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There are many parts of what makes up Jane- 64 different parts to be exact- and each and every one of them had a favourite.
Flit liked Larry. Baby Doll liked Vic. Harlot liked Cliff. Hammerhead liked Chief.
Jane liked Rita.
Larry was the kind of quiet and lonely that Flit hated in the best way and sometimes on his worst days, when the thing inside him roiled and screamed and tried to claw his way out, Flit would grab his arm or his shoulder or his hand and take them somewhere far away, the places that Larry used to love most, and wouldn't return until many hours later when Larry was feeling a little bit better.
Vic was a superhero and Baby Doll did like her superheroes. As his self-acclaimed biggest fan, there was nothing Baby Doll enjoyed more than sitting on the floor by Vic's feet with her legs crossed while he told her stories about the people he'd caught and the crimes he'd stopped and Baby Doll didn't really care whether they were true or not, even though they were mostly unrealistic.
Cliff was mainly someone for Harlot to tease and grab at and make uncomfortable at inopportune moments but he was someone fun and new for her to play with. She loved making him squirm and yelp and jump because even though he couldn't feel it, the intention was palpable.
Chief was one of the very few people who could deal with Hammerhead and the walls she put up around herself and was one of the very small amounts of people who tried to knock them down. Chief was never offended by what Hammerhead said, even when she meant her words. They never had managed to be as sharp as Silvertounge.
But Rita... she was an uppity, self-important bitch who thought she was better than everyone, but she treated Jane like she was a person and not just a passing visitor, and for that Jane respected her. Liked her, even.
On the days when Larry was in his room and Cliff was playing with his cars and the Chief wasn't even home, Jane often found herself curled up on the couch beside Rita as another one of her monotonous films pictures played with a warm blanket thrown over her shoulders and Rita seated on the couch beside her yet far away, reciting word-for-word the lines from the pictures.
The comfortable quiet was not something Jane was used to, not in the mansion and not at all in her head, and she thought it was kind of nice if she let herself admit it, not that she ever would.
Rita was leaning away from her in a way Jane was used to but still secretly despised, but at least she was sharing a couch with her, which was a pleasant yet surprising improvement to Jane. Rita was knitting something bright and colourful and Jane eyed her from her corner of the couch as Rita half focused on her current task and mostly watching the film- she was currently fainting onto a perfectly made bed and three men in suits and ties were diving after her. Jane easily turned her eyes away from the screen and back to Rita. "What's that?"
Halting, Rita paused and turned to Jane with an expression of both surprise and annoyance- something Jane was familiar with- as if she hadn't expected Jane to speak. "It's a gift," Rita said, almost as if she was ashamed at being caught. "For Baby Doll. I seem to have... upset her during our last encounter."
Jane knew all too well how true that understatement was. Baby Doll was still crying about it weeks later, Silvertounge was furious and Hammerhead was trying to force her way past Jane's thin veil of control. "Yeah, you really fucked up big time. Silvertounge and Hammerhead are pissed off with you."
"I thought the others didn't care about what happens everyone else," Rita said, still knitting. "I would have thought that they all would have been content to watch her die if they had the choice."
Shrugging, Jane turned her eyes back to the film but she wasn't watching. She listened to Babydoll cry for a few moments before speaking again. "53 of us don't, but everyone is real protective over Baby Doll and they don't like it when people make her cry," she tilted her head to the side, her hair falling down the back of the couch in waves. "Hammerhead doesn't like you. She thinks your too-prim and proper and that you've got a stick up your ass."
"Yes, well," Rita seemed well and truly miffed and Jane took some cruel satisfaction from that. "You can tell her that the feeling is mutual."
"She knows," Jane examined her nails and tried for a moment to get the paint under her nails out with her teeth. "She just doesn't give a fuck. None of them do. Well, most of them don't. Baby Doll does."
With an angry huff, Rita abandoned her knitting project and turned to face Jane, the credits now rolling on the screen forgotten. "You know, Jane, even when you're not fighting with the other 63 of you, you're a very difficult woman to understand and an even harder one to get along with." And then she was standing up and storming off with one hand clutching the knitting needles and the pink wool and the other holding her face to keep it from slipping and when the door slammed behind her, Jane was left alone in the room with nothing but the rolling credits and the other 63 people she knew were always with her.
