Though returning to the streets of Gotham was bittersweet, and maybe she would have liked to stop and take a few moments to reminence about her childhood, Eliza Robinson had something else on her mind. Something very important she needed to do.
Oh, how filthy the world can seem from ther perspective of a bitter young woman with a past of nightmares. How clean and prestine it must seem from atop those glittering skyscrapers. How perfect, how simple. How illusioned. On the throne of the ignorant wealthy, lazed Bruce Wayne.
Clenching her fist tight enough to feel her nails bite into her palm, Eliza quickened pace as a group of homeless men whistled at her. She cussed at them under her breath. This world was no longer hers, and good riddens. Gotham was never a beautiful place for the downtrodden. Never a place of hope for a young girl who was deceived and turned away from.
No, no. Past is behind us, Pandy. Eliza couldn't help but flinch at the memories of Joker muttering to her whenever she got too frustrated. Whenever her temper got the best of her.
Damn that Joker. Talking her into coming back to this damnable city when she was perfectly happy, secluded from the world.
"It will be fun, Pandy. A game. A show!" He'd exclaimed, bursting into insane laughter. She had to admit, it was a good scheme. Though, Joker was full of them. He mentioned an Illusion. He said it like a name, with an almost tender tone that startled Eliza.
Recalling her first meeting with him sent a cold chill down her spine. How empty and lost she had felt. How frightened, her hands bloodied and her soul tainted. He spoke in poetic terms, it entranced her. What can she say?
"Your aura was so bright. White and clean and pure. When I saw you walking into the court." He spoke with his hands, smiling and gesturing to the air around him. "Now it's bloodied and black." That was when she'd first her the laugh that haunted her night after night, day after day. "White is such a pathetic color, you know. A drop of gray paint, tinier then the tip of your hair ruins the entire thing." He held out a gloved hand and smiled broader. "I can give you an array of colors. A great, chaotic color scheme that will leave everyone in awe."
Eliza felt like her life was over, and he offered her something...Special. Something unique, that would help her bring justice in any way she saw fit. Whether society accepted her when she took that man's hand ceased to matter to the young Robinson girl who had nothing but a crippled past and two dead parents.
No, no. Past is behind us. Eliza quickened her pace, pushing her way through the crowd of people that had gathered to greet 'Mr. Wayne' as he left the office for home. Lowering her eyes, she willed herself not to do anything rash and steered away to the direction of where Joker resided. It was surprisingly close, a completely mediocre home with ragged old fencing around the yard. Stepping through the gate, she pressed a hand to her forehead to sheild her eyes from the setting sun. 1835. This was it.
Sighing slightly, Eliza knocked on the door, hip cocked and hand barely settled when the door ripped open. The man who stood in place of the door was of an average age, maybe mid-twenties to early-thirties. Stood with a slightly hunch. Nothing in particular stood out but two large scars extending from the edges of his lips to his mid cheeks. She rolled her eyes and straightened up, smiling sarcastically.
"This is awfully low-key for you." She muttered, gesturing emptily at the air. He laughed, a low chuckle that sent Eliza into memories deeply buried.
"Playing a character~" He cooed, ushering her in and locking the door behind her.