I WILL NOT KILL.

————      ❝         YOU’RE   JUST   A   BOY .    you   know   nothing   of   anything .         ❞

&.   @batfright

          HE  WAS  A  BOY  WITH  A  SMILE  THAT  COULD  LIGHT  UP  A  ROOM  ,     a  child  to  drag  to  parties  and  show  off  to  friends  ,     the  dream  of  any  person  with  an  ounce  of  influence  to  their  name.     and  yet  even  this  golden  boy  ,     this  little  lord  ,     had  his  downfalls.     he  was  a  child  built  for  the  outdoors  ,     built  for  lost  teeth  and  skinned  knees  ,     not  the  suits  and  ties  of  business  parties.     and  as  the  hours  grew  later  ,     the  boy’s  patience  began  to  wear  thin.

❛    only  the  really  scary  ones  ,     not  the  ones  meant  for  kids.    ❜          a  hand  goes  to  tug  at  the  collar  of  his  suit  ,     nose  wrinkling.          ❛    do  you  like  scary  movies ?    ❜

    his mother always told him not to watch such things,  warning him that they would plague him in the night.  but his father,  for such a wise figure head,  would always indulge bruce in THE LITTLE THINGS— even if such things were scary movies his mother would later     {   frown  about   },     when learning thomas had supplied their son with the very things she had previously stated that she would not allow.       however, it never lead to much fighting.      a few STERN  WORDS.      but  his  mother  and  father  were  never  at  such  climatic odds.   never on opposing peaks,  when it was the same altitude they shared,  as well as the same throne–   the same crown.  {  they were partners  }.  you can see it now, if you see the way they move aboust the ball room floor greeting guests together.  two statuesque figures, her king AND his queen.

Of all the things he’d asked, was that really the only response he was going to get? Shoulders slumped, face falling into a gloomy frown as Jerome exaggeratedly mimicked Bruce’s reply in his flattest possible tone. “They did–” followed by a pathetic sounding PFFT as he straightened his posture. “Do you even HEAR yourself sometimes?” The redhead sighed, leaning forward to drop his head against the thick glass again with a heavy THUMP – eyes still set on the other boy as his head tipped slightly lower; eyes up to stare at him from under their lids but above that WICKED GRIN. “I get it…” The words were a low, almost sinister tone as he drew each one out. “I see what you’re trying to do here.”

Yes! He’d figured it out without any help from the others. There was only ONE reason Bruce would have left him to his own devices: he WANTED Jerome to fill in the silence. “You and your ol’ pal Gordo want ME to fill in all the blanks for you. You think, that by saying NOTHING, I’ll get bored enough to tell you everything I know JUST to hear myself speak…” Lips pressed tightly together and he offered a careful shake of his head, not wanting to lose the concentrated gaze of the other for even a second. He could go just as long in silence if that was the game plan!

Or… Maybe not. Not even a full thirty seconds later he’d let out an exasperated breath, as though that brief moment of silence had taken more out of him than either of them could have expected. “How can someone so CLEVER be on the wrong side of this fight?” A smirk picked up the corner of scar-stretched lips and he couldn’t help but pat one hand against the glass, positioned over where the smaller male’s shoulder was. “Ya done good, Bruce, but, ya know… If ya wanted me t’ talk about myself,” Valeska picked up an old timey accent and a wink was given to his company on the other side of the dividing wall. “All ya hadda do was ASK.”

It wasn’t the same on the inside. People weren’t nearly as fun to screw with as the boy that’d plagued his dreams since waking up from that death-fueled slumber. “I know you’re not letting me out of here to HELP YOU clean the trash up off the streets, so I’m gonna put this one back in YOUR hands. Do you really think I want my name associated with those NO TALENT HACKS?” It’d been flattering at first, really, but they were laughable at best. His voice fell again, near secretive words following a sharp yet short-lived bout of rippling laughter.

“But it’s something to think about, right? Get me out on a day pass, save us all the trouble of me getting out in some SPECTACULAR show of blood and bullets that no one’s gonna see coming… Whataya say? Don'cha wanna see if you’ve still got what it takes to go one on one with me?”

  he was an old soul in a young body, a wise boy when he should be foolish.  and though at times HE WAS NAIVE,    there were times his age was blinded by experience.     the murder of {  his mother and father  },   his life held in the hands of others,   and threatened by many more.       those he loves,   held ransom against him for the sake of his “playing the good boy”.  he had seen more than he should, done more, and been more.  but he has never once complained.  he has never once faltered.   {  he is atlas  },  and if the weight keeps adding, he will only grow stronger ... AND STRONGER.  

but the one thing that threatens to knock him over,  to chip him,  and throw him into a state of disarray.   would be the male before him.   the one that roused from him a being from THE DEPTHS made by these same events, that gave him an age beyond his years.    {  the monster  }.     the thing that wanted revenge over justice.     what wanted wrong over right.     it was insanity,  when he was sane.     and bruce would conquer it as he had before. swallowing it back down so that the darkness in his eyes remained at bay.     for though the color of his gaze is piercing AND BLACK, there is something still yet innocent aboust it.

