Gotham's Discontent
A/N: This is the sequel to Blood Rush. As I did in the first chapter of Blood Rush, I will for this story too: This is your one and only disclaimer about the content of this fanfic. It's a brother/sister trope between Jerome Valeska and an OFC that I've created; if this isn't your bag, baby, you probably shouldn't read it because #1 yes, there is going to be smut; #2, yes, it's an incest story; #3, and also, if it wasn't clear enough, this is your TW. If you want to continue reading, please enjoy this twisted bit of a fanfiction, Part II.
Chapter One: Community Breakfast
Community breakfast held the contention of what made up a true, soulful killer. Dressed in grey-and-white striped pajamas—and the women wore calf-high, sweeping night gowns—inmates piled into the cafeteria, escorted by orderlies dressed in all white. Arkham Asylum held its reputation to the highest degree of violence, but all were seen equally repugnant by the security guards whom stood arrogantly stiff by the entrance and exit doors.
Every morning held the same disgusting gruel—however, Deedee had become fond of the little carton of milk and the small bit of grits in a bowl served atop of the trays. It wasn't Lila's cooking, anyhow. Not a great cook. Of the many cellmates that Deedee had spoken to and regrettably had acquainted, there were a select few whom she decided to occupy the next seat—One of whom she felt obligated.
Deedee glanced up at the entire row of men at the table with a small frown.
To the furthest left, hunched over his tray as if he were a rabid animal trying to keep the rest of the pack from nibbling his food—Robert Greenwood. A Don Juan of women, meaning only that he loved eating them in the most literal way, Greenwood portrayed himself as the violent cannibal of the female phenomenon, but in it's entirety, he was simply a cheap knock-off of a really bad Hannibal Lecter impression. A mess of black, curly hair and a small range of facial expressions ranging from smug disrespect and a hearty guffaw, Deedee found him to be the most repulsive.
If given a million dollars to slap the shit out of someone in the cafeteria, it wouldn't be about the money. Deedee would slap him for free. He was a brute, an animal that had escaped from the zoo. He had given her some flack when she had first entered the asylum due to her age and physical appearance, however a secret shank to the ribcage had resounded a very strong "NO" to his generous offer of a freebie in the nearby patient bathroom.
The person sitting next to Greenwood on his right-hand side whom had provided the shiv in order to shank Greenwood was a handsome fellow, muscular and arrogant, intelligent perhaps, and amassed a body count of twenty-five of his employees, Richard Sionis. Quite an impressive resume, Deedee had resolved. As easy on the eyes as Sionis was, his personality was one big, waving red flag. Sionis had his hands in the guards' pockets; he could provide anyone with whatever an inmate needed if they were willing to pay the price. Deedee had expected a familiar solicitation from him as she had received from Greenwood; however, she had been quite surprised with his bargaining chip.
Richard Sionis, quite an interesting sort of psychopath, had only asked to be shown proof of the infamous "rumor" about the Valeska siblings being involved in a sexual relationship. Even in Arkham Asylum, the idea of an incest was taboo…and a bit of piece of entertainment. Sionis had merely asked Jerome and Deedee—in his words— "Kiss like you're fucking each other's tongues" …A weird way to put it, but an easily accepted challenge. A quick make-out session in front of the better part of the community of the mentally insane, and one very amused Jerome pulling back with a wink, Sionis had whipped out the small, enclosed shiv inside the handle of a toothbrush and handed it off Deedee with a wide, twisted smirk: "Well, I'm convinced. There you are, my girl, have fun." And that was it.
Deedee turned to the next face on Sionis' right hand. Aaron Hellzinger. He was a very large, quite intimidating amount of burly strength and muscle with the mind of a five-year-old boy with a body count of five. Aaron had murdered his entire family using the strength of his bare hands—Despite the brutality he was given, he was possibly the gentlest of the bunch, but easily agitated over such things that would agitate a child: if he saw someone with an extra dessert on their tray, he'd become enraged that he didn't have an extra dessert on his tray. Instant rage to the point of physical assault. One time, Deedee had witnessed in fascination as Aaron had flung a whole-ass man across the room because of the difference of milk cartons on their tray. Milk. And it wasn't even that tasty that day.
Aaron had developed a sentimental, secret habit of slipping small scraps of paper across the table to Deedee, revealing tiny hearts above her name in infantile handwriting. A crush. Sweet and innocent, and Deedee was sure that he meant nothing by it. Jerome's brow had raised the first day; however, considering Aaron's present mind, it really wasn't much different than an adoring fan. Aaron would send furtive looks to Jerome as if Jerome himself would fly over the table and engage in warfare. He'd give her a small scrap of paper every morning; and every morning, Aaron would smile to himself as Deedee pocketed on the inside of her dress; and Aaron would give Jerome a small look. Routine was important to Aaron.
On Aaron's right side would be a quiet and scrawny man with vacant expressions—indescribably odd Dobbs. Greenwood had mentioned that he had a "rapist wit": a dangerous fellow whom no one would suspect as being so due to his almost oblivious and child-like nature. Rapist, poisoner. Murderer. The silent type. He had very little to say to Deedee aside from his pure interest in what the carnie life was like, what she saw, what she and Jerome had seen on the road. Dobbs hadn't been out of the state, barely out of the city. Curious man, but a bit fearful of how to experience a life outside of the one who knew. Odd Dobbs with odd jobs but no real-life experience except for knowing how to take one.
