literature

Screech: 9 I am Poison

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Note: There is some strong language in here, but it's relatively minor so I'm not putting a warning on it. Consider this to be a fair warning instead.


The cold December rain that Larkin had arrived to in Gotham was slowly freezing over. The sky spit ice at her as she shuffled her way down the cracked street her apartment building sat on. The carcass of the old store that sat across from the building looked even more ominous then usual with ice collecting on what little was left of its sign. The cerulean eyed girl tried to fold into herself to maintain what little warmth her jacket was providing her. She had no winter weather wear. No hat, scarves, or gloves to help keep her warm. All she had was her old leather jacket, which was running thin in a few places and whose lining had given out the Christmas before last. She hadn’t been able to part with the jacket, however, because she’d found it in the box of her father’s things that the Kents had kept.

It was a women’s black, leather jacket, with no identifiable branding. There was an odd little pocket inside and some little loops, which looked suspiciously like they were supposed to hold something. Larkin had asked her foster parents if they’d known where the jacket came from.

Lois had said that she’d never seen the jacket before and that perhaps it’d been mistakenly placed in her father’s things.

“It could have belonged to one of your aunts,” Lois had mused as she’d peeled apples in an attempt to copy Clark’s mother’s homemade pie recipe. “Cassandra, or Stephanie, maybe. Maybe even Barbara. I wonder if they’d left it in there by accident when cleaning out your old home.”

Larkin had no way of contacting her old family or the network of close family friends the Bat kept, so she’d decided that she’d keep the jacket no mater whose it was. She wondered a few times since then if the jacket had been part of a vigilante uniform. It’d explain the loops and holster looking pocket if it did. It didn’t, however, explain why her father had it. After all, what would Richard Grayson need with a women’s jacket?

Clark had been a little more helpful than Lois had been, saying that he thought he remembered Dick saying something about Larkin being wrapped in the jacket when she was left on his doorstep. Of course, Larkin argued back saying that she’d been left in a picnic basket, to which Clark chuckled and said, “You think your mom would have left you without something to act like a blanket? It was December when your dad found you, Larkie. I’m pretty sure your mom –whoever she is –wouldn’t have left her basically newborn daughter without some kind of protection in the dead of winter.”

Since then, Larkin had secretly hoped that Clark was right. Because, if Clark was right then the jacket had most likely belonged to her mom and having something that use to be her mom’s was something Larkin desired very much.

“Fuck,” Lynx cursed from her cousin’s side, shaking Larkin out of her thoughts.

The demoness was slouched, huddling inside of her own jacket and shivering. She, like Larkin, was carrying a thin plastic bag from the shady looking grocery store a few blocks away. They’d hadn’t planned to do their grocery shopping that day but Sylas had come home early from his job at the botanical gardens, saying that he’d heard on a news report that there was a chance of a snow storm.

“They’re talking ice on the powerlines, black outs, and snow,” Sylas had stated. “Most of Gotham has already started to shut down.”

Larkin and Lynx had rushed to the store to get some cheap, canned and boxed food in case the storm left them stranded in their apartment for the next few days.

“Winters are harsh here,” Lynx had informed Larkin. Now, Larkin was starting to believe her. In the half an hour it’d taken them to get their groceries the rate of falling ice had intensified by at least 50%. Her fingers had gone numb around the plastic handle she clutched in them and her nose might as well been nonexistent for she could no longer tell if it was attached to her face.

“When we get inside, I’m going to bum some hot coco off Sylas,” Lynx’s teeth rattled as she spoke. “It’s the frigging organic crap he drinks, but it’d be a hell of a lot better than our crappy coffee.”

Larkin nodded her approval. “You should invite him over too. I’ll make some cinnamon rolls and chili for us.”

Tiny creases formed on the bridge of Lynx’s nose and a particularly strong gust of frozen wind whipped purple strands across her face. “Cinnamon rolls with Chili? That’s a different combination.”

“It’s a Midwest thing,” Larkin held open their apartment building’s door for her roommate. “Clark said his mom use to make it for their family in the winter. Honestly, the first time I had it I thought it sounded horrible but the sweet with the spicy…It’s a food combination straight from heaven.”

“What are you going to do about Sylas? You can’t cook cinnamon rolls and chili for a vegan. That, like, goes against all his principals.”

