Chapter 28

Barbara put the phone down, a smirk on her lips. Her red-painted nails drummed against the desk. Specifically, on the receipt for a two-hundred-dollar videocamera. "This is gonna be sweet." She stated.

"Or sour." Tabitha leaned against the wall. Her arms crossed defensively. "Remind me again what all the smoke and mirrors are about?"

"Uh, hello?" Barbara smirked. "We can't very well ask Sinclair for a demonstration. She'd just get suspicious. But if she's suddenly attacked?" She chuckled. "The girl won't know any better."

Tabitha sighed. "Easy for you to say that. I'm gonna be the one punching the shit outta her." She tucked a few loose strands back into her tight ponytail. "You know I hate to sweat."

"Just keep it up until she uses her 'powers'." Barbara made air-quotes with the last word. "If the gangs think that she's easy to put down, then they won't want to form an alliance with us. They'll just grab their own damn shotguns."

Tabitha rolled her eyes. "They're welcome to. I'll gladly dance on that cunt's grave." Barbara didn't say anything. She knew how hard Tabitha had taken her brother's death. He had been a monster who had stabbed her, but he had still been her brother. And Ruby had been part of the team who'd brought him down. True, Penguin had been the real mastermind, and Butch had brought the bazooka. But Ruby had something of higher value: Penguin's affection.

Barbara's hand landed on Tabitha's slender shoulder. Gentle. Loving. "Let it out, babes." She encouraged her. "Let all the rage out."

The gloom lifted, if only a bit, from Tabitha's face. "Believe me. I will."

In that moment, there came a knock on the door. Both women spun around, wide-eyed with shock. There was a minute or so of silence. Then, a familiar voice called out, "Miss Kean?"

The Sirens shared a smirk. Barbara held out a carnival mask out to her friend. "Show-time." Tabitha snatched it. Tied the delicate ribbons against her skull. "I'll get the cloak."

On the floor below, Ruby thumped her head against the door. Great. So shouting through the keyhole wasn't going to work. But maybe this would. Inhaling sharply, she looked around. Seeing no one, Ruby closed her eyes and focused on the keyhole. Her entire body broke apart, reduced to a sand-like substance. It flowed and rippled through the keyhole, splashing gently against the floor. As it did, the form stabilized. In a matter of seconds, Ruby was standing in the desolate lobby, brushing herself off.

That was when a wiggling switchblade appeared at her feet. Ruby jumped. Stared at the weapon. How close it had been. Her head snapped up, eyes blazing. "Who's there?!" She called. When there was no answer, she growled. The rational part of her head told her to run the hell away. But the other, smaller part protested. Claimed that whomever had attacked ought to be put in their place.

Ruby's eyes narrowed. She peered at the floors, looking around with wide, attentive eyes. From the shadows, Barbara aimed the camera and pressed 'record'. Right in time for a masked figure to leap out. The tip of a knife pointed at Ruby's shoulderblades. The swish of the cape gave her away. Ruby spun around. Reached out. The figure's head jerked back in shock. But it was too late to retreat; gravity had claimed her. Ruby seized the figure by the throat. As easily as one might close one's fist around an ant.

Indigo eyes were like steel. The hand brought a struggling Tabitha closer. Ruby squinted at the mask. "Hey, weirdo." She mocked. "Halloween's over."

"Hi, pot." The voice was modified. Robotic. "I'm the kettle." Everything flashed by. Tabitha reached into her cloak. Whipped out a blade. Jammed it in the hand holding her captive. Ruby's scream rocketed across the walls like a rubber ball. She loosened her grip. Tabitha, sensing it, kicked Ruby in the jaw. The impact sent her flying. Ruby stumbled back, wheezing and cradling her hand. Blood seeped from it like ink from a broken pen. She grimaced.

