Outer Scars, Inner Demons

Outer Scars, Inner Demons
A RP Fic by Spug & Bianca Marou

Chapter Four: The Best Laid Plains of Bats and Men


Montoya/Bullock: "Montoya! Cobblepot's here to see you!"

Montoya nodded as she moved papers around on her desk. "Let him in." She walked over to Bullock's desk and picked up his box of doughnuts and carried them over to the distant file cabinet.

"Woman, you better stop doing that or you'll be tasting the wrath of my hypoglycemia." He shook a crutch at the Hispanic detective as she sidled by with a smirk.

"If I don't, your leg isn't going to be able to support you after it heals." She pulled up a seat in front of Bullock's desk for the short avian-looking man to perch in when he came in and sat herself on the edge of her partner's, dislodging some papers.

Penguin: " I don't appreciate this, not one bit. Not one bit at all. You do realize that with my release from the hospital I have other PRESSING matters to attend to. Even with the lack of attention to detail this whole department seems to leak, you've certainly not overlooked the fact that I just had my entire establishment BURNT to the ground. "

Cobblepot's round little form shambled through the doorway of the office. Oh he was a sight for sore eyes, being that one might feel sore just looking at him. While Commissioner Gordon's wrath has spared the short little aristocrat any broken limbs to be walking about on, his face still looked like this little bird had crashed and burned on a final flight to hell. Long nose was in a splint. His face was black and blue, one eye still swollen shut. The doctors worried he might not even regain full vision of it.

What was left of nasty sharp teeth were bared at the sight of the two detectives as he waddled over to the chair the female had pulled out for him. He did nod with a slight respect to Montoya as he hopped up with a little groan, pulling his umbrella between his legs with a click, the sharp metal point digging into the short carpet.

I suppose that hellhound of a Commissioner isn't here, probably run off still looking for his psychotic turtledove. As I should be doing as well, but no, I've got to play tweeting bird for a couple of noisy flatfoots. Penguin scowled to himself and tipped his top hat down a bit.

"Well what is it, make it quick, I have doctors appointment and lawyers to met with all afternoon! "

Montoya/Bullock: "You'll have to forgive us, sir. But we feel that the disappearance of Commissioner Gordon might have something to do with the explosion of the Iceberg-" Montoya's voice was cut short by the gruff one of her greasy partner chiming in, seething with it's usual bitter tone.

"-See, here's what I'm thinkin'. The Commissioner knew somethin' that the Bat let him in on about some big scheme. So when Joker lit up your building, you went and paid him a visit and drug him to the Stacked Deck." Bullock thunked his fist on the desk. "I bet you know where he's at."

The movement jarred his leg a little bit, but somehow the normally very aggregative cop avoided complaining. After his close call the other day, the broken leg was almost a god-send. It meant that he wasn't dead, a permanent stain on the concrete floor of Black Gate. Hell, he should have taken that laundry basket that caught him home with him and carried it like a bride of the threshold, stinky undergarments and all, he loved the thing so much.

Montoya finally spoke up. "Don't listen to him, Mr. Cobblepot, just give your best recollection of the events. This isn't an interrogation and you can leave at any time. We just really appreciate your help."

"The hell he can, as soon as he steps out the door I'll be out their ink-rollin' a warrant to his ass."

"Hush, Harvey."

Penguin: " I see you're warranting a bad trunk there, Detective. " Cobblepot pointed his umbrella toward the fat cops leg and lightly jabbed the cast with the tip, grinning despite the pain it caused his face. "Did you perhaps sprain it on one too many trips to the coffee machine piecing your Oh-so-brilliant deduction there?"

Hmph. They might be on to me. But they aren't on enough. I haven't the time for this pig-wash. Penguin rolled his fat little shoulders and turned back toward the female cop and perked a well groomed eyebrow in his beat up face. "As you can plainly see, I've had my beak grinded a bit, I'm the victim here detectives, That menacing clown has burnt my nest to the ground, A few questions I attempt to ask and he set his entire posse on me, I think the real jailbird you're looking to interview would be that white-faced pigeon himself."

A narrowing of his good eye. He spoke only to Montoya, choosing purposely to ignore Bullock. "I'm in the birdhouse 6.7 million dollars, Detective Montoya. Do you think I have the TIME or the money to waste on your migrated old bird now? I think perhaps he's simple gone off his loon. "Ah a small smirk here. Oh how Penguin loved to taunt. "You saw the way he was pecking at me a week ago. Perhaps if you do FIND him, you'll question his affairs with that two sided turtledove that attacked me in the first place."