The young Grayson smirked, her eyes crinkling slightly around the corners. “You underestimate my cooking skills.”

Lynx’s own smirk made its way to her face and she reached out, muttered a series of words that lead to the door of their apartment flying open. Larkin knew the girl had a key, she’d even given Larkin the duplicate one, but still Lynx insisted on opening their door with magic.

“Here,” Lynx passed Larkin the plastic bag she was carrying. “Take that inside. I’ll go talk to Sy.”

The raven haired girl didn’t protest as she took the second bag and entered her apartment. Lynx’s cat, Chloe, stood from her spot on the back of the old couch when Larkin entered. The slender feline arched her back, paws stretched outward, and sharp fangs showing.

“Hey, Chloe,” Larkin greeted, setting the bags down on the only clean spot on the countertop. “Miss us?”

The can vibrated, her green-gold eyes reflecting the light of the nearby lamp.  

“Lynx picked you up some canned tuna,” Larkin continued to talk to the cat as she shed her jacket and hung it on one of the three knives sticking out of the wall to the left of the door.

Chloe began to purr even louder and gingerly worked her way across the cluttered floor of the girls’ apartment. She managed to get herself between Larkin’s legs as the youngest girl readied to cook. Her slender, black body weaved itself around the girl’s legs, creating a figure eight pattern as she rubbed up against the girl’s jeans.

“Chloe,” Larkin chastised, “don’t think if you’re all sweet on me I’ll give you the tuna. You have to wait for Lynx.”

Chloe mewed in protest and sat back to stare up at Larkin with big blinking eyes.

“Yes, you’re cute, but the answer’s still no.”

“Meow, ksss,” Chloe darted away and back to her spot atop the couch, her eyes now narrowed as she watched Larkin continue to cook. Larkin could practically hear the cat mentally cursing her. She wondered just how much power a familiar had and if the creature really would curse her for denying it tuna.  

“I’d offer to drop some food on the floor for you but I doubt you’d like it,” Larkin stated.

“Ksss,” the cat hissed.

“Yeah, yeah, take it up with Lynx.”

“Is Chloe bugging you for food again?” Lynx asked as she sauntered in through the still open door, hot coco packets in hand and Sylas on her heels. She turned a wicked smirk on her familiar before stating, “Prissy princess doesn’t need anything right now. Queen Chloe can wait a little longer for her treat.”

“Ksss, meow,” Chloe mewed while blinking at her owner.

Lynx raised a hand and shook her head. “Oh no, those puppy dog eyes aren’t going to work on me. How many times do I have to tell you? You’re a cat, not a dog. Get your own gig!”

“Ksss!” Chloe leapt from the couch and dashed down the hall way, heading towards Lynx’s room where, if her mood was anything to judge by, she’d decide that Lynx’s bed made a better litter box than the tray in the bathroom.

“I think you pissed off your demon,” Sylas remarked.

“She’ll get over it.” There was a loud meowing and Lynx almost growled. “And I’ll bet that’s her telling me that she just shit on my bed.”

Sylas gave a breathy laugh as Lynx stormed off down the hall, yelling in a tongue not spoken by humans. He leaned against the kitchen counter, watching as Larkin poured cans of beans and tomatoes into a pot.

“Lynx says you’re making chili and cinnamon rolls,” Sylas spoke. “Great idea for this cold day. If I can…” he hesitated and Larkin noted how he shifted his weight and looked down at his fingertips, which appeared to be stained green. “Is it vegan?”

“It will be. You don’t think I’d feed you something that wasn’t, would you?”

Sylas smiled, his pointed teeth showing and his aloe green eyes lighting up. “You’re too conscientious for that. Mind if I help?”

“Sure. I’m almost done adding everything into the chili and then I’ll start on the cinnamon rolls. Would you like to get the butter out of the fridge? Careful though, Lynx doesn’t know its vegan. So don’t tell her.”

“How’d you manage to get Lynx Todd to buy vegan butter?” Sylas asked as he went to do as Larkin requested.

“Easy, she asked me to get butter and I did,” Larkin grinned. “It’s her own fault for not specifying what type of butter she wanted.”

The ginger chuckled. “There’ll be hell if she finds out. Even more hell if she doesn’t find out until after she’s decided it’s the best butter she’s ever had.”

