niteo_logs | the man was an artist

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the man was an artist

Characters: The Joker, Ritsuka, Youji
When: June 7th
Where: Garage at 16th and Nevinnost
Rating: R [at a minimum]
Summary: A declaration of war.

The air was different that day; spring seemed to have fled, replaced with an unseen heaviness. Overhead, the sky was caught in one a strange moments of indecision; the afternoon sun poked its way through the overcast, spreading rays of light along the backdrop of the clouds. The clouds above were dark, ominous, and they spat out rain in defiance of the sunshine.

Below, in the intersection of 16th and Nevinnost, a monster stood, clad in purple, face painted in a twisted likeness of a smiling man. He waited patiently for his guest, and for this man, patience was a rare thing. The soft rain had marred the acrylic facepaint, his scars bleeding crimson down to his chin and his eyes flooding his cheeks with jet. He had been waiting a while.

But that speck appeared on the horizon, and it grew larger. The Joker smiled to himself, a slow grin of enjoyment. Of anticipation. Oh, the fun they would have.

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Ritsuka was walking a little slower then he could have, but doubt and guilt were weighing him down. If he didn't go he was saying he didn't trust the man to have a shred of good of him, which negated everything he had previously argued the man. But he was still scared, and as much as he tried to assure himself he could shake it. And then there was the guilt that came with thee doubts. If he was really making an effort and Ritsuka was making these judgments what kind of person did that make him. There was the guilt about lying to Soubi as well, not telling him where he was going, or what he planed to do.

When he finally made to stand across from the Joker at the assigned street his tail had a nervous sway to it, his ears cocked in an uncertain manner.

"I thought your friends were going to show me where to go?" he said, voice a bit quiet. Hadn't that been what the message had said?

The Joker only shrugged. Business as usual, right?

"Something this important, I decided it'd be better to come myself. Sign of trust, right?"

His attempt at a reassuring smile came off even more disturbing than his normal grins. He waved his arm and, with a mock bow, gestured toward the abandoned garage. The windows of the garage were boarded shut, and it was impossible to tell what was inside.

"Right this way. There's three boxes inside. I thought it'd be nice to give Grim his precious little papers back, too, so if you wouldn't mind carrying those, as well."

"Mm," Ritsuka gave a small nod, attempting a smile, but his nerves were still pretty evident. His ears perked, turning towards the garage, twisting about as though trying to check for some sound, but he couldn't sense anything out of the ordinary. Nothing sounded right in this place.

He started towards the building, looking to the man with a question that had only just occurred to him. "How big are they? Maybe I should get someone to come out and help, I'm not sure how much I can carry."

"I didn't break a bunch of guys outta prison just to haul boxes around," he said. "Let's make 'em work for their freedom, huh?"

He walked ahead of Ritsuka, showing the boy his back. Another sign of trust; if there was ever a time to strike the psychopath while he wasn't looking, this would be it.

Finally, he took up position at the side of the door, grasped the handle, and pulled it open. Another gracious bow as he motioned for Ritsuka to enter.

"After you."

His shoulders drooped a bit. Soubi could help him carry it. But...he was trying to show trust. He kept his PDA in his pocket and followed along behind him until he was ushered inside.

He spared one glance back the way he had come before stepping threw the door. All people have some good in them, he reminded himself.

As Ritsuka entered, he would see an open space, with a simple concrete floor stained by oil long since dried and gone. It smelled of old sweat, dried blood, and faint gasoline. The air was humid, almost sweaty. And there, within view, with what little sunlight there was shining upon it, were three boxes, one stacked on the other two. Atop the highest box was a manila envelope, a few books, and a bottle of wine. Then...

Click.

There was the sensation of something tight closing around his neck, nearly choking him. Then there came a sudden loss of strength; whatever bond it was that Ritsuka felt with Soubi, that wordless connection that gave them power, was gone in an instant. He was alone. There followed a jolt in the back as the Joker shoved him to the ground.

"Hold him," he said, waving at Ritsuka, and it was clear he wasn't talking to the cat-eared boy. Strong hands grabbed at him, and chuckles arose from the darkness. Men, faceless behind latex clown masks, stepped forward. There were more than enough to carry three boxes of food.

"You know, kid, I still haven't figured out whether you're stupid, or you're really stupid. Either way, you're in trouble."

He was telling the-

SOUBI

His eyes widened in shock at the sudden severing of their connection. Gone. Gone gone gone. Where was it? He barely had an instant to wonder, clawing at the thing around his neck before he was shoved to the ground.

