Red And Blue (Jerome and Jeremiah Valeska X OC)

Dear Old Dad

             Harley goes up the stairs following closely behind Tabitha and Jerome in front of her. Jerome's father's apartment is only a few floors up, but in Harley's opinion, any amount of stairs is too many stairs. Especially in her high black heels. How does Tabitha walk these but I can't? She huffs loudly behind them, displaying her annoyance.

             "Harley, it's only three floors." Tabitha reminds her and rolls her eyes. They walk the last few steps, and reach the correct story that leads to the blind fortune teller's residence. The hallway is dimly lit, long shadows casted on the small tables outside of the compartments. Harley places her hands on her knees, out of breath. Jerome glances down at her for a moment and laughs. She glares up at him, confused.

             "What you laughing at?" Harley asks him, a lighter undertone in her words. He shrugs, pretending to not know what she's talking about, and steps closer to the door with the sign '4B' hanging on it. The black paint on the door is chipped and scratched up, contrasting to the golden label that's shiny and on the newer side. Gotham is a mostly darkly painted place.

            "So, do we knock, or just go in?" Harley asks for clarification in the plan.

             "I mean, he's a blind old man, right?" Tabitha says and looks at the both of them. "He's not going to be able to take us if we just walk in. Probably couldn't even take just one of us." With that statement, she just decides to raise her fist and gently knocks her knuckles against the wood a couple times. An old man's muffled voice calls out to them from the otherside of the wall.

            "Who is it?" He yells. None of the three respond and all make awkward looks at one another. Tabitha then raises her leg and kicks the door in, breaking the lock. The door flings open and they all enter the small apartment, seeing the old man at a chair in view just a few yards away. He sits at a dining room table with a terror filled look on his face. Jerome casually strolls up to him with a smug smile.

           "Hi-ya, dad." Jerome greets him, leaning over threateningly. "Long time....no see." Harley giggles to herself at the stupid pun. Meanwhile, Mr. Cicero doesn't reply, he remains silent and practically frozen in place. Jerome calmly pulls out a chair and takes a seat across from the old guy. "So, how you doing?" He doesn't respond again. "So, the silent treatment, huh?"

          "He probably isn't doing well since we showed up...." Harley says to herself from the kitchen. Jerome chuckles lightly with her. She opens some cabinets, curiously snooping around the place for any interesting items. Seeing what people keep can tell you a lot about someone.

         "How about I tell you a fun little story dad?" Jerome offers him. "Hmmm. Ok. You remember Kansas City, Dad? The circus went through town every spring right around my birthday." Harley nods along, listening to the introduction to the tale, already knowing where this is going. She remembers these moments distinctly, being a part of them. Jerome continues.

         "There was this guy. Him and my mom used to drink and fornicate and beat the shit outta me." He waves his hands around while talking. "They'd make a whole night out of it. And I remember this one time....it was my ninth birthday...him and my mom had just finished round one of boozing, boning, beating Jerome, and they decided to take a little break."

           Harley sharply inhales, reminiscing on that viscous cycle they had to live with. They had just accepted the abuse as a part of their lives, nothing they could do about it. She hated that feeling. Being seen as lesser and easy to use.

         "Anyway...." Jerome interrupts her train of thought. "I was outside the trailer, and you were there. And you said, "Why are you crying, Jerome?"" He does a deeper older voice for his father's place. Then he shifts to a higher, more boyish like one. ""It's my birthday. And my mom and the snake guy are beating me." Then you said, "This world doesn't care about you or anyone else Jerome..." He mocks him. "Better to learn that now. Harley was the only one there for me those nights. We'd sob on the porch and wake up outside in the cold." He grits his teeth. "We were only nine at the time, but that didn't matter to you."