"Does it hurt?" Tabitha cooed. She reached into her cloak. When she pulled out her hands again, there was a knife nestled between each finger. She tossed several of them in the air between her and Ruby. "Then, please enjoy it another forty-five times!" There was a flurry of singing silver and splitting flesh. Four knives made their way into Ruby's back. Then, another five.

Slash! Slash! Slash!

Cloth and skin tore open. Grimacing, eyes rolling, Ruby attacked. Tried to land punches and kicks, but only recieved more gashes. Tabitha dodged her lashings with lightning speed. She cut whenever she could. When Tabitha knelt down, out of Ruby's reach, Barbara zoomed in on the knives. They were dripping red. Tabitha sprung forward. "Gotcha!"

Ruby's eyes widened.

Saw red. Then, white.

Tabitha twirled the blade around her fingers. Behind her, Ruby collapsed. The woman smirked behind her mask. Every drop of blood feeding her vengeance.

Barbara huffed. She'd been hoping for more action, if only to make the video more interesting to look at. But oh, well.

Tabitha brushed herself off. "I ain't scared of no freak." She chuckled. Barbara rolled her eyes, already editing that lame reference out in her mind.

That was when the squishing noises emerged, like mud flowing from a pipe. Tabitha and Barbara both turned with surprised eyes. A large, rippling mass of clay was rising. Forming. Solidifying. Into a very healed, very angry Ruby Sinclair. "You should be." She lurched.

Tabitha extracted her gun. Shots shattered the air like glass. Punched holes in walls. Broke windows. But never touched Ruby, who split herself in two as she ran towards her. Barbara grimaced and zoomed in with horrified fascination. Ruby was literally split down the middle, with her divided organs and bones jiggling with every movement. Somehow, they were able to move; and quickly, too. Without a second's hesitation the two halves rejoined, grabbed Tabitha by the cape, and spun her in the air like a lasso. Threw her against the wall. Barbara gasped. Zoomed in on Ruby. A bullet nailed her in the arm, careening her backwards.

Smirking beneath her mask, ignoring the pain, Tabitha shot at her again. Ruby glared at her. Dissolved into nothing.

Tabitha froze, looking around in fear.

Ruby materialized behind her. Grabbed her by the neck and squeezed. Barbara gasped. Ruby squeezed tighter. And tighter. Her eyes were like orbs of glass. She could kill Tabitha, or not. No biggie.

A wheezing Tabitha reached into her cloak. Introduced her whip to Ruby's throat. Ruby only smiled darkly. Let go of Tabitha. She sank beneath the floorboards, the whip still circling her neck. Tabitha was pulled down. On her knees. A hand shot out from between the boards. Grabbed her by the mask. Whammed her head against the floor once. Twice. Then, a sucker-punch sent Tabitha sliding against the floor. Tiny strands of clay rose from the cracks and gaps. Intertwining as effortlessly as threads in a tapestry. In a moment, probably less, Ruby was crouching before Tabitha's fallen form. She smirked. "I hope you've learned your lesson." She reached out for the mask again.

A gunshot resounded. A hole appeared in Ruby's arm. Ruby shrieked like a banshee. Clutched her bleeding limb close. Looking around wildly, she could see no one. Hissing, she dissolved into a torrent of dust. Flew out one of the gaping windows. Tabitha watched her go, gasping and wincing. She tore the mask from her face. Gulping in the stale air. Barbara snapped the camera's lid over the lense. "And...that's a wrap, honey!" She called down. "Just let me edit this thing, and woosh! Off to the Internet!"


Oswald wiped his blade clean, taking care to scrub at the clumps of congealing blood. Once he was sure that the knife was as clean as a cloth could get it, he gently placed it in a pot of warm, soapy water. That done, he cracked his neck. The bones popped in a very satisfying manner. He glanced at the body still strapped to the chair. "The next time you tell me who you are working for," he said softly, "I expect an answer before I cut your Achilles' tendon." The body didn't reply. Just sat there, gushing blood and staring off into space. Or perhaps whatever afterlife awaits us. Smirking, Oswald blew on the now-clean blade. Tucked it away. "Oh, well. I'm a forgiving man. I'll let bygones be bygones."