Montoya/Bullock: "Nah, It's decorative, I was hopin' to get all the signatures of every asswipe in Gotham. Need a pen?" Bullock lifted up one, just to have Montoya shove his hand back down.

"'Affairs?'" Montoya asked, tilting her head.

Bullock, although the words were not being directed toward him, did listen intently. Yeah, now that this fat little 8-Ball with a head admitted it, Gordon had been a bit nuts the other day when Wesker held up the Iceberg. Seemed less pissed at the damned loon for holding it up than at rolly polly here for just bein' there. The Ventriloquist was a special sort of messed up when he strolled outta there, though. More than I ever saw him.

Montoya crossed her legs. "So it was the Joker who did this to your face. Can you remember what the particular perps looked like? Looks like there were a lot of 'em."

"We do know that Gordon was there, tweety-bird. You see, since they juiced up the crime lab, here we can figure out all sorts of neat shit. Like in that mass of blood we found all around the back office and alley of the Stacked Deck when we raided it the other night, we found not just yours, but some of the boss man's."

Bullock leaned down to adjust his cast under the desk, managing to wince this time, before continuing. "And they were found pretty close to one another."

Penguin: Bolluck’s forensics might have been a good call, but this fat little bird was always full of a swans dance to get around them. His smirk wasn't faltering now. "Apparently Joker-pal has an entire carnival at his back and disposal right now. Perhaps your DEAR commissioner stumbled in either before or after I had. I cannnn't really recall, I was sure a mess, Perhaps he ended up as well, I would not know. It was ALFUL dark."

Penguin couldn't help but give one of his menacing little waa haa chuckles here as he shifted his umbrella back down between his legs and cocked his head back up at Montoya.

"Oh, come now my dear! What makes a Cock tear spur and beak into another bird? You old rooster seems to have gotten it into his head that I've been playing in his hen-house. " That's right. Conversation tilted away from Joker and the alleyway and more on Gordon's little turtledove and the day he was acting all loonish. Penguin didn't want the attention on him.

The reports of that day had been taking that the Ventriloquist had attacked Penguin in his own office after the little round bird had refused a plan. ( At least that's what Cobblepot had told them ) and Cobblepot had been forced to fight the psychotic older man off him. "I've heard the squawking that this had been going on for a while too, perhaps the old bird was jealous. I admit my feathers attract all sorts of exotic quacks. "

He perked a brow at Montoya. "I especially adore Cachinnans breeds as well."

Montoya/Bullock: For a moment Montoya and Bullock both looked at Penguin with the most blank of expressions.

So, I wonder... around the time Gordon's house got broken into and vandalized... The woman's brow furrowed and she brushed her hair behind her ear. "You definitely have discriminating tastes, Mr. Cobblepot." ...No, it couldn't be. Barbara surely would have noticed something of that sort by now and put a stop to it if it were a notorious villain. I remember his slip, but... Arnold Wesker? While he was wanted?

Bullock's lower eyelid gave a twitch. Gordon, who looks like Burt Reynolds thrown in an prune dryer. Jealous this really really ugly guy... was fucking this other really really ugly guy. That Gordon was supposedly fucking. When he's the Commissioner of Fuckin' Police. Uuuuuugh I think I'm gonna be leavin' those doughnuts alone for a while. No way would the Commish grind nightsticks with the puppet guy.

"Aside from your theories on Gordon's actions, has Batman tried to contact you recently? ...Harvey, what are you doing?"

"I'm rubbing my eyes." The heels of Bullock's hands were buried in his sockets.

"Why?"

"The mental image won't go away," he said mournfully.

A sigh followed. "As I asked before, has Batman made any moves to get in contact with you or have you suspected him to be following you."

Penguin: "Waaa haaa haaa!" Went Penguin to Bullock's eye rubbing. Oh this little bird was wonderfully amused at himself. Though if he'd been able to read minds, he would d have been mighty insulted at Bullock calling him ugly. Bah! He was a prime example of the male libido. "Homophobic, Detective? Pity, there's no point excluding any potential mate, you yourself haven't a right to be picky. You're no Spring Chicken yourself! "

He stood when Batman was brought up and turned his nose up at the question. "I haven't heard a word from that cowled rodent. I have nothing to say to him. If he can be at the aid of every fluttering fauxed quail in the city and not when my establishment is in flames, I say good day to him. I'll also say good day to the both of you as well."

