Disclaimer-goodness: I do not own Batman, or anything in the DC universe.
If I made money on this I wouldn't put it where it could get me in trouble,
so worry not, corporate executive types! I am gaining nothing from this but
spent time, a sense of accomplishment, and a little admiration!
Part Three : A Little Change
Sharona opened her eyes and stretched her legs, yawning a bit before realizing that her sore arms were still bound together in the straightjacket. Grumbling good-naturedly, she stood, having thought of a brilliant course of action while sleeping. She behaved as a guard came in to undo her straightjacket, a blandly contented smile on her face. She rolled her shoulders around a bit, rubbing her elbows as she was let out to eat breakfast with the other inmates. Glancing up at Pamela, she smiled, flashing her bright white teeth.
"Hi, Pammie. I think I'll have a meeting with Doctor-proctor after brekkies," she said cheerfully, her arms folded behind her head. Pamela looked the girl over, slightly worried. Most people tended to have worse reactions to spending twenty-four hours in a straightjacket after being locked in a wet basement for two days. It occurred to Pam that, combined with the strange behavior of the night before, Sora's actions now clearly indicated that the girl had gone down another rung on the ladder of mental stability.
"Er," she said after a moment, smiling a bit awkwardly down at the girl. "I suppose so. How are you feeling?" It probably wasn't the most intellectual thing she could have said, but Pam had no idea how close to Planet Earth Sora's mind was today.
"I feel fine. Hungry, but that is easily fixed," the younger girl replied, wiggling her slippered feet. "You know, I half-wish they'd left the straightjacket on. I would have needed you to hold my tray for me until I got to a table," she added, scratching the back of her neck with a thoughtful look on her face, "but I had thought up a way to eat the oatmeal stuff with my feet last night."
Pam couldn't help but smile at the mental image, and she ruffled the girl's hair.
"You're just too cute, Sora dear, did you know that?" she asked playfully, a sunny smile adorning her face. Sharona giggled, sitting down in a sort-of lotus position at the table with Pam, across from the empty seat next to Harvey Dent. She propped her chin in her hands, staring blankly ahead as she ate her oatmeal and half-listened to Pam and Harvey talk. She happened to glance down as a large cockroach crawled across the table and into her bowl.
Her shrill scream echoed slightly throughout the cafeteria as she jumped back, quickly turning the bowl over and trapping the roach. Pam and Harvey turned to her, Pamela looking concerned, Harvey looking slightly annoyed. Sharona took a deep breath, pointing at the bowl.
"Roach. It got in my food. I almost ate it!" she whimpered, clinging to Pamela's arm. "Roaches have so many germs it's not even funny, ugh, ugh, ugh!"
Pamela laughed a little as Harvey rolled his eyes, both faces looking annoyed and embarrassed to some degree. Sharona shuddered, sitting down again as a skinny, lanky thing of a man came over and sat down next to her. Jonothan Crane looked absolutely ecstatic, which was a pretty scary expression for that face of his.
"Have we finally found that which you fear, my dear Miss Kissinger?" he asked softly, getting a strange look from the girl in question. Sharona sighed, shaking her head.
"No, Doctor Crane," she sighed again, pointing at her overturned oatmeal bowl. "A roach went into my food. My scream was not that of fear. It was a shocked and worried reaction to the sight of a germ-laden insect flailing around in the food I was about to eat. Okay? I told you what I'm afraid of already, it's your job to get it."
"My dear, I do not have the means to summon Nyarlathotep. Are you sure you're not afraid of the cockroach?"
"Positive," she answered sourly, giving him the evil eye. "Jonothan, why are you bugging me about this? I thought I did ask for you not to try and see if you could terrify me. You promised you wouldn't. You did."
"It was just a little curiosity, my dear," he said with that same creepy smile. Breakfast was essentially over for Sharona, so she stood, rubbing her elbows.
"I have a meeting with a demon. A shiny demon standin' in the middle of the road," she trailed off, looking up at the huge orderly who had entered the room. He came over, gesturing for her to stand as he led her off. She sighed, giving Pamela a little wave as she left with him. "I'll see you whenever," she yawned, exiting the room with the much larger man's hands on her shoulders.
