Work Text:
A tender breeze, swift and warm, carried sanguine locks within its path as it blew through the air. The sun’s benevolent rays bathed the people of the streets in the unforeseen warmth. Colorful paper flutters in the wind, journey not long lived before falling onto the streets feet stomped on. Amidst this celebration, it makes it all the easier for Joker to hide himself by weaving his way through the crowded sea of cheering people; flags tickling his cheeks, confetti burrowing into his hair, and people brushing against him. There is this daunting sensation which turns the blood within his veins to ice at this celebration, a knot of dread forming in his gut as he looks upon people marching in cadence.
How dismaying… Such liveliness reminded him of the life he used to live. At some point, people once cheered for him, clapped their hands jovially, tittering, grins glistening… How had he gotten here? A mere errand boy who runs around like an obedient little dog for a man within a glorious kingdom? He clutches the ingredients closer to him, head kept down as he escapes the people who surrounded him. The manor isn’t too far from this small town, he doesn’t mind walking on foot to get back. And if he did, such a trivial thing wouldn’t matter, as long as he completed the task assigned to him.
So he takes his time, the occasional clattering of hooves against stones as they carry a carriage of people down the same path as he, forcing him to put himself in the grass that aligns the path. His eyes are stuck on the sky above him, the sun beginning to fall allows him to admire the kaleidoscope of colors that dance in the atmosphere. How the indigo went to a shade of gold, peachy clouds striking a stark contrast against the darker hues.. A heartfelt flurry of air blowing against his pale skin within the cool summer evening’s recreations as the noise becomes less and less… until there’s signs of human life. Just dark woods, rustling of leaves and the occasional sound of a bird flapping its wings.
Not long after, Joker is pushing open the broad gates, and slipping inside. His approach to the front door is slow, an internal debate ignited within his brain on whether he should enter through the front or try for another door elsewhere as to not call attention to himself. All he had to do is drop these things in front of Orpheus’ door and —
“Ah, Joker!”
His posture immediately stiffens, shoulders rising more as a familiar voice calls out his name, tone seemingly filled with delight just to see the sight of who he called.
Joker’s head tilts upwards to look where the source came from and surely enough, Orpheus is standing in the balcony of one the many windows, a dainty smile adorning his lips – possessing resemblance to the buoyant leaves clinging to the foundation of the building and the vines that encased pillars, bringing unneeded brightness and vivacy to the foreboding manor. Had he been waiting for his arrival all this time? A sliver of guilt makes its way up his spine as he casts his gaze downwards.
“When you get in, follow me,”
A hitch in his breathing, igniting a feeling he wished he could begin to elucidate at the simple command, the smile that forms on his lips in something that isn’t to be fought, it’s small but Orpheus seems to notice it as his own grin widens before he turns on his heel and disappears behind curtains. Oh joyous day..! It’s not anything to be admitted out loud but the time spent working with Orpheus might be something that curates such joviality in his eternal misery that feels like it’s only tugging him deeper and deeper into the murky waters of melancholy with every passing day.
How the prosthetic echoes in the emptiness of these long halls makes him aware of the surroundings he’s yet to grow accustomed to despite having been here long enough. It’s a dull, repetitive thump. Something that has become so natural to him, a hard tap of worn rubber against hard wooden floors, then followed by the light step of something… more organic. Next to Orpheus, the sound becomes louder in his mind. The novelist had never once questioned the prosthetic, not even once ogled it as if Joker was a main attraction at the freak show but it can’t be helped the way his stomach twists, perturbed by his condition and how one day, Orpheus really might look at him like all those people did.
Even so, it’s something Joker always found peculiar. Orpheus, of course, is a man of manners but he’s also very particular with his research, whether it be for this manor or for a novel. He once witnessed the guy go for a full drink of the concoctions they brewed in that dark room. Not even a tiny sip, but a strong, hearty swig that felt reminiscent of the older workers that took part in Hullabaloo. He’s not one to shy away from questions or studies that he might be interested in.
