Well, here it is: the sequel to Hearts, Stars, and Horseshoes, part of what I feel is going to be my Lucky Charms series. Honestly, I'm just shameless, aren't I? Speaking of shameless, here's a shameless plug: go read Can't Get You Outta My Head by J-Horror Fan 4-ever right now. Seriously. It's amazing, she's one of the most talented writers I've ever seen, and her Joker-OC interaction is priceless.

Still, the same goes for Clovers and Blue Moons as its predecessor: kick back your feet, grab some popcorn, and enjoy the ride. There will be gratuitous amounts of bad jokes, semantic puns, Dante vs. Joker standoffs, Bruce Wayne randomly destroying things, and Harvey Dent being, well, Harvey Dent. Alfred may or may not kick everybody's butt, I haven't decided yet. -- grins manically --

-- giggily,

RW

Disclaimer: I own nothing except everything not copyrighted. Does that make sense? If not, that's okay. That's what ninja are for.


I scuffled back into the apartment, tossing the keys onto the table and wincing at the fucking huge gash alongside my ribs. Shallow, thankfully, but still it hurt like a motherfucker and I resigned myself to the feeling because Jonathan was nowhere in sight, it seemed. Typical.

I took the opportunity to have the apartment to myself—there was a microwave dinner with a brief note that said, simply, 'Eat. Doctor's orders. - Jonathan' which warmed the cockles of me heart, it did. Mwuahahaha. Too bad that he's a really terrible cook and somehow managed to screw up Hot Pockets. Seriously. I didn't even think it was possible.

The Joker was finally behind the iron walls of Arkham, but I knew better than to rest with that knowledge... especially since I'd put him there myself. I needed to keep on my toes.

Hmm... tippy-toe kisses...

Grabbing a towel, I was happy to note that they were neither fluffy nor tear-your-skin-off rough. I liked mine inbetween, because who feels dry with the fluffy ones? They don't absorb enough water, at least in my experience. They were white, like all of his linens (surprise surprise), and I had the distinct feeling that I was going to have to introduce Jonathan to color.

I eased into the shower, hissing as the pressure made contact with my wounds, but rolling with the flow so to speak. I made sure to get thoroughly clean, and dried off. Cinching the bathrobe around me, I heard sounds in the kitchen, so being the curious little thing that I am (and yes, it has killed me a coupla times) I went off to investigate.

Jonathan was putting up some groceries, mostly bland health-food crap, and I shook my head.

Oh yeah. He definitely needed an intervention.

What fun!

"Jonathan, you and I need to have a little talk about what constitutes food and what constitutes burn cardboard, sweetie."

Ignoring me, he continued putting the groceries up. Holy hell, I hadn't died in the shower, had I? Because that would just suck, because I was on goddamn vacation.

Heads will roll.

Literally.

"Dante, I assume that you are responsible for the Joker's current incarceration?" Jonathan sighed, turning to study me from the corner of those big blue eyes of his.

Ooookaaay, not dead again after all. Yay me.

"Yep," I replied cheerfully. "I shot him in the crotch and then hit him with a shovel until he stopped moving," I nodded, grinning.

He blinked at me.

"You have somewhat... violent... tendencies," he noted cautiously.

"Only for the Joker," I replied sagely, "and that's because.. well... I'm not sure if history is the right word, but it's the only one I can think of right now. I'm pretty sure that I have a concussion from when he slammed my head repeatedly against the wall."

"Not again," Jonathan muttered.

Walking over to where I was in danger of falling off the edge of the couch, he scowled as he felt my head. Silently he walked over, brought over the biggest fucking needle I've ever seen, and stuck it in my arm. Yelping, I glared at him while he glared back.

"No wonder you gas people," I muttered.

"What was that?" he cupped his ear, vile needle still in his hand.

"Freakin' psychopath," I mouthed underneath my breath.

"I heart that," came the flat accusation.

"Who are you, God?" I demanded incredulously.

"I've worked with the mentally deranged before," he deadpanned, lips twitching.

"Oh, ha ha, very fucking funny. Dude, what the hell did you shoot me up with?" I asked, suddenly feeling... floaty. It was a very strange and liberating feeling. Almost like being a ghost again.

"Just a little morphine to take the edge off of that gash that no, you did not hide successfully at all. I imagine that the pain must be almost unbearable," he smirked.

Oohhh, he was messing with the master. Poor little Crane.

