Nicotine
After a late-night text session with Spadefire a few days ago, we decided that Inque would have a Catwoman-Batman relationship with Earthshaker (my idea, surprisingly,) but she could not be pure of heart. Not even close! This is about two years before The Janus Dilemma. First oneshot-esque thing, yay!
She leaned back and sighed. The cold night air felt good against her skin, hot from containment indoors. Smoke drifted from her fingertips up to the sky, the cinders from her cigarette falling and sizzling to death against the rooftop. When she closed her eyes and blocked out the sirens, she could almost pretend like she was anywhere but this hive of misery. Scum did not surround her, she still had her heart safe inside her chest, and her soul belonged to no one else. When she closed her eyes, it was easier to believe that she didn't have to be here. She could believe that she could leave this city of the damned. But then she would open her eyes, and the noise and pollution and disgustingness would come rushing back in.
She knew that she could not pretend she was better than any of the other thieves. She had, a long time ago, tried to be moral. She had ended up killing her entire family. The screams haunted her, and she could still feel the stickiness of their blood between her fingers, drying under her nails. Putting away the dishes, holding up the butcher knife, one more remark about how she needed to be more respectful. She shook her head, trying to clear it. It had been nice to let out her anger, but after staring at the marred bodies, she had begun to regret it. True, they had it coming, but even they didn't deserve what she had done. After burning down the house and the evidence, she ran. All evidence of her past life erased, she began a new one, under a new name, working for a company that was as evil as she.
"Anybody ever tell ya smoking's bad fer ya?" Without opening her eyes, she smiled.
"Careful, cowboy. You almost sound like you care." She could feel the shift in the air as he moved, but only because he was letting her. Opening her eyes, she glanced over and up at the man that had so often thwarted her. She sat on a gargoyle, one leg pulled up and the other dangling over the edge of the building. He stood next to her, arms behind his back, white, masked eyes staring out over the city he called home. Most would have been surprised at the silence and grace he moved with, taking into account his bulk, but she wasn't. After five years of fighting him, very little about him surprised her anymore.
He was silent for a moment longer, before finally speaking. "Why do you do it?"
"Do what?"
"You know." She sighed and took a drag from her cigarette, knowing that the tar would seep in through her lungs and permeate her being. She didn't really care, though; it made her look cool.
"I stay because this is my city, now. I grew up in it, I steal from it, and I give to it. Also, it's got you, and if I stopped robbing, you would stop paying attention to me." She glanced up at him to gauge his response, but like usual, he stood dispassionately. She huffed in irritation and breathed out smoke. (She'd never admit it, but sometimes, she'd pretend she was a dragon, like when she was a kid and it was cold enough outside to turn her breath to steam.) "Hey, fella, I don't even know your name, but it's a leap year. Marry me." He glanced at her and she shook her head, waving the hand that held the cigarette. "No, no, it's okay, I get it. You're married to your job, right? That's who you are. You weren't born here, but you have to be here, because if somebody big and scary and honorable like you doesn't guard it, who will? Not me. I'm just here to keep you from leaving, and to try and eke out a living for myself."
"… Ah don't understand you." She grinned victoriously; finally, a response.
"And what's not to understand, cowboy?" she asked, wanting to hear his voice again.
"You've stolen thousands of dollars from th' accounts of almost every private investor in th' city. By all accounts, ya oughta be rich, but ya live in poverty. Why's that?"
She shrugged and took another drag. "'Cause I don't need to be rich. I just need to get by. The money I don't spend goes to the people that need it more than me. Young women who've made mistakes, men who are honestly trying to get past an addiction, kids with no homes to go to... so I can atone for the things I've done. And, of course, what I'm paid to steal goes to the people that hired me."
"Who'll be left unnamed."
"Hey, you know good as I do that if I even try to switch sides, they'll get me. Besides," she added, grinning, "it's more fun to fight the bad fight. And if I let you rehabilitate me, or even if I stopped, would you ever call? Would you come and visit me?" They both knew that the answer was no, but she felt like talking. "It wouldn't be nearly as fun fighting with you as it is fighting against you."
"Ya sure got a warped sense of fun," he muttered, making her giggle. She breathed from the cigarette again, and his eyes narrowed. "Ya oughta stop smokin' like that."
"You don't say. Thanks, but the cancer sticks are an addiction I need," she replied, smoke escaping with each word. With one motion, he pulled it from her grip and flicked it over the side of the building. She watched as it fell down to street level, then turned to glare at him. "Dude! What the what?"
"Ah will not let ya get lung cancer." She huffed and pulled her leg up to sit cross-legged on the gargoyle.
"Yeah, well… what else am I supposed to be addicted to, huh?" she muttered, resting her chin on her hand. He chuckled, and she glanced over, one eyebrow raised.
"Whatever ya set yer mind to," he said, the ghost of a smile still on his face. "But if it's all th' same to you, choose me." She barely had time to register his words before he was gone. She turned to see if he meant it, but there was nothing where he had been standing a moment ago. Her expression flickered between shock and annoyance, and finally settled on exasperatedly amused. She stood, shoving her hands in her pockets and looking over the city.
"Dumb cowboy. Doesn't he know I already did?"
Fluff? From me? What is the world coming to, eh? (This one is dedicated to you, Spadey. Never get normal.) Please review!