Gotham's Discontent
Chapter Sixteen: Daddy's Little Monster
Since Gotham had been put on alert for Deedee Valeska, she was more wary of being seen out and about; however, something had been burning inside her for a year, though she knew she was breaking the rules that Galavan had set down for her as she sprinted through the dark back alleys under the cover of nightfall. But she wasn't too worried about the GCPD because they had their own problems to worry about—a conspiracy with the mob and the GCPD, a lady killer out to find a soulmate or whatever he was (I don't know, some sort of ogre or another with a face only a mother could love, Deedee thought, not my mother but surely a better one).
The conspiracy with the mob and the GCPD is problem enough, Deedee thought as she scurried up the fire escape of an old-looking apartment building. She had read enough in the Gotham Gazette to know that there were enough dirty cops occupying the streets in Gotham to pollute the river; of course, the King of Gotham, Oswald Cobblepot would throw them in there if he had to. The last that she had ever kept up with the blood in the water was that Falcone and Maroni had run Gotham as two respectful families on compromise; but Maroni had been slain, Falcone was in retirement, and Fish Mooney had disappeared off the face of the earth, leaving Penguin to reign at the top of the heap.
She didn't have the ambition to try to pick off the mob's bishops and knights; the mob was a close pin to politics. Too messy. Penguin was a smart lad if he had been clever enough to throw a wrench in Gotham's mob machine. No, Deedee thought, I'm smart enough to leave that bird well enough alone.
Deedee used to want to be part of Haley's Circus, forever twirling batons ablaze and lavishing in the attention and profit as a stage performer; however, Jerome had opened her eyes. It would be far more rewarding to be known on a national level, so that when anyone heard her name, saw her, they would quiver with fear. Not because of whom her brother was, for he seemed to be the star of the show—That's what it felt like, anyway, in Arkham and she knew that Galavan wanted him the most due to his vision. She wanted to be feared as an individual entity, and considering her last two murders, Deedee decided it was brutality that they would fear.
Deedee was out for blood. The more blood shed, the better she felt. It was the most alive she had felt in years. First, watching Lila die; that was adrenaline rushing in. Then the death of Lawrence Greenburg felt self-righteous, but it wasn't exactly fun. It was necessary at best. But Laura Greenburg's death: Liberating.
So, a third kill would put Deedee on the grid, just as it had with Richard Sionis; just as it had with Penguin.
Commit two murders, you're a murderer, thought Deedee passively. Commit three murders, you're a serial killer.
Or that's how the law worked anyway; of course, more than ten was mass murder.
Either way, what bliss, Deedee smirked to herself.
Deedee took the liberty of wearing a white tank top and short red shorts— and her wild red hair blew in the light breeze. Bare foot against the solid railing of the fire escape, it was easier to traverse the rickety structure without alarming the entire building. She wasn't certain how other acrobats could master the art of parkour while fully dressed, wearing heels and black leather—Deedee had been a fire dancer, not one of the Flying Graysons; but she had picked up a few tricks during her years as a performer if not to improve her mettle.
Perhaps in light of trying to remain in the dark, it had not been wise to wear clothing which revealed her identifiers as the Dancing Torch, due to the revealed healed burn marks along her exposed body; but they had healed white—one could only identify who she was if they could get within a couple feet of her—If they dare get close enough, how thick could you get? Deedee snickered.
"Found you…" Deedee whispered as she gazed through a window of a dimly lit apartment; no movement in there.
Not surprising, she thought.
She grabbed the window sill just out of curiosity and—Unlocked, old man?
She climbed in. Didn't even make it challenging. Of course, she'd have had to break the window if it had been locked. Unlike Jerome, she hadn't learned the locksmith trade; but she never claimed to be the jack of all trades. He was more inclined toward the criminal aspects of being on the lam—though blood sport was common ground. Well, oopsie daisies, into the apartment she climbed, nimble on her feet, crawling onto the kitchen counter and stepping lightly onto the cool linoleum.
Deedee looked around. She saw the old man sitting in his chair, "watching" television, listening to it as he drank his coffee with two sugars. The psychopath.
Deedee sighed. "Hi, Daddy."
Mr. Cicero turned his head, hearing her voice; Deedee strode into the living room, a cruel smile on her face as she gazed down at the blind fortune teller sitting so comfortably in his chair. The only sign that he was aware was that the muscles in his neck tensed, but he didn't try to move as if he were afraid. Although, she was playful, she felt annoyed at his calm state—Had it been Jerome, he'd have tried to run or call for help, something urgent like that.
"You don't have to say it," said Deedee, flipping her hair off her shoulder. "I know. I look great. So kind of you to say so."
