Gods of Chaos
Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the universe of Batman.
Chapter 1: Midnight Musings
"Remark the cat...who hesitates towards you..."
And here they come again. Five sets of hoof beats, across the desert to my doorstep...
Wait. No.
Six.
They've brought a friend this time. Delightful. I wonder if this one likes to kick, or punch more. Or maybe he's a biter.
Kinky.
"In the light of the door, which opens on her...like a grin."
After a while, it all becomes routine.
They'll enter, blocking out the light from the corridor, six blocks of shadow. The camera behind them will have shut its beady little eye for the night. They'll glare, attempt to look...intimidating.
They will fail. Carter, especially, didn't attend that par-tic-ular course at Orderlies Inc. He scrunches up his face (it must be hard to see out of those tiny eyehole slits) and tries to appear frightening. If they thought I would cry...
Beg...
(dieee in the streets)
Hmm.
Well, they thought wrong.
I'll laugh, though, I guess.
Even the worst comedians get a pity laugh. Even from rough crowds. Even from me.
So it's Carter and his Scrunch of Doom, its Daniels and that overworked upper frame (his legs are like noodles) (maybe I'll break one) (or both) (maybe I won't have to, and the weight of all those muscles will do all the work for me one day...toothpicks splintered on the sidewalk). Now that'd be a sight. That might make me more than just...chuckle.
Ha.
"You see the border of her coat is torn and stained with sand."
And Swanson too (the gang's all here) and he's got a mean pinched look about him, like a mongrel dog, like a one-legged seagull, all grit and nastiness and cheap (petrol) cologne. He is backstreet alleyways and the shadows at the back of bus stop shelters. He bores me.
You are boring, son of Swan. Go eat some garbage. Strike a match and go up in flames (you're flammable enough) and maybe, just maybe, then you might be interesting enough for me to notice you. If you scream loud enough, I might even put you out again.
(see him running from the porch like some kind of human TORCH)
o-haych-em-why-gee-oh-dee-i-em-oh-en-eff-eii-arr-eeeeee
"Ha-hee-hee-ha.
HA-HA-HAA-HA.
HA.
Ahhhh..."
Who else? It's hard to concentrate, with all these horrorshow visions in my head. Swanny a-flailing at the bus stop. The bus driver yelling at him.
Don't flag down a bus unless you want to get on-stop screaming you flaming piece-of-shit-ha.
Ummm...
So. Fred is here. Fred doesn't like me very much. I don't think Fred likes clowns very much either. One too many childhood parties ended with tears and stained panties for Freddie, methinks. Oh dear. Fred doesn't show up every night, actually. Has fits of the conscience, standing in front of some cheap mirror, Gothamite whore in the background, snorting up some coke, and he thinks to himself: Should I be beating up mental patients? Somewhere, deep down, I know that's WRONG. With a capital double U.
Ah, but childhood scars do run...deep.
Some deeper than others.
And Rogers.
Mister Rogers.
Rogers, apparently, just enjoys beating up people. Ones that wear pyjamas during the daytime (and night time-stylish and functional!) Ones that are too busy drooling to fight back. He is the childhood bully turned crazy-nurse. And he don't like it. I supp-ose he could just get another job, but hey, why bother? That takes effort. That would probably make him grunt with effort. Like he grunts every time he hits me.
Gah.
Guh.
Humf.
"HA."
Maybe he just likes it. Like me. We go well together actually. Like squealers and gasoline. Like fashionable suits and secret pockets. He gets off giving the punches and I get off receiving them. Like little friendly messages that pass between us: did you like that/yes I did/well here comes another one/yay.
He is a little bit mouthy though (in between grunts). He likes name-calling, like every good bully does. Freak and clown and monster and retard and psycho and scarface and puppet and bitch and crazy and ugly and freak and stupid and monster and-whoops. Started repeating myself there.
Just like he does.
I have heard though, on the grapevine- that his first name is Kelly.
"Whoo-ha-haHA-HAAA."
Kelly Rogers. Every time, it gets me.
Try a bit harder...Kelly.
You punch like a girl...KELLY.
Who you callin' bitch...KELLIEEEEEEEEEEEE.
"And you see...the corner of her eye...twist...like a crooked pin."
And hereeeee's Newbie.
Ooh, he's a tough one, this one.
Haven't seen him around bef...wait. Yes I have. Fifteen days ago. En route to a session. He passed by in the corridor, he had (snake eyes-black eyes-that's different) yes, and he was new, young, angry. He had on civvie clothes, a ragged leather jacket, but fake, too poor or dumb to go for the real deal, faded blue jeans and this the fake faded, that you can buy in a shop, so that says what...fashion-conscious? He had greasy hair...and maybe...seven holes in his forearm, sleeves rolled back too far, you ain't gonna last too long here if you're a druggo there hotshot, was what I thought back then. But now...
So not a druggo, then. Not trrrripping the light fantastic.
Low-level scum. Petty thief? Lowest of the criminals, fish so small the sharks can't even feel the bite. But still. Interesting. What's he here for? And I don't mean right now, and I don't mean on earth. It's the in-between that's caught my attention.
Twist...like a crooked pin.
Hmm.
Stay tuned then. He could be a crazy.
So here they all are, and here I am, and it's time to get the beat on.
"Time to get up, shithead!"