wincing not, when jerome’s forehead thuds with the glass—     eyes cannot help but wander {  the face  } he had allowed his fists to BLUDGEON, and see the scars and the discoloration it held.   the jester was truly a monster now,       no child would see his face  again and trust it as they had,       when he played dumb as the son of the murdered snake dancer.    he showed his true colors now,  whether he liked it or not, and bruce ...    bruce can’t help but stare—        till he       {  tears his gaze away  },      and takes a step back from the large viewing window separating them.  

     it was a dull affair, much to bruce’s dismay.    but alas, he has attended more than {  a dozen of these parties  } since he was no more than three years old.         and his friend? bruce’s SOLE COMPANION for the night, as his parents were busy off in the crowd raising funds for the new hospital, seemed just as bored.   it can’t be helped, they’re children in an adults world; and anything, to a child ... would be better than small talk AND shrimp cocktails.  

nudging the other boy with an elbow, dark hues meet blue—            and bruce gives the starkling a smile.  ❛ your mother spoke of how you like scary movies? ❜

@batfright || continued.

DELUSIONS? Shock spread across Jerome’s face as the other boy replied. “Damn teenagers, never listening when you tell them things…” He leaned forward, elbows settled just before the glass separating the two; head cocked in curiosity as he looked the younger over with curious eyes. “You STILL haven’t figured it out, have you?” Forehead pressed to the divider, a sharp HA was given if only to emphasize the disbelief in the shorter boy’s lack of intelligence. “I thought you were smarter than that… OOPS.”

One quick shrug of shoulders and he sat straighter again. If he’d said it once, he’d said it a MILLION times. “The only one living in their DELUSIONS, is YOU.” A pause as he thought more about it. “Well, you and all of the people stuck in their BORING little lives with their RESTRICTING rules, their HIDDEN truths, and their GUILTY pleasures just waiting to claw to the top and take over where LOGIC screwed them all up.”

A grin pulled at the corners of his lips, only made to look wider from the scars of having his face temporarily stolen from him. Truthfully, that was the only GOOD thing about his downtime – medically corrected problems and a little bit of time to heal. But it was about time to get back to it. “Did they send you to CHECK UP ON ME?” He let out a crackling laugh that was really meant more for the two of them; volume kept just loud enough to have a slight echo against the barrier.

“Make sure I’m still locked up tight and not calling the shots out on the street?” Eyebrows raised, amusement only becoming more evident in the playful turn his tone had taken in those few short moments. “Or are you here to see if I KNOW anything of what’s going on on the outside?“ Of course he knew what was going on outside! He’d warned them all that it wasn’t going to end like that – told Bruce, himself, that there were no heroes around to stop it from getting WORSE.

Not so subtly, Jerome cleared his throat and shifted so that one side could settle against the glass; a more CASUAL air coming over their conversation. “Did ya MISS ME? Is that what this is? Is it the looks? The STYLE? That little bit of SHOWMANSHIP they’re missing out there while trying to copy what they can never be?” Valeska shook his head, sighing through another, slower, unimpressed laugh. “What’s the point of KILLING SOMEONE if you have to hide it – I mean, c’mon, even YOU understand that much.” 

       having his intelligence insulted aside,     he would not give jerome the pleasure of clarifying what he meant, nor would he dignify the young man with a response, or even a momentary pause. instead “LE PETIT PRINCE DE GOTHAM” held his ground, even as the jackal of a boy grew as close as possible to him with a wall dividing their presences.   for doing so, would give the madman what he wanted.   and it would be a weakness he could sink his teeth into, one he could exploit.  and bruce had given him one too many of those already.  

maintaining a calm composure,  he makes alfred proud in this moment as his eyes DO NOT ONCE diverge from the other’s.            he faces down the man he almost killed, and who had almost killed him, and he does it with a sense of regality; the likes of which he had not had with him in {  the house of mirrors  }.     for there, he had lost everything.   his calm, his composure, his sanity.  he lost himself,   but he–  and only he–  brought himself back.

jerome would not make bruce lose himself again.    this he swore.    as he had also promised himself and alfred that, no matter what, HE WOULD NOT KILL; even when it felt right, even when it felt like justice—  he would be the man {  his father  } wanted him to be.  whoever that was.  

remaining within a foot of the glass,     dark eyes pierce  through sterile air,     and watch with what he presumes to look like mild interest,     at jerome as he spoke with overzealous exaggerations (as bruce saw them) on near every word.  was it really showmanship, or BAD ACTING? 

                                                   there were heroes in gotham.  there had to be.

                        but was bruce one of them?     could he ever be?       or was he something else.

gritting his teeth in silent protest, DARK EYES barely manage to hide a flare.              for such a privileged, well-educated boy, rage lingered in abundance just under the surface of his skin— {  crawling and growing  }, only to be repeatedly squashed down by the calm composure bruce bolts down into place, like a wall of steel.  

                     ❛ ... they did— ❜ request bruce to come here, to get answers, a last resort surely.

there was no point in lying, no point in falsehoods;          JEROME WAS INSANE, but he was smart, and he was clever, this not even bruce could deny.  the jackal shouldn’t dare be underestimated.     {  however  }, if he could play jerome’s game— as he did the night of his abduction,    during those few hours he had thought alfred was dead, and he could play it right ...  ?      then maybe he had a chance.       keep him talking.       it would be THE DOWNFALL of the jester, how much he blathered.