Chapter Text
💛
February 20th.
It's been thirty seven years.
I attended a gala last night. It was held in my honor, for It was my birthday.
It was an event of great import, unfortunately. It was paramount that the entire family be there. I only barely got Stephanie to attend. Blackmail is immoral, but sometimes necessary. All of the incessant headlines…
Sometimes, when I sit up on stage, and watch the supporting reassurance in Dick and Tim's eyes, or the self assured princely, though entitled and oftentimes selfish, manner Damian carries himself around the guests he deems as beneath him, or the boredom and standoffish nature of Jason and Cass, speaking softly with each other in the corner of the room, or Duke nervously chatting with a rapturous reporter with a glazed over look in their eyes, or the Kent's making small talk with some of the staff, I don't feel like I'm playing pretend when I'm Bruce Wayne.
Stephanie had bailed when I wasn't looking. I'm hardly surprised, but she's going to regret it.
Thankfully, some charity was done while we were all there. I felt like I wasn't wasting my time. The surprise Valentine's Day breakout at Arkham molded this birthday bash into a opportunity to help the people affected. Work like this is just as important as our nightly patrols.
It's been thirty seven years.
I never thought I would make it this far. I had always thought that somewhere, in the midst of the long war I wage when the sun falls, that the shadows I have made a home in would consume me as it does everything else. That the cowardly lot that had taken them, would take me as well.
It was reassuring.
But I'm still here, with my family.
And sometimes, I find myself thinking that I'd have it no other way.
Earlier in my crusade, I had considered those thoughts a betrayal of everything I stood for. A grossly treasonous idea, a backstabbing of that promise I made after Zorro. It was only supposed to be me, alone. I was putting others at risk. This… family. I had never prepared myself for the possibility, so I had to learn. My shortcomings only failed those that trusted me most. Scars heal, but they are not forgotten.
But no. My cowardice, my fear of interpersonal connection, is not a necessary tool in the fight against the criminal element.
I recognize that now. But it's still hard to incorporate that knowledge into my great crusade.
But I have to try. For them. For this city. For-
“Father?”
Damian.
“Are you writing in the war journal?”
He approaches me with a stroll, quiet as a mouse and Alfred in his arms, the feline leaning into his touch. He's bothered by something, but he's trying to hide it, distract himself.
With a soft click, I pressed the push button on my biro and placed it inside the journal, closed it. I then swiveled the chair looking at the BatComputer over to him. I give my son my full attention.
“Yes, Damian, I was.”
I can see Alfred’s hair all over his sweater.
“Pennyworth requested a welfare check. And also to inform you that dinner is ready. His gruel has improved markedly since I made this manor my own two years ago.”
I've requested Alfred - No relation to the canine in my son's arms - to bring dinner to the cave too often lately. I don't think he'll accept it again. I can't handle his passive aggressive sass in such high doses.
I know he just wants me on the dinner table because he thinks it's good for me. I'm trying to be more active in the family, less distant. I sigh, accepting of my fate, though I wish I could keep writing.
“Well, I'm just about done with my entry. Let's go.”
“Hm. It is imperative that you finish your entry. You said that-”
“I know, son. But I can finish later tonight.”
“...Understood, Father.”
The cave is left silent then. The ever present background noise of the echoing flapping of Bat wings, a downright nostalgic set of sounds, is all I can hear.
Alfred, not getting enough affection from his distracted owner, leaps out of Damian's arms and scampers into the shadows.
Can't imagine he'll do well out there.
I'll find the cat later. But now I have my now slightly disappointed son to talk to. He's still bothered. I sort of dread the words that are going to leave my mouth - I'm not good at asking people how their day was.
“Did you get that issue with Mrs. Nguyen resolved?”
The sadness on his face is quick to be replaced with a sneer and a roll of his eyes. Damian folds his arms and looks to the side, unrepentant entitlement evident in the simple flick of his hand. “Tt. Why she insists on recruiting me with useless fools instead of letting me work independently is beyond my understanding. I take a monumental lead in every metric in the class, so what would be the benefit of-”
“Damian.” I say once again, slightly clipped, my grip on the arms of the chair tightening. My son has the tendency to go on tirades regarding his superiority to the people around him. If I don't stop him, Damian could go all day.
