Sacrifice is Still a Sin
Revolutionary or Terrorist?
A/N to Anais, I'm really glad you liked it! Thanks for letting me know about the la/le thing, I'll go back and change it. Also, I know her name does sound strange, and it's very halting, but there's a back story as to why she calls herself that, and it's also an allusion to Edgar Allen Poe's 'Masque of the Red Death' Mort taking after Red Death; it's also an allusion to the phantom of the opera, where the Phantom goes to the Masquerade as the Red Death. On a separate note, the articulation and pronunciation of her name also really suppose to sound wrong, and halting, (but thanks a lot for telling me, and for giving me the suggestion anyway, I hope I wasn't at all racist I was really worried about offending anyone reading this…And I hope you don't mind that I made your country communist. SORRY.) P.S, shout out to Cosette. That damn pineapple isn't making it in this story unless someone goes to hell. ;) P.S as to why her last name is Squelette, it was a joke I'll explain at a later date.
Finally a man in the clown mask unlocked the door and cut me out of the chair. He didn't say anything, and neither did I. In all honesty, I was in very deep thought. I needed to plan, I needed to somehow kill the clown. Or incarcerate him until he was needed. Maybe I could set him loose in France.
Considering the way the idiot clown killed off his own men, I'd only serve to convince civilians to side with the government. I wanted the opposite. The masked man stood in front of me, waiting patiently, his mask a painted smile. I wondered briefly how long he'd last. Then I wondered how much longer I'd be alive with this freak. What the hell was 'interesting' even suppose to mean, anyway? Maybe he just thought my brand was interesting. Even so…
I needed to clear my head. Seeing Cosette and Loup, well. That was already messing with me, dragging back things that I had buried with alcohol. I sighed, and glared at the masked man.
"I need to go out. I'll be back." I said flatly, my accent dying down some. The masked man shrugged, looking awkward. "Uhh, you'll have to talk to the boss," The man answered reluctantly, his voice deep. I raised an eyebrow at him, my face closed off of any emotion. I gestured towards the door, and he fumbled for a moment, before walking out. I followed him, and watched his movements carefully. Something about him struck me as odd. He didn't seem stupid, just…unaware. Like he was listening to someone else…
He may be crazy, as in, mentally ill. It could happen, and anarchists don't really attract sane people…
I walked down the hall, and the news was on, again. The same story playing. I flinched as I heard the word 'terrorist'. Bah, terrorist. It was the worst insult you could've possibly ever said to me. I was not a terrorist. I didn't want to strike fear into the hearts of my fellow people. I wanted to inspire them, open their eyes! Make them see, what they've been forced to give up! I wanted them to see, that we should all be able to choose, to start out our lives as street scum, and work our way up, instead of being shot on the street. I wanted them to feel, how wrong it was, that one civilian could buy butter, or soda, or alcohol!
It should not be what our country forces us to do; but what we force our country to do. They should be our voice; our cry! If we call out in fear and anger, they should echo us, softly carrying our voice up into the light of hope. We should not cower, not hide in the shadow's from guns and fat men who drink the finest wine, and butter their bread with the richest butter! We should not be slaves! It is the government, it is the king, or president, or dictator, or emperor; who should be slaves to their people! It is we who will prosper, and it is we who will suffer while they rest comfortably at our expense. How dare they, enslave us, throw us to the dog's, when they, yes they, eat like the king's they mock! Too spineless to even face the light, they're fat and bloated like slugs and maggots, feeding on the decay of their people.
It is them, those bureaucrats, who are the terrorists, not I! I did not cower behind my army when they came, stealing our lives in night like the thieving bastards they were. I stood and fought, no, we stood and fought. We, the so called terrorists, died trying to save an enslaved country from their own rulers. I did not ask them to rally, I did not ask them to put there families at risk. All who joined me, joined me with solemn faces, awaiting the dawn of our freedom! They did not cower, they did not weep, or swear. They stood proud, and praised our cause to God and the heavens above.
