Dazzling color—pastels, mattes, metallics, and more.
Balloons—foil, latex, animals galore.
Human spectacles—stilts, fire breathers, and acrobats are what the audience stayed for. Haly's Circus was only too eager to cater to every whim of the imagination.
Fun had a unique scent, and Bessie Struna knew exactly what it smelled like. A busy popcorn cart here, a humming cotton candy machine there, in which an attendant was twirling a paper cone to twist and build colored cobwebbing until a fluffy mass formed. The intoxication of sweet and salty smells bombarding guests from every angle, the energetic buzz of a crowd, even the parched, packed dirt and patchy grass underfoot added to an overall rustic, outdoorsy scent.
No sense was left neglected. While the nose was busy, the eyes were stimulated by thousands of light bulbs, some draped aloft by wire between wooden poles. Combined, the picture gave off a country summer night kind of atmosphere.
Bessie watched from the window of her parked caravan, dabbing off the last of her white stage-makeup over the kitchen sink. Judging by the appearance of wandering fairground guests, the show was at Intermission.
Outdoor sounds were muted, save for the crickets hopping near her front stairs. Her humble home's entrance door was wide open, protected by a mesh screen, to let a little cool air inside the warm trailer. A busy swarm of tiny black pinpricks swirled like a mini-cyclone on the other side of the glass. Gnats weren't the most bothersome pest, though. Bessie quite liked Blüdhaven for its lack of mosquitoes the last time she was here.
The air outside was pleasantly balmy, and the sunset hour was clear. Only a smear of purple clouds sat on the peachy horizon. The sky was turning bluer and bluer by the minute.
Nothing short of a magical evening in Blüdhaven.
Following her tightrope act, Bessie normally stayed to watch the rest of the show. The finale called for every performer to gather in the center ring and simultaneously bow for their curtain call. They wouldn't miss her just this once, though. Tonight would be the last night to do this, after all, at least until the show fulfilled all scheduled stops and pulled a roundabout back to Blüdhaven. A year or two in-between cities wasn't all that uncommon for the in-demand Haly's Circus, the one and only venue to watch the legendary Flying Graysons live.
After rinsing off the make-up streaked dish cloth under the tap, Bessie wrung it out and draped it over the faucet. Drying her hands on her black jeans, she crossed the length of her one-lane caravan home. Her own enthusiasm surprised even her. Visiting the old carousel again after a couple years absence perhaps wasn't a monumental deal to the rest of the kids (she felt as though she were really the last one to recall the old thing anymore) but not all hope was lost yet.
She practically trotted down the metal caravan stairs. A tiny warmth, born from nostalgic fondness, was sending pleasant jolts down her legs, lending an involuntary energy to her step, like gravity dialed down just one notch.
Like a lighthouse beacon, the lively carousel situated beside the gargantuan candy-cane striped Haly's Circus tent was alive and spinning, safely slow enough to make out every individual bulb lining it, but swift enough to hook and enchant the eye.
But that was not the one she intended to visit.
"Ladies and gentleman," called an official announcement from the loudspeakers placed on poles every thirty yards, "please make your way back to your seats. In ten minutes time we will begin part two of our act."
Bessie recognized Clarence's warm, golden voice. If being a circus ringmaster didn't pan out, she was sure there were very few radio stations that would reject him as their headliner.
Every so often she'd pass a guest going the opposite way, headed for the Big Top tent. After a left detour and a short journey, she entered a cluster of more silver caravans on the edge of their encampment, working as the fairground border just before an endless, grassy field beyond. A few notes of the carousel's delightfully goofy, uptempo organ music could still be heard, but the supporting melody was mostly drowned out by distance now.
Her fluffy, bouncy brown hair brushed and tickled her jawbone, heaving with her jaunty stride. Her eyes were small, almost slitted, and colored a swampy, murky green. Many features of her face, such as her nose and ears, were pinched and pointy, like an elf's, which served to make her appear more mischievous than she really was. Her rounded face took some of the edge off. She could and would no sooner prank someone than willingly stand in as Leo Baccardi's assistant. Being the resident knife thrower, Leo could not complete his act convincingly without a Target Girl.
