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Mar. 5th, 2015


Statuesque (Narrative)

"Oh Puddin'" Harley said with a sniffle.

She had snuck on to the grounds of Blackgate. She had to see him for herself and while she had been putting it off....she knew she would eventually find herself standing before him. Jack. Joker. Whatever anyone wanted to call him but he would always be Puddin' to her. Unless they were in the presence of company and then it was always Mista J. But she couldn't believe what she was seeing. He was...he was stone. A statue! Someone's fucking garden gnome. He deserved better and they both had seen worse.

Another sniffle and a couple of large, sloppy tears cascaded down from her eyes and coursed down her cheeks. She lifted a hand and set her palm on his chest, over the part where his heart would be and she got closer to him. "Puddin' I wish ya could hear me. I wish you was here ta help. Eddie has gone crazy. Kidnapped a girl and some guys came lookin' for her. Messed him up pretty bad. The Doc ain't gonna be too happy with me for helpin' 'em, but Eddie framed me. I was screwed eitha way and the smarter choice was ta go with the nice Brooklyn fellas. I dunno if I'm gonna make it too much longer above ground. But in case I don't, I wanted ya ta know that I was here. That I love ya and that at least for one minute we were togetha. Even if you are just a statue."

Her lips found his stone cheek and then she pulled back. Fingers wiped at her streaming eyes and Harleen knelt down to the ground. She set her teddy that he had gotten for her at the carnival near one of his stone shoes, the bear resting against the statue almost comically.

When she rose again, Harley looked at the statue of her love, pressed her fingers against her lips and blew him a kiss. "Love ya, foreva. No matta what." With that, she turned and Harley raced quietly toward the high wall of the compound. She scaled the wall, leapt up and was over and down on the other side in a matter of moments. The night allowed her to creep back to Arkham where a cold, lonely bed full of emptiness awaited her. And a possible death sentance.

Jan. 22nd, 2015


Blackgate Lawn Ornament (Narrative)

The statue had been sitting in front of Sherwood Florist since the day that Jesse Custer had abused his powers to put a temporary end to the Clown Prince of Crime. It had moved when the shop had moved, always in the same spot. But when the City brought in all the new people, it decided that it didn't want Jack Napier outside of Dinah's shop anymore. It had erected Blackgate for creatures just like Jack. It would put him there, instead.

So it placed the figure directly in front of it, smack in the middle of a fountain. It didn't make the Joker spout any water himself, but there were decorative sprays that sprang up in patters around him.

Maybe people would throw coins into the fountain and make wishes.

The City would like that.

Jan. 25th, 2013


No clowning around (Jack/Jesse narrative)

Jesse stumbled upon the Joker in a way that he never expected. He knew that the man was still out and about, free in the world. It was a knowledge that bothered him. But as long as there were heroes out there, Jesse didn't feel like it was his place to step in. Of course, before tonight, he'd not crossed paths with the psychopath in any way. Not since they'd gotten Jake out of Arkham. It was like the City knew that he wouldn't be able to stop himself if he were to come across the bastard.


Jesse had been helping to fight Jack Napier for years. He had stood beside various members of the Batfamily and done whatever they needed him to do. He had played parts in more than one rescue. He had healed more than one wound caused by that psychopath. He had lost a lot because of him. Jesse was tired of worrying about the people he cared about. He was tired of seeing them get hurt because the City apparently couldn't see fit to be rid of the goddamned menace. He was angry that innocent people kept getting hurt and nothing ever happened to Jack. Nothing. He disappeared for a while and always resurfaced again. Always with some new plan. Always intent on doing more harm.

All of this flooded through Jesse as he discovered Joker coming out of Dinah's shop, a strange satisfied smile on his face. There was a truck nearby and Jesse watched Jack enter it and come out with a barrel. He didn't have a hand truck or anything to carry it, but was rolling it on it's edge toward the doors.

He couldn't not do something. He couldn't let whatever this was happen. Not at the risk of his friends. Jack was here to do harm. Why in Dinah's shop, he couldn't say. He had no idea what was in those barrels, but there seemed to be a lot of them. A quick look in the truck told him that much. He was going to act. He was going to interfere. He was going to use his powers in a way that he had said that he wouldn't. Jesse didn't know what the repercussions would be, but surely there would be something. Right now, he didn't care.

When Jack stepped back out to go back to the truck, Jesse made himself known.

"You ain't gonna do this, whatever it is."