Who am I, to let 300 heroes be left dead, with no one to avenge them? If I had to start here, I would. I may not be able to do a thing in my home country, but I could start here.
I am there General, regardless of whether or not my army has fallen.
The tired look in my eye faded, as I thought deeply. I could work with this clown…for now. If I worked with him, I could slip in little changes in tactic's that would lessen the damage. I could work here, and have an impact there. I couldn't do all the work. The people needed to rally, they needed to fight. Not I. I was just the bird, the messenger. I whispered, and opened eyes, and I've fought my battles. If they wanted change, they had to seize the moment, they had to show their gall, their backbone.
Finally, we came to a room at the end of the hall. It looked like it'd gone through heavy abuse, and the man cleared his through.
"Uhh, Joker…the girl wants to talk to you." He said, and I glared. In the back of my mind, I took note of that name. It must've been what the idiot clown man wanted to be called.
"I am not a girl." I said, my voice a cold whip. I heard giggling from the room, and mysteriously, I got more annoyed. Hmm, no connection there at all.
"Oh, so you're a boy?" The clown, or Joker called, stepping out into the hallway.
"Only if you are a woman, Monsieur." I replied emotionlessly. "But I believe at this point in my life, I'm not a girl, but a woman." I finished, my eyes hard and my voice chilled. He leaned forward on the door frame, looking at me with dark brown eyes, no particular emotion playing across them. Before he laughed, dark and manically. I frowned, and sniffed distastefully. He was definitely strange, for a clown bastard.
"You're hair short enough." He cut back, after his chilling laughter had settled down. My fists clenched, and I glared. I really, really wanted to shove my foot up his ass.
"You've got ze makeup for it." I snapped back, moving forward some, my body ridged. "But, as offended I am, zat is not why I am here, Monsieur. I need to go and gather my things." I finished coldly, taking a hold of my temper, and rubbing my wrist where the brand was. He nodded and I left scarcely hearing the words he spoke to me. A heavy sadness fell on me and I remembered my friends. Not Gary, not Marie. My friends, the ones who stood with me. I could hear, distantly, as I walked through the dark halls the warehouse, exiting out into the night.
"Remember my child; Sacrifice is still a sin." I heard the priests voice echo, when I was beaten severely for stealing a chocolate bar for Cosette. She wanted it, it was just right there. I almost died, if I hadn't escaped, the Vestes Noir would've killed me. For stealing the candy bar, and for being street garbage. I hid in the church, and the priest found me. I didn't know where Loup and Cosette had run off to, but I was bleeding so badly I couldn't have cared.
He patched me up, saying nothing.
My lips tightened and thoughts of what happened to the priest as I walked down the dark streets of the foreign city. It was so much more…sinister than any of France's cities. Maybe it was the drug dealers, the rapists and murder's that seemed to line their streets like dirty asphalt. Maybe it just was the corruption…
Let's face it. I was a drunk, but not stupid. Most of their policemen were paid off.
I sighed, brushing it off. It wasn't my problem, I was living in this country because I was a coward who couldn't die with her own army. But that was probably going to be solved soon, with that clown bastard. Was Joker his real name?
I frowned, walking into Gary's bar. The sun was coming up and no one had bothered to fix the glass. I got to the bar and jotted down a quick note for his wife when she woke up before leaving to the back room to get the few things I owned.
It's sad to think that all I had to my name was a chess board (with the pieces), and as many newspaper clippings I'd had of the French government, Loup and Cosette. To say I wasn't tracking them would be a complete and utter lie.
I dug out five dollars from my bag and decided to take a walk around town before I went back to the warehouse. I just wanted to see the dawn. Once you lost you're freedom to even watch something as simple as a sunrise, it made you always want to take advantage of it.
