Wow, I haven't updated in forever. I do have a reason on this one, though. It's becuase I like to keep at least a chapter ahead of what I post, and I've sorta... hit a small snag in the writing. I know where I'm going with this, it's just getting past a rather difficult to write part that's killing me. XX
Thanks for all your reviews.
Disclaimer: No I don't own these things. I own nothing but Oracle! Think otherwise and I'll send her after you! (points threateningly) Jhonen Vasquez owns everything else!
Shit, Johnny thought tiredly, wincing as he opened his car door. The fight had taken its toll on him, a surprising outcome for one who so often came out the better off in a conflict. He only remembered one time before in which he had been injured so badly, though this time he hadn't been the one to cause the conflict nor had he had any desire to immortalize the moment. With a shudder, the maniac looked up into the stars, distantly seeing what a beautiful night it really was as they twinkled above.
He couldn't help but feel relieved that he wouldn't be going over them, tonight.
What's wrong, Johnny? Feeling the burn of defeat? Wheedled the voice of Reverend MEAT, somehow appearing back on the dashboard of the car, his face seeming both amused and expressionless at the same time. His voice, however, was much different, its tone mocking, Those cuts pain you, don't they? Isn't it nice to be able to feel?
"I don't notice them," the other lied, sighing tiredly as he sat half in and half out of the car, one leg still stretched down on the ground and the other being held close to his aching chest by one skinny, bleeding arm. Hesitantly, Johnny rubbed his wrists, shivering at the memory of contact with another human being.
You forget that I live inside you, Nny, stated the burger toy sternly, I can tell when you're lying.
"Fuck you," growled the maniac, glaring darkly at the manifestation, "I refuse to recognize them, and therefore they are nonexistent in my mind. I feel nothing."
It's no use trying to convince your mind when your body knows otherwise, persisted the other, No matter how determined you are in refusing to accept the sensation, you will feel it! It is that unavoidable feeling that makes what you are trying to do impossible! Think with reason, Johnny, and realize that you can't escape what you are; it is imperative that you stop this charade at once and see the truth!
"HOLE! Trying to undermine me, turn me back into a slave!" spat Johnny, the anger in his features clear as he confronted the figment, "This is MY life, MY existence! I refuse to be exploited any longer, not by demons outside this sick reality, and not by my own internal workings!"
For a being who claims to be cold, you seem to be having a rather spectacular emotional fit.
"Go to hell," muttered the maniac sullenly, whirling around in the seat so that he faced the steering wheel, pulling his leg into the car and closing the door before leaning on the wheel with a concentrated expression. His eyes were fixed straight ahead as he pulled out a bloodstained knife and rapped it in a soothing rhythm on the dash, close enough to the burger toy to serve as a clear warning to the manifestation. After a few long, silent moments of doing this, he sighed, leaning back and staring at the figment with one narrowed eye, "I can't get rid of you by throwing you off this cliff, can I?"
No, replied the toy promptly, My presence here has already proved that no matter how much distance you put between yourself and the actual form of me, you can never escape what is a part of you. It really gives a new meaning to 'you can run, but you can't hide', doesn't it?
"I suppose so," grumbled Johnny, "and it also puts a damper on my planned 'holiday'. There's very little point in escaping something that sticks to you like a disease, but I don't want to go back yet. That place, it rots my mind. It leaves me exposed to assault on what little sanity I have left."
Where else can you go? This city is full of those feelings you so despise and wish to alienate yourself from, Nny.
"Not here," murmured Johnny, lifting his eyes from the sight of the horizon, with its noisy patchwork of streets and lights below, to the dark blue-black canvas of the heavens, "This place is cold. No one is here to bother me."
That girl may still be here, watching you.
Johnny let his eyes flick over to the dark silhouette of the burger toy, mulling over the idea of testing out his theory by throwing the manifestation off the cliff anyway, even if he would just come back. It would at least relieve some tension, but the maniac decided against it; giving in to his urge would only make the figment stronger, and weaken his own resolve for his mission. He had to remain cold.
But what if she really was still out there, waiting and watching?
"No," Johnny growled, shaking his head as he caught on to what the manifestation was trying to do, "That's not going to work on me, MEAT. I'm not going to give in to paranoia on your behalf. So what if she's still out there? I don't give a shit."
Even as he said those last sentences, Johnny marveled at how unconvincing and flat the words sounded.