Jack was actually, legitimately startled. He'd been so busy with his work that he hadn't been paying much attention to his surroundings. His giddiness at planting the Fear Toxin in Dinah's little shop was overwhelming. He was going to rig it so that as soon as she opened the door, they'd go off. He had all the stuff to do it, too. Dinah Lance, the downfall of the City and its citizens. The idea of it was too beautiful.

"I remember you." He moved forward, narrowing his eyes at the man and then smiling big. "You're Max's sweetie! Oh, look at you! Don't you look handsome. And what are you going to do, handsome? Punch me? Go ahead. I don't mind a little beating. Won't keep me down for long."

It was Jesse's turn to smile. His smile was no more nice than Jack's. His eyes were dark and determined. "Ain't gonna touch you, clown. But I'm gonna make sure that you don't get a chance to hurt no one."

"OOooh." Jack giggled. "I'm so afraid of you!"

Jack reached into the pocket of his vest, grasping onto something. In an almost graceful movement, he tossed it in Jesse's direction. "Here! Have an explodey!"

With that, Jesse let loose. It was like his anger flowed from him in waves. He wanted The Joker gone, but couldn't bring himself to kill the man. He wanted the Joker imprisoned, but didn't think that Arkham could hold him. He wanted the Joker unable to harm anyone for a long time, to be easily found, restricted and confined. All this intent went into what Jesse unleashed. He didn't think, just acted.

What he ended up with was a metal statue of a man who looked like he might be checking for rain. Hand out, foot back a bit. Big smile. Right in front of Dinah's shop. The thing that Jack had been tossing was no longer arching toward him. Jesse wasn't quite sure what he'd done with it, until he saw it laying on the ground. Oddly enough, it was a flower. Or at least, flower shaped. He moved toward it, looking. It was stuck in the sidewalk.

"Well. Shit." Dinah was not going to be pleased about this. Though, maybe she would be. He'd have to talk to her and see what she wanted him to do.

Jesse's next step was the barrels. He went into Dinah's shop to see what was in there. Jesse shook his head. Whatever these were, they couldn't be here anymore. They couldn't be anywhere in the City at all. With a wave of his hand, he willed them gone. Just gone. The ones in the shop, the ones in the truck, and even the truck. It was so much power to use. It was so much interfering. Jesse didn't feel bad for it, not exactly, but he knew he'd catch some kind of hell for it. The City had told him once already, long ago, to watch himself. Maybe, though, it wouldn't be quite so bad, given that he'd helped the City escape the Thomas body.

Jesse sighed and left the shop. He made sure Dinah's door was locked behind him. Then he headed back to his apartment with the intention of getting really fucking drunk.

Jan. 15th, 2013


Collection notice (Crane)

It was time.

Jack had gotten a note about a certain request being filled. He'd let it sit for as long as he thought was safe, erring on the side of just a little bit too long, but right on the asshole edge of anything that would make Jonathan think that he'd given up on the idea of spreading toxin across the whole of the City.

He arrived at the asylum in a panel truck that should have been carrying an industrial sized furnace, which he backed right into the delivery bay. He'd never had the furnace, of course. He'd just stolen the truck from the shipyards. Probably somebody down there was going to wonder how they hell they were supposed to move a couple of tons of metal without their truck. They were also probably going to get fired for leaving the keys in it. Jack hadn't helped the situation by leaving a note in nicely printed letters saying THANKS FOR THE KEYS!

Sometimes he thought it was more friendly to leave notes.

Most of the time, he just did it to be a dick.

Jack left the truck running as he went to the front of Arkham. He didn't even bother to stop at reception this time, just walked right through. Right to Crane's office.

"Knocky knock! You've missed me, I know you have!"

Dec. 19th, 2012


This won't be fun for you. (Enigma)

(Warning: Violence.)

Jack was bothered by the fact that there was a Nigma in this world who seemed to have slipped over to the goodguys. Again. He knew that she'd started out that way, but they'd all done so much to further her career. Not-so-gently nudging her toward crime and violence.

Crane's report that she was headed down a path of righteous living irritated him.

He had to be careful, though. He couldn't just roam the City aimlessly trying to track down the red headed tart. He couldn't be seen. Not when he was supposed to be secured away in Arkham, watched over by doctors and heavily drugged. So it took him time to find out where the little brat lived. Then he took time to try to memorize her routine.

