‹ Prequel: Just Paint Your Face
Sequel: Half Jack ›
Terra Firma
The Weaker Sex
Jay
Where do you run?
Where do you run when the world shuts you out, when you're washed out, hung out, and beaten dry to a shriveled pulp? Sawdust blowing in the wind, cigarette butts skimming the surface of oily rainwater as they sped to a dark drain.
I whistled, kicking into a puddle. No thoughts of alcohol, no thoughts of circles on the palms of my hands. Just me and only me. My thoughts in a linking chain, strong and unbroken, stemming into thick roots of clarity as I focused on goals. Real actual goals.
Still, I was an outlaw now. Once a goon, always a goon. I touched the mask silently and peeked around a corner. How do you defy law without breaking it? Where do you run when even the heroes don't want anything to do with you?
(there is no ending)
I remembered being young, Gordon staring at me quizically in a little counseling room. And me... just staring at my hands.
"Why'd you do a stupid thing like that?" He spat in frustration as I thought about finding a drink somewhere.
"I don't know. I was bored."
"Somebody had to have forced you. No one ever comes quietly."
I looked up in the bleak light, "...I can tell you. I remember every detail."
He stared. Blinked. Held out his hand and shook mine.
(without the beginning)
So I headed backwards. He took me in once, and he'd do it again.
Ivy
"Jack I--"
I stared up, locking eyes with the deep brown orbs set in his tragic yet undeniably beautiful face. I didn't do it to connect the point, didn't do it for emphasis. If anything I would've preferred to avoid eye contact entirely.
I did it because it was the only thing that would give me the strength to say the words. Stupid, empty, hollow words. The three words that governed our whole bent destiny.
And I felt I could say it then. His hands--then gnarled into my sides in a restraining way--now rested in a rare moment of peace on the sides of my ribcage. His face, which was usually twitching in a state of dark humor and apathy or teetering off into a cycle of hysteric laughing or blind rage, was now stilled.
On the exhale of the next breath, despite it being mingled with tears and shaking with slight worry for the only thing I could ever call my daughter, I began to let out the L-O-V-E word.
The tip of it, on my tongue. His face, shifting in a strange and almost
(fearful)
indistinguishable manner. His hands, shooting straight up to the neck, clinging, squeezing in desperation, as he spat one, tiny little clump of letters in my face.
"Don't."
And he released me, walking out of the 'kitchen' like a zombie. Eyes void. Mouth slack, rubbing the scars in the almost religious manner he had when he was focused on other things.
I didn't fully understand. He'd threatened, he'd taunted, and on the nights he had terrible dreams--half awake--he'd actually ask. And now, now he denied. I didn't even know if I could say it again. I'd mustered up more power than 'the green' in that moment. Every bit of energy from the marrow of my frame.
I heard our bedroom door rattle shut like bones in the wind, and I wilted.
Joker
Gotham thunderstorms are especially heavy.
The drops trickled fast. Like the thoughts in my head.
(plinkplinkplinkplink)
Jaaaaaaaccckkk.
Jaaaaackiieeee Boooooy.
I kicked the bucket out of fury but the bitch's voice whined back in persistance. What I saw spilling out onto the floor was not water, but tar.
Why so serious? Look at you squirm. Scared? You're afraid. Afraid you're going to kill her when she finally fesses up.
"Jeannie," I snarled warningly, "I thought you'd gone for good."
Oh no no no no no. Your woman's been keeping me alive, in her pretty brain. I vowed I would warn her. To destroy you. And it's almost time.
"You're DEAD. What could you do?"
Believe me, I've got a tool.
"W-What's that? Show up in a sheet and say 'boo'? PAH! Fuck you."
If you think you can run away you can't. I know about the plane tickets. But there won't be a chance Jack. The snake's already got his own trick! The snake. JUDAS--
"GRRRRRRRRAAAAAAGGGGH!" I screamed, not seeing not thinking not hearing. Just hitting, tearing, punching, stabbing, kicking. Verbs and snarls. Blood and soot. Paint and knives. Anything to get it out. Anything to bleed it out.
I thought she was gone! I thought she was gone!
(you're afraid you're going to kill her i warned her jack! when she says
i-love-you.)
"Never. I'll never let her." I balled my fists in conviction with the statement, cringing when I finally heard the door open. I closed my eyes when I heard her speak:
"You done throwing stuff around? I would like to go to sleep."
I ignored her and listened to the unmistakable proud steps as they crossed over to the little mattress.Tried ignoring the discontented sigh that rang in my ears as I turned slyly and watched her curl between thin sheets, could not ignore her when she whispered Daisy's name worriedly.