Ah, Kelly's one liners. Works of art, every one.
"Recitar? Mentre preso dal delirio?"
"Huh?"
Not a speck of class between them. Or maybe they've just never seen The Untouchables.
He sends one of yours to the hospital...
You send one of his to the morgue.
Oh, and I've sent more than one.
Six.
Seven-eight-nine-ten.
And more.
To
the
Morgue.
Anyway...ooh. Lookie here. Newbie's got himself a love ring. Could be a fashion ring, I guess. It's certainly tacky enough. But it could be from a girrrrrlly. Or a lover. (what dream are they living?) Love. Rings. Ha.
Rogers steps in first, of course, there's always gotta be a leader, and drags me by the straitjacket off my mattress. His first punch also hits my straitjacket, which makes me laugh.
"Even though it seems to be part of me...there, Kelly-pie...trust me, I can't feel anything through all this padding."
This makes him growl (as in terrier not Doberman) and he starts in with the boot, whack-whack-whack-whack..
Annnnd there it is!
"Aaaah...that's better..." That last kick has a shiver bucking up my spine. I'm tasting blood. Ooh, he is trying tonight.
"So you've had a baaaaad day..." I sing, and aw, now everyone's pitching in. Daniels throwing me into the padded wall (a lot harder than the name implies) and Swanson leering in the background. He likes to watch, does Swannyson. He'll only kick in when I've stopped twitching.
They're scavengers, seagulls, after all.
"Come on kid, have a go."
"Oh you don't have to encourage Newbie, Fred, I'm sure he'll be just fiiine."
I give him a flash of my pearly goldens.
Newbie flinches, just a little.
No, don't tell me Newbie's soft. That takes all the fun out of it, if he's soft. I don't have time for soft things.
It takes a while, for Newbie to unfurl into his new role. He lets Fred and Daniels and Rogers go to town and hangs back with stare-y leery Swanny. I get a few good kicks in, one straight to Fred's nose, and for once, he spills blood before I do.
He's roaring and swearing at me (blood's pouring onto my face thanks-very-much) and my disadvantage groundwise takes a nasty turn when he kicks me in the temple.
Oooh, stars and rockets!
Ouuuch. Annnd...
Now I'm all fuzzy.
The blows are like drumbeats now, far away and dulled. How boring.
Newbie's joining in!
CRACK! Boot across the jaw. Now...that's gonna raise a lump come morning.
...
"Hey! Hey guys! Ease up a bit...someone's gonna notice..."
That's Carter, whining. As usual. Grow some balls, Carter. 'Cause I'm taking the ones you already got.
"Are you kidding? Who the fuck wants to get close enough to him to find that out?"
"More people than you know. It's my...ha-ha.. animal magnetism."
That gets another blow to the head...more fuzziness...and a slap that snaps my neck back.
What? A slap?
"Hoo-HAHAHA- you didn't tell me...we were having...a catfight! HEE-hahaha!"
Newbie (by luck or design I wonder) manages to crack an already battered rib, and soon the floor is covered with my juicy red innards. Yum. I'm laughing still, through a mouth full of gore, and the ground seems to be tilting under me, even though, I'm pretty sure, I'm already lying down.
The ground is still rocking wildly when they decide to leave. It's kind of like being on a ship, what with the pitching and the rolling and that rock down deep in my gut that's trying to work its way up the back of my throat.
My head is bright-white and bursting. I taste my scars, and my blood, and thready strips of cotton.
Bat wings brush the very edges of my vision, and I let the dark come down.
I wonder...
If He misses me.
Author's Notes: The song Joker is singing as the orderlies enter his cell is 'Grizabella the Glamour Cat' from the musical Cats. For I, like several other authors, think that the Joker likes musicals.
"Cry, beg, die in the streets" is a misquoted line from Baz Luhrmann's Romeo and Juliet film. Everyone has those movie lines stuck in our heads that come out at random moments.
"See him running from the porch like some kind of human torch" is from the song OHMYGODIMONFIRE by Logan Whitehurst and the Junior Science Club. It also has the awesome songs 'The Volcano Song' and 'Fred the Beard'.
'Horrorshow visions' is from A Clockwork Orange.
"Recitar? Mentre preso dal delirio?" is from the song 'Vesti La Giubba' in the opera Pagliacci. It translates to: "Go on stage? While I'm nearly delirious?" There are also lines about putting on your 'white-face' and making people laugh and it does remind me of the Joker. It is also performed in the film The Untouchables, which has the line, "He sends one of yours to the hospital, you send one of his to the morgue." It has many gang wars and Sean Connery and much death.
"So you've had a bad day" is from the song Mad World by Gary Jules.
'He', of course, is Batman.
I attempted in this chapter to demonstrate how quickly the Joker's mind works. In between the lines of that song, in the space of a few seconds, the Joker is thinking, analyzing, planning. Everything's getting a bit too routine for our favourite clown. Newbie's a bit of a puzzle, but the Joker will have him, and any way he can help/entertain/amuse him sussed out very soon. He also remembers everything from when he saw Newbie for the first time, even though it was both a while ago and for a brief moment. His memory is a part of his deadly intelligence.
Next Chapter: Sessions and drugs and no matter how much you try to crush the Joker into a routine, he likes to pop out at strange angles.
Any comments or concrit will be well received,
Until next time,
Taluliaka.