DISCLAIMER!!!!! ALYCE BELONGS TO THE FF.NET AUTHOR BY THE PEN NAME OF ALYCE
TETCH! USED WITH HER LOVELY PERMISSION! I FORGOT THE DISCLAIMER EARLIER!
AAHH!!!
The pitch black turned to a sort of misty gray flecked with blue, gradually lightening into a skittish view of the world. Sharona took two more steps forward before rainwater spilled down the gutter, soaking her bare feet with cold water. She blinked, realizing with some measure of alarm that she had been unconscious and was now awake, and apparently already busy. The blue flicker around the corner of her sight gave a small chuckle.
"It's about time. I've been steering you around for some time now," it said, fluttering down to just behind her shoulder. "You do know how to read English, right, Sharona?"
"Yeah, of course I do," she responded weakly, before realizing that for the first time someone in Gotham called her by her real name. She became slightly more alert, perking her ears a little. "You know who I am."
"Yes. Are you ready to use your own body now?"
"Wait, wait, who are you?"
"Surely you know."
"No, I don't. Not really," she replied, vaguely aware of her legs moving of their own volition.
"I suppose you might call me 3Jane."
"3Jane? Where did that come from?"
"Your subconscious, I guess."
Sharona realized that she was walking on her own now. She paused, glancing across the street at the Radioshack electronics store. It appeared to be dark. Everything did, she thought to herself with a small smile. It's raining and it's night. Of course it's dark.
A flash of whitish blue, and two people who might have stepped right from the mind of Lewis Carroll appeared just inside the door. The pair went to work, expertly lifting certain items and putting them carefully into a bag. It took Sharona a second to recognize the man- Jervis Tetch. Mad Hatter. She looked at the young woman, the pretty- if demented- blue and white frock making her suddenly conscious of her rather drab (and by now, torn and dirty, as well as soaking wet) Arkham garments. She ran across the street, barely dodging a speeding car. Coughing, she sat down on the wet pavement, staring up at the locked glass door that stood between her and the Wonderlandian criminal duo.
*Try knocking,* the amused voice of 3Jane whispered.
Sharona lightly tapped the glass of the door with the knuckles of her right hand, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the glass. It startled her to see the dark circles under her eyes, but more shocking was the slight curl of a tattoo on her forearm, barely showing under the sleeve of her inmate's jersey. Pushing the sleeve up, she exhaled slowly to see more of the jagged, dark blue tribal design. She rubbed her skin, hoping against hope that it was painted on- no such luck. That's definitely skin.
*I got those tattoos you wanted, * 3Jane commented dryly. *At least, I hope you wanted them. You've got them now. *
Growling, Sharona knocked on the door again, harder. Startled, Hatter and the young woman looked up. Either by dimly recognizing her face or noticing her standard-issue Arkham clothing, they realized she was not a threat. The Mad Hatter walked to the door and opened it, a slightly irritated look on his face.
"No room! No room!" he cried, waving her away. It took her a few seconds to remember to speak Alice-In-Wonderland-ese to him.
"There's plenty of room!" she said tiredly, hands on her hips. "Hey, Hatter, I was in the neighborhood, and I*"
"WHO are you?" the young woman asked suddenly, her emerald eyes narrowed. Sharona took a deep breath, looking her over.
"I- I hardly know, miss, just at the present- a-at least, I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been, ah, changed since then," she said softly, 3Jane filling in for the part she forgot.
*That is sort of appropriate, if you think about it, * 3Jane said quietly, and Sharona could hear the smile in her (?) voice.
Alyce walked to Sharona, glancing at the spot just above her shoulder before looking at her face.
"What do you want?" she asked, taking note of Sharona's dripping wet and dirty Arkham garments. Sighing, she folded her arms across her chest, feeling sorry for the disheveled girl.
"I think I just need a place to stay, for just, like, tonight. Um," she stuttered, her face turning red. "What I mean is, um, I just got myself out of Arkham and I just need to, ah, get myself together, maybe sleep a bit."
"That's very nice, but we don't know you," Alyce said dryly, her emerald eyes narrowed.
"My name's, um, Sora," Sharona answered, cracking her knuckles nervously. "I guess you don't know me, but your friend, um, Mister Tetch got me to paint something for him a while back."
"Tea Party in Pinks and Blues," Hatter said calmly, shouldering his bag of illegitimately gotten goodies. "I remember you now. You didn't ask for anything, you simply said to wait until you needed a favor."
"Yeah," Sharona sighs, relieved. She'd edited that scene out of the final draft of her story, but apparently it still counted for something. "If it's alright with you, I'd, um, like to collect that favor now. Please? I just need someplace to spend the night, and a change of clothes, but I can handle that part on my own."
"Well," Hatter shrugged, looking at Alyce, who mereky shrugged in return. "I suppose you might stay for one night, Miss Sora."
"Thanks," Sharona breathed out, visibly stifling the urge to hug the both of them. She danced a little on her feet, starting to feel a bit anxious. "So, I guess I'll be on the couch, or whatever, right?"
