILS

I CAN'T RISK HER LIFE
yes you can)

"Shut up, Ivy. Shut up about things you don't know about."

My head spun and my face twisted.

This room was so white, the sheets too clean. I may as well have been in strait jacket right now, locked up in another prison, forced to stay behind the bars of a cage.

They always say hell is a place of fire and brimstone and constant marching on bloody stubs of flesh once called feet, feeling the eternal whip crack upon your back and hearing the devil laugh in the back of it all.

But I think hell is being away from the ones you love.

What's a girl to do in a hell too white to be firey? When she still has her arms free but cannot use the vines? When she remembers the hated, the liars and cheaters and relentless beaters. The dead babies and the trapped whores. What does she do in a white room with white walls and silk sheets and clean mirrors. When the anger boils and the heart wrenches, the gut tightens and the fists ball up?

I looked around the tiny room.

Oh, what's a girl to do?

Tear it up.

Penguin

I am not your everyday mob boss. Not your everyday Maroni, not your everyday Gambol or Chechen.

I am not crazy. I just like money. Dirty money. Clean money. It's all money.

But I'm not crazy.

I've just been hanging around them too long, the price you pay for establishing a carnival, one of my infamous and risky business endeavors. The only people who ever wanna work for you are the freaks. And after being in that business for song long, I understood them.

Another thing that seperates me from the other big players in this town.

I knew how to deal with them. And get out alive.

So when I felt the cool blade against my neck I merely frowned slightly. I wrinkled my nose at this guy's 'cologne', stayed silent as I was pushed roughly to the floor and endured the few violent kicks. I hardly looked up as I felt three pairs of hands take me up and throw me into my armchair. Seen one, you seen 'em all, right?

But he was different too. When he took my chin between two gloved fingers in a death grip, smiling sickly and waving the knife in my face, I felt real fear for the first time since that night my carnival erupted. I flinched as he looked over my grim face with his own creepily painted one, remembering the sensitive burn marks on the back of my head.

A few more moments of holding in my breath and he let go, sitting into a leather couch set up across from me with a definitive plop. I cringed inwardly at his muddy wet shoes squishing into the expensive carpet. He cocked his head at me, staring.

I realized then why he was different from Riddle.
It wasn't just the dirtied hair, the neglected teeth, the ridiculous clown get up.

It was the eyes. They were crazy, captivating, emotionless, but they held something--a hint of something--that Riddle's did not, would not, never in a million years.

Honesty.

Now, usually whenever Riddle'd come in to talk to me back before all the shit blew up, he'd always have something positive to say, or would strike up the conversation with a smoothness--like he did whenever he brought out his little gold lighter to burn up the endless supply of cigarettes he had in his coat pocket. But this guy... this guy was just... awkward.

He licked his lip, blinking and opening his mouth like he was going to say something. But he stopped for a second, eyes flitting about the room in a way that was unmistakably intelligent. Then his eyes snapped back to mine and he finally found his words:

"Has anyone ever told you... that you have a uh, a... bird nose?"

I could feel my brow twist into an indignant expression at his childlike remark, feel my mouth form into a frown. He leaned forward and cackled.

"What's your name?"

I cleared my throat. You didn't not answer when a wacko's tone turned that serious, "Oswald. ...Penguin."

I inwardly wanted to slap the palm of my hand on my face as his lips curled inward and he made this stupid snort noise, obviously making a grand show of holding back a fit of giggles.

This guy was going to laugh at my name. Had he looked in a mirror lately?

I remained relaxed, taking a quick look at his little buddies. There were three of them, all standing behind the leather couch. One was tall as a tree, another short and muscular, dark as the hair upon my head. The one in the middle was almost like a mix of the two, although he seemed a little uncomfortable--like he wasn't sure whether he should be among them or not.

The door burst open and two of my bigger guys came in, pointing guns. I looked up, smiling.

"Now, now. You kids put those toys down. And... clean up this mess, will ya?"

Short nods and they set about following my orders. I cringed, eyeing the mess that was once named Benny as they picked him up. Then I turned to the clown.

"D'you mind telling me... why you wiped out two of my best employees?"

"Listen, Birdnose, I don't need a reason for the things I do," He made a face, obviously mocking me, "Do you mind.... uh, telling me the wherabouts of the dummy all your little 'employees' are whispering about?"

My eyes lit with something, and I could see it written on his face: he'd registered quickly that I knew exactly what he was talking about. No playing dumb with this guy. But still, I wasn't going to let him off that easy. I'm a lot of things, and charitable isn't one of them.

"Nothing gets you nothing, kid. Everything's got a little price."

He smiled awfully again and lifted that knife

(okay maybe that wasn't a good thing to say)
to his face:

"Alright. I'll pay you. Let's say you tell me what you know, and I'll let you have your life."

I frowned, "Why should I believe you? You told my pimp you'd let him go..."

"Might. Might is a funny word." He stared into the blade, touching a bright flower on his coat out of what I assumed was habit.

(you know you can trust him you saw it in his face ...say where's that broad they always tell stories about in the bar ain't she always with him?)

I sighed,

"Alright. Alright. Well this whole thing started four yea--"

"BLAHBLAHBLAH." He snarled impatiently, "I don't care who left him at your doorstep, Birdface, gimmee where he is now or where he's going next."

I chuckled. No patience in this guy.

"Keep your knife in your glove, kid, I'll tell you. Last I saw of Riddle, he was talking to some fresh-out-the-box mobster... Tool... Too.. Two! That's it Two-Face. Yeah. Wanted to set up some little underground for Gotham's finest fiends. I suppose he's wherever Two-Face hides, though it'll take you a while to find cause he's even more elusive than you are..."

I looked at his blade warily as he snapped up, almost too quickly to be natural. He paced wildly, messing up his already disaster hairstyle, muttering oddly.

"Two-Face... Two-Face... I believe in Two-Face!"

I looked at him strangely, my look matching the befuddled expressions of those standing behind the couch.

"What do you want from them anyway?" I snapped, "Shouldn't you be out... robbing banks or... blowing up stuff?"

He stopped, cocking his head to the side and giggling a high-pitched laugh, "Is that all I am to you people? I have bigger things to do right now. That squealer has something... important to me."

He muttered the last few words but I caught them. I saw him touch that flower again.

(oh it's the broad I see)

"Your woman. She's a redhead, right?" I wasn't sure, I'd only ever seen her mugshot in passing in the black and white of The Gotham Times.

A curt nod, accompanied by a faraway sort of look.

I raised my eyebrows, "You'd better be careful."

"CAAAAARRREFULL." He mocked again, waving he knife through the air, "Hm? Why's that?"

"That kid's not like you. He's sick like you, sure, but he looks pretty on the outside. He's a liar, he's a cheat. He's a backstabbing. Snivelling. Snakey. Fox."

The clown squinted at me. The man in the middle of the two cronies looked very concerned. You'd swear someone he cared for was being held away too.

"How would you know, Birdnose?"

I got up, turning my head, allowing the burn marks--red and raw and forever imprinted into the back of my scalp--to be seen. A blind hatred filled me, remembering what I'd done for that kid, all the custom made canes I'd got for him, the fancy suits, the name I helped him build for himself. I knew why I'd helped this clown. I wanted that kid caught, I wanted that kid killed. Benny style.

Karma was a Queen Bitch, Death was a Joker. And if I had anything to do with it, that kid was going to be a victim to both.

"I know. I know. He was... my Judas."