If he were to look at him like all the others had… it wouldn’t be unexpected. Maybe it’d even be deserved. All his life that’s how he’s been looked at, from his very first breath he was viewed as a joke, and until his last breath, it shall remain that way. The pointing, the laughing… The constant pattern of the uneven doddering and look of utter misery never failed to light the room with smiles. Wasn’t that all that mattered? Something he once took joy in? Those people in the room derived such great enjoyment from him, fed off his wretched form and despondent soul. Was it really Joker, though? Weeping Clown… Joker… The two were one of the same yet so, so different. He can almost differentiate it now, after everything he's done.
Almost.
He further entertains the idea of Orpheus one day viewing him as everyone did. He could become Orpheus’ personal little court jester. Whenever Orpheus was stressed from the burdens of the manor, he could simply call upon Joker. He’d become like everyone else in the Hullabaloo audience. Watch with crescent eyes as that desolate, empty shell of a clown teeters around, watch as tears decorate those dark, sunken eyes, cling for dear life onto plentiful eyelashes, begging Joker to not let them fall before finally hitting the cold floor. It wouldn’t matter how that thing felt, as long as Orpheus himself was happy, right..?
There was an apprehension that embraced his body when he looked upon those people cheering. They were entrapped within a translucent bubble of delusion and utter ignorance, the horrors that formed from that cursed circus lying within the blind spots of their vision. Nevertheless, the excited clamor orchestrated from the crowd would go on. What a selfish bunch… To only care for one’s entertainment is to lead to dissonance unknown.
Yet, they weren’t too far off the mark. As he is now, he is nothing. He is nobody. A lost soul in a never ending black sea. The spotlight he once basked in has moved elsewhere, once stolen from him by a man he loathed into the very marrow of his bones, and then taken away by his own hands. He didn’t take it just from himself, he stole that warm light of attention from everyone… He stole even more than just the “glamor” of the circus, but also their lives.
And he wonders, albeit in the secrecracy of his endless droning mind, where did Orpheus’ interest lie with him in this case? Eyes focus on the figure striding in front of him, becoming more and more distant. Orpheus walks exactly how you’d expect, with purposeful, quick steps as if the last grain of sand will fall to the bottom of the hourglass soon. A single wish comes to mind as the man escapes his grasp. A wish to understand what eludes his comprehension of that man. Orpheus seemed to already know who he was when they came across one another, seemingly making a point to say a small, peculiar passing comment about the Hullabaloo to him during their first chat that would’ve flown over anyone else’s head. But not Joker’s, on edge from the events that had taken place not too long ago. How much exactly did Orpheus know?
When Orpheus talks about these sorts of things, he leaves room for vague possibilities to fill the inner corners of your mind. Had he been to the Hullabaloo to indulge himself in the famous attraction as all the consumers who came wanted? Or had he only heard of the traveling act from the people around him? His eyes seem to peer into every inch of you as he speaks, he’s not one to break eye contact and it’s almost impossible to look away from his. Ghost of hands reaching out to grab and bare your soul to him and him only, finding the deepest secrets it can entangle itself in. Within the depths of those dark eyes lies… nothing. No hints, no light, not anything to show he is human that is alive… His eyes are almost completely hollow and devoid of any emotion. They’re just a decorative, reflective surface, it’s as though Joker is looking into a mirror and the vessel he’s talking to has been long abandoned by its previous owner.
Yet, their first meeting is what forced him into Orpheus’ orbit. The seeds left by the aspect of not having to live up to the expectations set by people left vim to grow. Heart palpitating, it was such a galvanizing sensation which could not be ignored. One in which he wished to immerse himself in further, following the footsteps of the man of many secrets. His mind chases after the answers in which his mind screams inquiries, answers to let him rest at ease. Hearts become agitated and eyes grow weary… Nevertheless, the body anticipates whenever excitement builds.