I grumbled, joining her.
That's where man's end all starts.
A grumble and a murderous squeeze of the hand.
Ivy
"May." he said finally after a very long time, "You.. you uh, remember you said you wanted to give Daisy a chance."
I didn't respond, stared up over my head at a very disturbing picture of myself with rudimentary scribbles all around it. Maybe it was his idea of a voodoo doll, he must've been so enraged. Inside, I chuckled lightly at the thought.
"Well, she's had her chance," he went on, "It's not time to interfere."
"He's going to kill her! I know you don't think their... relationship... isn't any different. But it is. He's very different. He lies and he's too pr--he's too--"
"Handsome." He sneered.
(GET OUT. MONSTER.)
"Jack, you know what I mean. You're just a different kind of handsome."
"..Uh. Uh well," He made a wild hand gesture up at the stained ceiling, something I noticed he did out of 'nerves', "Look. Look, he's not going to kill her."
I frowned slightly. How could he know?
"Ivy, being with a... guy like me or him is like... being around poison gas. You either die instantly or you keep breathing it. In little tiny bits. Eventually, you'll build up an immunity. If not--too bad so sad. If she's alright after this long, she's got the better hand of cards. And we let her deal."
(when you come back you'll be... better
if not I'll watch you die)
I turned to face him angrily, not reading his face in the darkness. But I was savoring the rare moment when we were having a real conversation about something, even after he'd rejected...
(don't think about it it hurts)
"But we're always respons--"
He shut me up with a kiss.
"Let her create herself."
He pulled away, turned his back. This sparked something, and I tugged at his ear, for the first and last time in my life. He spun, grinned--and the aggression and the greed and the sickening sense of affection came back with a boom, accented by thunder overhead.
Joker
It was dangerous, the more I breathed her in. For both of us.
But I couldn't resist the coy smile, the impatiently tapping fingernails and the wild hair that changed with her moods.
I think the term "the weaker sex" was actually coined by a woman, in a moment like this one, long ago.
Said it before, and I'll say it again.
Love is suicide.
Homer
I can tell when Angel keeps something inside. It oozes into the room, a bad smell. I rested my chin on her shoulder, refusing to break the hug as she sat down at the table and Gordon just stood stiff. Didn't budge when they finally got to talking--about where she'd been, which she avoided answering and retorted with questions about her friend. It dragged on and on.
I don't understand adults' need to run around bushes with each other. Why can't they just say everything? If they release the words, it will make them feel free,
(but we all feel better in the dark)
I suppose.
I only separated when I caught another smell in her clothes as the doorbell rang an hour or so later.
It was the smell of a man. A man I did not know.
I detached myself, sitting on the floor and reaching for keys in my pocket. Panicked and didn't hear Gordon shout in dismay and disbelief, didn't hear Angel's light footsteps to the door that progressively rushed as Jay's familair scent, lighter without the bad thing, filled the apartment.
My dead eyes simply stared off into perpetual darkness, occasionally interrupted by swirling blobs, as my hand grasped at nothing in my pockets.
My keys. I lost my keys.
Cosette
Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly. We'll have a little something here...
I froze within what had been my bed for an eternity, feeling like I was sixteen again. And sixteen was a very rough time in my life. It hardly ignited good feelings.
He was watching me. I could feel his eyes burning through the dark, tiny pits of tar and spit, and I could not help but feel naked and cold, despite having the robe and blankets covering me like a green cocoon.
I was slowly realizing, just how wrong this was. A woman should never think back to her bastard father around a fellow of interest, or have to worry about being killed in her sleep. Or worse, which is a fear most women know--something I shouldn't have to name.
I found I could no longer breathe when he sat down on the bed, laid beside me.
I should've never read those books, shouldn't have let my gaurd down. I swore I was going to suffocate.
Angel
I didn't really mention Harvey at that point of reunion. I kept it all a secret. Love doesn't have to be loud to be a statement, it doesn't have to ring to move. You can stifle it and keep it, if you have enough strength.
And still, I remained weakened and distracted. We surrounded the dim kitchen table, like outlaws in a secret meeting. Technically, we were. We were hurried, excited, distracted. Jay had a lot of ideas, he was tapping his lips and running his hands along the surface of his bald head. There was a new concentration about him, a different air. Gordon was formulating a plan. I was remembering the route from the bridge to the scene
(remembering his face against yours)
I flinched, turning to look around at a now vacant space in the room.
"Homer?"
