ROTTEN

He rolled  his eyes as his gaze seemed frustrated with her responses - -after all he tried to save Harley yet she was still conversing with him in crazy responses. Jason let out a small sigh - -feeling the smoke remain with in his lungs as he would lift his hand to his mouth and cough - -turning his face away to the side. He realised that he had still accomplished one thing - - which was by destroying the warehouse which housed the Jokers toys. A smirk etched across his lips as he was seemingly pleased with himself - -until it soon dissipated - -as the sirens in the distance were getting louder and louder. The emergency services were closing in - -yet he had the intention to quickly leave - -not intending to stay in order to get apprehended by the police - -or share a cell at Arkham with HER.

Jason kicked his Red Hooded mask in the bay - -it made a loud splash - -the mask was off now use to him - -he needed clean air - -as he gave one last cough - -he then placed his gloved hand on her wrist - -grabbing it - -but not too tightly - -he was intending to scare her - -but at the same time he cared.

“I should have left you in that warehouse so I wouldn’t have a headache right now and so I wouldn’t have to drag you with me.”

He sighed as he couldn’t believe he was offering a choice - -well not really a choice it was more like a demand. It was dangerous to have someone like Harley around him - -yet he wasn’t willing to give up on her - -he felt he was too stupid to care about her - -yet in his stupidity he was sympathetic.

“We have to go before they catch us and lock us away. You don’t want to go back to Arkham do you? You don’t want to deal with - - all those crazies? I don’t want to deal with all those crazies - - and most of all I don’t want HIM to find me in a padded cell. To give me the talk - - the talk of me going around killing people. If I saw him I’d kill him.”

Of course he was referring to the Bat - -yet he did not fear him - -he just HATED him. He clenched his jaw as sweat lightly trickled down his rugged face. His cheeks covered in ash - - his eyes where tired - -his back burned - -his body exhausted. His grip on her wrist remained.

“Come on Harley, don’t you want too come with me, so you can get you want - -get your satisfaction of beating me up?”

He laughed yet it wasn’t intentionally supposed to be funny - -his eyes glistened - -revealing that he had issues - -yet he hoped since she was a psychiatrist she wouldn’t be able to tell. He noticed her smudged make up - - it was his fault - -his responsibility. He wondered - -if she was going to go with him - -or simply beat him.

Digits lift from satin, after diagnosing small faults in the fabric.  Lips poise to chirp at the other once more, interrupted by acidic  bubbling in her throat, it crawls upwards, lips force apart as shoulders  and heckles rise as lungs clear once more. The sound is jagged, rough,  traced with an edge of breathlessness. Hands frame lower features,  cupping lips. The sound cuts, it takes a moment of uneven  breaths to force lungs to relax once more.

A chest held in a vice finally unfurled. Once breath resemble  some semblance of normality baby blues flicker over the  concave structure. She imagines her Puddings displeased features.  Pallid chalky features tilted in vexations, oh so pretty cerulean hues  turned blank and bland, dull in their lining as a pique overrides his  so pretty features. It makes her stomach tight once more,  his shackles of disappointment vice around her abdomen.  Thoughts only pulled away as the other speaks. Petulant lips snarl,  the kid that’s the reason for all of this. A little fire bug that deserves to be swatted.

Its only once the voice clears her consciousness, that she can hear  the call of Gotham’s boys in blue. Piggies pulled from their thatched houses by the call of smoke and flames. The sirens howl.  Baby blues side eye the other. A bobble head shakes, peroxide bobs  with the movements. Lungs clear loudly once more.  Before heels click forward.

She shakes off the attached hand that grasps at her wrist.   Tones are short and cut, a voice lower still shaky from inhalation.

“Let’s focus on BLOWING this popsicle stand first, huh birdbrains.  I ain’t gonna to be herded to no FUNNY-FARM,  ‘specially with CATTLE like ya-self.”

Lips lie still poised in a snarl, snarking with each shade of lettering.  Yet, as red and blue draws closer she bristles, yet co-operates.  Un-shackled she strides forward. Palms itch to hitch to a ledge  to get above ground. She jogs beyond the other, barely glancing  at the dishevelled figure, even as his chortles punctuate final words.  The unstable of little shock to her anymore, she’d seen the worse  and his laughter did little to spook her. She’d heard the worse and  he didn’t quite measure up.

A few warehouses later bright bold hues catch a flat side,  a ledge wide enough to hold palms. A figure hurls itself upwards,  lithe trained muscles forged to their use. Arms haul a mannequin  figure upwards.

A crisp lined cupids bow curls upwards, a wide grin lainstruck across features. A bubbling giggle rises, the sound lithe and lulling. Afigures leans into the arms which curl around her, peroxide stands lie againstthe others solid shoulders.