Once she had gone, Pamela turned to Harvey, looking concerned.
"Harv', she's starting to worry me," she said quietly, her eyebrows raised. He didn't comment, although his good eye glanced up at her, letting her know that he was indeed listening. She sighed, continuing, "She's been acting strangely the past few days- well, strange for her. It's weird. It's like she knows who she is and what she acts like, but sometimes she slips. It's like she's someone else sometimes." She smirked a little as he obviously became more interested, both eyes on her now. "And last night, she was talking to herself, and- oh, I know she does that all the time!" she exclaimed, exasperated. "The point is, she was a totally different PERSON talking to… whoever she was talking to! A pregnant woman named Jean or Jeannie or something, of all things. She was acting really weird, and I think that bastard Fenton has something to do with it."
"That's nice," he grunted, poking around his breakfast. "You want me to do something about it or what?"
"Please?"
There was a soft clink and a swift shine of silver as he flipped his coin.
"Sorry, doll."
"I'm tired of this, Miss Kissinger."
"Good, so am I," Sharona announced, looking him dead in the eye. "Let's try a little honesty. Let's play a little game. You like playing games with your patients, don't you, Ricky." Her last sentence was anything but a question; she would play the 'game' regardless of whether he played or not.
Dr Richard Fenton smiled. He never lost a game.
"It works like this, Ricky. You ask me something, and I'll give you the truth in the form of a lyric. You figure out what my answer is from that. Think you're smart enough for that?" she asked, smirking.
"Alright, what is your name?" The question was simple enough, but he didn't expect her to know any lyrics that had the name "Sora" in them. Grinning, she burst into song.
"Ooh, my little pretty one, pretty one. When you gonna give me some time*" she ended abruptly, looking expectantly at him. It took a few seconds of thought for him to make the connection.
"Sharona?" He smiled when she nodded, although he didn't quite understand. Jotting down a note on that, he looked up for the second question. "Alright. Why, if your name's Sharona, have you been leading us to believe that your name's Sora?"
"Why'd you hafta go an' make things so complicated?"
"Avril Lavigne?"
"COMPLICATED. It's complicated."
"Ah. I see."
"You're not too bright for a Doctor."
"Who are you?"
"Take this pink ribbon off my eyes. I'm exposed, and it's no big surprised. Don't you think I know exactly where I stand? This world is forcing me to hold your hand."
"Just a girl, hm?" Richard leaned back, his eyes narrowed.
"Why aren't you asking me anything important?" Sharona blurted, looking over at him. "I mean, wouldn't you like to know at least a little what it is that makes these wheels turn, what makes these cogs cog away?"
"Not really." He leaned back, tilting his head. "Are you finished with that sad little feeling of self-worth you walked in here with, you arrogant little idiot?"
"Oh, you noticed? I was beginning to think you'd lost your touch. Actually, I was wondering how long it's been since Korra died," Sharona mused smugly, leaning back. Only two living people had the knowledge that Richard had had a fiance named Korra who had died, the man himself and his father. Sharona, being the creator of the character, had heaped tragedy upon the doctor to make a reason for his assholic nature. It didn't mean she hated him any less.
Richard pretended not to notice. He would not lose his composure in front of a patient, especially a smallfry like Sora "The Fabulous K" Kissinger. She wasn't even a real Rogue, she was more like a groupie.
"You know how she died, right? I mean, it'd be a shame for her own boyfriend not to know how she found out about how Ricky dearest was busy chasing tail of the straightjacket variety. She was a nice person, but I guess a little unstable, if she thought the best way to work out a relationship problem was a bullet to the brain." She had struck a nerve, and she figured that out right about when his hand tightened around her thin throat. "Calm down, Rick. All this will get you are more nightmares and you damn well know it."
"Yes, actually," she continued as his hand loosened a little, the shock registering behind the blankly angry expression in his eyes. "I guess you're wondering how I know this shit, right?" She leaned back, smirking.