Bessie looked over her shoulder nervously as if she was asking the circus permission to leave. She wouldn't be gone too long before her parents would miss her. Her mother was probably still working the ticket booth, and her father in the portable trailer office.
Her tightrope walking was usually always scheduled in the First Act where the routines were mainly designated to warm up the crowd and stir some excitement in preparation for the thrilling Second Act finale. The Grayson trapeze was Haly's mainstay and star attraction, always saved for last. They'd been a part of the circus for generations. Bessie, in comparison, was only first generation; just a sprout compared to their oak. No legacy.
The awe she still felt as she watched them perform up there had a hard time getting old. The Graysons tended to switch up or add to their act every once in a while to stay fresh, and they wowed every time.
Bessie stopped momentarily to get her bearings and chart the best course in the direction of the field. She glanced up and down the maze path of caravan walls, wondering if anybody was still around.
"Hey, Bess," greeted a cordial voice behind her.
Bessie's smile was already emerging before her one-eighty was complete. "There you are, Jerome."
There he stood, outside of the caravan he shared with his mother, tending to the inside of a barred cage against the trailer shell. Tonight, Jerome wore a grey and red argyle pullover and sand-colored corduroy pants. He was a young man, just a year older than Bessie, with very relaxed eyes. But most noticeable of all was his impressively red hair, so blazing that it even looked warm to the touch. In recent years he tended to keep it smooth and tidy, combed in a side parting with just a touch of pomade for hold.
Jerome lifted his woolly arm currently in a state of being gently squeezed by three laps of snake tail. "Did you want to see Sheba?"
A brief flash of Bessie's teeth peeked through her grimace. "Um...sure," she said hesitantly. She took one or two tentative steps forward.
Jerome smiled gently. "Still haven't warmed up to her, have you?"
"It's been a few years, I think by now it's safe to say I never will." She didn't feel so bold as to complete the last five steps necessary to be within arm's distance of the cage.
Sheba, the snake Lila used in her sideshow act, was a female boa constrictor. Bessie wasn't sure how to tell a female snake from a male one, but she took the Valeska's word for it.
She knew it as a creature of this beautiful Earth, and acknowledged that the snake didn't know how it looked to her, but Bessie was still more than willing to volunteer a few steps back at all times. Those instinctual, vertically slitted eyes staring at her, the flickering forked tongue emerging; it was all very predatory, nature's signs to stay away.
Luckily for her, Jerome was nothing but cooperative. This time and all others before it. "There you go," he coaxed, lowering Sheba's long, curling, patterned body back into her enclosure. Bessie swallowed now that the snake was contained.
Jerome tended to keep more to himself these days. It didn't seem like an isolation experiment to Bessie, though, just that he and the other circus kids had grown apart somewhat. Bessie had felt that growing divide, too, but she was desperate to keep tabs with the circus kids while they all still had the time. Time had made them extended family, fortifying bonds from initially nothing. Something as simple as a conflict of interests didn't feel enough to deter her from keeping their ties strong and attended.
The last time she'd spoken to Jerome in particular was probably about two weeks ago. In terms of knowing somebody for thirteen years, working with them, and sharing a general radius with them, that type of frequency could be considered abnormal.
"So," said Jerome conversationally, bringing down Sheba's cage lid and snapping the padlock shut. "What brings you here?"
"I was on my way out there, actually." Bessie pointed to the open field. "I was hoping somebody could come with me. It's our last day in Blüdhaven."
"The old carousel," said Jerome knowingly, straightening from his bent position.
He remembered.
"So how about it?" asked Bessie. "Before we lose the light?" She tried to hide the invitation in her tone; it was better for Jerome to choose to join her of his own volition rather than be guilted into tagging along for her sake.
Jerome cocked a suspicious, inquisitive brow. "Really," he said. Coyly, he glanced side to side, ascertaining to whether passerby were listening in. Satisfied at the sparseness, he leaned closer. "Where's'about, how far, and will it take us past curfew?"