He didn't really need a plan, so to speak. He just needed to get the miniNigma's attention.

In an alleyway near her home, he waited. There was an empty storefront he planned to drag her into once he had her. Jack adjusted the stem of the rose that he held. It was a real flower, but it had been modified just a little bit. Now a tiny hose ran from the center of it down to his hand, where he held a trigger switch.

Jack kept the bulk of himself in the dark, having worn a black suit to accommodate his needs. A hat pulled low on his head. He watched for her, waited patiently as she approached. Then held the flower out for her.

"Would the miss like a rose the color of her pretty hair?" All it would take was a moment's hesitation, and he'd release the gas, knocking her out for easier transport.

Sep. 22nd, 2012


Plan Part Two (Crane)

Jack had gone underground.

Thankfully, he had the memories of what he'd done to the secondary Dinah to take with him when he went. He was already bored and irritated with his lack of social activity, but if he hadn't had that, well. He might have become destructive, as well. He had been very quiet for weeks. Trying to fit in with the glorious ruse that he was locked up in Arkham, being tended to and kept away from harming others. Funny enough, the ruse was actually keeping him from harming others for the time being.

But the time had come to implement the next stage of the plan. Which meant that he had to get to Arkham to talk to the doc to arrange what they were going to do. The last time Jack had seen Crane, there had been a wonderfully fun torture session with four very unfortunate men. He didn't know if any of them had survived the evening, but he knew at least one of them probably shouldn't have.

With a lot less dramatics to his arrival, Jack disguised himself and made for the asylum. He quietly appeared in a tow truck wearing jeans and a flannel shirt and a baseball hat pulled down as far as it would go. They were clothes that he would never wear in day to day life, and it was the first step of his disguise. The second was the handlebar mustache and the third was the mullet wig that resided under the hat. He'd even gone so far as to get motor oil on himself so that now he smelled like he'd been working on vehicles. There was a clipboard in his hands as well.

He'd stolen it all from a guy who actually did run a towing service. The guy would get it all back. Eventually. And be untied and let go. Eventually.

At reception, Jack made loud chewing sounds with the gum he'd stuffed in his face. There was too much of it, and he spoke a bit slower to be understood.

"Here to see a..." He looked at the clipboard "Jonathan Crane... about a car needs to be towed?"

Aug. 17th, 2012


Playthings (Jonathan)

Jack had found five faces that matched his close enough that anybody looking through the viewing window of a high security Arkham Asylum patient room door wouldn't know the difference between him and the real Joker. There were slight variations to each, things that might have to be hidden, but that was for Spooky to choose from. He'd made a promise that there would be leftovers to play with, and he was keeping it.

He drove the van with the hog tied and gagged civilians up to Arkham's front door, honking as he approached. He sure as hell wasn't going to be the one to drag these men where they needed to go. There was staff for that.

The outside of the building looked quite nice, Jack observed. The doctor had been taking great care in the rebuilding, he could see. It was a little depressing, really. He'd put hard work into making it a death trap. He knew that it was likely that not one of his toys were still inside.

Oh well. Perhaps he'd get a chance to renew Arkham's status of inhabitable.

"Crane!" Jack called, getting out of the stolen vehicle. "Craneypoo! Jonny boy! Sugar lumps! I have presents for you! You should come down and seeeee theeeeeem."

Jul. 30th, 2012


Calling Card (Attn: Jack Napier)

Enigma laid the final body out, giving it another hard smack with her cane when it groaned, watching the skull split before she finished curving it into a J shape.

She stepped back, smirking at the line of bodies before looking up at one of the thugs she had hired, accepting the nod he gave her. She glanced to the other thug on the opposite roof and he gestured to the left and gave a three.

Enigma headed to the third set of bodies, shifting both of them a touch to the left before checking again, getting the okay from both men.

She grabbed her bag and cane, wiping it clean with a rag before tossing it aside and heading down the street, leaving nine corpses behind to spell out her message.


Hopefully he was smarter then he looked and would get a hold of her soon.

Jul. 21st, 2012


The Joke's On You (Joker, Kitty)

After the tremors, Dinah found herself in... a city? She looked around at the buildings, even recognizing some. Others, however, were completely out of place. Where was she?

It wasn't Gotham or Metropolis or any other city she knew about, even if she did see Fieri brothers on the corner.

Dinah did a double take as the aroma of home-made Italian food wafted toward her.

"I have to be dreaming," she told herself.