Damian's mouth forms a line, and he sighs, looking down at the cave floor.
“Can you at least try?” I nearly beg.
A pregnant silence follows, and I still see a fight play out within him. A battle wages within his mind, no doubt agonizing over scenes of trying - and miserably failing - to connect with his classmates and despairing. But slight eye movements also tell me he's considering…
“Tt. Fine…” Damian tries to impart a dismissive and aloof tone, but I can hear a slight waver, despite everything.
I sigh, and give him a little smile. Just a few months ago this would have exploded into a shouting match of biblical proportions, but not anymore. I'm not one to indulge in little victories, but we all need exceptions.
I don't follow up on it. I only nod at him, escape from the padding of the chair like that had me trapped there, and I can tell he's grateful that I'm not letting this discussion hang over him for too long. None of us like to hear about how we need to change. Especially at that age, we want to feel like we're making the decision for ourselves.
He's only twelve.
Neither of us talk as I pull Damian by the shoulder out of the cave, and into the memory ridden manor above.
💛
I've barely woken up, and already my day is going just fine.
A week and a half: around ten days. That's how long I've been a guest here. And I can say, I am not going to miss it.
First thing I did was wake up on the mattress. That wasn't the best, because I was still stuck in IKEA, but there's no sense crying about what you can't change. My eyes still haven't adjusted to the fluorescent lighting visible even with the tent above me, so I squinted and rubbed my eyes.
Then, just as I was yawning and mentally preparing myself for another day of… this, I heard Him.
HARK, O MY CHILD IN THE MIDST OF THE HOUSE OF SWEDISH CARPENTRY. A DAY WITHOUT PRAYER IS ONE WITHOUT BLESSINGS, AND I HAVE HEARD THY PRAYERS AND INVOCATIONS. YOUR DAYS IN THIS COUNTRY HAVE MET AN END, AND NOW YOU SHALL GO TO ANOTHER LAND I SEE FIT. LEAVE THIS DWELLING, AND YOU SHALL LEAVE THIS PIECE OF CREATION. GO FORTH, AND HAVE FAITH. SO SAITH THE ANCIENT OF DAYS.
First of all, I can't underestimate how jarring it is to be just lounging about then having the word of God blasted into my ear without any warning. It's not as bad as it used to be, but goodness. Secondly, YEEHAW! Free at last!
Anyhow, seeing as I already had all of my belongings in my bag, I didn't need to collect much. I was so giddy telling the uh… “queen” that I was gonna head out, but I had to practically fight her on it!
I floated over to her in her tent, I was so so happy to be leavin’, and I said to her, “Imma catch you later, yer highness. I'm outta here!” This is the happiest I've been since getting here.
She was sitting at her desk, but my announcement shocked her out of her work sprawled out on it. “‘Outta here’, they say. What in the world could that mean? There's nothing outta there! You're just a KID, you can't go out into the wilds alone!” Oh yeah. Uh…
“It's time for me to go.” I try to explain to her slowly, walking over to her work station. “Look-”
She doesn't let me finish. “If you leave alone, you will die alone. You might have that weapon at your waist, but that changes little. Simple numerical advantage has those demons overwhelming you. I'm afraid I would be a lousy Queen if I were to allow that.” She sounds less shocked now, and her decisiveness is only growing. She stands up, then creeps up to me as she says this, with an oddly haunted look in her eyes.
Dam- I mean, Dang it. She looked half convinced to put me under lock and key rather than let me leave! How could I convince her…
“I'm sorry ma’am, but…!” I hesitate. I don't want to pull out the religion card, but… “This is a direct order from God. If I don't, I would be disobeying God. Y'know, that's the height of arrogance.”
Queen Christina only balks at that. She steps back and says nothing, only squinting at me, analyzing me to check if I'm lying or trying to punk her or something. I begin to doubt my strategy. Soon enough, The Iron Lady leans on the table, covers her face, and laughs sardonically before finally responding, “I did not know there was a God in this place.”
Yeah, that probably wasn't gonna work. I sigh at her response.
“I don't mean to worry you, your highness, but I must leave! Look, I'll uh… I'll send a letter to let you know I'm safe and sound. To ease yer worries an’all.”
