8 - Adoption Isn't All It's Cracked Up to Be - Chapter 8
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Tw: death, guns, bombs, fire (?), let me know if I missed anything
The whole world burned in a thousand shades of bright green fire.
The air was hot and carried the rancid smell of melted plastic and charred flesh. It hung heavy in the air, the slightest of breezes letting tattered lab coats flutter slightly, a clinical white flag of unconditional surrender.
It was loud, too. The fires crackled and popped and sizzled, building into a constant, unceasing roar that accompanied the shrill ringing that seemed to stretch on and on, a sordid reminder of the bomb that had gone off in a flash only moments before.
They were probably screaming, but she couldn’t hear them. Even if she had, she doubted she would be moved much by the final shrieks of those damned long before she ever even arrived. They had taken her brother from her. Again. This base hadn’t held him. None of the meticulously organized, glaring white bases that she had searched and razed had held him. She would keep going, though. She would destroy everything and everyone standing between her and Danny .
Even as she watched, a shriveled body, still blazing with a horrid green fire, stumbled disjointedly out of the wreckage. She traced the man’s (the monster’s) slow, unorganized path as he pitched and lurched all of, one, two, three steps before he fell. His body hit the ground hard, a bony and scorched hand stretched out before him in what, she didn’t know. A plea, perhaps? It wouldn’t be answered. She wouldn’t answer him.
In languid, loping steps that crunched over scattered glass, she smoothly crossed the distance between them, and with a swift stomp, she shoved his hand back down into the dirt.
The fire burned, and she stood there, gazing with cold, detached eyes over the wreckage. Slowly, slowly, the fire died down, shrinking into glowing green embers and leaving only air clogged with smoke and white ashes. She kept standing, and only when the world had finally faded into oblivion and quiet, burdened still by a layer of smog and desperation, did she move.
As she turned, black boots grating upon the littered ground, she saw a flitting shadow out of the corner of her eye, and within seconds had a large gun pointed at it. It was dark, though. Black. Not white, so she didn’t shoot quite yet. It remained in the shadows.
“Come out. Now,” she commanded, with a rigidness to her voice that spoke to the idea that she expected her orders to be followed. And they were. Confidently, the figure stepped forward, and now that it was in the light, albeit obscured by the remnants of flame, she could make out the form. Batman.
Keeping her gun expertly trained on his chest, she quickly drew another one and pointed it at Robin hiding against the other wall. He looked startled, like he wasn’t expecting to be seen, and to be fair many, if not most, would have missed him. Her eyes narrowed, and her chin jutted out, ever so slightly.
“And the rest. Come out or I’ll shoot,” she said, clipped and clinical, with a jab of the guns at both targets.
The rest filed out, begrudgingly, annoyed, from rafters and from windows. They wanted to attack, she knew, she could tell, she could feel the rage simmering underneath their masks and the protectiveness over their own. Good, she could use that.
Batman took a quick step forward, only to scrape to a halt when she readjusted her grip on the gun. He quickly regrouped.
“Who are you? Why have you done this?” he said, his voice a low growl, arrogant and hubristic, as if he was not standing amid a testament to her power. She holstered the gun trained on Robin.
“You don’t need to know any more than to call me Aconite. And as for why I’m doing this… well, I’m looking for something,” even behind her mask, the hatred and resentment were clearly heard as she spat out the next sentence, “Something that they took from me.”
She clenched her fist, and when she opened it, she got the satisfaction of watching several eyes widen behind dominos, as what was revealed was a quickly ticking bomb with garishly flashing numerals counting down the seconds until havoc was wreaked once more. In one smooth motion, she hefted it, lighting fires anew, and when the ringing had stopped and the Bats had all come out from the pillars and rubble behind which they had hidden, she was gone, leaving only a wake of destruction and decimation, and a single warning, behind her.
Rogue Jazz is my favorite, and I'm not really sure if I did her justice, but hopefully it came across well. I was really trying to make her very cold and detached, just done and willing to do what it took to get her brother back. I also want yall to know that Aconite is a flower that can mean both a warning/caution and death, as well as courage and protection, which I thought was very fitting for Jazz in this. I also want you to know how I envision her costume, I would draw it but I cant draw (I tried drawing Jazz. It did NOT work).
I mostly think of a black outfit, to counter the white of the agents, with her hair free and a full mask. I also think that she has glowing purple accents, to go along with her name, and because I think it looks cool. Just imagine the most badass, coolest thing you can and you're there. If I'm being honest I was also imagining her demeanor to be a bit like Jinx from Arcane while she's fighting, just slightly (a lot) unhinged and willing to do whatever in order to protect Danny.
I also want to apologize for the lack of updates, my grandpa died so it's been kind of tough for me lately. The funeral is in a couple of days, so it might be a while again before another update, but yeah. Or maybe this will spur my writing. Who knows.
Anyway, I would appreciate any constructive criticism you have to offer, and I thank you for reading!