He began to wadded toward the door, using his umbrella as a cane, he got into the doorway when he turned around and smirked at Bullock. " Oh Detective Bullock, perhaps I would like to sign your cast."

Lip curled up into a smirk and that flippered hand reached into his suit and he pulled out a pen. A very expensive looking one. He stepped back into the room and reproached the desk. Reaching out his umbrella to tap the desk with the metal end.

"Leg up, chap. "

Montoya/Bullock: Surprisingly, Bullock actually did so. He pushed his chair back some, grabbed his meaty thigh, and helped the leg get up there to the edge of his desk to rest. Montoya looked strangely at him.

"...Eh, what the hell else is it good for?" he mused.

"Keeping your bones together," she said curtly.

Penguin: "Indeed." Penguin quirked his brows and leaned his fat round self over the desk and scrawled something in small but rather beautiful handwriting from someone with such horrific hands, when he was done he stabbed the pen into the cast, leaving it there. He tipped his hat to Montoya and shifted this time completely out of the room.

Scrawled on Bullocks leg was the inscription:

Hopefully the smaller and deadlier animal you help to release in your next adventure will fair you without a broken bone. It's all head-games after all. Chirp Chirp.

O. Cobblepot Esq

~*~

Joker: The Robbery on the first and third went well. The convenience store hold-ups went well. The shang-hai of Rupert Thorne's frieghter full of illegal firearms and drugs when perfectly. The distraction's at the far end of the city went off without a hitch. Hell, at this rate they could probably carry off the GCPD and shake the cops out into the river.

And the Joker had never been SO pissed off in his life.

Where did this guy get off? He just came swooping in here with his little pinstripe suit and his wee fedora and those damn thick glasses you could fuckin' see the canals of MARS through. And they're all lickin' his feet like he's the one who dishes out their dough, I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM. He'll probably take all the credit for Gordon, too, won't he?!....... Well that was him, but they were my thugs and he's stealing all my fuckin' thunder!

Beneath shadow casting brows, the clown prince sprawled along his throne and looked down silently as Scarface interacted with his goons. My goons. All mine. Down to the last deformity.

And there was Harley. Oh, loyal sweet, Harley. Blinded by what she knew that aging little pest to be like in her days at Arkham. Down there playing with him like that..... You'd think she was sweet on him. HEY she's not played with me recently!

"Sir?" said a mellow voice, offering a drink. Glistening metallic teeth gleamed at him as she bent over to hold out a tray. "Drink from Mr. Scarface?"

"Oh, he decides when I'm THIRSTY now?!" his scowling red lips snapped at her. "Take it back! Dump it on his head!"

"...Sir? W-"

"I said go!" he bellowed, jumping to his feet and backhanding the glass from the tray.

Scarface: "So I'm thinkin' we could take a little of what was left of Boxy's 'plosives and return the boom-boom favor. Don't get me wrong or nutton, but ol Boxy-drawers thinks he's got one hell of a payday comin' up, I'd had to disappoint him.."

He might have been short, aging and laughable with Wesker's looks, but Scarface had always been one hell of a criminal mastermind. It was too bad ol Lipstick face was more interested in the pure damage then making a profit. He was just going to have to wing it with him till he could figure outta way to get rid of the clown prince himself. Lookit em. Up there, not doing a damn thing. Scarface tilted his head up toward Joker, over a map he had stretched on in his hands and grinned around his stogie at the clown. He looks like a party pooper, did he just slap dat drink I set up to him? Fuck.. what a waste of strychnine.

Harley though. Ah the little jester babe was indeed swindled by Scarface's mannerism. He didn't yell at her like Mistah J did. He was so tiny and didn't have those hellish moodswings. And he even took her out to eat the other night. When was the last time Mistah J took her out to eat..? She was leaning over one of Scarface's shoulders looking down at the map. The rest of the clown's posse was standing behind the little guy scratching their heads, or eating corndogs, doing what they do as he dealt out a plan for the next heist.