“-Think someone’s got their wires CROSSED, ain’t the sayin’supposed to be that beauties in the eye of the beholder & all that BALONEY? Not mine- Tho’, can’t say I don’t appreciate the SUGAR honey-”

“Well then, we’ve got something in common, haven’t we? I’d certainly hate to disappoint, but it’s not even remotely patronising when you’re me. Nine hundred years of time and space travel, there isn’t anything I haven’t seen. And you certainly aren’t SPECIAL in that effect. You’d hate to keep me around, because the longer I stay, the more agitated I get. And as cliche as it may come across, you wouldn’t FANCY ME when I’m angry. There are creatures more deadly and disturbing than your friend out there and all of them quiver at the sound of my name. THAT’S who you’re dealing with. So if you’re really so certain you haven’t got a clue what he’s up to, than you surely wouldn’t mind being strapped up to a lie detector. And not one of those cheap ones they’ve got here. I’ve my own special test and you can bet it’s quite a load more thorough.”

“-DOUBT it sweet cheeks, you don’t look like no kinda head doctor I know.  Most would have diagnosed ya’ years ago for the pinstripes.  Clearly ya’ ain’t heard ya-self, cause ta’ mouth hollars PATRONISIN’.  Space travel? Ya’ an ALIEN? & I thought Gotham was runnin’ outta sideshow acts.  COWBOY, ya’ really underestimate my tastes in fellas.  Then why don’t ya’ go holler this SPIEL at him, I heard he’s got one hell ova QUIVER.  Ya’ gonna use ya MARTIAN gadgets on me? ‘least ask a gal to dinner first-”

     ❛  Harleen, what.the.fuck ? ❜  svetlana wasn’t really following her twin’s thought, what is that even mean ? one day she is just like her, a doctor & now she is… what she is.. with childish look, full of tattoos. she wish she could open harley’s brain, spy to understand her & closed it as a box. however this is impossible.      ❛ Look, if you are MAKING jokes or metaphor I’m not really catching your thoughts. But, I need to know, are you……..❜    a pause, clearing her own throat as she watched the other ‘mirror’ in front of her. a nutshell version of herself. baby blue orbs met hers as if she wanted to enter in her sould.      ❛ … happy? ❜    her voice was nearly inaudible. for some reason she felt her own voice echoed in her mind.

“-HARLEEN isn’t here no more-”

Baby blues tilt upwards, theatrically rolled, a chin bobs with the movement.  The doctor was long gone, washed away, before Harley was poured in.  The doctor lay in a box, her occasional twitters her only presence.  A robotic clinical chirping among more fractured and infantile ones,  the docs voice was always the loudest, reaching rafters while others simply pooled.

Features pinch as she parrots the word. How could she not be?  Tones chime highly, an exuberance animates features.  As her beloveds mocker is cooed utter admiration seeps from pours,  features high light brightened by ever the thought of him.  A voice coo’s each letter in sugary tones, as lips lie in a dopey upturn of a cupids bow.

“-HAPPY? ‘course. I’ve got my Puddin’  & he makes me the happiest gal ‘round.” 

even growing up, fashion had never been of much importance to norma. whilst she was happy to get out of the orange, the uniforms didn’t bother her much, besides the occasional itch provided mainly by the prison’s cheap laundry detergent. a life in  prison was all about learning. the best ways to avoid shots, the best time go to the kitchen in the mornings to ensure you got a slice of toast with breakfast - then there were the more complicated things. where not to sit, what not to say, not that the latter one had ever been a real issue for norma, of course. over time, and the  woman had spent a lot of that in litchfield, things got a  little easier. of course, being a part of a family helped  too. norma placed her hands on her knees, and as the newest inmate spoke, she brought her attention away  from the view of the garden, pointing it instead in the blonde’s direction. she shrugged gently at her words, it was true. a lot of the inmates had shared information  with her, wither directly or simply as a result of forgetting she was even there as they spoke. 

she smiles thoughtfully and nods, before writing;        - i think the not talking helps too. -

Digits absently pluck at frayed tangerine edges. She oddly  appreciated the shading, a brightness among the pastel shades  ran riot through halls. Even her figure stood out little against the  muted pastel shades of Litchfield. A now muted figure no longer  the vibrant saturated form it had once been. Even iconic pigtails  were altered, locks were clipped, dip dyed edges lost,  pure peroxide ran to her shoulders. The outstanding and untouched  features embossed and emboldened etchings against flesh  (she cherishes each permanent inking). Baby blues drape over the other,  the beige is a sad shade on the other. It reams around the halls,  the essence of the building is regimental. Uniform, even down to shadings.  Even days lie uniform; each day a Ground hog day of the last.  The whole image sinks uncomfortably under skin.

Lips spill in girlish giggles, they line in a lithe grin.  A nose scrunches slightly, as words pour.