Bessie's responding smile was little, but bright.
Jerome opened his mouth, just about to say something, when he was interrupted by an amused cackle that rang behind them. Jerome's smile loosened, as did Bessie's. He looked past her, and she glanced over her shoulder.
Apparently Bessie wasn't the only performer skipping tonight's curtain call.
Jerome's mother sauntered into view, still clothed in her sparkling, airy, snake dancer's outfit. She wasn't alone. Arm in arm with a well-dressed stranger, she swayed, leaning into her friend, bent by giggles, evidently entertained by something the man had said.
The two teens shifted their eyes to anything else but each other. The nature of Ms. Valeska's behaviour was something they both recognized, and with that came discomfort. Jerome attempted to send Bessie an apologetic half-smile, but it weakly puttered out before his cheek could twitch.
Bessie's parents always called Jerome's mother Ms. Valeska in front of their daughter and taught her that it was impolite to call adults by their first names. Unless given permission, of course. The habit was so ingrained that Bessie continued to call her Ms. Valeska even now. But she knew the snake dancer's first name well enough. Some days she was all everyone talked about—some good, some bad, but more often than not, mostly scandalous.
Lila Valeska was lovely in appearance, even if her face was showing some signs of her age. Bessie actively tried to not find reason to insult her. Ms. Valeska could actually be quite charming on good days, but could be moody and temperamental on others. It was a toss-up on which you'd get day to day. Flattery worked immensely well, though, if done correctly.
Lila's swankily dressed companion noticed Jerome as he was guided towards the caravan steps. "What's up, freakshow?" he said chipperly, ruffling Jerome's hair as he passed by. The gesture looked innocent, but Bessie wasn't quite certain of the intention. The comment didn't sound too friendly. More mocking than anything else, leading her to believe that this particular man was not strange around the Valeska trailer.
The door shut smartly with a metallic clank.
Grasshopper music accompanying the evening seemed amplified.
Jerome cast his gaze to the ground and brought a fist to his mouth to politely mask clearing his throat. Salvaging their carefree moment felt hopeless. "Well, I'm sure mom wouldn't miss me for a little while."
Bessie's lip curled as she followed the two silhouettes, separate for the time being, through one of the Valeska caravan windows. "Probably," she agreed quietly. Unwelcome heat was rising from her neck, like she was trespassing on something she shouldn't have been and would do well to vacate soon. With nothing else to say, she led the way, trusting Jerome to stay right behind her, dead yellow grass sighing underneath her shoes.
Weaving through the metallic forest of Haly's parked trailers, the fairground gave way to the enormous field. Acres and acres of nothing but land that stretched to the horizon.
With Ms. Valeska long behind them, their mood gradually improved. Throughout the years it seemed to get easier and easier to tough out, they'd had been through it enough times that the awkward aftermath got shorter and shorter.
Standing just on the edge of the field, beside the final lightbulb-strung pole, they looked out into the grassy expanse. A miniature, misshapen mound was visible somewhere on the pastel horizon.
"There it is," said Jerome.
Bessie beamed cheekily. "So they didn't take it down yet." She looked sidelong at her friend. "Race you."
Dust kicked behind Jerome, and only when he'd cleared ten feet between them did it dawn on Bessie to get a move on.
"Hey!" Bessie took off, sprinting behind him, careful to mind the mole hills.
At the distance they were at, it wasn't easy to get lost.
The Big Top they left behind was barely visible. It sat right on the line where earth met sky, just a tiny tent that could fit into the palm of Bessie's hand. Haly's working carousel, still brilliantly lit, could fit like a golden pearl on her ring. Even if she and Jerome lost all natural light, the carousel would stay there to guide them home again. Bessie found solace in that thought for more than one reason.
As Haly's shrank, the other carousel's lonely, dilapidated frame grew.
"It's still here," she said, beaming.