Touched a nerve there, did I? asked the toy, his painted grin seeming to grow wider and eyes losing their pupils, turning his gaze into one that reminded the maniac disturbingly of Mr. Eff, You can't stand knowing that there are now two beings out there that you couldn't kill if you tried, can you? Two beings that, if you bothered to take notice of your feelings right now, you would realize that you are afraid of? Both almost killed you, and both spared you…
"Shut up! SHUT UP!" snarled Johnny suddenly, hands gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles were bright white. Reverend MEAT took no notice, continuing on his tirade of words, prodding and poking into the tender wounds of the maniac's soul.
…And you don't know why! You WANTED them to kill you, but they refused you that, instead letting you live with the guilt of what you've done… Oh, excuse me; I forgot that you no longer feel guilt. Or do you? You can't tell me that you didn't before, with those other excuses for manifestations. I'm sure the bunny had you going for quite some time on the morality of your actions… But I digress…
"Don't talk about Nailbunny, you dumb fucking burger toy!" Johnny hissed, arms shaking as he tried to keep from lashing out and eyes squinted with the effort.
Stay cold. Don't give him what he wants, Nny.
Nailbunny?
The most amusing thing about it is that you know that you can't possibly stay 'cold'. Avoiding touch does not make you unable to feel it, ignoring hunger does not make you immune to taste, refusing sleep cannot hide you from your dreams!
"STOP talking, you EFFING BASTARD!" Johnny's voice nearly cracked, the pain evident behind his pitifully attempted calm.
I can't, Nny, replied the figment, the first trace of something more than a commanding or mocking tone beginning to show in the voice. Johnny laid his forehead on his hands, gasping as he tried to compose himself, and thus didn't notice the slightly softer quality of the words, Lies can comfort you, hide you away from the world, but the truth is always painful. That is the only reality you should know.
"I'm going home," said Johnny suddenly, starting up the car as he ignored the words spoken to him. Within an instant, it was as if the conversation had never happened, and the maniac was indifferently rolling the car down the cliff, his eyes on the lit area in front of him and his mind completely shut off from the world. Knowing that no matter how much he yelled, he was no longer going to have an influence, Reverend MEAT sighed inaudibly and settled back into a dormant state, allowing his outer form to revert back to the fat little burger toy that it had always been.
At least he had made progress.
Oracle rose an eyebrow at the soft grumbling as the maniac got in the car, his weight in the front seat making the backing shift towards her even more, squeezing her even tighter into the small, dark space where she hid and waited. Her music had been turned off long ago, her weapons hushed, so that now she could concentrate her full attention onto the one being that she had spared, for reasons even she wasn't sure of.
"I don't notice them," he said tiredly, letting out a sigh. Oracle narrowed her eyes suspiciously and listened harder, distantly wondering whom he was talking to. As she listened, the echoes of her thoughts were quite suddenly joined by the whisper of another voice, one that the girl had never before heard or imagined. She held back from making a sound of curiosity, though, knowing with ill-tempered certainty that if she did she would be as good as dead, especially in the closed space she had chosen to hide herself in.
…I can tell when you're lying, the voice hissed, prodded.
As the other replied, Oracle suddenly realized that he acted as if he had heard this voice before. That was interesting, and made her eventual goal of stalking the person to find out exactly why that voice in her head had resurfaced when she tried to kill him all the more appealing. Voices, especially the ones in a person's head, should not have been able to be heard by any but the affected person. The fact that she could hear the strange whispering made the girl speculate, especially about her weapons and her own bizarre ability to hear their haunting music that remained inaudible to all others.
The conversation was becoming ever more heated, although the only one showing it was the one that was referred to as 'Johnny'. It seemed as if the two had had this argument many times before, and as Oracle listened, she had to grudgingly admit that the voice was making entirely too much sense. It amused her more sadistic side that he was using her own actions against the maniac, though she reluctantly began to become distantly curious about the background of the conversation and why the troubled male had become so upset. Who was this other who had almost killed her opponent?
Suddenly, there was one last outburst, and the argument died down to almost nothing, simmering back into an impending flicker of the flame. Oracle distantly sensed the voice retreating into some otherworldly space as the car started up, shaking her slightly even though she was wedged almost as tightly as possible between the seats. The girl sat in almost utter silence for long moments, eyes blazing silently as she stared into the impenetrable darkness, her mind flitting from one subject to another, almost unable to remain in focus when no music was there to keep her occupied. The glaive tentatively began to strike up a soothing cord, and Oracle mentally smiled at it, urging the weapon to continue and hoping that the sound, even though it was less sound than a tune in her mind, would help her concentrate. At this cue, the others began singing as well, telling of the night's battle and how their master had prevailed through all, though their voices were made up of nothing but notes. Silently, the girl relived what had happened, closing her eyes and reflecting on nothing but the music as the car sped through the streets to a place she knew not where.