Spreading her legs up on the couch, Jane reached for the remote and changed the channel away from another of Rita's depressing films and to some sort of stupid cooking show but she didn't really care. If someone else took the place of Jane they could care for her and change it however they liked. For now, though, she thought about where Rita had gone to complete her knitting and whether she really truly was that unlovable.
It was only a few days later when Jane stood in front of a canvas she couldn't even remember applying pain to- but it must have been her because her skin was covered in it- and wondered what the fuck she was going to do with it.
It was much to bright and happy for her tastes and way too much for the Hangman's Daughter, so Jane had no idea how the paint had managed to make something so optimistic and fun-loving. Maybe it was Baby Dolls doing.
So Jane stood there looking at this brightly coloured monstrosity, and after having a brief conversation with Sylvia and Penny, she sighed and removed the canvas from the wooden easel.
Flit had just been to see Larry and he was in such a bad mood that he wouldn't even agree to one of Flits adventures and Scarlet Harlot was sure that Cliff was shut down and doing some semblance of recharging and Babydoll said that Vic was outside on the whole to his daddy and who the fuck knows where Chief was so realistically Jane knew that there was only one option.
The outside of Rita's room was as plain as she was and Jane crinkled her nose up at it as she knocked on the door. "Rita, honey, open the fucking door."
Jane couldn't stop herself from smiling as she heard the loud annoyed grumbling from inside and she waited as the doorknob rattled and turned. "What could you possibly want at such a late hour-" the door flew open and Rita didn't have a chance to finish her complain before a now-dried canvas splattered with colour was shoved into her hands and a bored looking Jane shoved her dirty hands into her pockets. Rita looked at her, slack-jawed.
"Shut your mouth Rita, you look so fucking stupid." Jane rocked back on her heels as Rita looked at her like she's just grown a second head, which could be entirely possible but from what she knows she's still Jane. "Hangman's Daughter made it for you, I think." She didn't care that it was probably a lie. When Rita didn't react, she held out her hand. "If you don't fucking want it, give it back."
Rita pulled it to her chest and cradled it with her arms, possessively holding it against her chest. "No-no. Thank you, Jane. That's very kind of you. I... truly appreciate it."
Shrugging, Jane turned away and made her way back down the hall. Flit was bugging her to go look for Larry who was probably holed up in his room so with a roll of her eyes Jane obliged.
When Rita was sure that Jane had retreated somewhere down the hall, she returned to her room and shut the door. She finally pulled the painting away from her chest and looked down at it for the first time since Jane had put it in her arms. She had asked to keep it-insisted really- without even looking to see what it was. It could have been something hideous and grotesque or one of those depressing depictions of death that Hangman's Daughter seemed to favour, but just judging by the colours that were splattered around the edges of the canvas, Rita wasn't sure.
It was a sunset- bright, vibrant purples and pinks and oranges spread out across the sky and in the distance, you could still see a patch of blue partiality hidden by clouds. There was a grouping of figures on a vast green lawn- an old man in a wheelchair, a robot stiffly sitting in the grass, a figure wrapped in bandages leaning up against a tree, a woman with crazy hair and her knees curled up to her chest, a man in a red tracksuit and metal pieces glinting on his skin lounging under the setting sun-
And a woman in a red dress and with perfect curls, glowing as if illuminated by a spotlight.
Really, it should be hung up in a hallway, Rita knew, because they were all in it, not just her, but she couldn't bring herself to put it anywhere else than on her bedroom wall. The others would understand. It was a gift after all and Jane- any part of Jane- gave gifts so rarely.
Smiling quietly to herself, Rita wondered if Jane had a soft side to her after all, and after placing the painting on her vanity to be hung up tomorrow, she climbed back into bed and went back to sleep.
Flit liked Larry. Baby Doll liked Vic. Harlot liked Cliff. Hammerhead liked Chief.
Jane liked Rita.