Orpheus is filled with mysteries unknown to many. Around the manor, his name is quite the topic. It felt as if all eyes of this manor stayed on him no matter what darkness he melded within, his name always on the tip of someone’s tongue. He’s heard theories move around the halls, how Orpheus is some monstrous being who wishes to claim lives to appease sick, sadistic needs, but Joker thinks it’s all ridiculous gossip in attempt to slander the poor guy who so kindly housed those who were in need… Even if he may have some ulterior motives. There’s some staff that are aware of the truth, two in particular that come to mind, but their secrets remain untold.
“Joker? You’re staring,”
The tone of voice is the same level it always is, but holds a tinge of concern. Orpheus is kneeling by the door that leads into the basement, a tilt to his head as he examines his features.
When had they reached their destination? More importantly, Joker didn’t even remember coming to a halt.
The clown’s glad the abundance of red curls hide his ears since he could feel heat accumulate instantly the moment those words left Orpheus’ lips. A sheepish apology follows suit, fiddling with the ends of his scarf and adjusting it around his neck. Orpheus doesn’t seem to pay any heed to the matter any longer before descending into the darkness of the basement.
It’s not as though Joker really needed the help, really, but ever since the first time he missed the last step of the ladder, prosthetic missing the bar instilled into the wall and instead going through the hole, causing him to fall backwards onto the ground, Orpheus has gone first into the basement every time since then. His presence always lingered near the bottom until Joker’s legs met with the ground, only then would he venture further into the secret room.
Once he reaches the bottom of the ladder, he is greeted by both the sound of mice scampering the deeper they go into the room and water hitting hard concrete, courtesy to the leaking ceiling in the corner. The room shone with a warm luminescence provided by Orpheus’ candle light, sticking to the walls as far as the light could emit, bathing anything it could reach in a golden tone. Where the light’s rays dared not to touch, you could see the true nature of this room. Dingy, the scent of chemicals clinging to the air, an amass of mold collecting on the ceiling near whichever pipe had burst last. His eyes sweep the area further to the sheets of paper, crumbled or flat, scattered in a corner, chemicals staining the ground, and the paint on the wall is peeling off.
Orpheus offers a smile before moving to the table where they worked, his hands are quick to start placing notes on the table, opening his journal to a certain page with a diagram they drew the last time they were down here. “Let’s pick up where we left off, shall we?” he says, lifting a purple flower into his hands, dissecting its components slowly, “We made good progress last time, I feel as though we’re getting closer…”
Joker moves closer to him, looking at the diagram. “Which drug will we be furthering our research with?”
“What sounds more enticing to you? I’m stuck between the memory loss one and the paralyzation one…”
The memory loss one…
Joker shudders at the mere thought of that drug. Both a blessing and a curse.
His memory of their time testing that drug is not great enough, full of gaps when it comes to his experience with it. It showed promising results in this case, he could remember how ecstatic Orpheus had seemed after the testing finished. During that time, and even a bit after, lapses in his memory had become more frequent, something they could only chalk up to the effects of the medicine working. Teeth bury themselves into the flesh of his bottom lip, harsh enough to threaten to draw blood. Something about not being able to remember what happened in those moments causes a build up of emotion, a tightening strain in his chest and his blood boils at the thought alone.
But… he doesn’t give in. All of this… he must endure, and he must endure it for him. His sight flicks over to the man studying his notes beside him.
He was given a choice today, he wishes not to experience the effect of that drug at the moment. He’d much rather be paralyzed.
“The paralyzation one needs more work, don’t you agree?” he inquires, a simple inclination of his head to punctuate the question.
Orpheus enthusiastically nods his head, “You read my mind, Joker, we must be one of the same, truly,” he comments passively, “I was just reading the notes, they’re less detailed than the memory one.”