Just as the song was coming to the close, to the point where she had spared her opponent, the car screeched to a stop, knocking the girl against the front of the seat and almost making her gasp involuntarily, though any sound she made was inaudible through the noise of the engine. She remained motionless and on edge, anyway, piercing eyes intensely focused on the floor before her in concentration, as the sound of the car sputtered and faded away as it was turned off, and then as door opened, allowing the one called Johnny to climb out. Oracle stared harder into the darkness as the door clicked shut, hearing the sharp sound of the maniac's metal-tipped boots clicking against the ground harshly as he walked away, completely unaware of her presence.
Oracle refused to move until her legs finally began to go numb, forcing her to shift from her position. As she did so, boots scuffling ever so slightly upon the ragged and almost worn away carpet, something that had been balancing precariously on the top of the backseat toppled, striking her hard in her injured leg. The girl cursed mentally, lips pulled back in some discomfort as she reached forward to take the object in her hands. As she lifted it up to the dim light of the moon streaming in through the windows, eyes squinted as she tried to clear the details; she realized that the object was, in fact, a book. And not just any book, either, but the ragged, bloodstained journal that belonged to the very person she was following.
Silently, Oracle allowed herself a small, smug smirk; she almost couldn't believe her luck. Almost.
Carefully, the girl lifted her head to the window, looking outside and searching for the telltale signs of anyone that may have been hiding in the shadows, waiting for her to emerge from the car or even simply standing around, as so many people tended to do in a city. The outside, lit by the bright light of the moon in the now clear sky, was completely deserted, and looked to have been that way for a long time. The only thing visible in the filtering moonlight through the window was the large, looming shadow of the maniac's house, which seemed suspiciously like the old weapons shop that Oracle had gained. Brows furrowing slightly, she gripped the book firmly in her gauntleted hand and twisted to open the door, wincing as a small, impossibly loud click echoed through the darkness. Cautiously, she put one leg out, her large boot setting against the floor, before she gained confidence and slipped out of her cover, her hard eyes flashing brightly in the light from the moon.
Eh? Who do we have here?
Shit, Oracle thought in exasperation as she head the voice that was no longer just a whisper in the back of her mind, her gaze being driven towards the front of the car, where they finally rested on the shadowed form of a Bub's Burger Boy. One eyebrow rose skeptically as she stared blankly.
Yes, I am the one speaking, mumbled the toy, exasperation in the voice, So? Are you going to answer me?
"No," Oracle hissed, instantly banishing her slight cynicism in favor of her previously icy demeanor, "I have better things to do than talk to restaurant figures."
One would think you'd have better things to do than stalk a homicidal maniac.
"When his existence affects my mission, it becomes the only thing to do," growled the girl shortly, snorting as she closed the door silently and turned from the figment, making it clear that she was no longer listening to it's chatter. Mentally, she heard a derisive snort, followed by a slight chuckle. Oracle bristled marginally, her head turning slightly back towards the car as she paused in mid-step. Her hand pulled back, fingering the handle of the glaive as she considered impaling the toy before going about her business. As if to encourage her, the glaive began to sing joyfully, its voice nearly hungry as it slipped out of the sheath almost as if by its own will.
No need for that, said the figment quickly. Oracle narrowed her eyes at the strange, uneasy tone, the blade of the glaive glinting, before she shrugged noncommittally and sheathed it, eliciting a quiet but harsh clash of notes in her head. It was like the glaive was trying to reprimand her for her recent bout of sparing those that annoyed her. Oracle grudgingly agreed with it, but her long dormant curiosity had been piqued, and she didn't want to reveal her presence here any sooner than she absolutely had to. If the toy cried out, it was entirely possible that the one called Johnny would at least come to investigate, and Oracle didn't want nor need that manner of discovery. I was merely reflecting on my amusement that the stalker has become the stalked. Such an irony in it, don't you think? You should know, I believe. Predator becoming prey, prey becoming predator, the most powerful falling to those once thought weak.
"I know," Oracle hissed darkly, one eyelid rising slightly in speculation at the statement.
You understand things. Not like the one inside; he's still confused. He doesn't understand that we are all slaves to something, and no matter how hard we try, our animal instincts will always win in the end.
"It figures that one of the most intelligent statements I've ever heard comes from a talking burger toy," muttered the girl, her eyes becoming more normal as she relaxed another increment, leaning back against the hood of the car and glaring at the dark shadow on the other side of the windshield that showed where the figment lay, "Good thing I gave up on trying to figure out if I was insane a long time ago."
