Hey Wait, Great Smile, Sensitive to Fate, Not Denial, But Hey Whose on Trial?

[ItzToxie]

(( Fisk Bateman continued from ...Fuck it, don't matter.))

You could tell a lot about someone's footsteps. Just, the sound of it, told you all you needed to know about one's mental state. If each step was uneven, if there was a rhythm, how fast, how slow, frantic, calm, erratic. Fisk liked his brogues, exactly for this purpose. He wanted people to hear him, to walk with an honesty that told you what you needed to know before you even seen him. To send the message to step aside or be stepped upon, to know what was coming next.

Funny that now Fisk didn't know what to expect.

Funny that now Fisk couldn't even read his own footsteps.

For all he knew, this could be a trap. Ivan waiting for him to appear. Rhonda too. What a way to go, huh? The one moment you're vulnerable, and you're bushwhacked by the first person you bushwhacked. If this were the mafia movie Fisk believed himself to be in, what happened next would decide if he was the Ray Liotta character or the Joe Pesci one. What song would they play? Layla or House of The Rising Sun?

But let's be real, this wasn't a movie. Not anymore. For everything that happened to him, Fisk couldn't blame Ivan for what he was trying to do, were the roles reversed, Fisk would be doing the same thing. However, the roles were not reversed, and Ivan was doing what Ivan was doing, and Fisk was going to do what he had to. By denying death the first time, Ivan had doomed himself to a prolonged demise on the second go around. The next time they meet, Fisk won't give him the choice, but make him wish he embraced it the first time.

Couldn't get ahead of himself though. Lost one friend already. Fisk turned down to the next docks.

Lost one friend already...

Fisk felt the breath pulled from his lungs. Yeah, that was her. Giselle... Fisk turned his head back to the cruise ship. They'd have been close enough to hear her scream if she did. They were closer here than they were at the clipper ship. She'd been murdered right under their noses, basically right in front of them...

Fisk could feel heat rising up his chest to his face. He didn't want to step closer, that was her, that confirmed it but...

Fisk wasn't expecting this. None of this was as he visualized it. His legs stepped closer, his body paralyzed to resist. From here, he couldn't even tell how she died, she looked asleep, maybe she was, maybe they were wrong? No, she was clearly dead, posed up just like she was ready for her own...

funeral.



Blindfolded, purple flower in hand, peaceful, beautiful...

"Who did this?" It wasn't Ivan. He knew that. If it was him, this would be a taunt, something blatantly wrong solely to spite them when they came across her body. The scene here was...as idyllic as one could make in a situation like this. Fisk continued to step closer. Who would have did this? Anthony? Fisk didn't know all the people who could've been friends with Giselle, he figured it was most of the Anti-Sotf'ers, which left a large pool, but even then...

Someone came by and gussied her up out of an act of kindness. Fisk was prepared to bury her at sea, to witness the worst someone could do to a corpse, and here she was, set up like...

Fisk's hook spear clattered to the ground. His face twitched, his lips quivered. Eyelids twitching, his face scrunched up into an ugly snarl as an uglier whine escaped his throat. He fell to his knees. He couldn't breath, couldn't look up, couldn't bear to look at Giselle like this, couldn't bear to let her see him like this...

He fell to the floor, elbows against the ground, head buried in his arms as his shoulders shaked. Wretched coughing and sputtering, any attempt at speaking came out a stuttered lisping mess. "Cuh..." Giselle was gone. She was gone and they could have done something but the botched it. Botched the whole damn thing, went the wrong way, didn't follow obvious clues. "Cuh-me baaa-a-hack..."

Giselle wasn't another corpse. Wasn't like Jasper, or Calla, or Cassini, or Seth, she was real. She was his friend. She was his fucking friend and he failed her! He failed everyone today... Almost got James killed over a pointless tantrum, got a new enemy they didn't need from wasting that cretin, couldn't even get the fuckers that took Giselle from him. Useless, and incompetent. Fisk felt sick. He'd thrown up by now if he'd eaten anything today. Didn't stop him from gagging. He fell to his side, curled and sobbing.

" I-I'm sorry.

Ffuck I'm s-orry.

I'm so-are-rry.