Scarface slapped the map and tickled Harley's chin. " Yah see dis? Ol Boxy owns half the gambling stretches in the city, we take dat from him, we could play roulette wheel with half dah fucking city.. yah ever had yer own personal big-spin wheel, babe? You could set it up downtown and we's could pin coppahs too it. That be fun.. but foist we's needs to lever out here... " He jabbed the map. " And here. " Jab. " And here too. " Slap.

One of the goons, a oversized man with a tiny head rubbed at his nose and looked at the map. "But didn't we get the bombs from Boxy, Boss? Anit that double crossin' him?"

"Well yah see, Boxy thinks he's gettin' this cutie honey 'ere for those boom-booms, and I dun think 'Mistah J' up there would like that. "

"My own copper wheel.. Oh puppethead you’re so sweet! " Harley squealed and hugged Scarface's head before wrinkling her nose at the conversation. "Boxy's such a perv. "

Joker: "HE'S NOT YOU'RE BOSS!" a franticly furious voice came from behind the large goon. Before he had a chance to turn, though, he'd get to glance down and glimpse the tip of a knife and seeping red jab from the inside of his clothes as it entered his back.

One didn't dare assume where he'd been hiding the jester headed thing, but he left no less than twenty holes in him before he let him fall.

"You were gonna sell off MY GIRL for the explosives! And what about those pages! I haven't seen another since day one."

He advanced on Scarface, glaring and his lips curled downward in a teeth baring gritted frown that was equal in terror to any of his psychotic smiles. Mainly it was because it meant that he wasn't any longer a force of destruction and wanton terror. It meant that he was cold, calculating, and brutal. Money would never be a driving force for this monster, just his passion to always be in control, no matter what that deal in his deranged mind entailed.

Scarface was threatening that control.

He jabbed a finger at him. "You just remember who you're working with here!"

Scarface: Scarface didn't flinch as the body of the goon kneeled over. Harley gave a little screech and pouted, moving behind Scarface and hiding behind the smaller man's back. ( She had to duck down to do this, extra amusing.) The small gangster slowly closed the map and smiled at the Joker.

"It was a ruse, Clown. I'd never sell off yer goil. Boxy just gotta hard on for her." Shit he's pissed. Keep on Smilin' Scarface ol boy. You let him know yer scared of him and you might loose the deal. " Have faith in me yer royal clowness, Of course yer the boss, forgive the mugs, they be stupid. " He clunked his knuckles against his head for a moment and then tucked the map completely into his suit.

Harley was trembling a bit. She hated seeing Mister J so angry. He wasn't as fun or cute when he was scowling like that. She missed his big smiles. "Pleeease don't be angry Puddin' Puppet head is making us the biggest empire in the whole city. Why by tomorrow we'll have Boxy's territory and we can run wild in the streets and I bet not even ol Batty will be able to stop us."

"Yer dolls right clown. We're partners remember? If yer worried about the book I just thought yah'd like it all in one piece right? Yah want it so bad I'll have it picked up fer you after the all the Boom-Booms go down tommorah, Capish?"

Common you big teethed ninny, just play the court-clown for a bit longer and I'll make sure tah strap a little C4 under that faggoty pink throne yer always sittin' on. By tommorow I'll have over half this burgs crime power in my fist. I'll have the money, dah boys, and yer girlie too.

Joker: This time there wasn't a show for Harley. Nor for his goons. He continued frowning down at the short man.

His eyes slowly wondered from one goon to another. They're scared of me? Scared of the person that fuckin' took them in when no one else would! Ungrateful! Those eyes wondered back to Harley. ...Not you too!

"I'm going to take a walk an think." He tossed his still bloody knife up with flip and let it slide down his sleeve.

"None of you start getting ready for the move on Boxy until I get back! NONE OF YOU!" he barked. He started to turn, frown still fixed. Then, oddly, the corners turned up. Like a grinch off to steal Christmas, his face contorted it's expressions absolutely.

"Ohhhhh, don't loook so disturbed, everyone! I'll be right back. I just need to go work it out of my system and I'll be right as rain." He glanced around for a prop. "Ah, where is that damn umbrella when I need it. Ah well."

He turned his back, ears perked for the cock of a gun or a movement as he put his hands into seemingly innocent pockets. Oh, just try it, pleeeeeeease. I've been aching to use this new hands buzzer. His finger found the button and stayed lightly above it.