The thing was a poor investment. It tilted to one side, not leveled because one of its stands had snapped off. The paint needed updating—the original coat was likely lead-based, for starters—as did the speaker system and motor parts. It was easier to just chuck it and purchase a newer model rather than refurbish such a dreadful fixer-upper. Various bits of nature's cast-offs peppered the sheet metal platform that supported the poles elevating the horses.
During daytime, the horses looked happy and doe-eyed with their mouths open mid-neigh. However, at night, shadows played with the horse's angles. Slanted just right when dusk came out to play, the eyes became replaced with looks of terror. The edges of the mouths appeared to stretch downward, like the animals were about to retreat in frozen horror. The poles seemed more like skewers. Crusty rust made the horse's bodies texturized and sharp to the touch. At least that's what Bessie guessed based on sight. She wasn't going to risk tetanus to know for certain.
The result was that the machine almost looked haunted.
And while Bessie did believe in her fair share of ghost stories, this carousel was not one of them. Too many happy memories in her mind clung to this place for it to be. It was not an object to be feared, only a shaped hunk of machinery that had seen better days, and a legacy ended by unceremonious retirement from duty. There was something about it that still said home. It was where the circus kids got to bond for a few summers, back when Haly's stayed mainly in Blüdhaven.
Back then, the kids skilled in acrobatics were much more tuned to climbing to the very top. They would leave the little ones behind, and Bessie would gaze up at them in awe, shielding her eyes from the sun, envious of their dexterity where they could reach new heights. John Grayson, having descended from a long line of acrobats, was particularly adept at swinging and catching and clambering his way to the striped, pointed peak.
Jerome took a seat on the edge of the main platform. Bessie walked delicately along it, holding out her arms in a T-pose for balance while she spoke. A ring of dry dirt dusted the soles of her shoes from her run. "Think you're gonna miss it?" she asked.
"Mm, nah." Jerome grabbed onto a horse's leg over his shoulder, frowning as he tested it for stability. "I guess it was better when we were kids. Kinda boring now that we have nothing to do on it."
Bessie slowed down, a little stung by the confession. Somewhere, though, in a deep recess within her chest that cared to admit it, she knew he wasn't wrong. Try as she might to suppress it, there was a reluctant part of her that almost agreed. It was clear that, yes, maybe they had outgrown this part in their lives. Still, she hoped he didn't mean it.
"Not that I don't mind seeing it again," Jerome assured, looking out into the empty field. "We had some good times here, huh?" He looked over his shoulder kindly. "But it's just a memory now."
Bessie stopped her tracing and dropped from the edge and onto the ground with a soft thump. "I know," she admitted heavily. "Just wish everyone else could have been here for a proper send-off." Circling to Jerome's spot, she sat down beside him and settled comfortably to watch the gorgeously speckled sky. Out here the view was left untouched by light pollution from the city's core, and it showed.
The sun was finally gone. All that it left behind was a lavender horizon, signalling twilight hour.
"Thanks for coming with me tonight," Bessie told him gratefully. "At least someone did."
"You're not even mad at the others?"
Bessie held a structure pole beside her and leaned against it. "I wouldn't go that far. It is what it is, I can't make them do anything." In truth, maybe it did make her feel a little pushed aside, but it wouldn't do anyone any good to forcefully gather her old friends and bring them somewhere they just had no interest in anymore. Mandatory remembrance cheapened pure reactions.
"Come to think of it," continued Jerome, "I've never heard you scream, I've never heard you yell. Ever in my life."
"Guess I just have one of those quiet voices," Bessie said, using the same pole to help lift herself back onto the platform to carry on meandering and discovering what changed about the carousel from the last visit. Jerome was right, Bessie's voice did tend to be mousy. Her timbre was softened and unclear, like her throat was coated in a paste that absorbed half the sound as her voice journeyed up.
"I don't even think you're capable of it," mused Jerome, twisting to watch her.
Bessie shrugged apologetically. "I guess I just don't like raising my voice?" she tried. It was hard to explain the whys and hows of something that just came naturally.
"Why not?"
"It doesn't feel good. Feels kind of unnatural, you know?"
"Don't you ever get mad?"