All the same, just in case she wasn't dreaming, she moved closer to the restaurant. Her mouth was watering at the idea of eating pasta again. Hell, at this point she would take any food that wasn't postapocalyptic food. If chocolate and wine were added to the mix, she might just have to conclude that she'd died and ended up in some sort of Heaven.

Jul. 7th, 2012


Not Quite Right (Open)

Doctor Jonathan Crane pretty much lived at Arkham Asylum. Oh sure, he had an actual apartment in Park Row/Crime Alley where he kept his belongings and he often spent more time in the stables then he did his office, visiting Nightmare, but the fact remained that he rarely actually left Arkham unless he needed to get supplies, get something from his rundown, cockroach infested living space or visit the horse.

He saw no reason to change this when he had a comfortable couch in his office, enough patients to fulfill both of his desires, and Cash delivered wonderful donuts everyday for breakfast when the man came into work.

So the idea that something might change, something would appear to disrupt his happy schedule of treating patients, poisoning patients and then occasionally doing paperwork enough to keep the Wayne Foundation off his back was not a welcome one.

And neither was the bright neon green Joker symbol that greeted him when he woke up from an impromptu nap while Ruth dealt with a minor riot.

Rolling his shoulders under his lab coat, he stood, yawning deeply as he made his way out of his destroyed office, peeking around a corner to ensure the madman in question was no where near by, before heading for Intensive Treatment, the lat known location of the villain.

He would blame his exhaustion and a late night doing research that it took him several hallways to realize something wasn't right. The dust, the dirt and debri...none of this had been there only an hour or so before when he had gone to sleep.

Not to mention the fact the asylum should have been under lock down if the Joker had managed to escape, but instead, it was just quiet. No alarms, no annoying red light...just the space of too much emptiness and not enough bodies to fill it.

Jonathan knew fear. He created it, shaped it, bathed in it since the moment he was born...and right now, he was terrified. The long buried human instinct of something is wrong screaming at him across millenia of evolution. He paused mid-step, staring down the dark hallway he was walking before abruptly spinning on his heel, heading for the atrium, ready to simply bail and let whatever security Arkham may have had left deal with the problem. It wasn't his job, anyway. He was the Director, the one who pushed papers and argued with the foundation for higher salaries for better equipment. That was why he hired enough security for a small army in the first place.

He fumbled for a minute with the door lock, his ID card not working before he simply gave up and put his fist through the window, one of only two in the entire Asylum that hadn't been converted yet to wire mesh. Breaking away enough of the glass he carefully folded his long, thing body through the hole, hissing as a long cut was gouged out of his shoulder to his elbow.

Pulling off his lab coat he held it against the wound, looking up at Arkham, his home for a long moment before turning back to look at what should have been Gotham, mind already thinking about how to get off the island without causing a fuss.

...except Gotham had vanished, and it's it's place was something...else. A city he didn't recognize.

Jul. 6th, 2012


What's this? (narrative)

Jack had noticed the change.

Certain key people seemed to be missing from the City. Oh, there were still citizens here who knew what he was, who he was, and that he wasn't dead. But there were so many others who were gone. Why were they gone? He had no idea. But the pretty birdy was gone. The fishnet magician was gone. He wondered if the Battiest of all Batfucks was gone as well. There was no real way to check that. Wayne Manor had stood empty of a true Wayne, though the ever loyal butler was still pacing around on the inside, going about things as if it were all normal and Brucey was still running around in a cape.

He wanted to get into trouble. Real trouble. So far all he'd been doing was having fun and teasing. But they were bound to know that he'd been the one by now. If they didn't, they were all stupider than he'd previously thought. Which was saying something, considering it had taken until recently for any of them to try to kill him. If it were him over on that side - how laughable, but possible, he supposed, in some twisted Other Reality - he would have done for a Joker nemesis the first time he tried to do something like shoot Babsy Baby in the spine.

No, there was no use in hiding anymore. No use in being the faceless terror. He needed to strike now while the iron was hot and the cats were gone. Really show them that he meant business.

But what... what?

Jun. 22nd, 2012


To Whom It May Concern (Narrative)

TO: CEO of WayneCorp

Dear Sir Or Madam,

It has come to my attention that a mutual friend of ours isn't who he claims to be. I thought to write you this letter so that you might also be informed of this matter. It occurred to me to send it off to Wayne Manor, but that just seems too easy, don't you think? Better that it should come to your hands within your safe office, high in your safe building.

