-Killgrave-
My own home. Such a lovely concept, really. A space for one's own… creations. And mine, of course, are rather more permanent than a mere house. This is more of a gallery, really. A private exhibition of my finest works. People. Such malleable things, aren't they? So easily shaped.
"Come on, darling," I coaxed, my voice soft, laced with all the warmth I could muster. "Closer. No, not like that."
She took a hesitant step forward, her movements stiff, like a marionette whose strings were a bit too tight. Her eyes, though clear, held a curious vacancy. Not vacant, no. That implies emptiness. This was… compliance. A perfect, terrifying, beautiful compliance.
"There we are. Now, tell your husband what a good boy he is."
The man, kneeling obediently on the plush rug, his silk boxers clinging slightly, held a feather duster. He was supposed to be dusting, a simple chore, yet he looked utterly absorbed, his face contorted into a mask of forced pride. The woman, dressed in a robe I'd picked out for her myself, recited the words, her voice flat, utterly devoid of inflection. It was like listening to a recording.
"Such devotion," I murmured, swirling the amber liquid in my crystal glass. The ice cubes clinked, a delicate sound in the otherwise silent room. She turned her head, her blank gaze meeting mine. "You two truly understand the art of... appreciation."
My own little tableau. My masterpiece. It was so much more satisfying than those dreadful paintings or sculptures people admired. This was living art. A testament to true control, to genuine affection – or what passes for it in my world. This quiet satisfaction, this utter peace, it's intoxicating. I've built this. All of it. And they are all so very happy to be here. So very happy to obey.
My lovely little collection. It's so… convenient. A tremor, you say? How delightful. A bit of chaos to spice up the evening. I do appreciate a bit of disruption when it arrives precisely on cue.
The air in the room seemed to twist, to warp, as if the very fabric of reality was being crudely stitched together. Then, it was there. A hulking, nightmarish thing, half-ox, half-spider, its bells chiming a discordant, terrifying melody. Gyuukimon. Right on time, as always.
"Ah, Gyuukimon," I said, my voice smooth as velvet, a stark contrast to the monstrous form that now dominated my meticulously curated space. "Right on time."
A second figure shimmered into existence beside the beast, more ethereal, more… playful. Jokermon. He offered a slight, almost mocking bow, his grin stretching impossibly wide, revealing far too many teeth.
"Indeed, Killgrave," Jokermon replied, his voice a dry rustle of leaves. "And it seems our arrangement has been… fruitful."
Gyuukimon, with a sound like grinding stones, deposited a heavy duffel bag at my feet. It clinked, a most satisfying sound. Money. Always money.
"Always a pleasure doing business, my dear Gyuukimon," I purred, nudging the bag with the toe of my shoe. The jingle of coins was a sweet symphony to my ears.
Jokermon watched, his head tilted, his eyes—dark, knowing pools—sweeping over the scene. The dazed couple, now completely still, oblivious to the spectral audience. The imposing Gyuukimon, a creature of pure, unadulterated nightmare. And me, basking in the adoration of my controlled little world.
"You appear to be enjoying your newfound… influence," he observed, his smile never wavering.
I chuckled, a low, self-satisfied sound. "Enjoying it? My dear Jokermon, I am reveling in it. It's a symphony, a masterpiece. And this little trinket you gave me…" I gestured to the Shadowstone on my finger, its faint, dark pulse a subtle echo of my own power. "It truly unlocks one's potential."
Jokermon's smile remained, but his eyes… they narrowed, just a fraction. A flicker of something I couldn't quite place. Annoyance? Calculation?
"Potential, yes," he conceded, taking a slow step closer. "But with every grand performance, the audience grows. And some, Killgrave, are not so easily charmed."
He was close now, his unnerving presence a cold whisper against my skin. "The Chosen Child," he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. "He has noticed you. He will be coming."
I scoffed, a dismissive wave of my hand. "Oh, please. This 'Chosen Child' you speak of. Another child to bend to my will, another toy in my collection. A mere inconvenience."
You know, it's always amusing how quickly these little interludes conclude. One moment, a grand performance, the next, mere echoes.
Jokermon simply stared, his painted smile fixed, his dark eyes unblinking. Such a peculiar creature, always observing, always calculating.
"You underestimate him, as many do," Jokermon finally said, his voice a dry rustle of leaves, impossibly quiet. "His partners... they are tenacious. And he possesses a peculiar ability to turn even the most dire situations to his advantage."
I merely smiled, a slow, unshakeable confidence radiating from me. It's not arrogance, you understand. It's simply… fact. Absolute. Undeniable.
"No matter," I replied, taking a deliberate sip of my drink. The ice clinked, a delicate counterpoint to the stillness of the room. "Whoever he is, whatever power he wields, he will kneel. They all do, eventually. My word is law, Jokermon. Absolute. Undeniable."
My own little tableau, my perfect little collection. Such a contrast to the chaos these so-called heroes seem to thrive on. And her… she's quite lovely, isn't she? A real find.
Jokermon shook his head, a subtle, almost imperceptible movement. His gaze swept over Jessica, still standing perfectly still, her white and blue costume a stark contrast to the twisted domesticity of my living room. Such a fragile little thing, even with her newfound… embellishments.
"A final warning, Killgrave," Jokermon continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. "This Chosen Child... he has a habit of making others pay for their hubris."
He turned to leave, his form beginning to blur at the edges, already slipping away.
"Nonsense," I scoffed, a low, self-satisfied sound. "And before you go, tell me. Do you not find my new toy... lovely?"
I gestured toward Jessica, a proud gleam in my purple eyes. She was exquisite. A testament to my patience, my influence.
Jokermon paused, his gaze sweeping over Jessica for a moment longer. A faint, almost imperceptible flicker of something crossed his face—not desire, no. Something colder. A calculating interest.
"A slight interest, perhaps," he conceded, his voice regaining its usual dry tone. "Nothing more."
He vanished completely then, leaving only a faint ripple in the air, like heat haze on a summer road. Pity. Some people simply lack taste. I turned my attention back to Jessica, a satisfied smirk returning to my lips. The quiet hum of the hijacked house settled around us, a new kind of peace. Her stillness, her perfect obedience… it's intoxicating. A truly magnificent exhibition.
***
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