Oswald glanced at the wall, where various brass bells hung like bowed heads. He rang the one at the far end. Within minutes, he knew that the part-time help would show up and get rid of the body. They would never talk. Oswald knew it. Most of these servants were young adults in need of money. If he gave them enough to pay their bills, they would keep silent if he blew up Hawaii.

Speaking of blowing stuff up...

Oswald rang another bell. This time, the one in the center. Hopefully, his secretary wouldn't forget any papers this time.

As he waited, sipping at his wine, Oswald took a moment to appreciate the decor. This was one of the sitting rooms meant for little beyond leisure and relaxation. There was a well-polisheed record player positioned under one of the arched windows. When the sun hit the right angle, the golden horn caught fire. This room, which was eighty paces long and sixty paces wide, was themed in red. Oxblood wallpaper closed in on him, making him feel hidden and secure. The carpets varied from pale red to deep rose, making it look like a patchwork of drying blood. The furniture was framed in polished wood and lined in velvet. As with most of the mansion's rooms, it had high ceilings and countless artifacts of wealth. One of these was a huge piano sitting in the corner. He remembered Father playing it from time to time. Not often. But sometimes. Ruby had told him that, once upon a time, Father had played it every morning. He'd stopped when his mother died.

Not for the first time, Oswald wondered what his ancestors had been like. Of course, he'd known what jobs they had pursued, and what choices had led to the gigantic fortune now sitting in his bank account. No, what he really wanted to know was what they had been like. Had any of them travelled, seeing far better places than Gotham yet couldn't bring themselves to move? Had they led happy, eventful lives? Had they had likes and dislikes that coincided with his?

Well, he would never know.

Oswald glanced out the window. All he could see were meadows and trees, with a few other large villas in the distance. Beyond them, Gotham's filthy towers spread across the horizon like a black-gray smudge. He thought of Arkham Asylum hidden somewhere among those ruined buildings. And the inmate that had once been his friend.

Edward was still skeptical about Oswald's visit. Distant. Like he expected Oswald to simply grow bored and stop showing up. Even though Oswald had already shown up twice, and had been nothing but kind to him. Well, it was to be expected. The man had been bullied and mistreated his entire life. It was normal for him to be distrustful. Besides, Oswald himself hadn't been much better. He'd been out of Arkham for almost a year now, and he'd only just started contacting Ed. Sometimes, the thought that kept him awake at night was: why? Why hadn't he gotten back in touch with Ed sooner?

Oswald told himself that it was because the time had to be ripe for that sort of thing. He'd spent months brainwashed. Then, it had taken him twice as long to begin climbing back up the ladder of outlawed relevance. Gangs had taken a while to fear and respect him again. Even with their promised alliance, they had still stirred up trouble from time to time. And there were still groups that refused to accept reality. Oswald would deal with them, once again, when the time was ripe.

But if there's one person you can never completely deceive, it's yourself.

If Oswald glimpsed deep inside himself, he saw the real reason he'd started visiting Ed.

It was because he missed having a dear, close friend. And he and Ruby were not ready to forgive each other. Maybe they never would be.

In that moment, there came a timid knock. Oswald sighed. "Come in!"

A pair of students slid inside, looking down and scratching the backs of their necks. Ew. If they turned out to be carrying fleas, Oswald would have them disinfected from head to toe. They loitered at the doorway, silently waiting for instructions. Oswald drank his wine and pointed at the corpse. They nodded and got to work. Oswald turned away, sipping and thinking. But he didn't get the chance; someone knocked once more. "Excuse me, sir?"

Oswald spun around, exasperated. The red wine sloshed from his goblet. It trickled down his clenched hand and drummed against the crimson carpet. "Good Lord," he swore, "can't anyone enjoy a fine vintage without all this ruckus?"