Having said that, I reach into my bag and pull out my bible.
I close the gap between us, and take her hand. “You have my word. My hand on the bible, I assure this to you.” I held the book up to the air, and said those words.
Her brow pulls up, and her hands are wringling together. “I-Hm. Again, where will you be going? There's nothing out there! Except those demons.” Pure horror is drawn in her eyes. She must have seen a lot during her… stay in this labyrinth.
“Look, all you gotta know is that I'm leavin’ this IKEA mess behind me, and Ill never return here again. You don't have to worry over me, promise!”
She's lacking confidence in my words, but I can tell that even the idea sounds heavenly to her. “Leaving… I'm not sure that is even possible. But… seeing as you have proven yourself capable with that .44, I suppose it would not be too bad…?”
It's not a .44 magnum, it's not even a normal firearm, but I elect to let it slide.
She battles with herself for a second longer then, perhaps a bit too long for my tastes. After a moment, she finally makes up her mind. She looks melancholic to the side. “I concede. You can go. But, I shall prepare a leaving ceremony.”
Now it's my turn to balk. “Oh, really ma’am, that's not necessary-”
She suddenly whips her head to me again, and she gives me “The Look”. I'm sure that Toriel gave it to me often, when I lived with her in all of those timelines I only remember a second hand source of.
“Do you doubt me? And it is ‘Your highness’, not ‘Ma’am.’”
Cowed, I only mumble. “Yes, your highness.”
So I was allowed to leave.
Around 30 minutes later, after all had woken up to another day of living in this terrible place, Queen Christina gathered everyone at the front gate, that's around seventy people, to watch me leave. Me! Again, I don't know why they're giving me the first class treatment. Small towns, I guess.
“Citizens! I have brought you here today to announce something of great import. One of our new arrivals, the Cowboy child, is leaving Stockholm.” She holds her baby in her arms, with the tone of a commander or something. Wasn't she in the army? I sit beside her, wanting to hurry this along and leave this awful place but also feeling obligated to have proper etiquette and say goodbye.
The crowd reacts strangely. The crowd murmurs, and I see sad faces grow on the ones I can see up front. Sadness, with an obvious trace of unease. Even the guards at the Queen's sides look shocked at the Revelation. They all look… genuinely worried. I don't know any of these people!
“I understand. But Clover has assured me that they will send a signal that assures our settlement they are shielded from the dangers of the outer walls. Isn't that so?” She turns to me, and silently lets me know it's my turn to speak to the crowd.
Ugh. I tried to prepare for this, but even standing up here saying nothing was really hard. I take a breath, and try to remember the line.
“Uh…” I cough. Great start. I try to raise my voice. “I'll- I promise to write to y'all. Pinky promise.” I hold my finger out, just to show how serious I am.
I'm not good at talking to crowds.
I guess the Queen expected me to say more, because she lets the crowd hang on that for a little while. She holds her hand to her forehead for a split second, but then accepts what I have to say.
“And so it shall be. I know it is a sad day to see a dweller leave our settlement, so finally, if you have anything you want to say to them, come up and let your voice be heard.”
And so it went like that for around fifteen minutes. Seventy seven people all coming up to just me and saying goodbye. Some simply shook my hand, others gave me crushing hugs, and others still gave long-winded speeches to me and held up the line. Including that guy that info-dumped about his life before coming here.
About two days ago this guy just came up to me, sat me down and introduced himself as Jeremy, then began regaling me on the wife and kids he unwittingly abandoned by coming here. In the middle of it he simply collapsed into a sobbing fit, and the only thing I could think to do was rub his back and try to reassure him. It was kind of awkward.
Anyhow, after all the goodbyes were said and done, I stood before the Queen now. She spoke to me. “Farewell. I do hope you shall keep to your word.” She says confidently, but I can hear a trembling voice in her.
I really don't understand. Why is she doing this pomp and circumstance ceremony? I've only been here for a week. The only thing I've done in this place is be tormented by “Trifolium” and help around with the scouting parties in Stockholm.
But their hearts are only in the right place. Really, this whole event has only felt like a funeral. Like everyone here already knows I'm gonna die.
