Terra Firma

Cosette

Usually in the life of a Miserable, things do not get worse before they get better. They only get worse. And worse. A constant fall down basement stairs, cold feet on hard pavement and cutting yourself on broken glass. But for once in my life, in a period of no more than a few days, things began to get better.

The eye of the hurricane opened over me once again.

I was basking in its calm and peaceful light. I could smell the storm, see it rising on the high and mighty horizon, surrounding me like holy mountains. But I would enjoy the time where the black and white shades were only bright light--lightly whispering good memories and awkwardly chuckling over others. I would deny the fact that I was becoming dangerously close to a man who killed. Ignored now and focused on then.

A very dangerous thing, but at the time I thought I could handle a psycho. I thought we could be friends again, just like he'd always call me in his meticulously arranged sentences.

I've said it many times, I'll say it once again.

Bad move.

Jay

"Hey, uh... watch this... Oops, no. No. Wait."

I couldn't help but snicker as the violent killer hopelessly attempted to catch small candies in his mouth. They flew from the bag placed haphazardly between his legs and into the air like tiny UFOs, all missing of course--richocheting of his pale scars or in between his honest eyes as the rest of us sat around the television, chomping away at whatever food we could find in the poor old 'kitchen' setup we had going on.

"Dammit."

He tried again and again and again. The rustle of the bag, the faint scuttle of candy landing on the ground, and a fleeting groan or curse repeated in what seemed to be an endless cycle.

Beside me, Grumpy leaned and whispered quietly into Goofy's ear, "He's been in a better mood."

"Yup. How much you wanna bet it's cause he been getting sleep?"

Grumpy grumbled, "I'll bet you two-hundred."

"Goofy gets two-hundred. He always does." Boss cackled, throwing his bag of candies over his shoulder.

Grumpy growled, reaching into his pocket. Goofy smiled, holding out his huge hand.

"I don't know why I even bother..."

"That's life." I said.

"You know," Goofy piped up, "Momma always said life was like--"

"A box of shitty analogies!" The Joker laughed loudly then got up off the sofa in our congregation room, pausing, "Uh, hey. Gambol."

I looked up.

"My office."

His snapping, serious tone commanded me to follow, and so I did.

You didn't not listen. Not with The Joker.

Riddler

I was enjoying this game.

That's half the fun, making the riddles.

And this one... was one of the most elaborate. Charming my old friend. Making her happy, raising her up. I could charm women. I'd noticed that. And she was tricky to charm, but in the last few days things had been more smooth. I was licking my lips in anticipation of this trick, glad that she was of equal intelligence--for duping her would be most rewarding.

You think I am horrible person. That's terribly mean, you think. She was your friend and confidant in that flithy hovel... all those years ago.

But I am not the same, not living back. I am not Happy anymore. I am The Riddler. I am constantly thinking and moving, I can't stop smoking. I like things clean. I count in twos. I skip and avoid the number three. I cannot touch or feel and even my breathing is mechanic and calculative. I kill those stupider than me.

I kill everyone.

Unless I want them around a bit longer...

She would die. I did not need her like she needed me.

(yes you do you looked for her so long I won't let you kill her

shut up marius you fool)

I was just having fun setting all this up.

Jay

I'd never been in his "office" by invitation. Stood outside the door, yes. Been kicked and messed with and taunted that first meeting, sure.

I suppose you were officially his "friend" when he invited you. When he didn't drag or bark or you were able to follow at free will. I blinked at two sights upon entering.

One: my cellphone was on the desk. I'd left it in the makeshift kitchen before going to sleep a couple of days ago, he must've picked it up there.

Two: scraps of paper taped in a crude fashion on the wall behind his old desk. They were all written in green ink, and I recognized the too-neat handwriting easily. I noticed something else as well, that I hadn't before. Each peice of paper (and there were many... too many) was written on some scrap of paper--or some color that was unique. There were arranged on the wall by the subject of the image on each scrap... or by the color of the paper. I gasped. I couldn't believe he'd figured to do that. Together, pasted up like that, they looked like an intricate collage. They formed the words...

"Tick. Tick. Tick." The Joker clucked his tongue, hands thrown up awkwardly as if to say, 'it's simple, look.' and he turned.

"Now uh,... I heard a phone ring the other night. Cops been wanting their toy back?"

"Hardly. They hate me."

"It's nice to be hated. It shows you're real." He smiled deviantly.

Guy was crazy, but he had some interesting points.

"A-Anyway..." I said, shakily at first... I was still intimidated by him, "It was Penguin."

"I'm sorry. Who?"

"Birdnose. Birdman."

"Oh! Oh, alright." He nodded.

"He gave me some useful information."

"...Well? Spit it out."

"...He doesn't know when or how, but he knows where. He said: Gotham City Public School."

The Joker's eyebrows knitted. He ran a dirtied hand over his face as his brown eyes shifted in an aimless yet genius manner. He mumbled incoherently.

"How do I know this information is... true." I caught his last absent-minded growl.

"I don't know if we can. A kid told him and... they lie..."

"Ah, ah. Kids don't lie. They just... tell stories. When they know they'll get in trouble, or when something's in it for them."

I shrugged, "What's the difference? Lying and telling stories."

"There is always truth in a story."

The Joker took out his knife and juggled it, "You wanna know how I got these scars?"

"Not really."

"What?"

"I said not really. It doesn't really matter. They're there, you're here. The end of the story."

He was the one shrugging now.