I stood still, letting the warm light grace my hardened face, letting the grief wash over me. Losing so many friends, it was a grief that never left you. It sat, in the absence of your friends, and sang about the tomorrow that never came. It fed you regret, and played a ballad of sorrow and failure. It reminisced about the good times, when wine was sweet, and things were in motion. When love, could be won and lost fairly, just like life. Things weren't harsh, my childhood was forgotten, my scars seemed to fade away, and no one called me garbage, or street scum.
I heard a rustling, and my eyes opened slowly. To my left was a small child, just a boy. He was looking up at me, his face dirty and his eyes piercing. They seemed much older, his eyes. I could tell easily that he'd had a hard life. His hair was a reddish brown, and his skin was tanned. I twisted to look at him, my lip curling into a scowl.
"What do you want, garçon?" I asked, my accent again making my words cut and dry. The boy frowned, before smiling grandly, coming up beside me.
"You should be asking what I can do for you, miss! My name is Jake." He replied cheerfully, the emotion of his voice not reaching his eyes. I smiled, and let him walk me through the town, ignoring his tattered clothes and sorry jacket, even in the cold air.
"Oh, I zee. And you are going to give me a tour, garçon? " I asked, just a little sarcastic. I let him lead me to a part of the city where black, sleek sky scrapers pierced the sky, casting long dark shadows on us.
"It's be my duty as a citizen of Gotham!" Jake insisted, and I raised my eyebrow.
"What a kind Monsieur you are. Well, what is there to see in 'zis…um, how would you put it, wonderfully evil city?" I asked again, as the boy lead me into a dark sky scraper.
The receptionist scowled, and she pointed a talon towards the door, hissing English so fast, I couldn't quite understand her.
The boy stuck his tounge out at her, and I laughed.
"This is part of Wayne Enterprise. If you're going to be staying in this city, you gotta know about Mr. Wayne. He's the prince of Gotham, parents were murdered when he was a kid, and he's done a lot for us." The garcon explained, walking me further inside the building, many people working professionally, their visages cool in the beautiful building. We walked upstairs, and strangely no one stopped us. Mr. Wayne must've been a pretty arrogant man, not to expect someone to come after one of his buildings.
"That's pretty interesting," I commented, following the red headed boy, and looking out at the city, shifting my bag on my shoulder.
"That's not even the best part of Gotham," The boy declared proudly, and I smiled sincerely.
"We've got the Batman looking out for us now, he even saved me from the Scarecrow." The boy began, pulling up his loose, dirty, pants proudly. "When Crane went and dumped his fear stuff into the air, and went around killing people and watchin' people kill each other, he saved us." The boy said, stopping to look out at the city from the window, when a snort stretched across the air.
"The Batman is bad news. Better left to the police." A deep voice said, and the boy turned at the same time I did, seeing a handsome man in a dark suit, staring out at the city before staring at me with piercing eyes. The boy sniffed.
"Geez Mr. Wayne, you're messing up my job." Jake said, feigning offense. Wayne took out a twenty and handed it to Jake, crouching down.
"Go grab yourself some food." He said, handing Jake the money. Jake bowed to me, and ran off swiftly. I turned to go as well, when Wayne spoke.
"You know, security is on their way right now. Apparently, you entered the building and threatened the receptionist?"
"Monsieur Wayne, if I threatened your receptionist, she would not 'ave been able to call security." I remarked, my accent laden voice dismissive and airy. I had things to do anyway, who knows what that crazy ass clown fucker would do to me when I got back. I waved dismissively with my hand and left, ignoring Wayne when he called after me. I had things to do, better things to do than distract some rich playboy for a few minutes.
First, I needed to strategize. I couldn't let things here fail, and I couldn't change anything in France. At least, not yet. But, I could very easily avenge my army.
I needed to find them. Cosette and Loup.
I grinned, my skin stretching tight over my face, reminding me that at some point I'd have to steal some food, or ask the clown for some.