"Romeo and Juliet would kill Shakespeare if they had the chance, for writing them into such miserable existences. You do have that chance, right now." He folded his arms across his chest, an eyebrow raised.
"I'm not quite sure I follow you, Kissinger."
"I made you. In a way, I killed your mother. Korra. Elaine. I drove your father insane. I give you nightmares every night. If not for me, you, and everything that is connected to your history, would not exist. Get it? I'm a writer, Richard James Fenton. I wrote you."
The look in his eyes was quickly replaced with hardness. Anger. And then, amusement. He wrote something down in his notepad.
"I suppose you've become more delusional than usual. Messiah complexes are never good, you know. I've been itching to try out electroshock treatment on you." He smiled, and so did she, standing up and leaning against his chest. She stood forward on her tiptoes, his hands holding her wrists.
"You can tell them I have a Messiah complex if you want. I might have a few screws loose, but I'm not insane," she murmured, leaning up against his chest. Richard could hardly believe it. This girl was putting the moves on him? That was nearly as improbable as the sharp knee to the groin she hit him with. She frowned, looking down at his body, curled up in pain on the floor of his office.
"Richard, Richard, Richard. Never kiss a girl who just finished telling you what an ass you are," she sighed, crouching down next to him. She held out her hand and dealt him a swift punch to the side of his head, fairly effectively knocking him out. Frowning, Sharona stood, wondering what she should do now. A small voice, tinny and distant, purred in the back of her mind. The window. Use the desk to break out the window.
"Um," she whispered, looking at the desk, then at the medium-sized window with its vertical bars. "I can't pick up the desk, and I don't think I'm strong enough to break out those bars." She wasn't sure of who exactly she was speaking to, but hey- Sharona wrote those headgoblins into existence. Just because she hadn't thought up a good reason for that existence didn't mean they weren't generally good.
The chair, then. Lift the chair and throw it at the window. Then jump out, we'll take care of the rest.
"Right," Sharona growled, picking the chair up and breaking the window with it. She took a deep breath, staring at the open window before clambering out and onto the windowledge. She stared down at the water below her, sucking lightly on her lower lip.
"If I jump, will I end up alright?"
Yes. We need you in one piece for now.
Sharona took a deep breath and jumped.
Part Three : A Little Change
Sharona opened her eyes and stretched her legs, yawning a bit before realizing that her sore arms were still bound together in the straightjacket. Grumbling good-naturedly, she stood, having thought of a brilliant course of action while sleeping. She behaved as a guard came in to undo her straightjacket, a blandly contented smile on her face. She rolled her shoulders around a bit, rubbing her elbows as she was let out to eat breakfast with the other inmates. Glancing up at Pamela, she smiled, flashing her bright white teeth.
"Hi, Pammie. I think I'll have a meeting with Doctor-proctor after brekkies," she said cheerfully, her arms folded behind her head. Pamela looked the girl over, slightly worried. Most people tended to have worse reactions to spending twenty-four hours in a straightjacket after being locked in a wet basement for two days. It occurred to Pam that, combined with the strange behavior of the night before, Sora's actions now clearly indicated that the girl had gone down another rung on the ladder of mental stability.
"Er," she said after a moment, smiling a bit awkwardly down at the girl. "I suppose so. How are you feeling?" It probably wasn't the most intellectual thing she could have said, but Pam had no idea how close to Planet Earth Sora's mind was today.
"I feel fine. Hungry, but that is easily fixed," the younger girl replied, wiggling her slippered feet. "You know, I half-wish they'd left the straightjacket on. I would have needed you to hold my tray for me until I got to a table," she added, scratching the back of her neck with a thoughtful look on her face, "but I had thought up a way to eat the oatmeal stuff with my feet last night."
Pam couldn't help but smile at the mental image, and she ruffled the girl's hair.
"You're just too cute, Sora dear, did you know that?" she asked playfully, a sunny smile adorning her face. Sharona giggled, sitting down in a sort-of lotus position at the table with Pam, across from the empty seat next to Harvey Dent. She propped her chin in her hands, staring blankly ahead as she ate her oatmeal and half-listened to Pam and Harvey talk. She happened to glance down as a large cockroach crawled across the table and into her bowl.