Scarface: But no gun clicks came. No moving forward to take the clown prince when his back was turned. Nah, Scarface wasn't going to be that bold, or that stupid really. He knew the clown was dangerous. Though big ol Rhino did grind his teeth a little loud. Rhino hated the clown, hated him so much. Couldn't understand why Scarface would want to work with him.

"Welllll, partner, dat might do yah some good. Try not tah take too long now, we's got some really important guis.. I mean Business tah take care of, and I'd NEVER dream of makin' history without yah. " He twiddled his fingers much like had at Gordon a few times before and then stepped off toward where a table had been set up with more maps and such. "Now common boys n goils, lemme run the basic beef through yah one more time, I's don't want any foul-ups. "

And the posse followed him, over to the table. Only Harley remained for a moment, watching Joker walk away. She bit her lip for a moment and took one step in his direction.

"Hey babe, you's might wanna come hear this over, I's gots a special route for you tah take, I'll even let yah press some of the detonation buttons if yah want. No point me havin' all the fun right? " Scarface called over to her.

"Really? Me? Oh Weeee!" She turned and skipped over to the table.

Joker: He kept walking. All the way to fisherman's warf. Then up the steps, toward the parking lot marking Gotham's "scenic overlook". It was a sad excuse, really, as far as scenic went, but once he reached the top he found a plenty fine view of the carnival.

He sighed a little at how the ferris wheel cast it's beautiful spider-webbed shadow over the dots of goons skittering around. Like dainty little bugs awaiting their blood to be drained. The water nearby reflected the light of a thousand little twinkles.

The smiling faces of the balloons bobbed at him in the wind. Their smiles twisted their features. Oh, what joy they brought him. He wondered what they'd look like, drifting away, high above Gotham. Would they make innocent children smile, or scurry crying to their mommies.

Ah well, if he was going to lose everything, it might as well be with a symphonic bang. He hummed and conducted with his fingers, and with a finishing flurish, held out his hand, palm up, and pressed that button.

...And nothing.

He became agitated again, grin pursing into a monkey-like expression of confusion. He pressed with the finger of his other hand. Nothing. He gritted his teeth and pressed it repetitively.

"AAAAAAAAAARGH! Why isn't the blasted thing BLASTING!" He lamented, throwing the handpiece down and crushing it under the heel of his shoe. He knew he'd used enough of that leftover C4 to blow them all sky high! He set up the bombs right. Why wasn't it working?!

Batman: A pile of wires and metal came skidding across the pavement to land at Joker's feet. Just a few inches from where the control now sat completely crushed to bits under the clowns foot.

"I know you're theatrical Joker, but I don't think fireworks is the best way to end your partnership with Scarface. "

White cowled eyes narrowed in the dark as that tall and imposing form of the dark knight slid like an inky black blob from the surrounding darkness into a nearby lamp light. Pointy ears and scowling rock hard jaw. The bat's cape surrounded him like a shawl, spilling out around him on the ground. He'd been trailing they duo for days, even spying on the clown as he'd set up the C4.

"It's just not your style, how can you have last laugh if it will fall on dead ears? "

Joker: "...Oh very funny, but you don't know what it's LIKE!" He motioned down at the carnival. "You've got your head stuck far up the proverbial patoot of this burg to understand the intricacies of being a villain."

He stepped to the side. "Here, let me put it in terms a simple minded hero like yourself can understand." His hand moved, outstretched, to the left. "He promise thingy." His other hand stretched out similarly. "I let him borrow my thingies for a while." He clenched his hands together and gritted his teeth. "AND NOW HE'S GOT ALLA MY THINGIES AND I DON'T HAVE JACK!"

Were he not white, he'd have been fuming red. "So what do you want me to do, fall giddily into your arms?" He took his most convincing mock swooning posture. "Oh Batman! How you saved me from my awful ways?" came out a damsel voice, and his lids batted thick green lashes accordingly.

"-Or do you want me to chuck a can of Joker gas at you so we can have us a nice round of fisticuffs? Because I can do that too. Frisk me, I bet you'll never gueeeess where I'm hiding it," he said with a vicious grin.

...He's been standing there too long.

"...What did I smear my lipstick?" Joker patted his chemically burned lips and lifted a make-up mirror to look into from inside his coat. He feigned checking for it on his teeth. "None there. Okay, Bats, what's with the hold-back. Don't tell me you're getting nervous on me. I know it's not your first time." He crossed his arms and glared from the corner of his eye.