“I will. God Bless, and farewell.” I tip my hat to her.
At that, the Queen hands Anna over to the guard next to her and crushes me with a hug. All of these hugs. I suppose it feels nice, but I'm starting to get flustered.
But the hug is brief, and her Majesty says to me, “Say your farewells to my daughter.”
The Guard, who I recognize but for the life of me can't remember the name of, gives Anna to me.
I look at the little girl in her blue eyes. The only thing I can think to do is hug her close to my chest, and whisper some prayers for her.
And with that, I left.
I've been walking for a while. Thinking about my time spent in this store. Thanking God for finally getting me out of this hellhole. Having complicated thoughts about that little plant imp I met, that was actually me. I hope I don't meet another version of myself, wherever I'm going. Historically, meeting them has just been tiring.
My thoughts are interrupted by me reaching my destination. A gray door, sitting in the middle of the store. Heh. That rhymed. I breathe a sigh of relief, and follow after my escape hatch.
Before I open the door, I take a look around. Just getting a feel of the scenery, one last time. I try to collect my thoughts.
I spit on the floor. May God damn this horrid place. Hopefully, one day, everyone stuck here can leave.
Without further ado, I open the door and enter through. (I'm rhyming a lot today.) I hear the theremin sound of the door disappearing, and savor it. No more IKEA.
First things first, I feel the gust of wind. Fresh air! How I've missed you.
Secondly, I'm in yet another alley way. It's a little wet, so it must have been raining recently. Which is unfortunate, because it's also pretty dirty and dingy. There's litter EVERYWHERE! Ebott City was pretty clean, as much as the town barely qualified as a city. I'm not some kinda clean freak, but it's abysmal.
That reminds me. I need to figure out where I am. Time to do a little detective work.
As I walk through the dull urbanity of this unknown city, I hear the sounds of its residents, in their homes with the windows shut tight, and outside of the alley itself, doing whatever big city folks do.
There sure is a lot of graffiti around. Most of it is incomprehensible to me, but I suppose I appreciate the artistry in a cosmic sense. Why do people draw on public buildings? Why don't they just use paper? I feel like I would appreciate the art more if they didn't do that.
My musings regarding city culture are all that fill my head until…
What could that be? I hear a ruckus.
Is it…
I try to drown out the noise of the city and focus on what I'm hearing.
“P-P-Please, man, I-I'm not-”
“Look, just shut the fuck up and give me whatever you got. This isn't frickin, whatcha call it? A debate.”
I hear crying voices, two of them. Three scared voices, and a bully. That's all it sounds like to me. Although, I'll say the bully doesn't sound so sure of himself. It sounds like he's in a hurry. No matter. He's not getting what he wants out of them.
I try not to draw too much attention to myself as I hurry on over to the source of the disturbance. Clearly, Justice is needed.
Finally, I turn the corner and I see the four of them, illuminated by the raised fixture of a street light straight out of the Victorian times or something.
Three innocent people, filled with fear. A man and a woman, and a little girl. A family, obviously. They're all wearing pretty normal looking clothes. The little girl is wearing a raincoat, and her parents are wearing big fluffy sweaters. They look expensive.
I stand behind the perpetrator. His skin is as pale and sickly as his decaying sweater, and he has bite marks around his wrist. His shorts are too short, and he's wearing flip flops of all things. Who heard of a mugger in flip flops?
He terrorizes the family with a 9mm, maybe a Sturm Ruger? I can't make it out with how dark it is.
It's time to do what's right.
I unsheathe my sidearm, and shout. “Attention!” I hope my voice isn't as unassuming as my stature.
All eyes on me. I march over to them, and I can only see the dilated eyes of the mugger. His facial expression doesn't give much to work with, but his cold stare looks… he doesn't look well.
“Let ‘em go.” My command is made plain.
The mugger suddenly shifts his whole body over to me, and begins to breathe heavily. *You-What?” He laughs, and it sounds uneven, like glass breaking. “You're a kid. Yeah. That's not even loaded, I bet.” He seems to have a smarmy attitude. His voice is not pleasant.
“Now.” I cocked and aimed my gun at him, and I could hear his breath hitch. Looking down the barrel of a gun isn't so fun, huh?