Preferrably, I'd rather steal than ask Joker for anything. I'm absolutely not going to lower myself to asking for his help.
It was a pretty long walk back to the warehouse.
I enjoyed it though, my hangover from the night before fading away. My bones creaked as I stretched, enjoying the warm dawn light in the frigid winter air. I stopped for a minute, on the bridge to the warehouse. I shifted my pack, looking over at a forsaken looking tower on an island that red 'Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane'. Hmm. What an odd place to put an insane asylum. Usually, as far as I'm aware, American's tended to keep the insane far away from their cities.
I shrugged it off, and kept walking. It was still early dawn when I'd gotten back and I'd already started to drink the alcohol I'd nicked from Gary (he wouldn't notice anyway…).
When I walked into the warehouse, and all the silent lackey's looked at me with grim and horrified faces, I knew what was coming. I'd probably get shot for taking so long. It wouldn't bother me too much. I'd been though worse.
Joker pranced out, his steps ironically betraying the anger in his dark eyes. They glittered manically with an energy that I couldn't place. I crossed my arms and sneered defiantly.
"Scared me there for a second. Thought you weren't, uh, coming back." He said, the timbre of his voice granting me the knowledge that I wasn't going to be walking out of this encounter unharmed. I didn't really care either way. Pain is pain. After awhile, it gets old.
"I keep my word, clown. I zaid I was not going to run, and I meant it." I replied, intentionally being rude. He sauntered closer, every step weighted with tension as everyone kept their eyes unconsciously glued to the clown. The room practically stunk of fear and anticipation, every breath drawn out and silent, everyone tensed except me. Joker stopped about a foot away from me.
"You're funnyyyyyy doll. Thing is, I don't like to be kept waiting." He said, and my eyes widened in shock.
I my eyes slowly slid from his bloody knife to the slash in my stomach. Blood dripped sluggishly down the front of my ruined shirt, and I looked over to the shocked faces of the men.
Their ages (and mental stability) ranged, as did their appearances. But they all wore the same expression; shock and disbelief. My fist shot out instinctively and hit the Joker's face a split second later. I grinned, as he fell back.
"What, vous didn't think I could take something so minor as a tiny 'ittle cut?" I asked, when I realized they were looking at the amount of blood I was losing. I sighed, and became aware of the sting. I tore my lacey old shirt and wrapped it around the wound as the Joker giggled at the faces of his men, then at me. I didn't understand this American. He was so…crazy? No. He was…Indescribable. You couldn't put it into words, the way the air stilled around him, yet he seemed to be thinking a thousand kilometer's a minute, made fear creep down your spine.
It was a horrible feeling. Tactically speaking, I watch everyone. I weigh their actions, to see possible outcomes, and I always act accordingly if I need to. Joker, though, was infuriating in that aspect. I didn't know what to expect…yet. I would figure him out eventually. Or at least learn something, some remote echo of a pattern.
"Well beau-ti-ful, you've got a few hours before you go out. Might wanna clean yourself up, I, uh, don't know how clean that knife was. You're rooms the last on the right" He said, smiling and pointing. I shrugged and turned to leave.
"I've been though worse." I grumbled, shifting the bag when it brushed my bullet wound.
"Aww, what a poor broken dolly-" The clown began, his voice close behind me, I could feel the ghost of his breath disturb my hair.
His comment made anger ricochet and crash within me. I whipped around, fury burning in my light brown eyes. I raised my arm, adrenaline making my body numb, and tried to back hand him across the face.
"'Ow dare you." I hissed from between snarling and clenched teeth. He caught my wrist and squeezed to the point I could feel my bones creak. I was so angry, I didn't feel any pain. Joker stared at me darkly, his eyes burning with an intense fire and for a second, I wondered what would happen. That feeling soon faded as I ripped my wrist out of his grasp and stormed away. I had things to do.
