Lacuna Siren

Chapter 11: Wild Cards and Kinder Eggs

Joker is still eyeing Veronika and it's starting to unsettle me. If there is one thing I have learned from years of working with and for the Joker it's that he's one hell of a wild card. However, Veronika is like a Kinder egg; you never know what could be inside, but it's always intriguing to find out. Harley peers behind me, "Do ya think he'll hurt her?" She inquires, her blonde hair falling around her. She's always seemed like a childlike version of Veronika to me. One hell of a bite yet she still has some element of innocence that even Joker has yet to take away. "It's one thing if he hurts me. It's a whole other ballpark if he hurts Roni." She whispers once more, "Especially with you to answer to, Johnny-Boy."

I wince oh so slightly at the pretentious nickname. "If he knows what's good for him, Harley, he won't even take another step towards her." I answer the smaller clown's question, giving Veronika my own personal look. The light in her eyes has dimmed, a more maternal warmth burning behind her ocean blue eyes. That special kind of blue has held me in a subtle trance ever since I had first connected with them that night in my old cell at Arkham. Thank whatever for stupid nurses or none of us would be here right now with Veronika. You can tell she's descended from royalty simply by the way she carries herself when she walks, talks, even the way she holds the bowl of pancake batter. Unless that's just me falling dangerously in love with this murderous Russian princess.

Her frame stays oh so very steady against the lingering threat of her ominous opponent. I see the Joker lean close to her and begin my way to the nefarious jester. Veronika's hand flies up and stops me in my tracks. No one has had a hold like this in so long...only this is different. Instead of a shriveled old hag with ravenous crows and a blood stained jacket, it's a young, lithe, beautiful siren with hair as dark as night and eyes brighter the the stars. She turns her back to me for a quick second until her and Joker fill the table with Harley's cavity and diabetes inducing confectionary request. Joker slides past me, his voice rattling through the house on the hunt for our friendly neighborhood cat burglar, deadly herbologist, and dim witted brainiac. Once the motley crew of misfits fills the kitchen, all tension gathered in these past few hours is calmed with three words from the future Queen of Gotham, "Breakfast is served."

Again, the Joker and my Veronika are forever like wild cards and kinder eggs. Impossible to even attempt to guess the outcome, even for those as smart as Nygma.