“Who says that’s not in the plan?” Larkin giggled. “You know, for all the crap she gives you about your lifestyle choice, I don’t think she’s actually all that against it. When I suggested she invite you over tonight she asked if you could eat the food. She does care. A little.”

“I know she does. I’ve never questioned her loyalty or mindfulness of me. The banter and insults are just part of our relationship. It’s actually the foundation our entire friendship is built on.”

“Really?”

Sylas nodded. “Lynx and I have never had a conventional friendship. We went from enemies to friends in 0.7 seconds and it all started because I called her a shallow emo Barbie doll who used Daddy’s name to escape the golden, gated life of being a hero’s legacy.”

“Ouch.”

“Eh. She called me a plant murderer and went off on how if I loved plants so much I should be more concerned about their wellbeing than whether or not a cow spent it’s life grazing in a field or bathing in barbeque sauce on a plate.”

Larkin snickered and began to make the dough for her cinnamon rolls as the chili cooked on the stove. “That wasn’t the first things you said to each other, was it?”

“No,” Sylas moved a collection of coffee cups into the sink and hopped up to sit on the counter where they’d previously been. “The first time I saw her, Lynx was barely conscious. Her hair was matted and she had eyeshadow streaking her face. She’d been a real train wreck. Her clothes were ripped, her lip bloodied and bruised. One of her arms was broken and tied to her chest by a strip of red cloth, which I’m sure came from Hood’s shirt. Hood was carrying her. She looked fragile. Ironically, she reminded me of a broken bird.”

“Was that right after Hood rescued her form the men that’d kidnapped her?”

“She told you about that?”

Larkin nodded.

“Yeah, it was right after that. Hood came back here, Lynx in his arms, and with Raven following him. He’d been pissed. He was shaking as he stormed through my apartment door and placed Lynx on my couch. He and Raven had a heated discussion for a while, while I treated Lynx. I used a lot of natural medicines, herbs and other remedies…used some whiskey too. Whiskey makes a good antiseptic. That’s something you should know, in our line of work.”

“Any alcohol really,” Larkin agreed. “Though I have heard that Whiskey is the best to use.”

“Best to give someone to chug if you’re about to pull a bullet from them too,” Sylas remarked. “In fact, Lynx chugged almost a whole bottle when we met. She woke up when I was cleaning her wounds and I basically said she looked like shit. I was meaning to tell her that we’d fix that after I got her cleaned up, but she’d interrupted me. I kid you not, with split lip and bruised up face, that little she-devil glared at me so hard that I froze right on the spot. To this day I swear her eyes were made of teal flames as she looked me dead in the eyes and told me to go fuck myself and to pass her the whiskey.”

Larkin burst out in laughter. “And you were still friends after that?”

Sylas grinned and hopped off of the counter. He came up behind Larkin, placing his hands in the bowl of dough she was working with. As he begun to help her knead the dough he said, “As soon as she spoke I knew I was in for a ride. Hood placed her under my protection for a while and we were at each other’s throats for nearly a month and a half. She threatened to kill me twice and magically locked me out of my apartment five times. I may or may not of strung her up with some ivy vines and left her hanging from the ceiling for a few hours. After she got her own place, though, we were attached at the hip. Truth is, we became friends quickly and without either of us really noticing. Haven’t you ever had a friend like that? Where the relationship just sort of happened?”

Larkin stopped kneading the dough. She exhaled slowly. “Not really. I’ve never had friends before.”

“Never?” Sylas leaned over her shoulder so he could look at her face slightly.

Larkin gave a sharp nod.

“Forgive me, but I find that hard to believe. You’re a beautiful girl and your nature is…spirited…how could someone like you not have any friends?”

Larkin shrugged. She stared down at her dough covered hands and begun to play with the dough stuck to them. “I guess I had a few friends in elementary school, but I never saw them outside of school. I never had tea parties or sleepovers like the other girls in my classes. Not for lack of effort on my father’s part. Dad tried his best. He encouraged playdates and tried to talk me into inviting the other girls to my birthday parties, but I didn’t like them. They were mean. They use to say things about me, and my dad, and my mom.”