He takes a moment to himself, then glances at Joker with a worried look, “You won’t mind testing this drug? It could possibly do harm towards you… You know, I don’t mind testing it,”
“Someone needs to have a clear enough head to log the results,”
“You know what I meant. You’ll do the writing this time around, I’ll test them,” he replies, eyes narrowing slightly as he does, “You are aware of the fact that we also must see how the drugs affect different people? It’s for the best, really,”
The pair stare at each other. Joker’s eyebrows are raised, lips pressed into a tight line. Orpheus made a good point there, one he can’t provide an argument with. All these recent times he had been the one to test the drugs. However, he can’t help but still be wary of the situation. The slight restricting feeling around his heart at the carefree nature Orpheus possesses when it comes to such tasks. Why didn’t he see he shouldn’t be the one dealing with the effects of these drugs? That he shouldn’t have to endure such pain or harbor the lasting effects.
The skepticism must’ve been written all over his features because Orpheus placed a hand on his wrist, fingers curling around the thin appendage, trying to pull him from his own mind and to the ground where the two stood. Joker’s eyes grow at the touch, gaze flitting quickly from his hand to Orpheus’ face. How curious… what cold hands he owns. Yet it’s calming, the hand was firm, reassuring, just like the divine features of Orpheus’ face. The touch seeps into his skin, while the contact itself chills him, warmth spreads in his chest.
He almost wants to smile at Orpheus.
“Wow, Orpheus, what are you? A corpse?” A dry chuckle emits from cracked lips. The joke felt empty, a pathetic attempt at humor. Even so, it must’ve stuck some sort of landing because he can see Orpheus looking at him out of the corner of his eye, the side of his lips curling into a faint smile.
“Wouldn’t you like to know..” he quips slyly, turning towards him a little more to give Joker a better view of his visage.
Orpheus had such handsome features, they went beyond physical appearance even. Something about this man made him think Natalie should have ended up with someone like him, not that damned bastard. Someone intelligent, someone kind, someone who wasn’t too harsh on the eyes… His vox reminiscent of honey, smooth.. deep, words falling from the tip of his tongue in a sweet manner. His cheekbones were highlighted by the flickering flame that burned at the wick of the candlestick, he had two moles that decorated his countenance, one beneath his left eye, and another right below the corner of his lip. Joker catches a glimpse of his own visage in the liquid. The constant furrow of his brows, the all too natural downwards tilt of his mouth. Such a pathetic face to get stuck with. It’s a wonder what could’ve compelled Orpheus to turn him into what’s basically his assistant.
He shakes his head, trying not to spiral once more as he did before they got here, taking the notes from Orpheus.
“Let’s start by adjusting the drug… Any thoughts?”
The clown turns through the thin paper, absorbing all of Orpheus’ notes, despite how messy they seemed to get during times. “It’d be best if we use mercury instead of bella donna for this drug I think,” he remarks, finger dragging down the page of effects. “Bella donna suits the hallucinatory or memory loss drug the best, mercury on the other hand would surely incapacitate whoever you need, also maybe some cisatracurium,”
The other man nods, grabbing the ingredients from a shelf. “Why don’t we also try gelsemium…” he hands the flower over to Joker so that he may mash and extract what they needed to harvest from it.
The pair work in silence, besides the occasional request of a certain item, or Orpheus telling him to make a note of how much of each liquid they’re using until it finally comes time to try out the mixture they’ve formed this time. Joker feels a chill creeping up his spine, nervous for what’s to follow now but Orpheus seems one hundred percent prepared for whatever happens, not even a moment of hesitation passes before he’s reaching for the bottle.
“Get ready to write,”
A nod of his head, he grabs the journal and pen that came along with it, opening to the hallucinatory drug’s designated pages, looking at Orpheus with anticipation to show that he’s ready.
The novelist lifts the freshly brewed mix up towards the flickering source of light, inspecting the liquid seemingly before bringing it to his nose and sniffing it, nose scrunching up almost instantly. He shakes his head vigorously, mumbling something under his breath, a whisper Joker couldn’t quite make out the words for.
