It's Time #1

If you had the choice, the choice to take a life, with no penalty, no punishments, no cost at stake…would you do it? Slip a knife across someone's jugular? Shoot them point blank in the temple? Or better yet, and here's the fun part, watch their loved ones shrivel into puddles of quaking insanity?

The sharp knife he held in his hand sliced through the orange with little effort, causing its succulent juices to drip heavenly out of its fresh wound, like mad tears draining from a still-born infant. Removing the knife from the orange, he instinctively held his breath and waited, but there was nothing, just an orangey-clear and fragrant liquid that pooled beneath the cut fruit.

He hadn't much of a thought as to why he had cut the orange in the first place; he wasn't much at all hungry. Still, the way the juice had gathered and dripped, the way its fragrance began to waft his nose, it was savory.

Leaving the orange alone, he placed his palm flat against the counter and slowly twisted himself so his feet remained planted to the floor, but his view was now to his side. It was quiet.

Much too quiet for his liking.

It was always quiet now.

He could just barely feel the tinge of a sting in his eye, and he was quick to push it back into his dark thoughts. Never would he show his emotions in front of his audience, not his true ones.

"Three minutes Sir."

He took a step away from the counter and clasped his hands together. "Thank you, I know," he said out of character. It was his time to shine, his time to rule. He would do it with every ounce of energy he had. Even at his lows he remained in control in front of his crowd, this time was no different.

Casually he breathed a hefty sigh and shook his hands out to his side, followed by a complete set of four jumps with which he shook his head from side to side. It was time.

His assistant came running into the room with his suit in hand. Tired, she breathed heavily, "Your suit…I'm sorry I was late from picking it up. You see-"

"I don't need explanations, just give it here."

Quietly she obliged, and handed over the suit jacket, which he slipped on with great pride.

"You look great," she smiled.

"Don't I always?"

She quivered at her mistake and corrected herself immediately, "You always look great."

He knew it, but the effort she made to make sure he felt good about himself was sweet and she would be rewarded with her endeavor. With a slight smile, he reached a hand out to her cheek and held it there as he placed a small peck on top of her dressed head. It was thanked instantaneously with a grin, and nothing more was needed.

Suddenly a burst of three more assistants came into the dressing room, one with make-up, one with a script in hand, and one with a cup of the stars favorite drink.

"Sir, your drink!"

"Here's your script."

"Let me just powder your face."

There insistent jabbering all sounding at once was ridiculous and quietly, again out of character, he replied to all three. "I won't be needing a drink, I've remembered my lines, and I've already applied my make-up. Now escort me to the filming room so we can begin, we've merely a minute left before it's show time."

He was ushered without a second to spare, all three of the assistants gloating to their superior at how amazing he looked and presented himself. This was it. As he walked, emotionless, to the front of the camera, he bowed his head with his arms behind his back.

"We're on in, five! Quiet on the set! Four, three, two…"

He lifted his head, the greatest smile plastered from cheek to cheek on his clown-like face, "Hello Gotham! Joker's back in town!"