He struggled against the hands grabbing at him, hair standing on end, kicking and thrashing, but to little effect against so many. "Why can't I feel Soubi!?" he demanded.

The Joker giggled with delight as Ritsuka was hauled off of the ground. A fist from one of the faceless thugs impacted the boy's face, intended to put a stop to his struggling; not enough to put him out, but certainly enough to subdue. Once the clown had Ritsuka's attention, he grinned and produced a straight razor from his coat pocket. A motion of the fingers, and the blade glinted morbidly in the thin light.

"Oh, good, it works! See, I wondered how the Credintans thought they could keep your type locked up when all it takes is an 'Open Sesame', and you're free," he said, sarcasm lacing his words. "We'll say I found a few new toys in the prison and thought I'd share."

Rope was already being applied to Ritsuka's ankles as his arms were yanked behind his back, also to be bound. The Joker came closer, slightly hunched over to bring him to the youth's level. His dark eyes gleamed with a sick glee.

"So be honest, kiddo. You saw this coming, right?"

Ritsuka winced at the punch, head thrown back, giving a small cry that echoed in this dark place. His eyes stung, and his mouth tasted like copper, his mind calling out for his Fighter, even though their connection had been snuffed out.

"W-what are you doing? Why are you doing this?" he pleaded, head drooping rather woozily from the hit, and grimacing at his rough treatment. He tried to pry his arms away before they could be tied, drawing in a sharp breath at the sight of straight razor and trying to rear back from it.

"You said I could trust you!"

The Joker's lips pulled up into a smile. The feeling that raced through the clown as he spoke the next two words had only one description: delicious.

"I lied."

He came close to Ritsuka, then reached out and gripped the boy's chin with a gloved hand. The leather was sticky, but artificial. Ritsuka could smell the Joker, close as they were; he smelled of sweat, gunpowder, acrylic, and gasoline. His breath was disgusting, but it was almost unnoticeable when compared to the darkness in his eyes.

A cursory look away from the Joker would show that there were several of his thugs present. There was a poster on the wall that said 'There is NO excuse for domestic violence!' in large white letters. And there was one clown-face thug that seemed out of place, who was much too short-

SLAP.

The Joker glared into Ritsuka's eyes for what seemed like an eternity, then shook his head slowly, eyes still locked.

"Mostly, I'm going to do this because I like to. I want to see you broken, and I'm going to break you. And you'll have the honor of serving as a message. To your little pal, to Grim, to all the others living with Miss White. This is war, kiddo."

As he spoke, he traced the razor alone Ritsuka's cheek, starting at his temple. It was a caress, not a cut; this was as gentle as it was going to get.

He tried to slow his breathing, to keep calm, but his heart was beating fast enough to be painful, a tight knot in his chest, his ears pinned back. He tried to look away when his chin was grabbed, his eyes spoke his emotions far too plainly.

There had to be a way out of this, there had to be. His eyes passed frantically around what he could see of the room, the poster, the men.

The slap drew him back in, eyes glistening, staring right back. This wasn't like when his mother lost her temper. This man could kill him easily, with no problem.

The eye closest to the blade closed in a grimace, trying to twist away from the cool metal. His mouth twisted in a way which suggested he wanted to speak, but wouldn't with that razor so close.

"Shhh, shhhh," the Joker cooed, brushing the boy's cheek with the fingertips of his free hand. The pressure of the razor blade lifted. "No, no, no... I know you're scared. And you should be. But before I let you go, how about I tell you a story, huh?"

He ran his hand through Ritsuka's hair with a disturbing gentleness.

"Let me tell you how I got these scars."

Numbly, he tried to pull and twist away from these touches, confusion joining the muddled emotions reflected in his eyes. He took a slow breath once the pressure of the razor was gone, looking up at the clown with a far too childlike gaze. He didn't understand this. Any of it. Why him? Just because he thought that the man might have some good in him? Was that bad?

He wanted to snap that he didn't care how he got the stupid things, but only the smallest of noises issued from him, a little sort of hum, or a squeak.

"See, a long time ago, in a world far, faaar away, there was this boy. He was a happy kid, the kind you always imagine when you think of long summer days and all the adventure you can handle," he said. There was no getting away from the fury in his eyes; any attempt to shut them or to look away would be met with a slap or a crushing grip on the chin.

"And this boy met another boy, down by the train tracks. Said he'd been traveling a long time, didn't have a family, just needed a place to say. So the boy gives him a home, some space in his tree-house. And they run and they play, every day during the summer. When the fall comes, they still play, and he still gives his friend food to eat. But when winter comes..."

The Joker shook with anger.

