The Schemer

Around the World

Technically, to make a bomb, one doesn't have to be a genius. Not at all. But the devil hid in the details, just like in the majority of things. Put a finger against the hammer, the gun will not shoot. Create a tiny, invisible hole in one's stomach, he will die from the spilt acid. A little salt in eggs, you will be able to break the egg whites down, creating a perfect scramble. A few drops of ammonium nitrate in a cocktail of other ingredients, like diesel oil and Semtex, and boom. Nothing's left. Who would have thought that the fertiliser and fuel oil might create something deadly? 

It was easy to get herself lost in the process, not thinking about the consequences of her creations. Ignoring the outcomes. Just doing what she enjoyed. And in her actions, there were bits of irony. Pieces of tragedy, because the things that she loved were harmful to the outside world. The Joker ignored society and provided her with stuff that gave her honest pleasure, whilst almost everybody tried to stir her from those activities. Was it Clara's fault that she found excitement, where others saw pain? Doubtful. Chaos was her Romeo, a marriage doomed to die. And she tried, hard and without remorse, to get rid of the poisonous seeds rooted inside, only to succumb and return back to where it all started.

That's how the Joker found Clara. Looming over a complex device, strong smell of ammonium in the air, hair braided in a long, silky rope. For a few minutes, the man stood in the doorway, taking in the way her long, bony fingers gently twisted, de-constructed, poured and wiped. 

"I can hear your breathing, clown."

The man grinned. She was still there, the strange woman. An ancient creature within the walls of modern society. A body, shaped like an old-day warrior, out of place in the nowadays world. And the mind, the sharp mind, too cruel and unreasonable, too wild to live caged. Too delicate to endure the madness of the century. 

Like a wild animal, Clara followed Joker making his way towards her. He had his whole attire on, except the jacket. By the way his paint was worn-off, she guessed he had just come home. A dozen of freshly-made bombs laid in front of the assassin, the last one in process of being finished.

As he neared her, the man crouched, sitting on his heels. "Have you ever wante-t to travel 'round the wor-r-rld, little assassin?" The question seemed out of the blue. Clara straightened her spine, only to round it once more, long, powerful legs put on the chair, chin on the knees. "Pack a bag, get in the car, and drive away?"

"No. I've travelled enough in the army. Being home, wherever 'home' was at those moments, seemed much more lovely." Her gaze drifted somewhere for a second, only to return back to where it was previously, locked with the Joker's, this time, amusement and something else glistening, burning in them. A cold fire blazing, echoes of it reflecting in Jack's face. "But I know a way how to travel around the world, J. A way that even I do enjoy." 

"Yeah?"

"Hmm. Through seas and mountains, and bottomless oceans." Clara's angular face was relaxed, jaw muscles, typically protruding through the thin skin, nearly invisible. "And you know how to do that, too. You know that very well." Sharp canines shone before the momentary visibility was hidden behind another set of lips. 

Biting. Licking. Intruding and invading. Two strong, flexible bodies entwined, suddenly on the ground. A smell of gunpowder and clove, ammonia and diesel. A smell of desire. Their clothes were lost, ripped from each other, bare skin exposed. Two angry, animal-like voices growling, groaning. As Clara locked her legs around Joker's torso, it only took one push for her to throw her head behind, a voiceless scream buried somewhere within her chest. The man continued moving, feeling her insides slowly tightening up, feeling his own stomach muscles starting to contract, pressure building up.