Disclaimer: I do not own the Arkham games, only my OCs, the image that accompanies this entry as well as this story
Chapter 1
"All things truly wicked start from innocence." - Ernest Hemingway
"There is an innocence in admiration: it occurs in one who has not yet realised that they might one day be admired." - Friedrich Nietzsche
Scales slapped against scales and sand, tails whipping up the dirt in the struggle. The creaking roars of the beasts shook the stadium like cannon fire. The crowd gasped, screamed and cheered on que at every turn, young men beating the floor with their boots, ladies hiding their faces at the toughest corners of the fight in the fabric of their beaus and children squealing with awe.
It was a well choreographed dance for one of them. Despite the overlooked intelligence of his cousins, the strongest beast always won every night, no matter how many times he let their jaws skim his hide for a greater show.
Because that was what he was.
An act in a show.
No, the greatest show on Earth.
The Harlem Travelling Circus, known for their infamously hideous freaks and wonderfully impossible magicians.
He ducked the flailing limb of his opponent one more time before slipping his arms around its tail and flipping them over while his legs wrapped around the alligator's neck in a choke hold, effectively slamming the jaws shut. Even now, like every time they performed, the alligator would continue to struggle violently. It hissed and snarled in an endless legato, the noise drowned out by his own deeper tightened his hold until he could hear the aching bones and abrupt silence that indicated submission, and then, finally, he would get up and drag the alligator back to its nearby cage and close it before the dazed animal could even flop back onto its belly.
And the crowd would roar back at him in delight at the entertainment, continuing even after he had stalked away from the blinding centre lights and pulled the cage out of the main tent on its wheeled platform.
Harlem Circus was nothing like Breckley's. There he had been the one in a cage, being opened jeered at and insulted all day by customers. Spat at, having food thrown at him, being stuck outside in all types of weather that would either leave him drenched and cold to the bone to at other times his scales being dry enough to peel off like chips and bleed from the seams.
John Harlem was the leader of this circus. He had found him, offered him a way out, and for that Waylon Jones was eternally in his debt, no matter how many times the pudgy bearded man waved it off.
There were still easily heard insults in his direction, but that was to be expected. And even if many were wary of him, Harlem's had become something of a home, despite the ever changing location. Though he kept to himself, sometimes Waylon came out and interacted with the others, as if he was normal.
That would never be true, but surrounded by freaks like him, he almost fit in.
They were as close to family as was possible for him.
"And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the incredible KILLER CROC! No foe can defeat him, no man can-"
The ring master's amplified voice was easy for Waylon to hear even on the other side of the fair, away from the crowds and shrouded by low lantern lights and flickering white bulbs strung in lines all over the park.
"Easy there." He murmured, opening the cage's hatch once it was attached to the entrance of the large caravan's cage, where 3 other 'gators were kept. They all hissed grumpily at the disturbance, but the lone reptile didn't hesitant to clamber back to his brothers. Waylon grunted as he let the cage door drop and secured it before pushing away the transport cage. With practiced ease he un did every joint until it collapsed and was folded enough to be stored by the other supplies in the caravan.
His own caravan of sorts was smaller and the next one down, containing a low bed that he had had to enlarge, few personal items (mainly trinkets that only he found valuable) and several blankets. He grabbed a tucked away beer that had been wallowing in a now liquid yet thankfully still cold bucket of ice, and made his way back to the aliigator cage, grumbling his own greeting at them.
Waylon sat down on the platform of the cavaran's open doorway, content and relaxed. It was likely to be one of the last nights that would be this warm, as Gotham was known for its chilling winters. The activity of the night hummed deeply, his keen senses lazily honed on the crowds scurrying around the attractions.
And then the reptilian humanoid tensed at the sound of short and quick footsteps, panting and a loud gasp.
Mimiking the little girl in front of him, Waylon froze. Dammit, where the fuck is this kid's parents?!
He was not a children's person.
Or, a person's person, for that matter.
But could you really blame him? No one in their right minds voluntarily sought him out, unless they were the freaks of Harlem Circus.
Yet here in front of him, stood a giggling girl dressed up in a frilly white and red lace dress, with big brown ringlets and shiny blue pebble eyes. He face looked like it was about to crack from how wide she was smiling, and was rocking back and forth in the mud on her matching shoes with her hands clasped behind her back.
"Err…yes?" Waylon said warily, as if he expected her to burst in to tears or flames. Or both.
"Wooooowwwww, you're really strong mister! Uomo forte [strong man]! Do you train everyday? How tall are you? Ah!" She squealed, the sentence rapidly falling out in a high pitched frequency that jolted Waylon even more.
Jesus, what's this kid on?! He stared down at the little midget who didn't even reach his upper thigh, trying to work out what to say. After internally arguing whether to be nice or not, he replied. "Um, a lot?"
The little girl nodded furiously in agreement. "I thought so. My cuz's all do as well, but they all look like topi [mice] compared to you! And 'a lot' must be ahh lot, 'cause when I asked papi how tall he was, he said 'very', and papi's half the size of youuuu!"
