All recognized characters belong to DC comics. The poem is original work, please don't use without permission or crediting me at least.
I apologize for making you wait, but Acacia has returned to me!
And I thank all of you who have followed/favorited me. So thank you:
Agent Aries! Kira The Dead Ninja! Kia11855! Where'stheBloodSnake! Schlooper! Dysthymia! Hadantaru! KliqzAngel! rockerbaby95! ginnylovesharry5! Baka12345! TheAngelsarewatching! Smokeydrama! Winged She-Wolf! 1287alouette6927! Dunadan Ranger!
I also appreciate the Agent Aries, Dunadan Ranger, and Missa Bearr reviews! If I forgot someone please tell me and I will mention you next time. Check out my one-shot and Iron Man story too! I hope this appeases you for the moment.
*Shittah is the Biblical word for the Acacia tree and I thought that it fit as a nickname because it means strength and it grows where little else can. It is a survivor
Like any other girl, Acacia likes to be doted on and treated like a princess. However, unlike any other girl, she gets irritated after two days of constant hovering. Because of the burns on her legs, she will be unable to walk—or do much of anything really—for weeks. So for now, she is stuck in a wheelchair and being escorted by Drake, Crowe or both everywhere and anywhere. It's only been one week and she's already about to kill both of them. And to put the cherry on the sundae…
~That sounds good, we should have one~
…She is constantly being hovered over when she goes to Wayne Manor, giving her no chance to memorize the layout of the overly large building. Wheelchair or no, Acacia is ready to kick someone into next week. The only good thing about a wheelchair is that you can run people over if they're in your way and nobody can punish you because you're 'disabled'.
~Disabled is such a harsh word. Temporarily confined to wheelchair-dom sounds nicer.~
And thank you Uncle Jay, for waking up her little voice. She missed it…
~Aw, you do love me~
…like most of Gotham misses a Rogue in Arkham, which is to say, not at all.
~Hey! That's not very nice!~
Acacia's eye twitches and her fingers clench tightly enough to snap her pencil in two. She scowls in annoyance and reaches do next to her desk. Pulling her backpack up, she rummages through the black hole to attempt to find another one, which is a one in 2,000 chance of happening with everything that's in there.
"Miss Dent, is there a problem?"
Acacia looks up from her journey to the great unknown and realizes that most of the class is staring at her. The history teacher Mr. Bravo…
~Stupid name if you ask me~
…is scowling at her, his face flushing an interesting shade of purple and red. She smiles, sweet as can be. "Not at all, Mr. Bravo, just searching for a pen or pencil to continue my notes. Nothing to be concerned over." Acacia continues smiling as a vein in the teacher's head throbs before he turns back to the white board. She then scowls and mimes stabbing him in the back with her broken pencil; her glower is then turned on Drake, who is unsuccessfully muffling his laughter. Acacia looks at her 'Black Butler' themed pocket watch and groans in despair. Only 9:20? She's here till 11:30.
"Miss Dent!"
Acacia doesn't bother masking her irritation this time and turns a freezing glower onto her history teacher. Said teacher stops mid-sentence and swallows. Her glare rivals that of her father's, and he used to be a very successful district attorney so what does that tell you?
~That you're a scary-ass bitch~
Yes. Yes she is. A pleased smile stretches across her face as Mister Bravo pales and hurriedly turns back the whiteboard, hand trembling slightly as he writes. Acacia keeps her terrifying grin, enjoying watching him squirm. How would he react to a coin toss with his life at stake?
"Acacia, you have your Joker smile on." Crowe is glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "Tone it down a little, shittah*, you're scaring people."
Acacia snorts, let them be scared, but smooths her face to impassiveness. No need to let everyone know of the insanity inside her head.
~Yet~
Of course. Yet.
"Peter, Peter Put her in
Pumpkin eater A pumpkin shell
Had a wife And there he
And couldn't Kept her
Keep her Very well"
"Are you planning to put me in a pumpkin shell?" Acacia glances at Crowe from her position on the grass with a raised eyebrow.
"Perhaps. You would be less trouble then." The blonde teen flips a page in his book, Bag of Bones by Stephen King.
"Where would you get a pumpkin that size?" Acacia looks up at the upside-down form of Tim Drake, giving him an odd look. He has invited himself to Acacia's two-person group, but she allows it since he will soon lose everything anyway.
"You wouldn't need one." The black haired teen closes her eyes and weaves her fingers behind her head. She lies on the school's perfectly manicured lawn…
~Who decided that lawns needed manicures? They don't even have hands! They're not alive! ~
…and enjoys the fact that she isn't in her wheelchair.
"Why not?" Drake is slowly turning red from the reverse blood flow.
The female Dent cracks open one eye and wonders where the other scholar-student's brain has flounced off to. She closes her eye and waves a hand at Crowe, indicating that he will answer.