Insanity is just a term the deluded use to describe the truth.
Oracle was silent for a long moment, but then she stood from her leaning position, her gaze shifting towards the decrepit house and her hand, with the gauntlet still attached, fingering the tattered cover of the journal. No lights were on in the part of the house she could see, and the windows had no glass in them; it would be an easy matter to get inside.
The door has never been locked, commented the burger toy. Oracle narrowed her eyes to fiery slits, her golden-yellow iris' glinting in the moonlight as she glared at the manifestation, all three of her weapons rumbling warningly in a tense cord. Mentally, she felt the figment shrug, and with a quiet growl she brushed off her urge to destroy and approached the shadowed wall with a slow, measured step that was as silent as a ghostly illusion. She didn't bother to turn her CD player back on, knowing that even now, presumably safe, she would need all her senses at their peak.
Being careless had never been something the girl thought of as a wise thing, anyway.
It was strange, though, not having that ever-present background of music that she had grown so used to over the years. If she had been so inclined, Oracle would have perhaps admitted that there was some connection between her concentration and the songs that had made themselves a major part of her life since she had first received the silver device so many years ago. She had always been better able to see the true face of the world when the mindless chatter of the disease was drowned out by something louder, something clean and pure and truthful.
Noise cannot be drowned out by silence, after all, something in the back of her mind whispered. Oracle growled mentally, the glaive instantly appearing in her hand once more, but after a long moment of silence in her thoughts and the land around her she allowed herself to relax, letting out a long breath as she cracked her neck with one swift motion of her head. It was futile to respond to such an invisible voice, anyway, and the girl knew that she was merely reacting to the echoes of her own thoughts, things that normally would be silenced by blaring headphones.
Still not inclined to move, Oracle let her eyes rove the land around her, showing no emotion or interest as she took in the grassless dirt beneath her feet, the glitter of several broken remains of either windows or bottles strewn across it, and the small, decrepit sign that seemed to be made out of a wood that was only a few years short of petrifaction. On either side of the house, what seemed to be normal, average buildings stood as dark guardians of the night, their silhouettes seeming somehow larger than they could possibly be. Rising above them were the leafy branches of healthy trees, a rare find in the city; the existence of the vegetation itself showed the girl that she was in an older part of the metropolis, and probably a part that she had rarely if ever frequented.
The night air was rather cold, though, being as the season was only just beginning to shift into a late spring, and the girl huffed as she turned back to look at the run down house, eying the shadowy door speculatively. The manifestation had told her that it was never locked, but Oracle hadn't gotten where she was by being foolish. Using the skills she had learned from her former weapons master, she approached the door and cautiously tested the handle. When nothing sudden resulted from her action, she slowly turned it, being careful to make no noise and scanning the surroundings for any movement as she slipped into the darkness of what seemed to be something of a living room.
The area was deserted, and though Oracle knew otherwise, looked to have been that way for a long time. In a high corner of the room, a tattered, ragged noose hung from the ceiling, and the walls, most of which were in serious disrepair and rotted almost all the way through, were stained darkly in places with something that the girl couldn't identify in the dark. She rose an eyebrow, lip twitching upwards as she speculated, but didn't spare more than a moment for thought as she closed the door noiselessly behind her, her eyes flashing one last time in the streaming moonlight before it was cut off as if a gigantic knife had sliced through it, decapitating its cold brilliance.
She took a step forward, her feet, heavily booted as they were, somehow managing to miss the various breakable items littering the warped floorboards. Suddenly and inexplicably, a large and rather disturbing grin crossed her features, her hand rising –glaive still held firmly- to brush away the curving lock of her bangs before she straightened and her eyes fell on the deep, black rectangle that signified a doorway or stairwell of some sort. A haunting echo of the ghosts of terrified screams and tortured sobbing drifted up from the depths of that deep blackness, the residue of what had once been horrors beyond imagining.
Oracle's fingers flexed on both the handle of the glaive and the cover of the tattered journal as she strode over to the pit, her smile fading to a mere quirk of the lip as she looked down into the chilling darkness that enveloped her in a cloak of oblivion. The depth she could sense as she gazed downwards was amazing, and slowly the girl felt something she hadn't felt for a long time as she realized that down there, in the hollow of the maze of rooms she was certain awaited her, she could find a space that would conceal her presence.
Contentment.
And the plot moves forward! The world rejoices!
... or not...