“-The magical mute; Ta’ sounds like a bad 90’s sitcom-”

As lips part she’s aware of drop of vibrancy in her own tones.  Chipper tones are clipped; the accent remains but highly hung tones lie mellowed. Absently she wonders which band of the  rainbow of does it is which monotones herself.

He began to conemplae if he indeed was doing the right thing - -but he wasn’t the Batman he was much MUCH worse. But could you really allow someone who was deformed and preyed on by the Joker to die, it was not her fault the way she was. Jason tried to stand firm as the questions began to run through his mind while feeling the heat of the flames.

With his back turned away from her he inhaled slightly as smoke began to fill the warehouse - -the wooden structure began to crack and creak as the foundations began to weaken. Licking his lips Jason then placed his Red Hood mask over his face to concreal his eyes - -and to allow him to breath and not suffocate on the smoke. As debris began to fall from above Jason had second thought s about leaving Harley behind - - he grunted as he came to a conclusion that it was simply a big mistake to kill her - -to allow someone who used to be so innocent to die - -he had figured she would try and escape yet she just remained inside along with Jason.

“Fuck you, Jason.” His tone of voice sounding robotic while wearin the mask - - as he stared past the flickering orange and yellow flames which surrounded Harley. She wasn’t a damsel in distress as Jason never saw her that way - -in fact Jason always had conceded feelings about her - -knowing she was much more smarter and much stronger than the murdering psychopath known as the Joker. Yet now was not the time to think - - now was the time to act. As Jason ran forward leaping over the flames  as he ran uptoo Harley - -moving his arms around her he proceeded to pick her up”You won’t die tonight.” He said to Harley in a robotic voice he could hear the loud thunder of the structure beginning to collapse in. Jasons eyes beneath his mask searched for an exit - - there was all but one but it was across the room.

Briefly looking down on her moist skin - - Jason then looked ahead as he began to run through the building while holding her close against his body - -with his body hunched forward to protect her from the falling flame covered debri as they hit the back off his jacket - -he winced feeling the fire singe through the fabric leaving small burns. The roof began to collapse behind them. Jason then ran through the exit and leaped forward as flames burst out from behind them - -there was a loud crash which echoed on the docks.

Jason rested forward on the concrete - -trying to gasp for air as he was tired. He hurriedly pressed his gloved hands against the sides of his Red Hooded mask - -the mask hissed open and Jason threw his mask to the side as it felt hot on the outside to touch. Beads of sweat trickled down his face while he leaid on his back feeling the pain of each small burn. Then he turned his face to look over at Harley to seeif she was okay - -he had saved her not because he wanted to be the hero - -but because it was the right thing to do.”You okay?” He then coughed after he asked in a rhaspy tone.

Baby blues lose their semblance of calm and begin to scatter around surroundings.  Ledges, a roof beam near enough to gain traction on.  The warehouse remains theatrically featureless.

Thoughts begin to slow, each feeling as though it was drenched in masalas.  Slivers of silver begin to infiltrate lungs. Lungs heave. The building  is rapidly filling with plumbs of twisting onyx. It pours in reams from  flickering embers, the bright and bold colours lost in the dancing twirls  of smoke. As the warehouse fills with dark plumes, the embers  grow unseen, shrouded. Louds creaks can be heard between  cracks of catching wood. A silk covered palm swings over lips. Lips take only shallow breaths. A mind fogs.

Arms wrap around her figure, lips part in a protest, yet it is swallowed  by silk. Only muffled sounds emanate. The others robotic derision  is barely registered as a loud rolling recoil of thunder blooms as debris begins to leak from above, before entire chucks fall in sync.  As the largest chucks fall, they hit the door. Pulled out to the docks  as the buildings form implodes.

Lips press, the lower preens outwards. Lips lie downturned in a fierce pout.  As a figure slips away from the other. A figure lies half hung forward,  forcing breaths, palms against fishnet covered knees. Palms are bare,  a slugger left inside, now charcoal. The idea forces puckered features.  Brows pinched.

“-Next time ya’ wanna get a gal all hot & bothered, ask-”

Sugary tones snipe sharply, tones tart, yet faded by an  underlying breathlessness. Baby blues flitter highly.  lips lined with a snarl. A face once all smoothness among petite  doll-like features lies tainted with severe angles and jagged lines.  Lips lose their structure split by a rough upheaval of lungs.

“PEACHY,clearly. I gal loves to be left in a burning furnace.”

An edge to words is lost as phrasing is messy, no word is left  untouched by breathlessness. Lungs turn concave, as deep breaths  are forced. Once breaths become more regular dainty ivories begin  to pick at fabric. A jacket spilled with the scent of smoke.  Fingers care little for the skin left blushing and now blistering on their  own palms, but fixate on silk. Ivories nit-pick for traces of damage,  blithely ignore her own figure. Features lie unaffected,  streaked only in streaks and smears, yet lower pallid planes are licked  with blushing waxy skin.