“What about in high school?” Sylas’ voice was soft. He swallowed as he attempted to steel himself for the answer he had a feeling was coming. He didn’t like the idea of Larkin never having friends before. No one should ever be alone like that. Surly there’d been someone; one friend, a close acquaintance, or maybe a boyfriend? “Didn’t you date at all?”

Larkin shook her head and reached up to itch at her forehead, which ended up getting a bit of dough into her pixie cut hair. “In high school the best I got were acquaintances. There was one girl on my gymnastics team that I got along with well. We never met up outside of practice. She seemed nice, though…too nice. Her life was perfect. She had the perfect family, and the perfect house, and she’d end up going to the perfect college and not having to worry about how to pay tuition. Our acquaintanceship wouldn’t have lasted a day if she’d seen the mess that is my life.”

“Your life’s not that bad,” Sylas gently turned Larkin around in his arms. He slid his hands up her arms, from her wrists to her shoulders, before saying, “Besides, you have two friends now. Lynx and I have your back and we don’t care about anything that’s happened to you before now. Broken family or not, foster family or not, trust issues or not, we accept you for who you are. These last two weeks of having you around have been great. More than great.” he moved his hands up to gently cradle her face. He tilted her face so she was looking up at him, his bright aloe eyes looked down into her deep cerulean ones. “And I can’t wait to spend many more weeks with you.”

Larkin felt lightheaded as he leaned forward. She felt intoxicated by his scent. The strong aroma of fertilizer, pesticides, and moist earth wasn’t as overpowering as she would have thought it’d be with Sylas standing that close to her. On the contrary, it was calming and she realized that mixed in with the harsh spicy dirt smell of pesticides and fertilizer was the much more subtle, softer scent of roses.

Sylas’s lips, plump and smooth, brushed hers in a feather light touch. He applied no pressure. He merely rubbed his mouth across hers a few times before resting his forehead against hers.

“You are intoxicating,” he spoke with closed eyes. “If Lynx hadn’t made me promise to remain friends only with you I would kiss you right now.”

Larkin closed her own eyes, sighing. “I’m not looking for a relationship, Sylas. You’re amazing and alluring but I can’t get involved with anyone. Like you said, I have trust issues. Plus, Lynx sort of made me promise the same thing she made you.”

Sylas laughed that soft, breathy laughter of his and Larkin felt his breath ghost across her mouth.

Slowly, Sylas pulled back and reluctantly let his hands fall from her face. “It’s all for the better. I shouldn't kiss you anyway. Even if we both wanted it.”

“Why’s that?” Larkin was ashamed to admit that her voice sounded breathless even to her own ears.

“Haven’t you heard the tale about my mother’s transformation? They replaced her blood with aloe, her skin with chlorophyll, and filled her lips with venom,” Sylas quoted an old tale about how Poison Ivy was created. “I am poisonous. One kiss from me and you could end up dead.”

“Must make dating really hard for you,” Larkin attempted to joke.

“I’ve found ways around it; a thin layer of wax on the lips, an antidote that I can deliver if I forget to be careful, and there’s an anti-toxin. I haven’t ever cared about someone enough yet to give them the permeant cure, but I’ve learned that short exposure doesn’t harm anyone. I could kiss you, but I couldn’t kiss you for more than a few seconds and absolutely no longer than a minute.”

“That stupid cat!” Lynx’s sudden voice created greater distance between Sylas and Larkin. At the sound of it Sylas instantly moved to lean against the counter and Larkin scooted a little bit further away from him. Lynx came to stop, with hands on her hips, right in front of the duo. “You know what that feline fatale did?”

“She shit on your bed?” Sylas guessed.

“She shit on my bed!” Lynx exclaimed. “Just because she can’t have a snack. She’s such a drama queen!”

Sylas snickered and Larkin grinned.

“I wonder where she gets it from,” Sylas remarked.

“Don’t you start,” Lynx pointed one purple painted finger at him. “I’ll conjure up an army of locusts and set them loose on your beloved plants.”

“Please don’t,” Sylas groaned. “You know that it physically caused me pain when my plants are harmed.”

“That’s the whole point, veggie boy,” Lynx informed with a vicious smirk.

“You two,” Larkin mused, watching them from her spot against the counter top. Sylas was right, her life may have not been the best but it certainly wasn’t the worst.
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