𝕞𝕣. 𝕫𝕤𝕒𝕤𝕫. 卌

“I really didn’t want to get blood on this shirt!” Zsasz yelled, holding the lit stack of dynamite. “My roommate got it for me. It’s sentimental!” With a growl filled with anger and resentment, he tossed the dynamite into the building across the street. It was filled with Joker’s men -- useless, shitty fucking clowns who had tried to take his territory from him. That just wouldn’t do. “Burn in hell, circus freaks! I’ll see you there when my time is up!” He covered his ears as the building blew, the explosion throwing him backwards. A loud laugh erupted from his lips, and he lay on the floor, staring up at the dusty sky. 

"It matters to me, Gordon.” Jim told him that he was asking as a roomie, and Zsasz relaxed in his chair, glad that the other man was finally accepting him. He watched the man as he moved, not sure how to feel when he grabbed a first aid kit. Did this mean he cared? Nobody with decent morals had ever cared about him before. They’d seen him as nothing more than a problem -- a problem that belonged in Arkham. “I might. He spared me, though. I feel like I should return the favour. Maybe I’ll kill him eventually, it depends where my mood takes me,” Victor said, shrugging. Barbara had done nothing to Zsasz personally, so he simply nodded when Jim said it was kind, not able to think of anything to say. When had anybody ever called him kind before? It hadn’t been since he was a child in kindergarten. “If you don’t mind. It’ll be hard to stitch my own face.” He removed the towel from the wound, placing it on the table. Clearing his throat, he looked at Jim. “Thanks, Jim.”

“Well, that’s a little rude of you, don’t you think? My relationships with people are based on trust, and you just told me not to trust you, so now I have to kill you,” Zsasz told the girl, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “You see all these?” he asked, lifting up his shirt to reveal his torso. “These scars are people I didn’t trust. There’s a lot, right? Where would you like your spot to be? I don’t usually give people the option to pick, but I respect your honesty.”

Zsasz looked down at the bulge near the pocket of his pants, then shrugged a shoulder, patting it. “I don’t know where else you want me to put it, Crane! It’s a weapon, I have to conceal it, otherwise I’ll have Gordon on my ass.” He was already on Victor’s ass enough, considering they lived together. Zsasz, you left the milk out. Zsasz, pick up your dirty socks. Zsasz, why is there blood in the sink? It was constant. With an aggravated sigh, he unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down, removing the sheathed knife from the leather strap wrapped around his thigh. “Should I just hold it out in public? You wield a scythe, so I guess it wouldn’t be too shocking. Not that I care. Stitches for snitches and all that.”

Zsasz came to a halt when Babs yelled at him, taking a seat on top of a trashcan that was next to him. “I’m chasing you for a reason, Kean! If you don’t want me to, you should probably listen to what I have to say,” he told her, annoyed that she’d made him get sweaty and out of breath for no reason. “I only wanted to tell you that I quit working for Blackmask, so your fingers are safe from my knife now,” he shrugged. “I assumed that Jimmy wouldn’t have told you, because why would he? It’s not like you’re both connected by the vows of marriage or anything.”