----
Alyce glanced at a clock as she passed by the empty living room, noting that Sora had been gone for well over three hours. The girl had wolfed down a bowl of cheerios and then taken a short nap, sprawled on the couch with an innocent look on her face. Then she'd gotten up a little less then a half-hour later and left, exclaiming that she would return as soon as possible with a change of more suitable clothing. Three hours later. nothing. She sighed, sitting down on the couch with a magazine.
The door swung open and Sharona scooted through, carrying a pair of shopping bags, a slightly confused expression on her face and dried blood on her hands, past her wrists and halfway up to her elbows. She drops the bags on the floor, looking around for something as though very tired. Finally she asks, "Um, can I use your bathroom to change in? I dunno where it is."
"Sure. Whose blood is that on you?" Alyce asked curiously, pointing out the door to the bathroom.
"Not too sure 'bout that one. I think I've been perma-banned from the mall though, heh." Sharona dug out a bottle of herbal essences, her eyebrows raised. "Ooookay. Well, you could have told me instead, you know I hate this scent," she murmured to herself, stuffing it back into the bag. She looked up at Alyce, eyes wide. "Can I use your shower, miss Alyce?"
"Of course. Its just over there in that bathroom," the young woman said with a terse smile, pointing out the door and grinning slightly as Sora made a mad dash, quickly followed by the sound of running water and Sora's voice singing the fast-paced Japanese lyrics to Megumi Hayashibara's "Sakura Saku".
--- --
"She's always been delusional," the voice on the telephone said with traces of concern. "But lately she's been even more erratic then usual. She's always been dangerous, to a certain degree, but in the past few days she's become almost bloodthirsty," the voice explained. "I really think you should detain her in a more restrictive environment than we can provide here at Arkham, at least until she gets over this."
"Thanks for your concern," Commissioner Jim Gordon replied, barely stifling a yawn as he leaned back in his chair. "I'll have people keeping an eye out for her, but unless she does something, we won't notice her." With that, the older man hung up, sipping his coffee as he glanced at the silent television in his office, turning up the volume as it showed images of an assault.
The tv in the corner showed footage of a mall, a trail of blood and a few footsteps- bare feet, no less- showing the methodical plodding of a girl who was searching specifically for a few articles of clothing. The blood originated from the crumpled form of a comatose security guard, who had been beaten savagely in the face and chest and then hung by his ankles from an impossibly high sign in the food court. Eyewitnesses claim the person responsible was a tall, thin, lanky girl with short brownish hair and wearing loose, baggy, beige clothing that said "ARKHAM" on it in large black lettering on the back.
"Well, dammit."
The pitch black turned to a sort of misty gray flecked with blue, gradually lightening into a skittish view of the world. Sharona took two more steps forward before rainwater spilled down the gutter, soaking her bare feet with cold water. She blinked, realizing with some measure of alarm that she had been unconscious and was now awake, and apparently already busy. The blue flicker around the corner of her sight gave a small chuckle.
"It's about time. I've been steering you around for some time now," it said, fluttering down to just behind her shoulder. "You do know how to read English, right, Sharona?"
"Yeah, of course I do," she responded weakly, before realizing that for the first time someone in Gotham called her by her real name. She became slightly more alert, perking her ears a little. "You know who I am."
"Yes. Are you ready to use your own body now?"
"Wait, wait, who are you?"
"Surely you know."
"No, I don't. Not really," she replied, vaguely aware of her legs moving of their own volition.
"I suppose you might call me 3Jane."
"3Jane? Where did that come from?"
"Your subconscious, I guess."
Sharona realized that she was walking on her own now. She paused, glancing across the street at the Radioshack electronics store. It appeared to be dark. Everything did, she thought to herself with a small smile. It's raining and it's night. Of course it's dark.
A flash of whitish blue, and two people who might have stepped right from the mind of Lewis Carroll appeared just inside the door. The pair went to work, expertly lifting certain items and putting them carefully into a bag. It took Sharona a second to recognize the man- Jervis Tetch. Mad Hatter. She looked at the young woman, the pretty- if demented- blue and white frock making her suddenly conscious of her rather drab (and by now, torn and dirty, as well as soaking wet) Arkham garments. She ran across the street, barely dodging a speeding car. Coughing, she sat down on the wet pavement, staring up at the locked glass door that stood between her and the Wonderlandian criminal duo.
*Try knocking,* the amused voice of 3Jane whispered.
Sharona lightly tapped the glass of the door with the knuckles of her right hand, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the glass. It startled her to see the dark circles under her eyes, but more shocking was the slight curl of a tattoo on her forearm, barely showing under the sleeve of her inmate's jersey. Pushing the sleeve up, she exhaled slowly to see more of the jagged, dark blue tribal design. She rubbed her skin, hoping against hope that it was painted on- no such luck. That's definitely skin.