"He comes to tell him that his parents are taking him away, that there's a great new job in the big city. That he has to leave his love behind. So, guess how the boy from the train tracks takes the good news?"

The top of the razor is rested against Ritsuka's eye, to ensure he doesn't blink.

"Not. Very. Well. He takes this switchblade he kept in his pocket, to protect them both, and pushes the boy down, livid. And he says, 'let me give you a present to remember me by!', and the boy doesn't have a choice but to let him do this-"

With these words, the Joker tilts his head, making very clear the result of the switchblade's application. Then, starting just below Ritsuka's ear, the Joker begins to cut, sinking the blade into his skin, slowly drawing it down toward the corner of his mouth. Like drawing a wound with red ink.

"When this is all over," he mutters, beginning to cut the other side of Ritsuka's face, "...don't forget to-"

Those yellow teeth in a terrifying grin.

"...smile."

He tried to avert his gaze only twice before the punishing grip and slaps had him holding onto the stare. He shivered with the intensity of the story, with the Joker's burning anger, eyes growing wider when the razor was brought up to them, holding his breath, afraid to make a single movement.

"Nnngh-" he groaned as the blade cut his flesh, trying to pull back, tears spilling over his cheeks, but managing to keep from closing them tight as he'd like to. "S-stop."

Oh, the temptation to stop exactly where Ritsuka asked, to leave the smile unfinished- after all, which was worse, the pain of the marking, or having to live with the mark unfinished? With a twisted sort of empathy, he instead dug the blade deeper at the end of it, slicing up with a flourish as he finished the superficial Chelsea grin.

A work of art.

The Joker pulled away, standing fully upright, eyes fixated on Ritsuka's blood as it dripped from the razor.

"Funny story... for all the pre-teen ass there is running around this burned-out burg, I actually had to go all the way across the river to recruit some folks who had the... chops... to attend to your needs."

Dark chuckles from the men in the shadows.

"They've been in the can a long time, and I promised them some action. You'll help them out, right?"

Whatever the answer was, the Joker wasn't hearing it. He cradled the straight razor in his hands, with what could only be a sense of wonderment. It took some effort, but as the clown-masked men moved in on Ritsuka, on the Joker's cue, he folded the blade and looked at the boy. Maybe there would be one last, lingering look of 'please don't do this' to savor.

"All yours now, boys."

He gave a stifled scream at the final cut, fighting to hold it back as it only served to hurt him worse, pulling at the cut flesh.

Once the Joker pulled away he tucked his head against his shoulder, trying to comfort himself, not fully understanding the man's words as he spoke to him. "Needs?" he repeated, looking up anxiously at the laughter. "What are you talking about? Mm...please...I'm sorry for whatever I did, please, stop this."

The Joker watched Ritsuka for a moment longer. He was afraid, yes... but he wasn't terrified yet. The boy really didn't know what was in store for him. This was too good.

He turned and moved into a dark corner. Shuffling, tentative, the clown-masked men, hand-picked from among the Joker's small army of criminals, began to encircle the boy, their eyes and their intentions hidden behind smiling white latex. A loud record-scratch emitted from the corner, and a soft song began to play- a song by The Ink Spots.

"Do what comes naturally, gents... let loose- just don't break him. I want him alive."

His right hand floated up and down, flowing with the gentle song which, in any other context, would have been beautiful. Almost in time with the music, there was the sound of clothing being ripped, of muffled cries and screams for help.

I don't want to set the world on fire...

The Joker turned, a look of ecstasy on his face. He made a glance at the shortest of the masked figures, the one holding a teddy bear. And he winked.

I just want to start... a fire in your heart...

Youji was grinning beneath his mask. The screams were so entrancing. What was this pain he was feeling? What did it feel like? The blood on his face, such a pretty colour, like clumsy applied lipstick.

He didn't move in with the others, though his head tilted curiously. Whatever he and Natsuo had planned with Ritsuka's teacher, he wasn't ready to loose his ears without Natsuo there beside him.

He looked back to the orchestrator of all this, giving a laugh beneath the mask at the wink. This adult was fun. He followed him into the shadows when his view became blocked by the men.

He wanted to help. He wanted to give Ritsuka and Soubi matching scars. Drive nails through those small little hands. His blood looked the same as Soubi's. He wondered if it was warm too, if his own blood was the same. It just felt...wet to him.

"Why don't you just kill him?" he asked softly, looking up to the Joker through his mask. He understood that this part was fun, but afterwards what use was he? Useless people should be gotten rid of.