Batman: The Dark knight didn't flinch a muscle as the Joker did his entire routine before his eyes. Not a damn muscle as the clown prince swooned and batted and mocked him right in front of him. It was kinda hard to tell what the hero was thinking, with the way he just stood there. A hard crowd to please, even if Joker was one of the best entertainers there was.

Sick as he may be.

"Cute." Batman said, dripping with sarcasm. Completely unmoved and unamused by anything the clown prince did.

"I'm not here to play a game of cat and mouse, Joker. I've been watching you and Scarface for quite a while. I know what you're up to, I know where you two are going to strike next, it's just as easy for me to stop you're entire plan just as I've stopped your fireworks tonight. "

Those cowled white eyes narrowed for a moment. Batman glanced over Joker toward where the carnival was. He was too far away to see Scarface or the rest of the Jokers mob, but he knew they were there.

"Blowing them up wouldn't satisfy your ego, Joker. I know you'd want to deal back what Scarface has done to you. You could take back your minions, your money and your property, but he'd come right back. Scarface is resilient, and he's not up for party games like you are. "

"No, blowing him up is too easy, and I'm going to take him down, try thinking outside your theatrical box for a moment and tell me what would ruin your partner more then taking everything back you gave to him. What does Scarface hate the most?"

Joker: "No, but it would have looked damn nice," those vibrant lips oozed, words laced with arsenic. He would have liked seeing those pretty flames as the docks blew, it would have been a beautiful sight celebrating the fact that Scarface was GONE and he had NOTHING of the Joker's.

Batsy does have a point, though. "Being his own loathsome, simpering, bumbling self... That and Commissioner Gordon." He laughed again, that screeching laugh at the memory of Gordon tearing into that ball of a man.

"....Waaaaait, Bats, don't tell me you're thinkin' of throwing me a little bone here, are you? This isn't like you." He tapped his chin, and his voice turned dark. "What's the catch."

Batman: Batman smiled.

It wasn't a big grin or anything. But It was almost creepy the way the Dark Knights lips pulled into a closed mouth smirk. "Exactly."

"Scarface would hate to find himself repressed again, Especially by someone he's thought he'd already gotten the leap over, and I have a plan on just how it can happen, but I'll need your corroporation.."

The Dark Knight narrowed his eyes, letting his smile die and he was once more scowling at Joker. "And no jokes, no funny business. I'll guarantee you back your turf and rid of Scarface, just as long as you take it and drop the other man's plan. "

Joker: For a moment, all he could do is stare. Then his lips curled back into a grin. "To each his own, Batsy. Boxy thought he was gonna get Harley, it was his loss," he shrugged and held out his hand. "Put 'er there, pal!"

Of course, there was an actual handbuzzer under that particular glove.

Batman: The bat didn't move a muscle as the Joker strolled up to him grinning sticking out his hand. Slowly his head lowered and he stared at the hand that had been presented to him.

Expressionless, Batman looked back up at Joker and then just turned and disappeared into the shadows with a flicker of his cape.

"Really..cute" Came the echo, and he was gone.


~*~

Can't go home. They'll find me at home. They'll be in the shadows there. Can't go home.

He tugged the fabric of his coat around himself and lets his foot knock a tin can in it's path out of the way. His stomach rumbled below crossed arms. They wouldn't let him in the restaurant. Specks of blood still spattered his trench, his hair was oily and flat. His skin was filthy until it seemed a shade darker than it should have been.

Why did you trust him? You deserve what happened to you. No, you helped him. Why don't you just go back and confess. Because it's not my fault. It can't be my fault.

He groaned and held his head. He'd been bouncing from cheap backwater Gotham room and board to the next. The batteries on his radio that he'd retrieved from his car were about to run dry. It's how he'd stayed a step ahead. Every time they had a hint, he'd hear it, and could move on to the next.

But... he'd stayed at them all it felt like, and he'd spent the last couple of nights curled in his coat and half sleeping between building. God, he'd never wanted to know how loud a city roach sounded at night. Now he knew though, and the skittering was replaying in his head, like one of those songs you couldn't make yourself stop thinking about.

You're filthy and your dirty. More on the outside, or on the inside? Can't tell anymore. Want to go home. Can't go home. Barbara's probably worried. She'd hate you for this. You let him become this. You weren't careful enough.