Penguin
"Authorities do not know the whereabouts of The Riddler, and The Joker and Poison Ivy had fled the gruesome scene. There is only one question we're asking here at GNN: Where is The Bat--"
I stood, fighting the rage. I thought about everything I gave Riddle, all the information I relayed to The Clown. My demands had not been met, and I'd already paid my half. Not a good way to end things with me.
"Ey. You." I pointed to a random employee in the den.
The idiot looked at me warily, surrounded by vacant buddies.
"I said you. Get over here....
"NOW." I barked.
I puffed a cigar. He got close. Something in his face---I didn't like it. Not. One. Bit.
I grabbed his face roughly and stamped my burning stick to the back of his throat. I didn't know I was doing it, until his shocked eyes rolled in his head and his tongue lolled and he went down to the floor. When I spoke finally to the other startled boys, it was a dark voice.
"He dead? WELL? CHECK HIM." They checked, and looked up at me, like I was a sick God.
I spat at them:
"I just want my dues. What're you looking at? HUH? I ain't crazy! Don't look at me like I'm crazy!"
Riddler would get his dues. Maybe not today or tomorrow or even a year from now.
I reached and touched the scars in the back of my head,
"I'll make him trust The Penguin first."
And trust takes a long time.
Riddler
1.2.4.5.6.7.8.9.10.
...84. 84.
84 skips of the heart, lying next to her.
We weren't touching, but this was the closest I'd gotten without
(OUT. OUT !!)
going into a slight state of panic and alarm.
I couldn't get her words, all the words she read from earlier, out of my busy head. They filled me with the high like the first hit, something unnattainable but so very very real and within my grasp.
I had to get more. More of this new, exotic little drug that flowed like milk and honey through my flawless veins.
Cosette
I blinked when he finally spoke.
"Daisy."
"Hm."
He suddenly reached, feeling my face. His fingers traveled with a slyness to my neck, upwards, gracing my lips and finally finding my scar. He kept tracing it like a direction on a map, leading to an important place. A subtle gesture, but powerful between us.
Three words. There are always three harmful words.
"Work with me."
Ivy
I didn't know it, but there was a note that had been slipped into my dress pocket.
I wouldn't have found it at all, probably.
But on the morning, a few days later--as an Angel panicked and a Fox finished building--Jack asked me to make some of that "leaf water hippy stuff" (known to any other person of good taste as tea) for him to try, I'd obliged.
And set off the events to seal my fate.
Where do you run?
Where do you run when the world shuts you out, when you're washed out, hung out, and beaten dry to a shriveled pulp? Sawdust blowing in the wind, cigarette butts skimming the surface of oily rainwater as they sped to a dark drain.
I whistled, kicking into a puddle. No thoughts of alcohol, no thoughts of circles on the palms of my hands. Just me and only me. My thoughts in a linking chain, strong and unbroken, stemming into thick roots of clarity as I focused on goals. Real actual goals.
Still, I was an outlaw now. Once a goon, always a goon. I touched the mask silently and peeked around a corner. How do you defy law without breaking it? Where do you run when even the heroes don't want anything to do with you?
(there is no ending)
I remembered being young, Gordon staring at me quizically in a little counseling room. And me... just staring at my hands.
"Why'd you do a stupid thing like that?" He spat in frustration as I thought about finding a drink somewhere.
"I don't know. I was bored."
"Somebody had to have forced you. No one ever comes quietly."
I looked up in the bleak light, "...I can tell you. I remember every detail."
He stared. Blinked. Held out his hand and shook mine.
(without the beginning)
So I headed backwards. He took me in once, and he'd do it again.
Ivy
"Jack I--"
I stared up, locking eyes with the deep brown orbs set in his tragic yet undeniably beautiful face. I didn't do it to connect the point, didn't do it for emphasis. If anything I would've preferred to avoid eye contact entirely.
I did it because it was the only thing that would give me the strength to say the words. Stupid, empty, hollow words. The three words that governed our whole bent destiny.
And I felt I could say it then. His hands--then gnarled into my sides in a restraining way--now rested in a rare moment of peace on the sides of my ribcage. His face, which was usually twitching in a state of dark humor and apathy or teetering off into a cycle of hysteric laughing or blind rage, was now stilled.
On the exhale of the next breath, despite it being mingled with tears and shaking with slight worry for the only thing I could ever call my daughter, I began to let out the L-O-V-E word.
The tip of it, on my tongue. His face, shifting in a strange and almost
(fearful)
indistinguishable manner. His hands, shooting straight up to the neck, clinging, squeezing in desperation, as he spat one, tiny little clump of letters in my face.
"Don't."
