a dramatic ENDING, zatanna | j

[VICTOR ZSASZ]

MY FUTURE LIES BEYOND THE YELLOW BRICK ROAD

 

“And once again, Ms. Zatara steals the show!” It had been another Friday and another magic show from the workings of Zatanna Zatara. Zsasz wasn’t quite sure how many times he had seen her work under the bright lights of a stage, but he never missed it. That he was sure of. Each went on for an exact amount of time and each finished with another trick. He had his own seat by now; the farther row in the back corner. Surrounded by shadows that the rest of the crowd do their best to avoid. Many productions had been put on in this theatre. Some from the crazies that seem to always find their way back to this city and others from little independent companies; made up of the people who couldn’t make in the big times. He’d be taken here by his parents many times in his adolescent stage. Marveling at the color sets and intricate choreography. Back then, it was quite easy to forget you were sitting in an uncomfortable chair in a crime ridden city. Instead? You had taken a ride to somewhere different, where anything could happen. But then, Victor Zsasz was a much different person. He was a golden child! He didn’t have to cover himself in a hood or hide in the darkness. He was a golden child; a child everyone knew and loved. Now, this magic mumbo jumbo simply entertained him. How many people still let themselves drift away; how not one individual could wrap their head around the fact that they were being lied too. That was what had been so hard to understand. This woman was practically a thief! Demanding money so she can pull the wool over their eyes. Sick, pathetic even. He still saw the strings. Saw the smoke and mirrors that the others didn’t.

At times he had to restrain himself from laughing uncontrollably; this had been worth money? Had it even been worth sneaking through the back door? The most fun part though, came when the lights were turned back on. He remained seated, observant as ever. The man was curious, sure. But it had been about seeing how she really was. Maybe it had been her only way to remain off the streets; he had given the woman time to prove herself. And yet, it never came. She looked no more grateful off stage than on it. Disgusting. But he still refused to give up, he didn’t stop coming. Every night she overlooked him, every night she had much better things to do. Any effective psychopath did need to experiment though; so he let this night be the deciding factor. Would he have to liberate her? He’d rather not end the enjoying late nights for so many of Gotham’s citizens, but whatever worked. Victor stood backstage with a beautiful bouquet; bigger than anything most had ever seen. It took countless minutes for the so called vigilante to finally utilize the exit. That was all he needed, all he needed to kick start the experimentation.

“Ms. Zatara! I cannot explain my admiration for your skills. May you take these flowers, out of my extreme gratitude?” Zsasz can only wait, wait for what comes out of her mouth. And the best part is that she doesn’t even know. Doesn’t know that her answer could decide her fate. This should be interesting.

TAG: ZATANNA | WORDS: 573 | OUTFIT: LINK | CREDIT: MERCY OF CAUTION!

[ZATANNA ZATARA]

Her shoulder hurt and her clothing was still dripping water as she exited the stage and headed backstage after her final curtain call. The raven haired magician accepted a towel from one of the theatre's stage hands and after drying her face wrapped it up around her hair like a turban to try to keep her from leaving a trail of water along the ground in her wake. Thanking her assistant who now was tasked with the job of putting the props and materials for her tricks away until tomorrow, she headed to her dressing room. Nearly at her change room she saw the large bouquet of flowers, and the man holding them. Tired from the show, she forced herself to smile. Typically she liked at least twenty minutes to decompress before talking to anyone, especially fans or people who were not a part of her act. Being on stage released endorphins and adrenaline that was sort of like a drug, until she managed to relax she knew that her judgement tended to be off. The typically thoughtful woman was far more brash and showy, having had to play that role on stage for the past hour and a half.

Rather than briskly pushing past him, she stopped and accepted the flowers, wrapped her arm around them and taking them as if cradling a baby. Inclining her head she smiled, "You really didn't have to. I mean I did charge you to see me, that's really a lot of thanks right there. It means I get to eat, you know which is something I like."

Her towel was starting to tilt a bit and her wrapping job was not holding properly. Beyond that she knew that the combination of white dress shirt and black bra after being dunked in a tank of water was not nearly so visible from the audience when she was onstage as it was up close and in person. Nodding towards her change room she said, "You know I really should get changed, why don't you come in and we can talk."

As soon as she said it she realized it was a stupid thing to have said, which was why she disliked talking to people while she was still on a show high. Still it felt too late to retract the invitation and he really did not seem particularly threatening. His face was familiar, but she could not place it at the moment. Opening the door to her change room she entered it, placing the flowers down on the makeup counter as she walked behind a Japanese screen. As much as her brain was not in sensible mode following a show, she was also not about to change right in front of him.

"Is this your first time seeing the show?" she asked as she removed her tuxedo jacket and hung it over the side of the screen.