He groans, and he seems to have completely forgotten the family he was just victimizing. “God- That thing looks real…” He then holds his gun back up, shakily. It looks like he's never held one before. He's holding it weird.
He stumbles over his words. “Ok- Fine! If that's how you wanna go, t-then-”
Before he could finish that thought, the father who he was holding up suddenly ran up and served him a left hook to the back of the head.
Woah! Did not expect that. The mugger makes a pretty severe sound, too. Try not to think about that too much. While I do that, I notice his gun fall to the floor and jog over to the weapon and kick it to the man, and he catches it and aims it at the criminal.
The mugger groans and tries desperately to get himself up off the floor. But with how frail he looked already, he couldn't even do that. He looks behind him, and me and the father, with our guns aimed at him.
“Get out of here! G-Go! Before I… pop a cap? Yeah, before I pop a cap in your ass!” He sounds a little more brave now.
The criminal's dead eyes glide over to me.
“Git.” I gesture with my gun for him to leave.
The mugger seems to contemplate his life choices for a second. With his mind made up, he hastily gets up off the floor, cradling the back of his busted head. He quickly runs off into the distance, the only things I hear out of him are the sticky sounds of him trying to run in his stupid lime green flip flops, and his echoing cries, “Fuckin Redneck brat!” He slurs out sloppily.
Wait. Hey!
Oh well. Who cares what some cussin’ bandit thinks anyway?
With the outlaw running away with his tail between his legs, I refocused back on the family I had helped. The father still had the pistol in his hand, looking into the distance where the mugger ran off to. He's shaking profusely. I wonder what's goin’ on up there. I look behind me, and the Mother and daughter are still frozen in shock. It's like time stopped for all three of them.
This must have been pretty scary for them. I'm not gonna pretend I'm Davy Crockett or something, but I've probably dealt with more life threatening situations than these people have.
I try to keep my voice unassuming as I look up at the man and question, “...mister? How’re you holdin’ up?”
“WOOOOOO!!!!”
His fists fly up into the air, and he lets out a guttural roar of triumph. I take a startled step back.
“YEAH! YUH! I'M- URGHHHYEEAAHH!”
The Man launches himself over to his family, and hugs them furiously.
They're all in celebratory moods. The woman's smile is so wide her cheeks look ready to break, and the little girl is hugging the man's leg for dear life, laughing.
Huh.
I holster my gun and take a few cautious steps closer to the three of them. I don't know what to say, really. I try to let them have their moment. They seem relieved beyond comparison. I don't want to stick my nose in their affairs… More than I already have, anyhow.
While I was spacing out, trying not to be nosy, I heard the man call out to me. “H-Hey! You, Kid. Who… Who are you?”
Surprised, I responded, “Um. It's Clover. That's my name.”
“Well, Clover…” He quickly closes the distance between us and put his hand which isn't holding the gun on my shoulder. “You're amazing, seriously! Where'd you learn how to hold a gun? You didn't shake or anything!”
I blush. “Uh, shooting ranges and practice. It's just kinda natural to me.” I twiddle my thumbs, reminding myself internally that the humble rule the earth. I'm only allowed to feel good about myself unless I actually did something. I just stood there and pointed a gun at him!
“No shit.” He lets out a relieved breath.
“Language!” I hear the woman whisper-shout, holding her hands to her daughter's ears. The father mouths a “sorry” to her, and looks back to me.
“Look, I don't know how to say this, but you really came in clutch back there. Whatever you want, I'll try to find a way to give it to you. Seriously.”
Came in clutch… I don't know about that. I furrow my brow as I respond. “That's not necessary, sir. And you hit ‘em on the head, I only helped! That being said…” I clap my hands together, and I decide to cash in on his promise. “I was wondering if you could answer a few questions I got.”
He's a native, probably!
“Heh, you're right, you're right… Go ahead. What do you wanna know?” He responds good-naturedly. He seems proud, and I think he deserves to be. I anticipate before asking…
“Y’all wouldn't happen to know where I am, would you?”
Now's when I start getting strange looks. That must be a strange thing to hear from the kid who interrupted your getting mugged.
“You don't… We're in Crime Alley.” He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world.
Crime Alley.