Soon, the container is coming closer to coming in contact with his lips and Joker’s grasp tightens on the journal dedicated to their studies, unknowingly inclining himself towards Orpheus but only subtly. He wasted no time, watching as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat with the drink he took.
Orpheus, within the blink of an eye, falls into a coughing fit and staggers around the spot he was standing, knees bending but he kept an iron grip on the drug so as to not drop it. It’s a valiant effort but it’s all in vain, seeing as the bottle drops harshly onto the table as Orpheus collapses over it, the container slipping from trembling fingers, meeting its fate as it breaks against the table. Joker doesn’t even flinch at the sound of shattering, but his heart rate is increasing, and he’s trying to ignore how the thumping of his heart steadily makes its way to his throat as he looks in horror at the sight before him.
It’s as if all his nightmares came true within one moment.
Joker tries to bite his tongue, but he cries out the other’s name in such genuine concern it shakes his inner core. The clown is quick on his feet, it takes all but one stride to reach him. Orpheus’ head is hung low, body weakly slumped against the counter he had chosen to support him.
“Orpheus..? Orpheus!” The clown reaches out towards him, albeit hesitant to do so. Part of him wants to help him support himself, but the other part refuses to allow himself to do so for some unknown reason. Swallowing the thick lump in his throat, the hand travels north so that metallic tips deteriorating from repetitive use make contact with the skin of his chin, idly dragging along his cheek in order to lift his face so the two can look at each other. “Are you okay?”
The sight before him surprises him to say the least Orpheus was… smiling. His eyes were looking into his own but they looked as if they were looking somewhere further. The corners of his lips spread further, showcasing flashy teeth as a lively chuckle escaped their confines. This is the most alive Joker had ever seen this man before and quite frankly, it was a little frightening considering the conditions. Hadn’t he been nearly knocked out by that drug? It’s hard to tell if this reaction is an effect or if it’s truly just Orpheus, his eyes blown wide, pupils dilated, the flame from the candle in the distance reflecting off the darkness while the smile only grows…
“That drug… Joker…” he begins, his torso leans forward, a loud screech of the table following the movement. Joker removes his hand from his face with uncertainty, instead slipping his arm around the small of Orpheus’ back, attempting to straighten his posture. Orpheus isn’t paying attention to his partner at the moment, his mind set on one thing and one thing only. “How invigorating…! That drug is close to perfection. Almost…”
Orpheus escapes his grasp, stumbling heavily to the left the instant he does, Joker reaches a hand out for him just in case he fully collapses to the side but he only staggers to the opposite direction before finding a bit of balance and dragging himself to their original table, heavy hands searching through papers before handing Joker a pen.
“Write this down for me… We need more mercury in this drug. We can’t add too much, though, otherwise we ourselves will be put in a tricky spot. When I took that, the desired effect was that I cannot move for a while but as you see,” he motions to his position, “I seem to be doing just fine within a short few moments…”
“You only took a little bit Orpheus, perhaps when we give this drug out, we should up the dosage…”
“Good suggestion, but do you remember when I smelt it first?” he starts out very slowly, posture slowly straightening itself out. His eyes stuck on the broken bottle on the table before he reached for a shard, observing it closely before licking the remnants of the drug it had once contained, “It only made me feel slightly light headed. When you smell this drug, I want to struggle to stay on my feet just as I did when I tasted it, I need my vision blur… The feeling I got from the sip, is the feeling they should get just by smelling it,”
The fire ignited in his eyes mixed with how absolutely insentient his hues naturally are causes trepidation to lurk within the corners of Joker’s expression as it’s something that caught his eye, yet he does not say a single thing to Orpheus afterwards, enabling himself to fall to impotence. Such an event is surely not an everyday occurrence within the walls of this manor, was Orpheus losing himself? Or had he always been this lost? Whatever the case may be, Joker makes a mental note so that he may not be blinded by dazzling lights as the audience of the Hullabaloo once was.
Orpheus, even if he presents himself to be absolutely flawless on the outside, appears to be slightly unstable.