Waylon stared at the child helplessly. The words had passed so quickly, he had barely registered them. They were cleanly pronounced in Queen's English, yet every time she said something (in what he was pretty sure was Italian) another accent came to life thickly. The humanoid croc swallowed, suddenly conscious of the beer in his hand. Shit, should I hide this or something?
"Right…listen cher, you mentioned your…'papi'? Don't know where he is, do you?" Because you should probably find him before he finds you with me and calls the cops on kidnapping charges.
The girl tilted her head in thought, then shook it. "Noooope!" She popped the 'p' like bubblegum, and began twirling the red lace of her dress while still staring directly at Waylon. "Is your skin real? That's not a costume, is it?"
Instinct caused Waylon to snarl, moving forward to lean over her. "Hell yes. Got a fucking problem with that pipsqueak?" Though he felt bad when the girl's eyes widened again, it was for the best, even if he shouldn't swear in front of kids.
That's it, be fucking terrified. Now go run off to your parents and learn some self preservation.
But instead she did the exact opposite. After a brief pause, she stumbled forward on her chubby legs and threw her hands out, palms slapping against his lower stomach, the highest part of his that she could reach. Waylon violently flinched and leaned back into the wall of the caravan to get away, but the girl followed and kept one hand there, the other gripping his ripped trousers for support.
Even if she was barely over 6 years old (and an articulate one at that), Waylon expected insults and clawing at his flesh. But under her close scrutiny, her hands were soft and curious; the poking was gentle through his scales, and at her next words, Waylon realised just how innocent she was.
"You're so pretty, mister crocodile man. Come un gioiello [like a jewel]! I wish I was like you!" She cooed.
Waylon caught her probing hand, his own engulfing hers even in its loose grip. "You blind or somethin' kid?" He choked out. "You don't want anything to do with me."
She was unfazed, settling on now opening up his hand and probing it, letting her digits fall in between his talons, then comparing the size. "Nuh uh mister. Why wouldn't I? I wanna be strong, and fight like you. I bet no one messes with you. I bet you can swim the best too."
Waylon watched her with fascination, stumped by her answer. He let his fingers curl over hers, which barely passed the edge of his palm. "Yeah, I can. Don't have to come up for air often either."
"How often?" she pressed her thumbs into his palm, massaging it while continuing her inspection. Despite himself, Waylon let out a satisfied hum.
"After a couple of hours." Waylon paused for a moment, then said, "Actually, sometimes a day."
The little girl gasped. "A day? Bene!"
Waylon smirked, relaxed now. He reached for his beer, then slumped to the ground, leaning against the wooden walls of the caravan. The girl let him adjust, then propped herself in his lap, reaching for the bottle.
Waylon growled and swatted her away, taking another gulp. He snorted when he saw her pout. "Too young kid. Give it a couple years."
"Just wanted to see the label…" She grumbled. He hesitated, then held it out for her to see the ornamented logo of the brand, pulling away again when she sniffed at the neck. "That's nasty smelling. Mama says that bottles make you go apey!"
Waylon snorted. "Apey? Wise lady."
She nodded seriously. "Yeah, Mama knows everything."
He opened his mouth to answer, but let it go when she started to trace his stomach again. Waylon rumbled a low purr that made her giggle. They sat a few moments in silence as he studied her further. The dress he noted looked expensive, but the edges and her shoes were now caked in mud and sand.
That's why you don't dress kids like monkeys.He snorted.
Her hair was soft and shook in the wind, and he absentmindedly caught a curl and started to gently pull it, watching it spring back and repeating the action. She looked like a little doll, with pale skin and large rosy cheeks and lips. Waylon frowned slightly, thinking that she was just the type of kid creeps went for. "What's your name, cher?"
"Evaaaaa!" She sung.
"Eva, huh?" Waylon said, testing the name on his abnormally long tongue. "What about your parents?"
"Mama and Papi!"
"No, I mean their names, kid."
"Mama and Papi!" Eva pressed again.
Waylon sighed. "Okay then." Briefly, his claw accidently brushed the back of her ear, and she jumped. Immediately he tensed, but when Eva said she liked it, started to lightly run his hands through her hair, loosening the bun and feeling its thickness.
He leaned his head back, eyes still watching Eva in his lap contently. The situation was extremely unfamiliar and weird for Waylon, as well as a touch that was altogether aggressive in some way. It was confusing, yet he knew he didn't want it to stop.
He started to inhale deeper, savouring her scent. It was concocted of perspiration, the flora of the park, and her own odour of milk and something fruity or fragrant, he wasn't sure which. A sting of alcohol indicated that she had been wearing perfume that had otherwise faded as well. Who gives a kid perfume?
"Are those your friends?" Eva asked, pointing towards the cage of alligators.
Waylon grunted, missing the massage. "Yeah, sure are."
"How many?"
"4 of them. All male."
"Why no lady crockie?" She asked.
Waylon chuckled at her. "Do I look like a baby sitter for hatchlings, kid?"
"Yes." She said wittily.
He growled, pulling her ear playfully. "Watch your lip, cher."
Eva laughed, prying his fingers apart but not letting go. "Can I see? I wanna say hello!"
"No."