“Crime Alley,” I repeat. That's actually the name of this place?
The woman speaks up. “We're in Park Row.” She says it very pointedly. “None of those… stupid hood nicknames.”
“Billie, that's what everyone calls it.” He rolls his eyes, and looks back to me, and he looks genuinely worried. “Do you… get lost, or-”
“Maybe they're from another state.” For the first time, the little girl speaks up.
How am I gonna explain away this alternate universe stuff? I don't think they'll take me seriously if I say I'm from another reality, so…
“Yeah, I'm from Texas. I'm not from around here, so I'm not familiar with… this city or anything.” It's technically true. I was born in Texas, and I'm not from around here. So I didn't lie. God's happy with me right now, I know it.
Understanding dawns on the adult’s faces. “Ohhh. But where are your parents, or a guardian? Do you need directions home? I've got-”
I'm not in the mood for this. “Look Ma'am, I appreciate the sentiment, but I'll be alright. Thank you.” I say it in a harsher tone than I intended.
“Oh. Sorry.”
Awkward silence. I feel their gazes on me. With that look adults always give when they feel sorry for you. It's exhausting, truly.
Ugh. I'm too sensitive. I need to get over questions like that. I grumble, and scratch the back of my neck.
“Um, apologies. But that's not what I meant. I was askin’ more… what city, state… country, am I in.” It never hurts to be more knowledgeable.
The lady, who I think was called Billie, raises her brow so high it might as well have fused with her long curly hair. The father purses his lips and looks to the floor, unable to respond to such an inquiry. Luckily for me, the little girl doesn't look bothered at all and takes the liberty of responding.
“We're in Gotham City. It's in New Jersey!”
Gotham City? I've never heard of it. But I'm not exactly a geography expert. I don't even know one city in Jersey off the top of my head. Aren't people always saying bad things about New Jersey?
I sigh. “Well, thanks. I'm not gonna hold you up any longer, so-”
“Are you a superhero?”
The little girl, who can't be older than Frisk, marches right up to me and demands an answer. I'm pretty caught off guard. “Excuse me?”
“Are you a superhero? Like Wonder Woman?”
Who's… what?
“Naw, I ain't a superhero.” I don't even know what's going on.
The little girl seems frustrated by my reply. “Yeah you are! You even have a costume and everything!”
“Costume? These are my clothes!” I cry indignantly. I know she's really young, but… the audacity! Her parents need to teach her some manners. If she's so sure that I'm a superhero then why did she bother asking?
The father laughs awkwardly, and pulls the little girl towards his direction. “Heh, heh, yeah sweety, please don't… Don't do that, that's not nice.” He then cleared his throat. “Look, if you want to reach out to us…”
The man reaches into his pocket and writes something down on a lime green paper slip (my favorite!) and handing it to me. “We’re the Washingtons. If you want to contact me, that's my number. I owe ya, son.”
With that, the three of them leave. I hear a distant playful argument about taking the “Crime Alley” shortcut, and I see the little girl still giving me the evil eye.
Alright. What a warm welcome to… Gotham City, I think the girl said.
“To think, I had my life saved by a nine year old.” I hear off in the distance, and-
What!? Nine!? I am CLEARLY almost thirteen!
How am I even gonna contact them? I don't have a phone! I pinch my nose bridge. What a sorry state of affairs I am in. What am I gonna do?
I guess I'll have to find out.
Hold on. I look at the dirty concrete floor, and… Did Mr. Washington drop the mugger's gun on the floor? That's what that is, definitely. I kneel over and pick up the handgun off the ground and…
Wait.
I hold it in my hands, and… it's practically weightless! Let me check something.
Press the magazine release… check the mag and…
Empty. There are no clips.
Then… pull the slide back… empty the chamber…
Nothing falls out.
I can't believe it. Finally, I rack it back and scrutinize the chamber.
This gun is functionally worthless, except maybe as a blunt weapon. There's not a bullet in this thing, or any kind of… creative ammunition, like I've got. That cowardly weasel actually went up to someone with a non-loaded gun and held them up! He didn't even have the guts to ACTUALLY be a scumbag, he had to fool people. He literally would have been better off using a bat. This is what I'm getting hung up on. It's disgusting, honestly. What a coward.