He gritted his teeth against a hunger pange and looked around. One last place. Half the letter on the sign had fallen off. But at least he could gather the "Vacancy" light. He walked into the office.

"I need a room," he mumbled lowly.

The guy behind the counter, five earings in one ear, seven in the other, a mohawk and studded leather jacket, seemed more interested in the TV. "Fuck off, grandpa. We don't take bums."

Gordon glanced at the standing rate pulled out his wallet and laid down a fifty. He didn't acknowledge the kid's outburst. "I want a room."

"Didn't you hear me, you old geezer!" the kid stood up and glared over the counter. "I said we DON-"

He was cut short by the sound of his own head slamming down on the counter. His busted nose left a red smear as he slid back behind the already scuzzy surface. The Commissioner then leaned over the edge and grabbed one of the room keys. "Thanks," he mumbled, letting the money drift to the floor beside the guy, and went to find the room number on the key.

You’ve got to go home sometime. There’s no way to fix this. There’s gotta be a way Gordon. He’s not Scarface anymore. Scarface was the puppet. He can’t be Scarface.

The memory of that vicious grinding re-entered. There was no love in it. There was no love in that face. Not even when he faked it to taunt Gordon. Yet he’d fallen for it out of some sick desire to be… validated, maybe? His hand clasped the knob to room number 24 and unlocked the door. He entered and closed it behind him. Hot water and a nap might jolt his tired brain out of shock.

The coat slid off his tired shoulders to the floor, keys jingling as they were dropped with it. He walked over to the bed, feeling the pain in his calves, and had a seat on the edge of the bed. He stared at bruised knuckles as he undid his shoe laces.

You’ve hit too many people for him, James. Look what he’s made you into.

He tried to ignore that thought as the shoes came off. He stood and unbuttoned his pants and pulled off the grungy slacks and boxers with one swoop, picking his legs up out of them. He unbuttoned his shirt, joints twinging in pain a bit as he undid each one. He felt old. Useless. Tired.

Once the shirt was off he picked up the clothes and went into the bathroom. It was tiny, with a shower and no bath. But it sufficed. It was good enough for him.

I loved him so much. Why couldn’t that just be enough.

The water ran dark at first down his legs, speckled with suds from the soap he grabbed. The dirt was deep, and it was requiring some scrubbing. There was no shampoo, so he just used the soap itself in his hair. It felt odd between his fingers, going from slick to abnormally harsh.

You need help, Gordon. Batman? No… no way to get to the signal without being caught. You’re screwed, Gordon. You’ve fucked over the only person that makes you feel complete anymore just by letting him be. Good job, Gordon. You can’t help him. No one can help him.

He turned off the water and stepped from the shower. He dried himself off with the complimentary towel, the last remaining bits of grunge turning the white a little dingy. He wrapped it around his waist and opened the door. His eyes shifted to the bed, and he froze.

I’m hallucinating. It can’t be. I saw it die. I saw it destroyed.

He took a step forward toward the tiny wooden figure on the bed. It’s fedora pulled low over it‘s glistening glass eyes. Was this another taunt from Scarface, or…?

It’s head moved independently of an operator and turned toward the aging commissioner.

“AH!” He shouted and stumbled backward. His damp back caught the plaster of the wall with a powdery thud. “You’re not real! You can’t be!”

“You want Dummy gack, Gordon, pick me up!” the puppet said, it’s jaws gnashing.

“N-No! No I don’t want anything to do with you!” He couldn’t be real! He wasn’t hearing this! He couldn’t be seeing this!

“Pick me up, Coppah. We goth know what we need to do…”

~*~

Like an enormous guardian angel.

Only Rhino had never really done anything angelic in his whole life. He’d always been considered bad seed. Big seed, but rotten to the core. Then again, when it came to the tiny man that now slumbered peacefully inside one of Joker’s tents, he’d never been anything but utterly loyal.

But to who did his loyalties really line. The Ventriloquist or Scarface? Or was it both? Did one hold more loyalty then the other. Both his bosses held something special too him, and he’d make sure that no one bothered who ever it was that sleep like a baby right now.

Or at least, was supposed to be sleeping.

A small mousy sound came from inside the tent and Rhino unfolded his arms. The big goon took a quick look around before heaving one of those massive limbs and pulling the tent flap aside to peer inside.

The light reflected off those sheering frames as Scarface sat on the edge of the bed. Head hung low, silhouette small and hutched in the darkness. It almost seemed that his shoulders were shaking.

