In the Beginning…
Foxe's Night Club was a pretty happening place every weekend night from the hours of 10 'til 2. One of the few places left in Gothum untouched by the mob, a wide variety of entertainment could be perused. From peep shows to exotic dancers, drinks to drugs, everything a complete scoundrel would find fun was here. Though on second thought, he supposed he aught to put himself in the category of scoundrel, and there were some definite perks of joy left out of this joint. For example, he'd much prefer a more chaotic atmosphere. It wasn't as if the vibrating base and flashing blue lights weren't a bit overwhelming (then again nothing overwhelmed him), but with the happily slapped young people dancing through the crowd, rubbing against strangers and letting go of the woes of the day, he noticed there was something missing in the air….
Fear. Oh, the sweet smell of chemical reactions when humans begin to feel in danger. He growled in spite of himself at the thought. An older looking man was getting a lap dance next to him, onlookers ogling the stripper's curvy body as it slithered around the entranced man's lap. His hand went instinctually to his pocket, fingers clasping around the knife's cold handle. But no, not now. He had to ignore them. All of them. For he was only here for her, and for her he must wait. Where was she anyways? Ripping a damn hippy bong probably. Payne had been the leading dealer in the city. The mob had always tried to get him under their wing but somehow he stayed clean of them until the end. They always catch up in the end. Except to him of course. Drove the mob mad too. After an experimental drug gone bad the mob had gotten from Scarecrow, all of their credibility was lost. Payne had no competition for his customers. Until he got popped off.
He got up and pulled off his floor length trench coat; it was time to unmask himself to the night. Straitening his cuffs and then smoothing down his hair, Joker walked up to one of the tough looking security guards in the corner of the room. "Hey sugar cakes how's it goin' tonight?" The man crossed his arms, bulging out his biceps and stepped menacingly close to Joker, who didn't miss a beat. "I was wondering if you could direct me in the direction of a path that would lead me directly to Ms. Payne?" The man slowly reached down a large hand and grabbed Joker's shirt collar, wrinkling it.
"You need help finding the circus, freak?" His spittle flew in Joker's face, staining his usual makeup. He cocked his head to the side as the man continued to glower, and let a smile spread across his face, blood beginning to boil.
"Freak, uhm…no, no, I am NOT a freak I just uh…." Joker produced the switchblade from his pocket and flicked it open, while at the same time reached an arm around the guard's thick neck and brought him down into a headlock, shoving the blade in his face. "I just wanted to be directed to Payne. Now, either YOU can show me where Payne is, or I can show you. You're choice sugar cakes." He pressed the point of the blade into the man's soft cheek, producing a scream. It slid in easily enough, but he didn't let the knife sink through the skin completely (then he'd never get an answer from this stupid worthless inconceivable piece of).
Joker let go of the man, who fell for a second. Whimpering and holding his face, he pointed, his finger stained beautifully with delicious crimson. Joker followed the direction of his gestured and felt his grin widen. There she was, across the dance floor. Her luscious shoulder blade length red hair fell forward as she took a hit from a glass bong. Payne's daughter was too predictable.
"Let the games begin."