Uh. Anyway, I decided to keep the Sturm Ruger for safe keeping. And definitely not because I'm gonna start some kind of collection. Into the bag it goes.
With my first official encounter with these city dwellers done with, I continue on. There's not much else I can do except… search for my purpose in being here. God sent me here for a reason after all.
I walk along this dark alley, distant music playing in someone's home, some odd carnival waltz. Who would want to listen to that? Peculiar.
Crime Alley. What a very direct name. I'm sure it would be something Asgore would come up with.
Heavens above. I feel like I met that tyrant months ago, but that was only a few weeks ago now. Time moves too quickly and too slowly, I think.
My form of auto-entertainment (talking endlessly to myself) is abated as I come across something strange in this alley.
I look down, and I see a chalk outline. It looks like two people, one collapsed on top of the other. The silhouette is strange. Like an amalgamate. Beside the chalk drawing is, what looks to be, a bundle of flowers.
Just as well, there's a single red rose on the opposite side.
…💛
I feel strange. I feel like I'm intruding on something. Kind of like when I was in the Ketsukane Estate. Memories floating around me…
My SOUL jolts at the memory.
This is a memorial. I… I suppose it never hurts to pay your respects to the dead. They deserve it, whoever they were.
I take off my hat, and take a moment of silence.
…
And with that, I put my cowboy hat back on to venture onward.
I really hope I didn't take a moment to respect a serial murderer or a cannibal or something. Oh, well, it's a private moment.
I venture off into the city lights.
With all said and done behind me, I can only think of one thing.
Just who in the Sam Hill is “Wonder Woman?”
💛
I think I would've heard of Gotham City.
So obviously, this city exists in this world and not in mine.
This city is massive! It has to be around the same size as New York or so. I've been wandering around for hours, aimless in the most profound way, and I don't think I've begun to scratch the little crumbs of the surface of this metropolis.
Park Row, “Crime Alley”, is in the Bowery, which I think is a part of an island named Somerset. Gotham seems to be a system of islands connected by bridges.
I've got to say. It is very crowded. It may not be that bad for people used to it, but I feel like an ant. I feel like I can't talk to anyone without being a right nuisance.
This city is strange. Especially the way it looks. It's like… Victorian London, Old 40s style Noir movies, and those weird German horror movies made in the 30s, all mixed together in a cauldron of Gothic architecture. Gotham has an identity, I'll give her that.
What's even weirder is the weather. I feel like I've been here for hours and the sun hasn't come up. It's just been dark and gloomy, like in a movie set.
Honestly, it kinda reminds me of New Home. As little of the city that I did see. I was occupied trying to get Ceroba to not split my head open with her staff thingy to admire the unique architecture.
Maybe I just don't understand, because I grew up in the mid-sized city - Town, more like - of Ebott, but I can't keep up with all this noise.
There's theaters, and hotels, there's a park somewhere around here, there was a clinic somewhere, and I just don't know where to start.
Exhaustion creeps at my aching bones.
From the directions I've gotten from the exasperated locals, I brought myself somewhere in the East End. I've no idea though.
I don't think there'll be some quadrillionaire to adopt me Annie style, so I think I'm going to have to make due with sleeping on the streets for now.
Tomorrow's only a day away. Maybe if I emphasized my… ugh. Cuteness. Then maybe I could have had a Daddy Warbucks guy come and let me live in his mansion! But then I'd have to sing a whole bunch, and be a redhead. I don't know if I have the chops for that. Oh well. I don't have time to get adopted! The opportunity for that has long sailed.
I wish I had a bed.
Scratch that, I wish I had a bed that wasn't in a Swedish furniture store.
After many minutes of foraging for a spot to sleep for the night, I finally found a place. A… dry, mostly empty and clean alleyway. Good to go to sleep for the night, and a trashcan to dig for food when needed.
My tired legs carry me to the empty alley, hungry and shivering.
I'm totally out of my element. I have no idea how to traverse a big city like this! Maybe I should get a map. Maybe there are places that’ll let me sleep on a nice bed until I get on my feet?
I slump down, the brick wall behind me not doing well for my back.