And he released me, walking out of the 'kitchen' like a zombie. Eyes void. Mouth slack, rubbing the scars in the almost religious manner he had when he was focused on other things.
I didn't fully understand. He'd threatened, he'd taunted, and on the nights he had terrible dreams--half awake--he'd actually ask. And now, now he denied. I didn't even know if I could say it again. I'd mustered up more power than 'the green' in that moment. Every bit of energy from the marrow of my frame.
I heard our bedroom door rattle shut like bones in the wind, and I wilted.
Joker
Gotham thunderstorms are especially heavy.
The drops trickled fast. Like the thoughts in my head.
(plinkplinkplinkplink)
Jaaaaaaaccckkk.
Jaaaaackiieeee Boooooy.
I kicked the bucket out of fury but the bitch's voice whined back in persistance. What I saw spilling out onto the floor was not water, but tar.
Why so serious? Look at you squirm. Scared? You're afraid. Afraid you're going to kill her when she finally fesses up.
"Jeannie," I snarled warningly, "I thought you'd gone for good."
Oh no no no no no. Your woman's been keeping me alive, in her pretty brain. I vowed I would warn her. To destroy you. And it's almost time.
"You're DEAD. What could you do?"
Believe me, I've got a tool.
"W-What's that? Show up in a sheet and say 'boo'? PAH! Fuck you."
If you think you can run away you can't. I know about the plane tickets. But there won't be a chance Jack. The snake's already got his own trick! The snake. JUDAS--
"GRRRRRRRRAAAAAAGGGGH!" I screamed, not seeing not thinking not hearing. Just hitting, tearing, punching, stabbing, kicking. Verbs and snarls. Blood and soot. Paint and knives. Anything to get it out. Anything to bleed it out.
I thought she was gone! I thought she was gone!
(you're afraid you're going to kill her i warned her jack! when she says
i-love-you.)
"Never. I'll never let her." I balled my fists in conviction with the statement, cringing when I finally heard the door open. I closed my eyes when I heard her speak:
"You done throwing stuff around? I would like to go to sleep."
I ignored her and listened to the unmistakable proud steps as they crossed over to the little mattress.Tried ignoring the discontented sigh that rang in my ears as I turned slyly and watched her curl between thin sheets, could not ignore her when she whispered Daisy's name worriedly.
I grumbled, joining her.
That's where man's end all starts.
A grumble and a murderous squeeze of the hand.
Ivy
"May." he said finally after a very long time, "You.. you uh, remember you said you wanted to give Daisy a chance."
I didn't respond, stared up over my head at a very disturbing picture of myself with rudimentary scribbles all around it. Maybe it was his idea of a voodoo doll, he must've been so enraged. Inside, I chuckled lightly at the thought.
"Well, she's had her chance," he went on, "It's not time to interfere."
"He's going to kill her! I know you don't think their... relationship... isn't any different. But it is. He's very different. He lies and he's too pr--he's too--"
"Handsome." He sneered.
(GET OUT. MONSTER.)
"Jack, you know what I mean. You're just a different kind of handsome."
"..Uh. Uh well," He made a wild hand gesture up at the stained ceiling, something I noticed he did out of 'nerves', "Look. Look, he's not going to kill her."
I frowned slightly. How could he know?
"Ivy, being with a... guy like me or him is like... being around poison gas. You either die instantly or you keep breathing it. In little tiny bits. Eventually, you'll build up an immunity. If not--too bad so sad. If she's alright after this long, she's got the better hand of cards. And we let her deal."
(when you come back you'll be... better
if not I'll watch you die)
I turned to face him angrily, not reading his face in the darkness. But I was savoring the rare moment when we were having a real conversation about something, even after he'd rejected...
(don't think about it it hurts)
"But we're always respons--"
He shut me up with a kiss.
"Let her create herself."
He pulled away, turned his back. This sparked something, and I tugged at his ear, for the first and last time in my life. He spun, grinned--and the aggression and the greed and the sickening sense of affection came back with a boom, accented by thunder overhead.
Joker
It was dangerous, the more I breathed her in. For both of us.
But I couldn't resist the coy smile, the impatiently tapping fingernails and the wild hair that changed with her moods.
I think the term "the weaker sex" was actually coined by a woman, in a moment like this one, long ago.
Said it before, and I'll say it again.
Love is suicide.
Homer
I can tell when Angel keeps something inside. It oozes into the room, a bad smell. I rested my chin on her shoulder, refusing to break the hug as she sat down at the table and Gordon just stood stiff. Didn't budge when they finally got to talking--about where she'd been, which she avoided answering and retorted with questions about her friend. It dragged on and on.