Her shrill scream echoed slightly throughout the cafeteria as she jumped back, quickly turning the bowl over and trapping the roach. Pam and Harvey turned to her, Pamela looking concerned, Harvey looking slightly annoyed. Sharona took a deep breath, pointing at the bowl.
"Roach. It got in my food. I almost ate it!" she whimpered, clinging to Pamela's arm. "Roaches have so many germs it's not even funny, ugh, ugh, ugh!"
Pamela laughed a little as Harvey rolled his eyes, both faces looking annoyed and embarrassed to some degree. Sharona shuddered, sitting down again as a skinny, lanky thing of a man came over and sat down next to her. Jonothan Crane looked absolutely ecstatic, which was a pretty scary expression for that face of his.
"Have we finally found that which you fear, my dear Miss Kissinger?" he asked softly, getting a strange look from the girl in question. Sharona sighed, shaking her head.
"No, Doctor Crane," she sighed again, pointing at her overturned oatmeal bowl. "A roach went into my food. My scream was not that of fear. It was a shocked and worried reaction to the sight of a germ-laden insect flailing around in the food I was about to eat. Okay? I told you what I'm afraid of already, it's your job to get it."
"My dear, I do not have the means to summon Nyarlathotep. Are you sure you're not afraid of the cockroach?"
"Positive," she answered sourly, giving him the evil eye. "Jonothan, why are you bugging me about this? I thought I did ask for you not to try and see if you could terrify me. You promised you wouldn't. You did."
"It was just a little curiosity, my dear," he said with that same creepy smile. Breakfast was essentially over for Sharona, so she stood, rubbing her elbows.
"I have a meeting with a demon. A shiny demon standin' in the middle of the road," she trailed off, looking up at the huge orderly who had entered the room. He came over, gesturing for her to stand as he led her off. She sighed, giving Pamela a little wave as she left with him. "I'll see you whenever," she yawned, exiting the room with the much larger man's hands on her shoulders.
Once she had gone, Pamela turned to Harvey, looking concerned.
"Harv', she's starting to worry me," she said quietly, her eyebrows raised. He didn't comment, although his good eye glanced up at her, letting her know that he was indeed listening. She sighed, continuing, "She's been acting strangely the past few days- well, strange for her. It's weird. It's like she knows who she is and what she acts like, but sometimes she slips. It's like she's someone else sometimes." She smirked a little as he obviously became more interested, both eyes on her now. "And last night, she was talking to herself, and- oh, I know she does that all the time!" she exclaimed, exasperated. "The point is, she was a totally different PERSON talking to… whoever she was talking to! A pregnant woman named Jean or Jeannie or something, of all things. She was acting really weird, and I think that bastard Fenton has something to do with it."
"That's nice," he grunted, poking around his breakfast. "You want me to do something about it or what?"
"Please?"
There was a soft clink and a swift shine of silver as he flipped his coin.
"Sorry, doll."
"I'm tired of this, Miss Kissinger."
"Good, so am I," Sharona announced, looking him dead in the eye. "Let's try a little honesty. Let's play a little game. You like playing games with your patients, don't you, Ricky." Her last sentence was anything but a question; she would play the 'game' regardless of whether he played or not.
Dr Richard Fenton smiled. He never lost a game.
"It works like this, Ricky. You ask me something, and I'll give you the truth in the form of a lyric. You figure out what my answer is from that. Think you're smart enough for that?" she asked, smirking.
"Alright, what is your name?" The question was simple enough, but he didn't expect her to know any lyrics that had the name "Sora" in them. Grinning, she burst into song.
"Ooh, my little pretty one, pretty one. When you gonna give me some time*" she ended abruptly, looking expectantly at him. It took a few seconds of thought for him to make the connection.
"Sharona?" He smiled when she nodded, although he didn't quite understand. Jotting down a note on that, he looked up for the second question. "Alright. Why, if your name's Sharona, have you been leading us to believe that your name's Sora?"
"Why'd you hafta go an' make things so complicated?"
"Avril Lavigne?"
