It was consuming her,
the madness.
She could feel her sanity slowly slipping through her fingers.
Sooner or later she had to let her self go, and she did.
[Jerome Valeska x OC]
[Gotham]
previously titled Orphic
-acidity 2017
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"And you'll smile on your knees The hunter becomes... The hunter becomes... the hunted"
-Snow Ghosts, The Hunted
The night was frigid and rain threatened to pour onto the dimly lit streets of Gotham. The atmosphere was buzzing from the electricity in the neon lights of nightclubs and bars. Violet walked quickly, her head down. She pulled her charcoal colored pea coat closer to her body, begging it to provide her with more warmth. The plain black dress she wore stopped several inches above her knee, allowing the wind to push cold air against her bare legs. Every so often, she would sweep her blonde hair out of her eyes and mouth.
She tried her best to ignore the sexist comments made by strangers and homeless. She needed to get to the bar where the man was. The man's name was Gerald Fitz. He was the man she had been looking for. He needed to be rightfully reprimanded. The police weren't going to do it so Violet might as well. Half of her screamed at her to turn around and go home, but the other half pushed her forward.
Violet was somewhat surprised that he could even afford to drink given his current financial status, but who was she to judge. Her mother would no doubt cut her off in the near future.
The red neon glow of the bar's open sign caught her attention. Violet sighed a sigh of relief that she was finally there, the cold was getting to be too much.
She ran across the street and slipped into the bar's entrance. It was Wednesday, a day that most people don't usually go out drinking all night. Nonetheless, Gerald Fitz wasn't most people. He was a drunk and a jackass. Fitz worked as a low-class assassin, barely getting by on whatever he got paid. He was a part of the scum that polluted Gotham's streets, he was a criminal who will get his punishment.
The heat of the bar washed over the freezing girl who inwardly knew that one wrong move and she be the one dead tonight.
She looked around at the interior of the place. It seemed somewhat decent; there were a few pool tables, a dart board, and a fair amount of alcohol lining the walls. The stench of cigarette smoke lingered in the air as well as the strong stench of alcohol. Although it was Wednesday, there were still a fair amount of people in the bar. What Violet assumed to be classic rock, blared throughout the bar.
When she spotted the man with the unruly grey hair, she could feel the trace of a smile form on her burgundy painted lips.
He sat alone at the bar. His shoulders sagged and his head hung low. The old black t-shirt looked unclean and did not match the beat-up pair of grey pants he wore. Gerald Fitz was an absolute mess, it was evident.
Fitz's eyes were a dull honey brown and lacked the vitality most people had. He looked older than fifty-three, more around his late fifties. His aging was likely brought on by his stress and everything that he had seen since his life went to shit. His pale, sunken face matched the rest of him.