Lastly, the man on Dobb's right-hand side. Jerome.
Deedee realized that she had been absent-mindedly circling her spoon inside the bowl of her grits that there was a very clean void, over and over and over…Deedee gazed at Jerome's handsome jawline, the twinkle in his eye that beamed when a brawl would take place in the middle of lunch or dinner; when fresh meat would walk through the first door the first time and react instinctively that they were in the wrong place.
Arkham Asylum wasn't home, and perhaps that was a good thing. Home had been hell. Aside from missing her dancing routine enlightened by the twirling ribbons of flame, Deedee hadn't missed Haley's Circus. Arkham Asylum had room for improvement, but there definitely was no Lila Valeska.
"Awfully quiet, Deedee," said Jerome, catching her eye on him as he turned his attention from Sionis.
"Thinking," said Deedee casually.
Jerome pointed to her bowl of grits, "Overthinking."
Deedee dismissed him with a hand, "Off that, Brother; we're here now. All I do in this place is think."
Greenwood clicked his tongue, "If you'd taken my offer, it wouldn't be all you do."
Jerome rolled his eyes, then—as if it were more a chore than a delight—he grabbed his own metal fork, rose to his feet, strode pass the backs of Dobbs, Aaron, Sionis, until he stood at Greenwood's side—
"What are you doing, you little brat—AH!" Greenwood bent forward, his head on the table and breathing heavily as Deedee watched her brother stick the sharp, pointed prongs of the fork straight through the top of Greenwood's thick hand.
Aaron's eyes widened with interest. Sionis continued to eat his grits casually, but he did genuinely turn to Greenwood and shook his head, "You're a dumbass…" He was still eating, his food tucked into his chiseled cheekbones as he said, "Like a very stupid man, did you know that?"
Deedee glanced up at Jerome curiously, "You didn't have to do that, Brother. I already made my point in that venue, don't you remember?"
"He vexed me," said Jerome simply, calmly even, as he strode back to his seat. He flung his legs over the bench and tried to resume eating. "Ah…Right."
Deedee nodded knowingly. She grabbed her own fork, licked the tip of the prongs to the back of the fork suggestively before she handed it to Jerome with the flick of her wrist, resting her proffered arm on her elbow. Jerome took the eating utensil out of her hand, "Always a sex thing with you, isn't it?"
"You didn't complain during my routine after our little 'discussion', did you?" Deedee remarked, referring to the very first time that Jerome had acknowledged his sexual attraction to her in Haley's Circus.
Sionis swallowed his food, "Now, tell me, exactly who actually killed your mother?"
"I did," Jerome said with a smile.
"What'd you do?" Sionis pointed at Deedee with his fork.
"Restrained her." Deedee answered.
"Mmm…" Sionis pushed his tray away from him with interest, "So…you've never actually killed anyone yet, have you?"
"Nope," Deedee answered again. "I always dreamed about it, though. But I thought it was just as satisfying watching. Of course, you know what I mean, don't you, Dick?"
"She almost killed me," said Greenwood. He finally gave himself a harsh breath before he pulled the metal fork out of his hand. Blood began to bleed from above his knuckles; he simply wrapped his hand in his shirt. "But ya didn't, did you? Small thing like you can't take a man like me."
Deedee frowned at him and then, passively, she added, "I gave it my best shot, Greenwood, but Arkham's finest are quite experienced in their life-saving methods, aren't they?" She glanced at Sionis pointedly, "Fucking doctors. If they cared as much as the guards, he'd been put down like a goddamn dog, but for some reason, they really want to keep us alive."
"Gotham's discontent," said Jerome with a pitiful shake of his head. "You'd be surprised with what you can live through."
"True words," Sionis agreed.
"One time," said Dobbs, putting in his two cents, "I got food poisoning."
"Was your mom a bad cook too?" Deedee asked.
"Uh, no, I was gonna give the cyanide-infused oatmeal to my sister, but…" Dobbs gave a small chuckle, "I…I forgot which bowl I had put it in and chose the wrong one. Doc at the nearest hospital had to pump my stomach three times," he held up three fingers. "Three. Times."
"You finally do it?" asked Greenwood.
"Yeah," Dobbs laughed, nodding, "Keeled over like she got dumped on the night of prom."
"Was it Prom Night?" asked Aaron, looking up hopefully. The idea of woman being dumped of prom, Deedee thought. He looked so sad at the thought of it.
"Uh," Dobbs nodded, "Well, yeah, I had to drop her body off behind the dumpster of a fast-food restaurant. Her date was waiting in front of the house for a good hour before I remembered that I hadn't told him that she wasn't going."
"Quite disorganized on your part," said Jerome. "Should've made a call beforehand."
"Eh, I was still new at it," Dobbs shrugged.
"My point," Sionis breathed impatiently at the sudden branch-out of the conversation, turning to Deedee, "is that you haven't had your first kill."
"Intending on bringing my first head, Richard?" asked Deedee playfully. "Greenwood's?"
Greenwood glanced at Deedee irritably.
Sionis turned to Jerome, "You got any stake in this?"
Jerome chuckled, finishing his plate, "You're running the show, aren't you, pal?" Then a smirk that pulled at his cheekbones, "What did you have in mind?"