"Delilah, what have you done?" said Mr. Cicero gruffly.
Deedee pursed her lips. She knocked the coffee cup out of Mr. Cicero's hand. He gasped as it shattered. Deedee clenched her fists, trying her damndest to maintain; it was so much harder to keep calm without anyone telling her to do so. She chastised herself of how easily he roused her anger without trying, without the intent of doing so.
It was also a bad idea to wander alone into her father's apartment, knowing damn well that Galavan had specifically asked her not to hurt him. Deedee uttered a shaking breath. She wanted to.
"You know that I don't go by that name," Deedee growled.
"You're here to intimidate me, kill me, or hurt me? Nobody is afraid of you," said Mr. Cicero.
"You know what I've done, though, don't you?" said Deedee coldly. "I'd say that you've seen the newspaper, but I suppose that'd be a bit rude, wouldn't it?"
"Yes, I heard about that." Mr. Cicero said. "Daddy's little monster…"
"How's everyone at the Circus?" she asked abruptly. "You left, huh?"
"Disbanded. Fouled by your crime—"
"Jerome's crime," Deedee breathed, "that you tried to frame me for, by the way,"—she shoved a finger roughly into his shoulder—"and I'm still salty over that; so, don't act like I've forgotten that it was you who put me in that wretched place. A cage. But I digress."
Deedee fanned her hands quickly to calm down.
"I guess you did what you thought you had to do, what with being Jerome's dad too and all."
"It wouldn't have changed anything," said Mr. Cicero. "Lila—"
"I ain't talking about that bitch," spat Deedee. "I didn't come here to talk about her."
"It would help you if you did, Deedee," said Mr. Cicero. "It helps to talk—"
"Yeah, well, I don't really feel like talking," Deedee snapped. She suddenly smiled. "But you know what has made me felt better about all of this? About everything, really, if I'm being honest. I've started killing people, Daddy. And it feels so good."
"Why are you here, Delilah?" asked Mr. Cicero.
Deedee smiled. "I may not be able to lay a hand on you just yet, Daddy. But when the time comes, oh when the time comes," Deedee uttered a small, wanton laugh, leaning forward, "it won't be out of vengeance or petty sibling rivalries. It'll be because you deserve it. You can see the future, Daddy; and you couldn't have mentioned that you were going to be that one that sent me under the bus."
"It would not have changed anything, Deedee," said Mr. Cicero with a frown. "You'd have hated me whether I had played along with your charade or framed you for Jerome's crime…"
Deedee stared at him. "I would have hated you either way?" she repeated flatly.
"Yes." Mr. Cicero answered.
Deedee slammed her hands suddenly on the arms of the chair, her face within inches of his that he could smell the fragrant incense of burning wood—his little monster had been playing with fire again—
"I wanted a dad who loved me, who'd praise me, who'd care for me—You could have stepped up, you could have done more than what you did, which was nothing. You didn't look out for me. You didn't protect me. I don't hate you for trying to frame me, Daddy." Deedee felt her face grow hot, a strong urge to break his jaw. "You showed more love to a son that you didn't even claim than you showed me. I have hated you for years."
"Then do what you have to do, Delilah." Mr. Cicero's voice was strong, but his face betrayed a flicker of fear. "If you're a cold-blooded killer, then do your worst."
Deedee considered mauling him with a kitchen knife, but gave pause. She leaned forward, her lips against the shell of his ear, a thinly veiled affectionate voice, laced with poison: "If I kill you, I'd make it too quick. You see, I have no real restraint. It'd just be too merciful, wouldn't it? Nope. I have a better idea."
"What do you plan to do, my girl?" asked Mr. Cicero as he turned his head, hearing his daughter's footsteps head toward the kitchen.
"Jerome wouldn't find it funny if I took you out without a proper sound-off, Daddy," Deedee called out from the kitchen window. "I mean, your least favorite kid sneaking into your apartment to kill you isn't really that funny, is it? Kind of boring, and he'd think so."
She stuck a leg outside onto the fire escape. "He would find it funny that despite the fact that you tried to save his life, he'd take yours instead. Hell," she chuckled, "I think it's a riot myself. Good talk, Daddy; I'll see you later."
"You're just going to leave and that's it?" said Mr. Cicero, and Deedee halted at the window, looking back at him. "Don't think I won't tell the cops that you've been by…"
"Won't they think you had something to do with my release from Arkham, Daddy?" said Deedee, stepping another leg out onto the fire escape so she simply leaned in over the window sill. "Kind of bizarre that I just stopped by without so much as laying a hand on you when I've already killed two people. And I didn't hate either of them, really. Anyway…Do what you want. Ta."
And she was gone.