*I got those tattoos you wanted, * 3Jane commented dryly. *At least, I hope you wanted them. You've got them now. *
Growling, Sharona knocked on the door again, harder. Startled, Hatter and the young woman looked up. Either by dimly recognizing her face or noticing her standard-issue Arkham clothing, they realized she was not a threat. The Mad Hatter walked to the door and opened it, a slightly irritated look on his face.
"No room! No room!" he cried, waving her away. It took her a few seconds to remember to speak Alice-In-Wonderland-ese to him.
"There's plenty of room!" she said tiredly, hands on her hips. "Hey, Hatter, I was in the neighborhood, and I*"
"WHO are you?" the young woman asked suddenly, her emerald eyes narrowed. Sharona took a deep breath, looking her over.
"I- I hardly know, miss, just at the present- a-at least, I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been, ah, changed since then," she said softly, 3Jane filling in for the part she forgot.
*That is sort of appropriate, if you think about it, * 3Jane said quietly, and Sharona could hear the smile in her (?) voice.
Alyce walked to Sharona, glancing at the spot just above her shoulder before looking at her face.
"What do you want?" she asked, taking note of Sharona's dripping wet and dirty Arkham garments. Sighing, she folded her arms across her chest, feeling sorry for the disheveled girl.
"I think I just need a place to stay, for just, like, tonight. Um," she stuttered, her face turning red. "What I mean is, um, I just got myself out of Arkham and I just need to, ah, get myself together, maybe sleep a bit."
"That's very nice, but we don't know you," Alyce said dryly, her emerald eyes narrowed.
"My name's, um, Sora," Sharona answered, cracking her knuckles nervously. "I guess you don't know me, but your friend, um, Mister Tetch got me to paint something for him a while back."
"Tea Party in Pinks and Blues," Hatter said calmly, shouldering his bag of illegitimately gotten goodies. "I remember you now. You didn't ask for anything, you simply said to wait until you needed a favor."
"Yeah," Sharona sighs, relieved. She'd edited that scene out of the final draft of her story, but apparently it still counted for something. "If it's alright with you, I'd, um, like to collect that favor now. Please? I just need someplace to spend the night, and a change of clothes, but I can handle that part on my own."
"Well," Hatter shrugged, looking at Alyce, who mereky shrugged in return. "I suppose you might stay for one night, Miss Sora."
"Thanks," Sharona breathed out, visibly stifling the urge to hug the both of them. She danced a little on her feet, starting to feel a bit anxious. "So, I guess I'll be on the couch, or whatever, right?"
----
Alyce glanced at a clock as she passed by the empty living room, noting that Sora had been gone for well over three hours. The girl had wolfed down a bowl of cheerios and then taken a short nap, sprawled on the couch with an innocent look on her face. Then she'd gotten up a little less then a half-hour later and left, exclaiming that she would return as soon as possible with a change of more suitable clothing. Three hours later. nothing. She sighed, sitting down on the couch with a magazine.
The door swung open and Sharona scooted through, carrying a pair of shopping bags, a slightly confused expression on her face and dried blood on her hands, past her wrists and halfway up to her elbows. She drops the bags on the floor, looking around for something as though very tired. Finally she asks, "Um, can I use your bathroom to change in? I dunno where it is."
"Sure. Whose blood is that on you?" Alyce asked curiously, pointing out the door to the bathroom.
"Not too sure 'bout that one. I think I've been perma-banned from the mall though, heh." Sharona dug out a bottle of herbal essences, her eyebrows raised. "Ooookay. Well, you could have told me instead, you know I hate this scent," she murmured to herself, stuffing it back into the bag. She looked up at Alyce, eyes wide. "Can I use your shower, miss Alyce?"
"Of course. Its just over there in that bathroom," the young woman said with a terse smile, pointing out the door and grinning slightly as Sora made a mad dash, quickly followed by the sound of running water and Sora's voice singing the fast-paced Japanese lyrics to Megumi Hayashibara's "Sakura Saku".
--- --
"She's always been delusional," the voice on the telephone said with traces of concern. "But lately she's been even more erratic then usual. She's always been dangerous, to a certain degree, but in the past few days she's become almost bloodthirsty," the voice explained. "I really think you should detain her in a more restrictive environment than we can provide here at Arkham, at least until she gets over this."
"Thanks for your concern," Commissioner Jim Gordon replied, barely stifling a yawn as he leaned back in his chair. "I'll have people keeping an eye out for her, but unless she does something, we won't notice her." With that, the older man hung up, sipping his coffee as he glanced at the silent television in his office, turning up the volume as it showed images of an assault.
The tv in the corner showed footage of a mall, a trail of blood and a few footsteps- bare feet, no less- showing the methodical plodding of a girl who was searching specifically for a few articles of clothing. The blood originated from the crumpled form of a comatose security guard, who had been beaten savagely in the face and chest and then hung by his ankles from an impossibly high sign in the food court. Eyewitnesses claim the person responsible was a tall, thin, lanky girl with short brownish hair and wearing loose, baggy, beige clothing that said "ARKHAM" on it in large black lettering on the back.
"Well, dammit."