It took the Joker a moment or two to respond. He was almost transfixed by the grotesque display on the floor of the garage; it was as though he was waiting for something, one specific moment... and he was. He was waiting for the moment when the light went out in the boy's eyes, when at last the terror crescendoed into numbness.

Sparing a second, he glanced to Youji, then back at the stage.

"Because he's my ticket," he said, his voice low. "Once they see what's happened to him, they'll come after me- or they'll be too terrified to react. And one by one, I'll take something from each of them."

A terrified yelp elicited a shudder from the clown- not one of fear or disgust, but of pleasure.

"This is just the first stop in my little sideshow. I'm going to burn this city to the ground. And you'll help. Won't you?"

The boy gave a thoughtful hum, scratching at the back of his neck. That didn't make too much sense to him, getting them to come after him. Not that he and Natsuo didn't spur people on....it was rather fun, but never so many I once. The latter bit though, that made perfect sense to him. Fear was such a stupid weakness, an so easily exploited. Fear of pain, fear of loss. Who cared? The name Zero sparked fear before battle even started. Unbeatable Zero.

The yelp had his ears perking, hitting the top of the mask and jostling it, forcing him to fold them back down. What had made that one? He liked the sound of it.

"Yeah, I guess," he said with a bored tone, "If I don't find something more interesting to do."

The Joker rolled his eyes and looked at Youji with an earnest expression.

"Kid, if there were anything more interesting to do, I wouldn't be wasting my time here," he said, nodding before looking back to the men. There were at least seven of them that intended the worst for the boy; this was going to take time.

More time passed. When the Joker had seen and was satisfied that his prey had finally shut down, when he saw Ritsuka's distant stare and complete lack of resistance- that he was broken- he gave a pleased nod and started to dig around in his pocket. The men weren't done, but he'd gotten what he came for.

"You smoke?"

Youji didn't like waiting. He rocked on his heels played with his bear, and from time to time would wander back to watch what was happening.

He looked up at the question, rubbing at his eye through the mask.
"Smoke?" he repeated, then shook his head, "Sensei never gave us that stuff,"he said

"First time for everything."

The Joker produced a pack of Lucky Strikes, shook one up and popped it in his mouth, then popped another one up and offered it to the teal-haired boy with a secretive smile. A little safer than a derringer, but he was still doing his part to contribute to the general delinquency of Nesreca.

"You can take the mask off now," he said, either retracting a refused cigarette or putting the pack, one smoke lighter, back in his pocket. "I don't think he's home anymore."

"Mm." He pulled the mask off, shaking out his hair and scratching at his ear before reaching out to take the cigarette with his frostbitten fingers. He turned it about, looking at it curiously, and then looking back to Ritsuka. He set the cigarette in the corner of his mouth, attempting an approximation of how the Joker had his. "What's wrong with him?" he asked, head tilting almost comically sideways at the vacant eyes.

He straightened, taking the cigarette from his lips with a frown, "How do I do it? I don't get it."

He lit Youji's cigarette, taking note of the strange wooden look oh his fingertips. Obvious enough what it was, but it was warm enough inside the garage that he should have been in agony while they defrosted.

A-ha.

"Pull smoke into your mouth, then breathe it in," he said, demonstrating, "then breathe it back out. Wash, rinse, repeat."

He began to circle around the crowd. The men looked like they were done, and if they weren't... then the gods were merciful, and the Joker's impatience had brought an end to it.

"Alright, alright, enough," said the Joker as he waved the masked monsters away. The one or two that hadn't had their turn didn't seem to want to move, but they did; it was clear who ran the show. "There's more fun to be had, don't worry. But we're done here."

The Joker stood over Ritsuka's body, now earless, broken, and scarred. He ran his tongue over his lips, thoughtfully, before making a popping sound and squatting down. He pulled one more cigarette from the pack, then poked it between the poor boy's lips. Then he stood up and punctuated it all with another drag.

"There. Pull those boxes closer, frame him up nice for the other guests, and don't forget the books and the bottle. Hurry up."

Youji did as he was instructed, blowing out a stream of smoke that seemed to amuse him. He didn't get the tickle at the back of his throat that virgin smokers did, that uncomfortable burning sensation, and so there was no hacking or coughing.

"Weird," he muttered, taking another drag and coming over to look at Ritsuka too. It was strange, and his ears twitched at the oddity of seeing someone loose theirs.

"He looks older," he remarked, "So what happens now?"

Once the necessary preparations were finished, the waved the thugs out of the room and moved toward the door, also motioning for Youji to follow the other men out.

"Now," said the Joker, withdrawing his PDA, "...we send them a message."

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the man was an artist

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