“Somethin’ the matter Boss?” Rhino piped from the doorway.

“I-I should not be here, R-rhino.”

That wasn’t Mr. Scarface. Rhino realized that the voice coming from the figure in the darkness was the Ventriloquist himself. It was Mr. Wesker. Someone, in the mist of unconsciousness, the other personality had shined through. Rhino furred his brows and entered the tent. Standing in front of the door. He again folded his arms over his chest and called out to the small man sitting on the bed.

“Mr. Scarface won’t like you bein’ up so late, Mr. Wesker. You should go back to sleep.”

Wesker’s head rose from his lap. Rhino could here him sniffling as he drew in a big deep breath. “P-Please Rhino, I know he’s going to come back.. I shouldn’t be here.. I need to get out of here. I have to get back to.. “

“There’s nutton out there for you, Mr. Wesker.” Rhino shook his head in the dark. “Yer place is with Mr. Scarface, Lookit all the neat things were doing now, City anit seen nothin’ like it, probably never will again.”

Rhino felt himself a moment of doubt. He could hear the man’s angst. Hear his pining. Mr. Wesker had never liked Mr. Scarface’s plans and crimes. But he’d always followed along, he might have complained a bit. But he’d never utterly refused.

And wanting to leave?

Rhino must have been in Black Gate for far to long. What had been happening. “Go back to sleep, Mr. Wesker.”

The small man rose from the bed with another sniffle. His glasses sheened as he looked right up at Rhino, and then he moved, stepping across the floor of the tent and then moving to try and get around Rhino. “I’m sorry R-rhino, I have to go. I c-can’t stay.. P-please understand.”

God, he sounded so pained. It actually made the big goon hurt inside a little. Especially when one of his arms swung down and snatched hold of the Ventriloquist, curling against the tiny man’s chest and lifted him right off the ground, and dragged him up against his own barreled torso.

“Rhino N-no! Let me GO!”

Wesker kicked, he struggled. Rhino canted his brows sadly, ignoring the way his shoe heels dug into his knees. He started back toward the bed, carring his less-then-corropative Boss cradled against his chest. “I’m sorry Mr. Wesker, but I can’t let you just leave, Joker’s boys’ll kill you if they think yer just walkin’ out on them.”

“No.. Please.. please Rhino, please, Please let me go, I can’t be here, I was through with this.. I I I was better oh god.. no Rhino please.. please.. let me go, I want to go back to him..”

Him? This confused Rhino. Who did Mr. Wesker want to go back too. Who could possibly have made him act like he would now. The big guy tilted his head down at the small man and saw, even in the darkness, the tears streaming down his face. He felt his heart tighten.

Maybe, he could just let him..

No.

Rhino tightened his jaw and shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wesker..”

He used one hand to club the older smaller man on the back of the head, just once and then felt the tiny form shutter and go limp in his arms.

Rhino stood there for a moment, staring down at Wesker’s limp form in his arms and felt numb and dumbfounded. He’d done, right. Right? Mr. Scarface was the top boss. So why did his eyes feel wet.

The big goon shook his head and put the Ventriloquist back in the bed, and then sat down on the edge of the mattress.

“S..Sorry Boss. I really am.”

-*-

The first thing Mr. Scarface did upon waking up was kick the sleeping Rhino right in the chest.

“What the FUCK are you doin’ in here yah big lug?”

Rhino grunted and shifted his eyes open. He blinked over at the foaming Mr. We.. no that’s Mr. Scarface and then sighed.

“Sorry Boss.”

~*~

A flippered hand picked at the splint on his nose. Cobblepot grimaced and then shook his head before looking back down at the scrawled Paper in his other hand.

It’s probably a trap. Why would anyone want to give you something so obvious.

But it was a tip he just couldn’t ignore. He found it pushed up under his hotel door upon waking.

The Abandoned Carnival Today. Ten PM. If you’re late the fireworks will start without you.

He crumbled the note up in his flippered fist and grinned his sharp teeth. Perhaps it was from the Joker, or it could be from Scarface himself. Who ever it was from. The Penguin was not going to be a no show.

And he was going to bring his special umbrella.

He straightened his top hat in the mirror and grinned at himself despite his busted up pristine.

“Looks like tonight we’re going to have some fun after all, Cobblepot my boy, and with any luck, a little revenge.”