Standing before him was the sectrary, Daisy or Dolly or Dana. He honestly couldn't remember. She was a plump woman who always wore ridiculous pastel dresses and even more ridiculous hairdos. That made Oswald want to keep her in the office, just for the entertainment. But right now, he was more interested in the sacks clutched in her dainty, blue-nailed hands. He reached out with one hand. Dipped the first two fingers back towards himself. "Gimme." He ordered simply.

Daisy/Dolly/Dana hurried forth on her four-inch heels. Handed over the sacks, each with a gang's logo sewn on the belly. Oswald peered inside. Inhaled deeply. "Aaah." He grinned. "There is no scent quite like that of debt." Setting down his chalice, he began leafing through the sacks. Trying to count the crisp notes by touch alone. "Have they been laundried properly?" He asked.

"Of course, sir." Daisy/Dolly/Dana nodded. Her beehive hairdo wobbled unsteadily. Oswald stared at it. God, she could hide a can of Pringles in that thing. She kept her eyes respectfully on the ground. "Every gang working for you has paid either on time or early." She held out the bags. "This is your forty-percent cut from drug sales, Internet fraud, and tax evasion."

Oswald didn't take them. "And that all amounts to how much?"

Daisy/Dolly/Dana stopped. Thought a moment. Then recited: "Three million, twenty-seven thousand, eight hundred, and fifty-two dollars in total. Which means-"

"Not a bad day." Oswald waved her off. Already turning back to his wine cabinet. "Leave a thousand. I might feel like going out this evening. But I want the rest brought to the bank and deposited in my account." He shot her a quick, snarky smile. "Thank you, chèrie."

Daisy/Dolly/Dana nodded rapidly. "Yes, of course, Mr. Cobblepot. I'm all over it. Consider it done." She quickly scuttled away. As she slinked past the yawning doors, an approaching Butch brushed past her. He was cradling his laptop with both hands and smirking.

Oswald arched a brow. Limped forward, his cane thumping with the rhythm of a beating heart. "What is it, Butch? Have you taken care of the runt who slashed my tires?"

"Yep." Butch grinned. "He got all the slashes he put on the tires...plus some."

Oswald nodded. "Very good." He straightened. "Anything else?"

"Well," Butch stifled a giggle, "have you seen the video Barbara posted?"

Oswald frowned. "No."

"Oh, you should!" Butch sniggered. "It's only been up for a couple of hours, and it's already got a thousand hits! 'Clay Freak Walks Among Us'!"

Something about that title made Oswald tremble. He did his best to feign indifference. "Why would I care about what Barbara does?"

"Because a) it has to do with Sinclay, or whatever the fuck her name is," Butch said, "and b) it's fucking hilarious!"

Oswald's jaw tightened. "Let me see."

Butch did. The fight only lasted six minutes and forty seconds, but it was enough to dig a trench in Oswald's gut. He bit his lip as he watched Ruby getting sliced, bleeding all over the place. His heart sank in deep mud when she collapsed. When she fought back, however, he felt an odd sense of pride. But her face was still very clear in the video, and in the description, her full name could be seen. When it finally finished, Oswald felt like his feet had turned to rubber. But he still put on a poker face as he looked at Butch. "Ruby is not violent," he stated calmly, "and you know it."

"Yeah?" Butch snorted. "Watch it again and tell me what she's like."

In one swoop Oswald swung his cane down. It collided with the laptop in an explosion of glass, plastic, and wood. Butch's beefy hands groped at the empty air. The cracked computer lay at his feet. Without blinking Oswald brought his cane down on it again. And again. And again. Until the top half broke off the bottom, the keyboard disassembled, and the screen was a hollow shell filled with broken glass.

Butch stared at his seven-hundred-dollar computer, hopelessly destroyed, before turning fearfully at Oswald. Icy-blues were like windows to the tundra. Butch swallowed. "Okay." He said. "I won't watch her video anymore. Or pass it on."

"Thank you."