A while ago, I had encounter with the Bat in Black, our beloved Dark Knight. I thought that I was seeing an old chum for a playful round of fisticuffs. But do you know what I discovered? That Bat is a fraud. That Bat is no Bat of mine.

Though I didn't need more proof, that Bat did something that no Bat has ever done before. Why, he actually tried to kill me! It's so against the ethics of our dearest friend, I didn't know what to think. It took me a good long while to recover from that incident, and during that time, I came to realize the truth of the matter.

I know that you have always been close to the Bat. So in the spirit of fairness, I thought that I would reveal my findings to you.

Perhaps you should share them with the Pretty Bird, the Robin Hood Wannabe and the Fishnet Magician before it all blows up in your face.


PS ~ Were you aware of how nicely our new Bat smells? I would just kill to find out what that perfume is.

May. 10th, 2012


Mayhem (Narrative, JLC attention needed)

Jack was disappointed when the City started moving again. He had very much liked the stillness. Not because it was easier. No. But because of the chaos it caused. He'd never seen people so upset. The citizens who were raised here like cattle were in absolute panic. It had been delicious and lovely to watch. He hadn't even needed to lift a hand.

Now, of course, now everybody was settled again. Happy.

He hadn't even gotten to go see that stupid conference where the City guy answered questions. He'd known that too many who knew his face would be there, and he wasn't quite ready for any kind of fight or confrontation. Not quite all the way healed from his time being dead. Again. But shortly after the streets began to move again, he decided he didn't care. His ribs hurt, but this place needed a shake up.

Jack stood in the street looking at the Wayne building. Bruce Wayne was not inside, he now knew. Bruce Wayne would have never tried to kill him. Bruce Wayne was too soft for that. Whoever was playing Batgames currently was not anybody he knew at all. They were a mystery to crack. A new foe to get to know and find the weakness of. All in all, not a completely bad deal. Perhaps a little lopsided, since the Batimpersonator seemed to have friends who knew him.

There were a couple of places he knew to look for them. Here was one of them, the clocktower was another. He would leave notes at both, he decided. That was the best way to get their attention. Short of letting all the animals out of the zoo, which was actually not a half bad idea. Maybe later.

Using the brightest green he could find in spray paint, Jack went at the wall of the Wayne building. He left "Come Play With Me" in the biggest letters he could manage on the ground, and then ran off toward the tower. There, he left the note "TAG! You're IT!"

They weren't his normal fare, no curse words, no taunting. But they were along the lines of the personal ad he'd left. If they were smart, they'd know exactly who had come to visit.

Jan. 30th, 2012


In the "personals" section of the newspaper

To the Bat in my Belfry: I know you're not the one. And you smell so pretty.

Dec. 20th, 2011



He stumbled out of the false brightness of the corridor into the real sunlight, stopping to let his eyes adjust while he covered them partially with one hand. The other stayed on the door to steady him. He wasn't quite strong enough to be as disoriented as he was while remaining upright. He might not be for some time, really.

It had been a long journey.

From the pained struggles of trying to remove himself from the wreckage of the asylum, crawling, passing out, crawling again, all the while through debris and his own poisons. Pulling himself by the strength of his arms alone across the bridge from the island to ... well, he supposed it was really just a bigger island, wasn't it? That had taken him a while to do. Days may have passed. He couldn't be completely sure. His sense of time after confronting the Batfuck and Special Friends had gone pretty south. There had been a good deal of pain, and maybe some laughter - his own, of course - but time was nothing to him then.

Once to the main land, he had thrown himself into a street. It hadn't been one of his most clever ideas, admittedly. But he didn't know what else to do. He was still bleeding fairly freely, he couldn't feel parts of himself, all he wanted was somebody to not run him over.

Lucky for him, somebody hadn't. Somebody had seen him laying there, somebody had stopped. Somebody had loaded him into a vehicle, and somebody had taken him to the hospital. Somebody had checked him in, somebody had even stayed with him until they were sure that he was going to live. Somebody had never returned for a thanks, but somebody may have done a great disservice to The City with their act of charitable kindness.

Doctors had taken care of him, nurses had seen to his needs. Many episodes of Judge Judy had come and gone. Much Jell-o eaten. They called him John Doe, because he couldn't quite remember who he was. They made him well again, helped him to get strong enough to stand and then walk on his own. They brought him real clothes, gave him the tools to clean himself up. Then they discharged him. He insisted that he wasn't sure of himself yet, they said to check in if he wasn't feeling well, but he needed to get back to life.