I'm thinking of a homeless shelter. That's what I am: Homeless. I'm a bum. I suppose Vagabond is the word I'm looking for. I'm a dirty, lonely, hungry little urchin.
I feel worthless.
…
I sigh. No use feeling sorry for myself. In fact, I've been a Debby downer lately. The Super IKEA really spoiled my mood. I think it's about time I started counting my blessings!
First of all, I'm still alive. Not many people who've died get to come back. Well, except Flowey. But he was a soulless husk. And Jesus. But he's God, or something. All in all, for the average Joe's standards, I've gotten lucky.
Second of all, I get to talk with my friends! Even though I died, and I'm in another universe! If you really think about it, God is SPOILING me. Even if… ink on paper can't replace actually talking to them or spending time together…
No! Now's not the time to get sad! Besides, even if I'm a homeless, solitary creten, I have to do God's will in this land. Whatever that turns out to be. Prophets don't give up! I'm a prophet, I think. I must be strong, and optimistic.
Yeah! Cowboys don't give up!
I slap my face a bit, I repeat that mantra.
Cowboys don't give up! I need to cowboy up!
With that prep talk done, I decide to do something worthwhile before I hit the hay. Or, as I should say, hit the cold concrete.
I have no patience for writing, so reading some of God's Book suits me fine.
I briefly consider ringing the bell for the mail, but then I think better of it. This is a massive city. There is no way someone doesn't see and start a panic. I'm not in the mood to deal with that right now.
It's kinda funny, thinking about it. If you look at it from a certain angle.
I do like this book of Exodus, though. Moses is a disgraced Egyptian-Hebrew prince who retires to the Land of Midian for basically his whole life, and when he's eighty years old God calls on him to…
Wait. This seems pretty familiar.
A burning bush… He calls out to him… In a cave…!
Huh. I guess I'm not so special.
Anyhow, Moses then goes off to Egypt to free the enslaved Hebrews, God almost murdered because him because his kid wasn't circumcised, and then-
“BARK!”
Huh? What was that? Who's disrupting my storytime?
“Woof.”
I look beside me to the source of the disturbance, and I see…
A small white dog. He has his tongue out and his head tilted. His tail's wagging too.
I am thoroughly displeased.
“YOU!” I point an accusatory finger at the mangy mutt. “You jacked my gun when I wasn't looking!” My outrage drowns out the thoughts in my head regarding manners and screaming in public.
He lets out a soft whine at that.
“Don't you start with me!” I'm sure I've seen this dog before my encounter with the Trifolium, somewhere in the Dunes? I can't remember where exactly. “That is an insult of the highest order. Get from my sights.” Wherever it was, he ain't welcome on these streets!
The Annoying Dog then has the audacity to come closer to me and nudge my hand. He wants head pats! Unbelievable.
I sigh, dreading the inevitable. “How did you even get to Gotham? Aren't you supposed to be back home?” Traitorously, I can't help but cave in to the canines' pleas. I really am hopeless.
The Dog smugly barks, somehow aware of the arcane power he holds over mortal men.
“Why am I even asking you… You can't talk.” I look at the little guy more closely now, and… he looks a little dirty. His fur isn't exactly spotless or dirt free. I can't imagine I'm much better.
“Are you a vagabond too, boy?” The Dog pants at my touch. “Don't you have an owner, or a home? Maybe you don't want all that. Maybe you're happier not tied down to anyone.”
The Dog responds to none of this, simply enjoying the luxury of having someone pay attention to him.
“I guess we're both just strays…”
I'm so tired. And honestly, petting this dog has been the most therapeutic thing I've experienced all day.
I guess dogs are okay. But still…
“Just so ya know, I forgive, But I NEVER forget. Are we understood, doggie?” I say sternly. The Dog completely disregards what I have to say by jumping into my lap and laying down on it.
And… yeah. Pretty much immediately he falls asleep. I should be following his lead, I guess.
I put the book away, as interesting as it was getting, and took out a blanket I borrowed (stole) from one of the showrooms from IKEA.
Once again, I use my bag as a pillow, this time with a yellow blanket, cardboard beneath me, and a little companion beside me. I feel a little better. At least I've got a dog to hang out with.
It's better than a dirt hole, at least. Count your blessings!
💛