"Awwww!" Eva looked up with a watery pout, "Pleaaaseee! Abbastanza per favour [pretty please]?"
Waylon felt himself crumble at that face. Are you kidding me? Puppy dog eyes?
After several moments of the expression intensifying, he growled and got up, hauling her into the air under his arm. "Fine. But just one look."
"Yeyyyy!" She cheered, while Waylon berated his weakness.
He let her adjust so that she straddled the side of his hip, eventually realising how to hold her with his arm around her back and grasping her leg around the front of him tightly while she wrapped her arms around him. He was still tense and unused to such a position.
Warily, Waylon moved them in front of the alligator cage, rumbling in greeting. Almost immediately, they hissed back. One curiously tilted its muzzle up to catch the unfamiliar scent of Eva. It darted forward to the edge of the cage, and she leaned forward fearlessly with arms outstretched.
Panicked, Wyalon ripped her back and jumped out of the caravan. "What the hell kid! You don't pet a predator, not unless you want to become 'gator chow!"
Eva shrugged. "I just wanted to give him a hug. And you let me touch you!"
Waylon growled. "Eva. I mean it, don't get close to things that can rip you up."
"Does that include you?" She challenged, glaring directly into his yellow eyes.
He stared back for a second, then decided, "I'm going to take you to Harlem, he'll find your folks, kid."
Eva's eyes widened. "No! Mister I'm really sorry, I won't touch them I promise!"
"Too bad." He snapped, his pace swift enough that he could dodge through the groups of fair goers and reach his boss quickly. By then, Eva was welling up with angry tears and had punched his chest several times. However after setting a rhythm, she seemed more interested in how his large barrel chest made the sound vibrate.
John Harlem turned with a bright smile when he saw his scaley employee, even more relieved to see the little girl he was carrying. Next to Harlem stood several similar looking, well build men in fine yet somewhat casual clothing. A shorter boy and several teens were mulling around with their mothers as well. One such man and woman rushed forward when they saw their child.
"Il mio bambino! È sciocca ragazzi, perché sei scappato via così [My baby! You silly girl, Why did you run off like that]?" Eva's mother cried. Her hair was an inky black, though her face was a slightly thinner mirror image of her daughter's in features. She rushed forward, but her husband stopped her and glared at Croc, squared his shoulders and held his arms out purposefully.
Waylon immediately complied, thankful that Eva was now happily babbling in Italian to her mother over her father's shoulder, nuzzling his shaved cheek. He forcefully ignored how he missed the warmth on his side and her undivided attention. A bizarre urge to take her back and run off disturbed him even further. Waylon cleared his throat and nodded. "Found her wondering round the caravans. Made sure she didn't get into trouble or nothing."
Harlem smiled encouragingly at the family, addressing the father. "Mr Jones is an honest worker of mine. With him around, no harm would've gotten to her."
Eva's father was indeed 'very' tall. Still dwalved by Waylon, he stood at an intimidating 6'5", dressed in an elegant black coat. His eyes and hair were the same as his daughters, and for an Italian, was oddly pale like her as well compared to his wife's rich tan.
He let his chilling gaze inspect the scaled behemoth in front of him, no signs of fear showing. Waylon resisted the instinct to growl back, and tried to stay in his relaxed posture. Eventually, the father nodded in approval. "Grazie, my friend. We are lucky that you found Eva."
"Alonzo, we should go. The children are getting tired, it is already past 8!" Eva's mother said, her daughter's hands in her tight grasp.
He nodded, producing a sleek black card and flicking it into Harlem's surprised grasp. "Call this number if you perform in Gotham again. Again, I thank you for your help. It is good to meet samaritans in this time."
John smiled gratefully, while the walking crocodile's brow was stretched in shock at being acknowledged. "Not a problem Mr Selvaggio. Have a good evening!"
Eva whined about having to leave, but after some coaxing, let her mother drag her away. Waylon watched her go, her dress twirling around when she called over her shoulder "Thank you Mister Jones!"
His raw mouth opened into a grin, the short jagged teeth not in the least bit terrifying to the little girl. When she was finally out of view, her scent still lingered sweetly in the summer air.
A chuckle caught his attention by his side. "I never thought you'd be so good with kids, Waylon." Harlem joked.
He growled and started to stalk off. "Shut your trap Johnny. Don't you have a show to run?"
"Naw, you're just a softy, and don't think you can convince me otherwise!" Harlem called to him.
Waylon snorted derisively and continued on his way. When he reached his old spot with a now lukewarm beer, he fell into a doze with the scent of milk and what he later concluded was wild herbs and oranges caressing him.
In all honesty, this was meant to be a oneshot. I even named it that in a word document, and yet, like every other oneshot i've ever attempted, the muses decided to take me along for a ride and convince me to keep going to create some epic saga. Returning readers of mine will know what i'm on about. Several chapters for this are already in the works, so hold onto your hats boys.
In my personal opinion, I just don't unstained why there aren't anymore KC stories mulling around, and decided to rectify this situation.
So, TA DA!
Please leave a review, because as we all know, reviews are the lifeblood of all FF addicts and writers :D
Love,
Renzin xo