[VICTOR ZSASZ]

MY FUTURE LIES BEYOND THE YELLOW BRICK ROAD

 

“Is this your first time seeing the show?” Truth. His addiction for truth ran through his veins and pulsed through his heart. He had promised to the few god’s he still believed in, the ones who still remained over his head; that he wouldn’t let any injustice slip his scarred lips. Yet here he was, in the dressing room of a woman who truly deserved one. Tension waved up from his toes to his head and his fists clenched inside the pockets of his cargo pants. His throat closed in resistance, the words he was afraid of slowly climbing up. The temptation of telling her that he had seen her deceive masses of people for the years upon years she’s performed; the need to reprimand her for the way she finds money. Was such foolery worse than prostitution? Never had there been such a moral conflict inside his transparent mind. He couldn’t lose control, not when his site of interest had done the very same. He wouldn’t be forced to cut corners after watching a career filled with the same.

The door was silent, oiled regularly or simply the product of a recent renovation. Its calls were gaining volume each time, pleading with him to leave and kill the so called magician with two times the pain. But she had asked a question, the tuxedo jacket carelessly hanged said the regular routine wouldn’t take too much longer. Even the deafest of ears could pick up a prolonged pause, a pause that should have been filled with a psychotic tone. Time was no longer available and he let his subconscious kick in. Main exit was locked from the outside; a vent system the only way out. Even the deepest of smoke couldn’t save the pathetic cheater of a woman. Not even his graceful steps alerted her ears, if this hadn’t proved her uselessness, nothing would. The pause he knew wouldn’t be able to go unnoticed for much longer was filled as his mind barely needed to think as he went through a locking process he knew like the back of his hand. “Of course not, I’ve been watching you for a long time Ms. Zatara. Quite honestly, I’m ashamed you haven’t noticed me. Shouldn’t a mystical figure such as yourself possess heightened senses?”

Zsasz could only smile at his last statement. He had never felt such a war waging in his membrane; never had to leave things to luck and chance. He still might not have loved the feeling, the fact that she could have stepped out at any second and spotted him. But she hadn’t, and hear he was; only beginning the verbal part to his mental decomposing. He had even done so without angering the gods, the demons; whatever was above his spiritual level. They had managed to kill his own parents for similar mistakes, he wasn’t quite sure what they could do to him now. Kill him? Force him to retreat to the same Arkham Asylum and the same daily conversations with Quincy Sharp? It wouldn’t be like there’d be no other wacko with a rocket launcher or exquisite weaponry. Yet something continued to tell him not to test them, sadly, they may be the only things that he can’t kill.

It had barely deserved such a mental confrontation in the first place, he had liberated too many simple Gotham citizens to not know how their brains work. They seem to always miss the big picture, are too oblivious to look deep into anything more than a missing prize in their cereal boxes and most importantly? They believe everything. Victor expected her to feed him some sort of a lie now, it wasn’t worth telling the truth after such an “illustrious” career of doing the opposite. As he stood patiently waiting for a still weak but shinier woman to slip out from the human concealer; he could only think of what part of his body was truly deserving of such a joyous tally. His rib cage? Above his eyebrow? So many places, just one unfortunate liar. “Such a shining beacon of hope wouldn’t be pulling wool over her own cities eyes; would she? Because rumors are beginning to spread and I’m not quite sure I can defend you for much longer.”

TAG: ZATANNA | WORDS: 738 | OUTFIT: LINK | CREDIT: MERCY OF CAUTION!

[ZATANNA ZATARA]

There was something in his reply that set her on edge in a way that she had not been before. Only now was Zatanna starting to be able to move from the long shadow that was cast by her father's memory and his fame, and so she had little experience dealing with fans who took more than a passign interest in her. Thus she had allowed herself to be flattered by the flowers and the attention, something that she felt that she deserved and like most performers something that she craved. That he had been male and attractive had simply added to the flattery that she felt. Of course it had been a risk to invite him into her dressing room where there was nobdy else, but she had been flattered. Risk was part of her job in a way and her magical powers made her less cautious and more willing to take risks.

He mentioned her magical abilities, something she was currently keeping clsoe to her chest. Granted she was not always as careful when displaying her newly discovered abilities as she probably should be. She was not one of these newly arrived superheroes and had no interest in taking up a secret identity or in running around Gotham in a mask and tights. Still being more cautious was clearly something that she should start being.

Deciding to continue to act as if nothing untoward was happening so as not to upset him and cause some sort of confrontation, she kicked off her high heels and set them on the floor as she began to remvoe her fishnet stalkings.

"With the tage lights shinning in my face I don't really see anyone in particular. The only time I can see the audience is when they turn the stage lights down so I can pick a volunteer," she explained, adding, "so it's natural that I haven't noticed you. But I feel bad, I'll get you a pair of free tickets so you can come with a date and I'll make sure to look for you."

That, she thought to herself, should cover that quite well.

As to his phrase that she was pulling the wool over the city's eyes she shook her head, "It's a magic show, the age old art of illusion. Everyone likes being tricked, or at least people willing to pay to see me. They like to try to guess how I do it, and see if they can spot the trick. In a way it's quite honest, everyone else in life will lie to you without telling you at least I'm very clear that when I'm on that stage everything I do is a lie."