"Well of course I do. I'm not a robot."
"I've never seen it. Unless you count that one time we all made you cry when we told you a mouse wasn't supposed to leave candy under your pillow."
Bessie chuckled good-naturedly at the memory and hoisted herself gingerly onto a white horse with a baby blue saddle covered in daisies—the only one that appeared to have better immunity to rust than the others. "Losing baby teeth goes a bit different in Slovenia."
"What did you call him again? Zongo Meeshka?"
Bessie's voice cracked with a snicker. "Zobno Miško," she corrected. "I had never heard of the tooth fairy back then."
Jerome laughed, which always came off as very sweet, well-meaning, and unoffending to Bessie; a fun, chuckling, mostly subdued Hee hee hee. "Yeah," he said wistfully.
With nothing left to say, he leaned forward, linked his fingers loosely, and hung them over his knees. Gazing skyward, he paused in contemplative thought. "Nice night," he commented.
"Mm-hm," Bessie agreed, looking up as well. A lush, autumnal scent emanated from the wild long grasses and was undoubtedly refreshing to breathe in.
A few beats passed until Jerome decided to continue his original tangent. "I mean, I've seen you upset lots of times," he clarified. "But now that I'm really thinking about it—it's been what, thirteen years since you joined Haly's?—and I have never seen you completely lose it."
Bessie wasn't sure where to go from there. All she could do was shrug apologetically. She noticed Jerome pressing his lips in mild thought.
"Does this have something to do with what happened back there with your mom?" she asked, but very delicately. If the doors were meant to stay closed then she was only too prepared to step off.
Jerome faced her. "Hmm, nah," he said breezily, shaking his head and waving her concern away.
"And you're sure you're both not mad at eachother?"
He shrugged nonchalantly. "Mm, she can be a bit pushy sometimes, and maybe I can be too, but I'll always love her. We're family." Like water off a duck's back.
Bessie nodded, leaving the subject where it stayed. As long as he was fine she wouldn't discomfort him with prying.
The better part of their next hour was spent mainly on reminiscing, and maybe a little bit of catching up. Living and working together in the same place didn't always guarantee frequent socialization. Bessie and Jerome's roles at Haly's were different, and unfortunately it pulled them apart in recent months.
It pulled them all apart.
Some families from their childhood years had since moved on from Haly's Circus, or settled down, or retired. But the majority still stuck around. John Grayson was too good for anybody now that he got his own motorcycle. Mary Lloyd thought she was too grown-up for such things, as did her brothers. That went for the Paisley twins as well, and Marko, Helena, and Boris had aged well beyond the need to share social circles with the circus kids under the age of twenty. That left just one more person, the only one who didn't seem to outgrow her.
Pleasantries and fleeting laughs were still exchanged between the circus kids—cramped living arrangements naturally kept proximity close—but they were mostly kept brief and left with no follow-up, abandoned as the carousel the children all left behind.
Shy as Jerome was, he could always be conversational enough. Bessie didn't realize just how much she missed talking to him. It was like slipping into an old, familiar routine.
A/N: Heads-up, folks, this is a partially pre-Gotham deal, so Jerome hasn't quite snapped as of yet, but I plan to blend this narrative into his introductory episode in the future. Just like my last Gotham entry on this site, 'Necessary Evil', I fully intend to stay as in-character as possible, as they were depicted in the show, while also borrowing from Batman comics and established storylines as filler for things the show hasn't revealed. My OC was not in the show, so she won't show up anywhere you saw in Jerome's debut episode.
I know Jerome was never officially tagged as The Joker, and after the Season 2 Episode 3 doozy it looks like he may not be (barring some sort of "Ha-Ha, fooled you!" resurrection). But come on, he totally was The Joker, even if not by name. In essence at least. So I plan to write him as such.
NOTE: John Grayson and Mary Lloyd are actual DC characters (and parents to the future Robin, Dick Grayson), but I made up the other circus kids and personnel in order to get some filler and add more life to Haly's.
It feels so good to be writing for the Gotham fandom again...