I don't understand adults' need to run around bushes with each other. Why can't they just say everything? If they release the words, it will make them feel free,
(but we all feel better in the dark)
I suppose.
I only separated when I caught another smell in her clothes as the doorbell rang an hour or so later.
It was the smell of a man. A man I did not know.
I detached myself, sitting on the floor and reaching for keys in my pocket. Panicked and didn't hear Gordon shout in dismay and disbelief, didn't hear Angel's light footsteps to the door that progressively rushed as Jay's familair scent, lighter without the bad thing, filled the apartment.
My dead eyes simply stared off into perpetual darkness, occasionally interrupted by swirling blobs, as my hand grasped at nothing in my pockets.
My keys. I lost my keys.
Cosette
Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly. We'll have a little something here...
I froze within what had been my bed for an eternity, feeling like I was sixteen again. And sixteen was a very rough time in my life. It hardly ignited good feelings.
He was watching me. I could feel his eyes burning through the dark, tiny pits of tar and spit, and I could not help but feel naked and cold, despite having the robe and blankets covering me like a green cocoon.
I was slowly realizing, just how wrong this was. A woman should never think back to her bastard father around a fellow of interest, or have to worry about being killed in her sleep. Or worse, which is a fear most women know--something I shouldn't have to name.
I found I could no longer breathe when he sat down on the bed, laid beside me.
I should've never read those books, shouldn't have let my gaurd down. I swore I was going to suffocate.
Angel
I didn't really mention Harvey at that point of reunion. I kept it all a secret. Love doesn't have to be loud to be a statement, it doesn't have to ring to move. You can stifle it and keep it, if you have enough strength.
And still, I remained weakened and distracted. We surrounded the dim kitchen table, like outlaws in a secret meeting. Technically, we were. We were hurried, excited, distracted. Jay had a lot of ideas, he was tapping his lips and running his hands along the surface of his bald head. There was a new concentration about him, a different air. Gordon was formulating a plan. I was remembering the route from the bridge to the scene
(remembering his face against yours)
I flinched, turning to look around at a now vacant space in the room.
"Homer?"
Penguin
"Authorities do not know the whereabouts of The Riddler, and The Joker and Poison Ivy had fled the gruesome scene. There is only one question we're asking here at GNN: Where is The Bat--"
I stood, fighting the rage. I thought about everything I gave Riddle, all the information I relayed to The Clown. My demands had not been met, and I'd already paid my half. Not a good way to end things with me.
"Ey. You." I pointed to a random employee in the den.
The idiot looked at me warily, surrounded by vacant buddies.
"I said you. Get over here....
"NOW." I barked.
I puffed a cigar. He got close. Something in his face---I didn't like it. Not. One. Bit.
I grabbed his face roughly and stamped my burning stick to the back of his throat. I didn't know I was doing it, until his shocked eyes rolled in his head and his tongue lolled and he went down to the floor. When I spoke finally to the other startled boys, it was a dark voice.
"He dead? WELL? CHECK HIM." They checked, and looked up at me, like I was a sick God.
I spat at them:
"I just want my dues. What're you looking at? HUH? I ain't crazy! Don't look at me like I'm crazy!"
Riddler would get his dues. Maybe not today or tomorrow or even a year from now.
I reached and touched the scars in the back of my head,
"I'll make him trust The Penguin first."
And trust takes a long time.
Riddler
1.2.4.5.6.7.8.9.10.
...84. 84.
84 skips of the heart, lying next to her.
We weren't touching, but this was the closest I'd gotten without
(OUT. OUT !!)
going into a slight state of panic and alarm.
I couldn't get her words, all the words she read from earlier, out of my busy head. They filled me with the high like the first hit, something unnattainable but so very very real and within my grasp.
I had to get more. More of this new, exotic little drug that flowed like milk and honey through my flawless veins.
Cosette
I blinked when he finally spoke.
"Daisy."
"Hm."
He suddenly reached, feeling my face. His fingers traveled with a slyness to my neck, upwards, gracing my lips and finally finding my scar. He kept tracing it like a direction on a map, leading to an important place. A subtle gesture, but powerful between us.
Three words. There are always three harmful words.
"Work with me."
Ivy
I didn't know it, but there was a note that had been slipped into my dress pocket.
I wouldn't have found it at all, probably.
But on the morning, a few days later--as an Angel panicked and a Fox finished building--Jack asked me to make some of that "leaf water hippy stuff" (known to any other person of good taste as tea) for him to try, I'd obliged.
And set off the events to seal my fate.