"Well..." he watched his knife in fascination, "There is no end without the beginning... but uh, if you don't want to know, I won't tell you."

He smiled wickedly, stabbing the knife upright into the wood of the desk. He did it with a natural flair, his hands in that moment seemed nothing like the hands that, a few minutes ago, were trying and failing miserably to launch M&Ms into his mouth.

"Anyway. I believe the kid." He nodded again, hair waving in his dirty face to affirm this.

I nodded. I believed Penguin. He was too bent on revenge to lie for his benefit.

"What are we going to do, Boss?"

He smiled, "Let's take a drive."

Cosette

"Did you know, old friend, that when a snake is born with two heads, the fight each other for food?"

"I did not. Bravo."

"You finished?"

"Yes, thank you. I didn't know you liked to cook."

"It's a science I've studied and mastered, darling, nothing more."

I blushed, not being able to resist it when he called me those affectionate names. Other than the time he'd touched my scar, there had been no physical displays of what I could sense was burning attraction in the air of the skewed period of time I'd been there.

Well, until he invited me,

"How would you like to see the little office Two-Face set up for me?"

He flashed that little smile and I couldn't resist.

Ivy

I hummed, inspecting my nails. I liked this room I'd found. The walls were green. Out of boredom, I'd added orchids. It was mine, that was that, and here I would wait until I got the key. Until Harvey let me go...

Or until The Joker came to my rescue. What a silly notion. He was probably still mad at me, with how long it's been. The man held onto his anger like he held onto me. Desperately commanding attention. Snarling demands.

"Ivy..." Her meek voice traveled through the door. I flicked a vine out to open it.

"Everything alright, sweetie?"

She shut the door, immeadiately sitting down on the bed, as she usually did when she came in after being frightened or needed advice.

"No." She twitched, running her hands through her fine brown hair, "No, no, no it's not. He's got me sewing up that blanket and while I do he talks about her and I can't stand it because sometimes! Sometimes he calls me by her name when I talk back! And I have to act so calm all the time Ivy I'm breaking--"

"Sh, sh, sh. Too many run on sentences and your tongue will fall right out." I sat up and put my arm around her, "Don't be afraid to tell him not to say your real name. But.. think of it as an advantage. Letting him talk will let him get things out, leaving room for us to get to him."

"I can't!" She half-shrieked, half-cried, "Everytime I try he tells me to shut up and he towers over and looks like he'll hit me... but then the other side of the face.... it... he just... he stops."

"See? You can." I smiled at her warmly, but inside my mind shouted worry. The skin under her eyes was dark, her lips dry, her hair frizzed slightly and cheekbones drawn out in a clenching stance. She was right. She was breaking. Like I did.

I couldn't do this to her. I couldn't manipulate. I wasn't good at it.

"Give it... a little more time. A day or so. If you can't take it anymore, if he doesn't stop calling you

(RACHEL your best friend)

by her name, I'll get us out. And I won't be using charm or patience to do it."

"You'd do that for me?"

"Of course." I blinked.

"You hardly know me... I worked for the place that kept you.."

"I don't care. You have a little boy under your wing."

She turned, looking at the wall. Tears threatened to spill and she clenched her fists. I knew the feeling. I'd been clenching my fists for 29 years.

Jay

We parked in front of the elementary school. My heart hammered in relief. I thought Cosette's driving was bad. I was wrong.

"What if it's the high school or something? There's more than one and all he said was--"

"Sh. I have a hunch. Besides, I'll get Goofy and Grumpy to cover the others." He suddenly adjusted the car mirror with a gloved hand and inspected his painted face, "Oh, I'm so close I can taste it... do you think she'll still want me? Hm? Think she'll still find me handsome, after being around Pretty Dent these past days?"

I snorted. He looked at me, inflamed. But despite the fear that shot through me, he then laughed.

The laughter passed, and he stared contemplatively out the car window.

"'Subtle' is the key word here. If Riddly-Boy knows I'm onto him, he'll switch up the gag, ya know?"

I nodded and he turned back to me.

"Sit in that alley over there. Rough yourself up a bit... make that hoodie dirty. Act like a bum."

I stared, blinking as he handed my cell phone.

"He's probably going to make a grand entrance, but he'll have to set things up in order to do that. You see anything that smells funny, you call me."

"But I don't know--"

"I put my number in there."

I opened it up, staring into my 'address book'

MR JOKER

What a card.

"Got it." I said, opening up the passenger door, pausing when I felt his hand grab my shoulder roughly.

"No, uh, costume's complete... without a prop." He showed off those not-so-pearly whites and I stared, dumbfounded, as he thrust a bottle of whiskey into my arms.

He drove off, cackling, swerving like a drunkard.

It was high noon and he could get away with it.

Welcome to Gotham.

I walked across the street and ducked behind a trashcan, adjusting to the smells and stagnant, heavy air. I stared bleakly at the bottle in my hand.

It's okay... I had the pills in my pocket right? I always---

DOODOO!

The sound of my phone, alerting me of a text message.

Surprised, I put the bottle down beside me, opening my cursed always-attached-to-me-like-a-second-heart peice of plastic and metal, a lifeless shell without a metal microchip and battery life.

From: MR JOKER

I THREW AWAY THOSE PILLS

THE END IS NOTHING WITHOUT THE BEGINNING

LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL!!!!!1

I didn't know whether to laugh madly at the strange coincedence that my text style was red and bold by default.

Or cry that he was testing me in such a sadistic way.

So I did both.