W-we coull-

We coulda.."

Fisk must've laid there for fifteen minutes at least, just shivering and mewling. Somewhere along that time, he realized the cameras were still rolling, still watching. Laid there for five more minutes. His plight was open for all to see, and for once, the man who prided himself on his honesty wished he could hide. Whatever he was before this moment didn't matter, they saw him mewling on the floor now and that's all he was. What Giselle was before didn't matter. They saw her dead on the floor and that's all she was.

That thought left Fisk floored for another five minutes. That thought gave Fisk the drive to get back up. Breathe in, breathe out... On your feet. He curled up, and pulled himself to his knees, red ears sensitive to the wind and the slightest sensations of hearing, snot dripping out his red nose, onto swollen red lips, red cheeks wet with tears from redder eyes. Fisk stared at Giselle for a long time.

He figured he should push her into the water, but he couldn't bear to touch her. She deserved better than this, but whoever presented her like this tried their best. Fisk wished he knew who. ...Couldn't be helped. His eyes looked to the left and saw a camera watching him. Enjoy this moment of weakness, it's the last you're getting. It was time to recompose.

Fisk clenched his fists, then grabbed his hook, cane,-thing, and stood himself up. His free hand grasped at the snot and spittle dripping from his maw and pulled it away. Shaking his hand free of slime, he patted himself for a hankerchief or something to clean himself up. No luck. Must've left it in his coat. He reached for his pocket instead. Only found a wallet, fuck it's contents will have to do.

Unfolding the gator skin billfold, he pulled out the closest thing to tissue he could find. Green paper, with Benjamin Franklin's face plastered on the front. He pocketed the wallet, and wiped away at his eyes and his face until he was sure most traces of his vulnerability were gone. He crumpled the green bill and tossed it to the side. He turned and stared into the camera.

Two balls of pink surrounding two balls of grey shook as they focused onto the lense, unblinking. He spoke into the camera, not to the audience, but someone of more importance.

"Emmy..."

"Don't know if you're watching this, probably have your own people to worry about, but Giselle was one of the ones assigned to you, as was Bacchia, and though they weren't on your team any more you've still done us a great service by at least offering us closure to what had happened to Giselle."

"I know you hate me, I don't blame you. But, for what it's worth, I appreciate that you gave us that information."

"I have information to relay back. I know that Ivan's on your team, and that you probably have to do everything in your power to insure he survives. As you know, that's not an option, so I want you to issue him a warning, coming from me personally."

Fisk hadn't blinked.

"On this arena, there's a lot of wood, and a lot of rope."

"If I were Ivan, I wouldn't sleep. I wouldn't rest. I would hide. I would run. The Respects are coming for him; and when we find him, we're going to make him wish he died the first time around."

"I will personally see to it, that Ivan Rodriguez is crucified alive. There's a lot of wood, and a lot of rope."

No blinking.

"This is not an exaggeration or a figure of speech. I mean everything I say. When I find Ivan, I will literally crucify him."

"I will walk him up to his final resting place, cross tied to his back, hang him up myself, and then when he's raised?"

"I will personally cut the tendons in his legs and watch him collapse. I'll watch his ribs fold inward as he suffocates to death."

Still staring.

"If Rhonda is with him by the time we find him? I will cut- I will SAW her head off, in front of him as a prelude to his suffering."

Fisk's eyelids were twitching.

"Emmy, if you care about Ivan, you will relay this warning to him in full. I'd advise he take his own life, because what waits for him is only a taste of hell before I send him there. He doesn't have to suffer, but he will if we find him."

He finally blinked.

"There will be no quarter."

He turned away from the camera, and stood, staring at Giselle. He rested his hook on his shoulders, wrapping his arms around it, hands dangling limp.

I'm sorry Giselle. I failed you, but you won't die in vain.

"That will be all."

It was time for Fisk to leave. He had a funeral to attend. He turned around walking away, arms still wrapped around his weapon in an imitation of Ivan's fate. He couldn't help to hum a certain song from Interpol to himself.

I spent a lifespan with no cellmate
The Long Way Back
Sandy, why can't we just look the other way?

((Fisk Bateman continued elsewhere...))