Masquerade

Ok, well, my first attempt at a proper Dark Knight fan fiction...I hope you like it :)

I don't own the characters etc...

Chapter 1 - Masks

He hardly looked the same anymore. As he glanced in the cracked, blurry mirror, he could barely recognise himself, his face glaringly bare and exposed. It seemed odd and unnatural but for that night, the only way of disguise was to rid himself of the make up. The large, dark and smudged circles were gone from around his emerald eyes, leaving red patches from where he'd been scrubbing at it so hard, the snow-white tinge had vanished and so had the redness from around his mouth, leaving only those brutally honest scars.

He couldn't even remember how he'd got them now. He preferred his history to be multiple choice but still, waking up to a constant, artificial smile, without a memory of how it got there, was strange. But funny none the less. He loved to make up twisted stories about it, from saying he wildly did it himself, using a razor blade to perfect a gashed grin for a wife (though he couldn't recall ever having a wife) to his father taking the knife to him, crazy from drink, and ripping laughter over his cheeks. Either option would do.

But, that evening, he couldn't look at all like he usually did. No more dark eyes or blood coloured mouth. Instead, just like a normal high-class Gotham man. He'd done worse yet of course, there was a reason for all this. Bruce Wayne, the millionaire shown across billboards and advertisements all over the world – something about real estate and technology – was holding an elegant masquerade ball at his nearby manor and apparently – or so a few people said – he knew the real identity of the Batman. The Joker had laughed maniacally when he had found out about this, although that reaction was hardly anything new. But this discovery was what he'd been searching for for years on end. If was finally able to rip that mask off, he'd send the Batman's whole system crashing down around him. No more plans or schemes...There was no need for them. The only way forward was anarchy and chaos. The Joker knew that better than anyone.

And tonight, he could prove that.

But there wasn't any way he was going to get into that masquerade looking like he usually did, black, red and white smudged across his face in strange jagged patterns. Everybody in Gotham knew his appearance – his scars especially – and the way he wore the make up. The clown prince, apparently. Yet if he got rid of all that, he may have more of a chance of getting in without anyone recognising him. Then he'd been one step closer to revealing the Batman's true self.

Still staring into the mirror, The Joker giggled softly and rubbed the last of the red stains from the corners of his mouth, the scars still sore after all this time. He had about an hour until the masked ball was set to begin, and considering he already had the purple suit on he was going to wear (different to the one he usually terrorized in), there was still time for the finer details. Hastily tying his green tinged hair back into a rough and crude ponytail, he grabbed the white make up again from the cold metal cabinet and tossed the lid across the floor, lathering his fingers in the powder. This was the only chance he had to disguise his scars just a little so he used it to its full potential, smearing it over the zigzagging wounds and then throwing it carelessly back into the cabinet once done.

Behind him, the large warehouse room was large – almost too large – and disturbingly barren. There wasn't anything in it apart from a mirror, a cracked sink, a cabinet, an old, musty bed and a few stray bags lying strewn across the floor. This was where The Joker usually came back to, the aptly placed triggers and traps securing the door from any visitors, if they ever found the location of his hideout. But, as of yet, they hadn't. Hopefully they wouldn't pick this night to discover him – there were important thing to do this evening and he didn't want any interruptions, though he knew he was fully covered from all angles.

Smiling maliciously, he finally turned from the dusty mirror and looked out at the large and almost foreboding warehouse room, similar to a gaping hole in front of him. Apart from him it was usually completely deserted, being down the end of a little lane that nobody liked to travel down, but that night, there was another human there, the only visitor he had had in years and years. Not that he could really be called 'a visitor' though. At that moment, he was tied to the messy bed in the centre of the building, his arms, legs and mouth bound by tight ropes. It was almost impossible for him to move yet he was trying none the less, struggling desperately with his binds and whimpering beneath the gag. The Joker giggled a little as he saw him, his disguised scars stretching into an even wider smile. It had been fun getting this one. He'd been no problem at all, naive and without a single understanding about what was going to happen to him when he had first crept up on him. The Joker had seen the invite to the masked ball in his back pocket and that had been all he needed. It just added to the humour that he was extremely vulnerable and edgy, jumping at shadows, so it seemed.

The guy had very near fainted when he reached the warehouse, his mind obviously conjuring up many images of what was going to occur, and this had made tying him to the bed so he couldn't escape even easier. It wasn't probable that he'd be able to escape anyway, being as frightened as he was, but The Joker wasn't taking any chances on a night like this. He needed a name and some background information on his captive and that would be fine. Then there would be no initial suspicion at the ball. He'd then have another mask of lies to hide behind, as well as his physical, glittering one.

After a while of sobbing and trembling in his ties, the man on the bed had finally babbled out that his name was Jack Briggs and he worked in the real estate business. It had been a family tradition, almost, and his father had taught him everything he knew, making him into a very rich man, though his other relatives were very wealthy too. Of course, The Joker had thought. It was going to be a masquerade for upper class people with lots of money. He hadn't had money for years and years – not like these folk – and that night, he was going to have to act like he had, like he was used to that lifestyle. He giggled at the prospect. It was going to be fun!

Now, after revealing his past, the guy on the bed seemed even more scared, as if he didn't understand why he was still there and was imagining up awful scenes of what could occur to him. The Joker wasn't going to hurt him – not that night anyway – he didn't want anything that could point to what he was doing if anyone happened to find his hideout that evening – but he wanted to tease him, to leave him thinking that he was going to be injured. Sometimes, that was the most enjoyable for him. He'd just leave him there for the rest of the night while he went to the ball. Cinderella, he giggled.

Grinning even more now, he swept past the bed and picked up the dark purple mask lying on the floor, matching the colour of his suit. The guy watched him all the time, barely blinking, but laughing, The Joker didn't look back, driving him more and more into terror. Instead, he slipped the mask on over his emerald eyes, tied it and then pulling a long coat around him, skipped out of the door and into the night.

Time for some fun.

TBC