As he walked out into the daylight, into the City once again, he was sure of something very important that he had kept from his caretakers. He knew who he was. He knew what had happened. And he knew that he was very upset about it all.

Jul. 25th, 2011


Rescue (tag to you all know who)

Arkham Asylum loomed into view as Dinah pulled her car to a stop near the entrance to the bridge. The gothic looking manor that housed the asylum awaited them on the island, seemingly quiet from the outside.

Dinah waited for everyone else to catch up, her eyes sweeping the streets for any sign of the Batmobile. She tapped her communicator once to connect with the Clocktower.

"Are we up and running, Fred?"

She still wasn't completely confident in the plan. A part of her worried that she was just sending the people she cared about to their deaths-or worse, knowing the Joker. But she had to try, had to believe that Jake was in there and could be saved.

Jul. 16th, 2011


Letters To The Boy (Narrative)

Jack pranced around the City, gleefully holding a can of spray paint in the most obnoxious color of green he could find. He'd been going around all day leaving little notes for his beloved Son. The sweet, darling protege he'd created. The spawn of his machinations. The seed of his... well. Not his loins. Brains didn't have seed as far as he knew, but that's where the little tyke had sprung from.

The notes didn't make a lot of sense to the outside world. They weren't all enormous either. Just a smile here, and exclamation point there. Maybe a glorious green sign shouting "GOOD JOB!" or "Daddy loves you!" Anything to urge the little guy on in his horrors.

He sprayed one now that stated "Remember Gray Dick!" hoping that the little Robin was still in, or back in, town. Wanting the boy to have a go at him. Scar him up. Destroy him a little bit.

Jack's hands were covered in green. It reminded him of when he'd spray painted the penii on the walls oh, so long ago. The silent conversation with Big Dark And Broody who was not a Batfuck of any kind. What a strange time that had been. Had it really been that far in the past?

"Razors for everybody!" Jack painted on a park bench and skipped away.

"Water's good for many things!" on the side of a little girl's wagon. She began to cry, and Jack patted her head and stole her lolly, then moved on.

Jun. 28th, 2011


Ready to Play (Jake and Jack)

''After my haircut, can we go out and play, Father?'' Jake's smile was sharp, eyes sharper than a 'Riza. ''I want to play.'' )

May. 14th, 2011


Not so nice things (Narrative)

Jack worked on the boy. Day and night. No regard to anybody's sleeping habits, not even his own. He didn't keep things on any kind of schedule, he didn't want the boy to be ready for anything. Ever. So whenever he thought of something, Jack was at Jake's door, ready to play. Ready to bring the brat pain like he'd never known in his life, and confusion that would addle his brain and destroy his reality.

But whatever Jack did, he cleaned up after. When the boy was crying, twisted in agony and sweating, ready to give in to the darkness of unconsciousness, Jack would stop. He would leave the room and return with items to help the boy recover. Cold water, food, bandages, soothing ointments. He tended to the wounds and spoke in soft tones. Called him a good boy, a strong boy. Told him that things would be okay. This was in direct contradiction to the things that he said when he was doing the great amounts of harm, those things tended to hover around Jake being hopeless, that nobody loved him, that nobody was coming for him, that he was a brat, weak, cowardly.

The juxtaposition couldn't be any more massive if a team of psychologists were standing by to give Jack aid.

Sometimes, Jack didn't feed the boy. Sometimes, he brought him fantastic meals of the sorts that little boys loved. On the days when Jake got no food, Jack didn't even bother to taunt him about it. He just left the room and didn't come back. But on the days when the feasts were given, Jack coddled the boy and petted him. Some days the boy got regular meals. Maybe only one would be skipped. Maybe days would go by before he got another.

Nothing was consistent.

It was just the way Jack liked it.

May. 9th, 2011


New Little Plaything (Log with Jake, complete)

When Jack got the boy back to the asylum, the first thing he was strap the kid down in one of the beds made to restrain more difficult patients. The second thing he did was tend to the wounds the hyenas left. He had plans for the boy, after all, and him bleeding to death didn't count among them. He then left for a little while to fix the hyenas up best he could and then return them to where he'd found them. He didn't think that he'd need them for the rest of this.

After all, he had Jake's little creature. )

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