"Shittah means that if you cut her body into small enough pieces, you can fit her into a hollowed out pumpkin." Acacia hears her friend's blazer move against the rough bark, then the quiet noise of him turning another page.
Drake's surprise is obvious in his voice as he drops to the ground, landing next to Acacia. "Rather…interesting mental image."
"One, two
Freddy Kruger's after you
Three, four
Better lock your door
Five, six
You may need a crucifix
Seven, eight
You better stay up late
Nine, ten
Never sleep again."
"Now you're just trying to scare me." Drake's voice is accusing.
Acacia doesn't open her eyes. "Is it working?"
"…Little bit, yeah."
"Good."
Crowe watches as his longtime friend slams her face onto his coffee table in aggravation. For hours she has been trying to recall what she saw in the Batcave. Anything and everything that she might have just caught a glimpse of for the short period of consciousness she had. He stands and goes to the kitchen, knowing that he can't help her right now. The blonde makes hot chocolate once there, movements automatic from years of friendship. They had been in several foster homes together, he and Acacia. She is his oldest and dearest friend and God help anyone that threatens her wellbeing.
He comes back into the living room to see his shittah still laying her head on the coffee table. Crowe sets her drink next to her immobile form and hears a mumbled thank you in return. He then sits down on the couch and proceeds to stroke her hair. "You were severely injured. Your mind wouldn't have been able to perform at its usual capacity."
However, instead of comforting her, his words seemed to enrage the Rogue child. "That's no excuse! I've dealt with pain before!" Acacia leaps up and begins pacing her friend's living room. "That may have been my only thrice-damned time to be in there and get something! I remember nothing! NOTHING!" The girl drags her hands through her hair, tugging harshly on the ends.
Crowe can see blood starting to stain her bandages and moves into her path. "Shittah, enough. You're injuring yourself further, which is not beneficial to anyone right now. You need to get better to start doing anything."
The Dent's face is twisted into a sneer, giving her a demonic appearance. Poison Ivy's son watches as she whirls away from him and flings herself back onto the couch. She begins mumbling to herself, startling him. She rarely, if ever, acknowledges the voice in her head, and so her talking out loud to it is a sign of her deteriorating mental state.
Crowe watches his oldest friend, growing more and more concerned with each minute. It startles him to realize that she is having a PTSD episode and begins going through the list of people who can help. She can't do anything that requires her to be physically active, knocking the Joker and Riddler off his list of potentials. Killer Croc is still incarcerated at Arkham, but seeing as he would also require physical activity, he is also not an option. Acacia's father hasn't contacted her, meaning that it isn't safe for her to be with him yet. His own mother is busy cultivating her new home with various plants from different places of the world; her focus would be diverted for quite some time yet. Mad Hatter is too involved in his 'Wonderland' to be able to help Acacia any. This leaves his least favorite Rogue to help.
Acacia's normal façade is crumbling and leaving the tormented, traumatized child underneath for the world to see. She is now having a complete conversation with herself, using two voices. One is that of a demonic small child and the other her normal tone. The high school girl is dangerously unstable and will begin to go looking for people to hurt fairly soon. The blonde teen knows his dark-haired friend will lose everything she has worked so hard for if people see her like this.
With a curl of his lip, Crowe grabs one of his numerous disposable cell phones and dials a memorized number. He lets it ring three times before hanging up and redialing.
"Ah, if it isn't a Rogue child. How can I be of assistance, Isely?" The smooth, condescending voice is grating to Crowe's ears.
If it were possible to strangle someone through a phone, Crowe would have done so long ago. "It's Acacia. She's having one of her episodes, Crane."
Jonathon Crane, affectionately referred to by 'The Scarecrow' by the people of Gotham, changes his tone sharply. "How bad is it this time?"
Crowe glances at his friend. "She's using two voices and throwing things."
"Bring her to the alley across from Gotham Park. I'll meet you there shortly." The sound of a dial tone rings in the teen's ear.
Crowe snaps the phone shut and takes out the battery before having a vine crush the rest. He then begins the slow process of coaxing Acacia out of his apartment. He attaches a vine to his wrist, before wrapping it around the Dent's waist. She is likely to attack the first person they see on the streets and he would rather not have to clean up the scene and delay her recovery.
Am I a monster
You seem to think so
You give me this word
And expect me to accept it
But am I a monster
For something I can not control
For something forced upon me
That I am forced to live with
Am I a monster
When I am attacked and defend myself
When I must kill to live
And cry over their bodies
Am I a monster
You appear to believe this
Very well
I shall be the monster
You will have your way
But be warned
Once I have become this monster
You will perish beneath my hand
Then I will go after the others
But as you die remember
The words you told me
The words that made me what I am
I am a monster