"Are you, ah, all a-flutter over lil ol me?" I slunk over, reaching up to tangle my hands clumsily—yet still seductively... I think... — into his thick black locks. Mmm. Smelt like Herbal Essence. Man's got good taste, no matter what psychological turmoil he might be in.

Waaaaaiiiiit for it... ah. There it was. Panic.

"This is—is—highly inappropriate, Dante," he started trying to push me away.

Me, however, being the smart little vixen I am, have my hands entwined with his hair. If he gets violent, the man will be bald. He realized this, and though he doesn't relax at all, he stops fighting it. Eventually I grow bored and let go, while he escapes into his office.

I hear the distinct sound of the lock ticking into place.

"Coward!" I yell after him, grinning manically.

"Bitch!" he yells back crossly.

Ahh... fun times, fun times.


It's been a little more than a week, and just when I think that Gotham's got a rat's ass of a chance, the Joker breaks out. Which means, of course, that yours truly feels absolutely compelled to beat the living shit out of him and vice versa.

The Joker, of course, escaped through the sewage system, so I basically just follow the smell—and oh, what a smell it is—to a little nursery school on the edge of the Narrows. I start to see red, because those kids will be traumatized for life just from the smell of the Joker, let alone his... Joker-ness.

I watch in admiring approval as a little sprite of a woman (what, 5'2? Taller than me, anyways) leaps on the desk and threatens the Joker with a plastic bucket. Got chutzpah, I'll give her mad props for that. She's gotta be at least twenty-one, twenty-two, though she pulls off looking a lot younger.

"A little fight in you, I like th—YOU!" the Joker roars when he sees me peeking through the window. I give a little bland smile, and a little one-fingered wave. You know the kind, the ones you give in traffic.

He lunges for me, nevermind the glass, and I'm giggling like an idiot because he's almost flying through, then hits it, and is like, "how did that get there?" I just open up a window on the other end of the classroom and laugh my ass off.

"If you like a little fight, then I'm your fucking soulmate," I sniggered.

"Now there's a horrifying thought," he sneered, starting to inch towards me.

"Ah ah ah," I wag my finger at him, bringing out my trusty little bow and arrow.

He stares at me incredulously.

"A bow and arrow? I'm downright insulted," he charges.

I just keep smirking. Meanwhile, of course, since the teacher is smart, she is quietly evacuating all of the children. Which is good because things tend to get real violent real quick whenever the Joker and I are in the same city, let alone the same room.

I release the arrow, where it opens up and lets out a little flag that says "BANG!" on it. He stares at it, and then starts that wheezing laughter of his that gets on my last nerve.

"Ho, ha, hee, hum, oh, ho, ha, and I thought my jokes were bad."

Then it explodes and he goes flying through the wall, and I get that warm and fuzzy feeling that I do whenever I see him in agony. I'm a vindictive little thing, and I am hell-bent on destroying this—this idiot. I calmly call the police and wait until I hear the sirens before kicking the Joker in the head, hard as I can, and then exiting. I've arranged all of the nursery blocks to say "GA WUZ HERE THE JOKER GOT PWNED HE SUXS BALLS" and yes, the grammar horrifies me, but I figure that it should give the profilers something to have a heart attack over.

I'm nice that way.

Whistling, I dust myself off and go on about my merry way.

This vacation is going to be fun.

"--and just in, BREAKING NEWS! It seems that the mysterious vigilante, GA, has once again stopped the Joker in his tracks! Police and SWAT captured the Joker at a nursery school, where a teacher says that an unidentified person saved them all. The only statement she released to the media was that "GA is my kinda person" and then helped with the school's evacuation. District Attorney Harvey Dent has issued his personal thanks to the GA, while also stating that if GA would merely work with the police then the public outcry might--"

I click off the radio of my beloved Jeep, and it hits me—I have shopping to do!

Frantically buying up everything I need, I stumble through the doors of Jonathan's apartment with my arms loaded down with packages. He does absolutely nothing to help me, sneaky little bastard, but does give me that raised eyebrow of his that demands answers.

"Here ya go," I toss him a few boxes. "I had to guess on the sizes, but what the hell, kept the receipt."

He pulls out the tuxedo, and then stares at me openmouthed.

"We're crashing a wedding next week," I announce cheerfully.

Groaning into his hands, he once again disappears into his office where I hear the distinct sound of head hitting wood. Oh well. At least I didn't get the powder-blue one.