He laughed at me, and my pride flared. If I'd had better accesses to the old piece of shit gun in my bag, I would've shot him between the eyes. But, thanks to that freak, I was bleeding and needed to get that fixed before I bled out and became weak.
I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself. I'd have to learn to compromise some to deal with that freak. It was easy to consider…but harder to carry out. People always called me stubborn, prideful. Hmph.
Better to have some pride than to be a weak, cowardly, or spineless.
I would never be any of those things. Ever.
I walked down the dark hallway, a sense of despair washing over me. A sense of loss as I found my room and turned the doorknob; walking into the room. I closed the door behind me quietly. All that was in the room was a desk a chair and some blankets on the floor. I went and sat at the desk, taking out the chess pieces, and arranging them.
I was both the king and the queen. Right now, I was the king, the black king. On the side of wrong. No, right now I was the knight, having limited movements, restrained, protecting the Joker…
Who wasn't a chess piece at all. He couldn't be symbolized as such. I'd have to bend the rules some to figure it…
He was the black bishop, who sat next to the king. The king was a figure head, the bishop calling the shots. I moved the king forward, next to the knight (me) and the bishop took the king's old space. The black King could be the police… so I moved them directly one space away from me, unable to take my dark knight.
Loup and Cosette would be the castles, hiding behind the white queen and king, who were the secretive government of France. I doubt most American's even knew that France was communist. About twenty years ago, during one of their political standoff's, they closed off and fabricated a lot of video and news feed, so that way the communists didn't have to worry about anyone coming to the people's aid. No one has been allowed out of the country (legally, or with express permission from 'the government'). Even the people have no idea what's going on with the rest of the world now.
In fact, I don't even know what my government looks like. It's all kept under EXTREAMLY tight wraps. Whoever's calling the shots is unfortunately intelligent, and won't allow his/her face or name to be released to the public, or any government officials. I can't tell you how many failed interrogations I went through; from foot soldiers to captains. No one knew anything.
It made planning difficult, much like now. I stared down at the chessboard, the pieces a mess of black and white that only made sense to me. It was the beginnings of a dark war, on that chess board. I crossed my fingers and leaned on the table, resting my head on them.
I needed to get on the right fucking side, and kick away from this freak.
I also needed to figure out whether or not I was going to be sacrificed, or whether I was going to sacrifice myself. Then I shrugged it off, and stood up walking towards the corner of the room, sitting down and bringing my knee's to my chest, sighing.
I reached for my bag, and drug out the alcohol as pain stung my chest again. It didn't matter to me whether or not I was going to live.
Because, just like the good Father said to me. Sacrifice is still a Sin.
I drank some of the whiskey, felt it sear my throat as tears slowly dripped down my face. I was reminded, of a song I hear when I was a girl. It was in English, from a play about a failed revolution. I made sure to memorize each and every word, even though I couldn't understand it. I was still in the orphanage… The irony is that it seemed to fit my life so well now. I remember stubbornly trying not to cry as I heard the sorrow stricken lyrics as a child. How they inspired me, made me feel something in the grey hell before everything went to shit.
"There's a grief that can't be spoken. There's a pain, that goes on and on. Empty chairs, and empty tables, where my friends will meet no more. Oh my friends, my friends forgive me. That I live, and I go on. There's a grief that can't be spoken, and a pain that goes on and on." I sang, sadness radiating like a soft and feathery light from my voice, yet cascading in my chest like stormy seas. "My friends, my friends! Don't ask me! What your sacrifice was for. Empty chairs, and empty tables, where my friends will sit, no more." I finished, my throat creaking with the strain.
I sniffed, and wiped my tears, feeling angry. I was stupid, for letting such things get to me. It was worthless, completely fucking useless to worry about things. To feel like this, I was becoming pathetic.
These thoughts faded as the bottle in my hand slipped down to sit on the floor and my head leaned back against the wall. My eyes drifted shut, and I sighed, letting my drunken and numb mind slip into a restless sleep.