OOC // How does Dewey normally kill somebody? Has it ever been a conscious decision or just... you know, things running away with her?
EEE !!! very good question.
to preface this, dewey is obsessed with batman. ever since she was saved by him she’s never wanted to forget it. ( here’s a video of what happened after he saved dewey, skip to 3:57. her rescue by batman was based on canon dialogue that to others is just a throwaway line :D )
with that being said, she desperately wants to be like him. she wants to deliver justice without death. wants to amend what believes she’s done to her father. and in a twisted way, she sees batman AS her father. she believes the way he beats down on criminals and evildoers is precisely what her father did. beat them to teach them a lesson, except now that abuse is justice.
now obviously dewey doesn’t get a lot of the context of who batman fights. she doesn’t get there are even limits to who batman punches in the face. he won’t attack without thinking, and if he does - it’s clear he goes easy on them. all dewey knows that if someone does wrong, they deserve a beat down like everyone else. it’s almost a way her mind rationalizes the abuse she’s received when she was younger.
toyman wants to be seen as a vigilante, and she does do her own detective work in a way. she actively seeks out the people who donated to the arkham asylum during her imprisonment and stalks them. however due to her anterograde amnesia - she’s learned to make it a routine. write down everything she knows. who they’re connected to, where they frequent. then, she narrows down a place where they’re vulnerable. where she knows if she catches them, there’s no one to stop her.
that’s when they wake up within her playroom. a game chosen specifically to torment her victim. the games they play range from memory games to hopscotch, all with a painful twist. memorize the rules and you’re golden. they’re designed to exhaust her victim, make them hurt. hopscotch with constantly shifting tiles, and colors that shock you when you step on them. tag in reverse, with toy soldiers that are out to get you. memory games with each wrong answer lowering your platform into a den of sharp snapping toys. break the rules or try to escape and you’ll be met with a line of android dolls eager to twist your bones into a fashionable pose. ( …that last one was darcy’s idea. )
but killing ? never intended. never what she wants to happen. the games were up in place distract her. keep her from putting her hands on the victim directly. all she ever intended was to teach them a lesson in a sadistically fun way. she can’t ever reach them without stopping the game, and that’s the point.
she can’t lose her temper again.
it was a simple setup the first time. no games. just a chair the victim was tied down to and darcy right above in a dollhouse to her scale. as commanded, darcy would then play archived recordings of the victim. the lies he’s told about the asylum. how much money he’s given to the asylum. how well taken care of each patient was there. almost like listing out each crime the victim had committed.
toyman didn’t take it very well. the records were meant to serve as reminder. she was meant to try out all her little toys and gadgets, humiliate him. but instead it just felt like …torture. listening to the records. watching her victim bark insults at her despite the tail between his legs. …she didn’t even bother to use the tools she had. the first punch served as a warning. then she heard his laugh. she did it again, harder. he wasn’t reacting like he should. he wasn’t listening like he should. he wasn’t learning. darcy watched on and recorded every word he said to her. psycho. bitch. weak.
she got faster, and so did he. the more she tried to hurt him the less it felt like she was getting anywhere. psycho. bitch. weak. the records continued to play. it wasn’t working. her plan wasn’t working. she pulled at his hair, bit down on his nose. he wouldn’t stop. his voice wouldn’t leave her. she had to do something. she had to stop him. without thinking she jammed her hand into his mouth. desperate.
but she didn’t stop hearing his voice. darcy kept playing the records. overstimulating toyman. unable to tell the difference from what he was saying now to what he was saying then. she pushed deeper, begging him to shutup. his muffled screams were silenced by his lies on record. toyman was practically on top on him, watching him as he struggled to breath. feeling the way his throat closed in on her hand as it strained itself for air. she was screaming, crying, yelling at him to SHUTUP.
she wasn’t herself.
she wasn’t herself.
she wasn’t herself.
when she came to, her knuckles were bruised and bloody. there were bite marks from her wrist down to her elbow. her face was stained with tears. her costume stained with blood. she was on top of the bloody mess that was her victim. she felt exhausted - let alone terrified. darcy had recorded the whole thing, right from her perch in the dollhouse.
so no.
it wasn’t a conscious decision. it just. happened.
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