Author's Note: I do not own Batman and the Joker, only this story and my OC.
Chapter 1
I stumble half-drunk through the apartment door. I'm instantly greeted by the choir of cats, begging for food/attention/warmth/whatever. Normally I'd squat low(maybe open a bag of treats if I'm feeling particularly benevolent) and distribute affection as I see fit. However, this has been one hell of a day, and I have no time for my precious, spoiled kitties. I'm on the way to my bed and the promise of sleep - work uniform and all - when I remember that my new package of strings was due to arrive today. Normally I check the mail once a week or so - not out of forgetfulness, as much as wanting to ignore the bills and bad news for as long as possible. The viola strings, though - they're always an exciting occurence. 80 dollars a set (a third of a damn paycheck); high-tech synthetic sheep gut wrapped in silver wire, and some of the best strings that money can buy. They takes a few days to break in (much like a pair of new shoes), but when they do my viola sounds a thousand dollars better.
I'm practically skipping down the stairs as I go to check my mail, and feel grateful for the absence of any other tenants in the hallways. I'm such an orchestra geek. When I reach the mailboxes on the first floor, one hand crosses its fingers as the other goes to unlock the box... please please please be on time. I swing open the door of the box to find a manila envelope bulging in the center, stamped with my name and the name of the mail-order company. My first set of new strings in an entire year! Oh yeah.
I run back up the stairs two at a time, ready to rip the nasty and frayed old strings from Babycakes (true orchestra geeks always name their instruments, even if said name is kept a secret from all but the cats) and throw them unceremoniously into the trash. I reach my floor and am almost at my apartment door, and that's when my heart stops and the breath is sucked right out of me.
No way. Not here, not now, not ever. This isn't happening, I tell myself. He's not even a real person, just a fictional character. Obviously someone's a little too into cosplay. Only, this is better than any cosplay pictures I've seen. This looks professional; an exact likeness. Maybe he bought the clothes off eBay or had them custom-made, and figured out how to do the makeup and scar prosthetics on his own. Hey, who knows, some people out there are even geekier than I am. This has to be the explanation, because there's no way in Hell that the Joker is walking down this hallway, in my direction.
Once I recover from my momentary lapse in judgment (he's a fictional character, there's no way he could just walk off a movie screen, like the fucking Purple Rose of Cairo or something), I somehow manage to find the strength to talk.
"Either you're a hallucination, or that's the best damn costume I've ever seen!" My attempt to be witty sounds pathetic to my ears.
He stops in his tracks, and looks at me, grinning.
"Why would I be a hallucination, babycakes? Besides, I could say the same for you."