"COMPLICATED. It's complicated."
"Ah. I see."
"You're not too bright for a Doctor."
"Who are you?"
"Take this pink ribbon off my eyes. I'm exposed, and it's no big surprised. Don't you think I know exactly where I stand? This world is forcing me to hold your hand."
"Just a girl, hm?" Richard leaned back, his eyes narrowed.
"Why aren't you asking me anything important?" Sharona blurted, looking over at him. "I mean, wouldn't you like to know at least a little what it is that makes these wheels turn, what makes these cogs cog away?"
"Not really." He leaned back, tilting his head. "Are you finished with that sad little feeling of self-worth you walked in here with, you arrogant little idiot?"
"Oh, you noticed? I was beginning to think you'd lost your touch. Actually, I was wondering how long it's been since Korra died," Sharona mused smugly, leaning back. Only two living people had the knowledge that Richard had had a fiance named Korra who had died, the man himself and his father. Sharona, being the creator of the character, had heaped tragedy upon the doctor to make a reason for his assholic nature. It didn't mean she hated him any less.
Richard pretended not to notice. He would not lose his composure in front of a patient, especially a smallfry like Sora "The Fabulous K" Kissinger. She wasn't even a real Rogue, she was more like a groupie.
"You know how she died, right? I mean, it'd be a shame for her own boyfriend not to know how she found out about how Ricky dearest was busy chasing tail of the straightjacket variety. She was a nice person, but I guess a little unstable, if she thought the best way to work out a relationship problem was a bullet to the brain." She had struck a nerve, and she figured that out right about when his hand tightened around her thin throat. "Calm down, Rick. All this will get you are more nightmares and you damn well know it."
"Yes, actually," she continued as his hand loosened a little, the shock registering behind the blankly angry expression in his eyes. "I guess you're wondering how I know this shit, right?" She leaned back, smirking.
"Romeo and Juliet would kill Shakespeare if they had the chance, for writing them into such miserable existences. You do have that chance, right now." He folded his arms across his chest, an eyebrow raised.
"I'm not quite sure I follow you, Kissinger."
"I made you. In a way, I killed your mother. Korra. Elaine. I drove your father insane. I give you nightmares every night. If not for me, you, and everything that is connected to your history, would not exist. Get it? I'm a writer, Richard James Fenton. I wrote you."
The look in his eyes was quickly replaced with hardness. Anger. And then, amusement. He wrote something down in his notepad.
"I suppose you've become more delusional than usual. Messiah complexes are never good, you know. I've been itching to try out electroshock treatment on you." He smiled, and so did she, standing up and leaning against his chest. She stood forward on her tiptoes, his hands holding her wrists.
"You can tell them I have a Messiah complex if you want. I might have a few screws loose, but I'm not insane," she murmured, leaning up against his chest. Richard could hardly believe it. This girl was putting the moves on him? That was nearly as improbable as the sharp knee to the groin she hit him with. She frowned, looking down at his body, curled up in pain on the floor of his office.
"Richard, Richard, Richard. Never kiss a girl who just finished telling you what an ass you are," she sighed, crouching down next to him. She held out her hand and dealt him a swift punch to the side of his head, fairly effectively knocking him out. Frowning, Sharona stood, wondering what she should do now. A small voice, tinny and distant, purred in the back of her mind. The window. Use the desk to break out the window.
"Um," she whispered, looking at the desk, then at the medium-sized window with its vertical bars. "I can't pick up the desk, and I don't think I'm strong enough to break out those bars." She wasn't sure of who exactly she was speaking to, but hey- Sharona wrote those headgoblins into existence. Just because she hadn't thought up a good reason for that existence didn't mean they weren't generally good.
The chair, then. Lift the chair and throw it at the window. Then jump out, we'll take care of the rest.
"Right," Sharona growled, picking the chair up and breaking the window with it. She took a deep breath, staring at the open window before clambering out and onto the windowledge. She stared down at the water below her, sucking lightly on her lower lip.
"If I jump, will I end up alright?"
Yes. We need you in one piece for now.
Sharona took a deep breath and jumped.