Greetings, and welcome! I wanted to play around with the idea of the Joker getting stuck (cough maybe kidnapping cough) with this dumb kid he ends up having to look after. A psychotic clown isn't the typical A+ babysitter every upper-middle class family is looking for, but that doesn't mean he's necessarily a bad caretaker, right... Right?
Anyway, premise aside, I would just like to say that the only experience I have had of the Batman universe has been the Chris Nolan movies (which I absolutely love), so I do apologize if I make any mistakes in regard to cannon. Also, I decided to give the mayor a daughter, whether he really has one or not, I'm not sure but here she is!
Forward to the story!
Green was one of his favorite colours. It held all the subtle qualities he looked for in a colour; it was bright and happy, the colour for 'GO', and reminder for him to occasionally harken back to his natural routes. Also, it was the same wonderful colour of fresh vomit, poison gas, grenades, and (his personal favorite) acid. It was probably his second favorite colour. Because honestly, who could beat purple?
If only they printed purple dollars instead of green ones, then maybe he might just have kept a few. He pulled another wad of cash out of his pocket and dropped it casually on the tarmac as he walked. Money wasn't even a fun green, it was dull and faded. Like some boring suit and tie decided that a bright, neon green might just make the world a little too interesting. And all the old guys they insisted on printing unto every bill? YAWN.
No, things were definitely more fun this way. Another wad of bills splashed into a puddle. If only the drizzle could clear off all that blood on his clothes. Not his blood mind you, that would be unprofessional, but the blood of the 'knight in shining armor' who insisted on drawling out this god awful speech about morality and honesty and how stealing from a bank was wrong blah blah blah. Then everyone looked at him like he was the evil one when he finally slit the guys throat.
Maybe you could get away with a passing remark since the man's neck erupted like a geyser and completely ruined his trench-coat. But even then, he had found it hilarious. Why couldn't anyone else? People were just too caught up in the whole 'Oh God the Joker is here' nonsense to really see the funny side of things. Maybe he should have done a little trick before he killed him, that might have lightened the mood. Oh well, to late to go back now. With everyone being dead and all.
At least he had his little bread crumb trail (or more precisely, money trail). The old warehouse by the docks shone like the beautiful, rusted, palace that it was up ahead. The rain picked up a bit as he drew closer. Hopefully all that cash wouldn't get washed away before Batsey and the boys in blue could see them. That would really be an awful shame.
He rubbed his fingers along the crusted blood of his coat as he strode into the warehouse. The sweet, gentle ticking of timers rung like music through his ears as he climbed the gangly stairs to the upper level. Ah yes, his third favorite colour; red. Like dynamite, or blood. But the Joker tended to look at dynamite and blood like one would look at men or women. Most people only swung one way, (excluding the really fun sickos who liked to dabble in both) and he was most certainly a dynamite guy. Why else would he have such an explosive personality?
He stifled a giggle as he picked up the detonator. Of course, that didn't mean he hated blood. It was a natural side-effect (harking back to his routes as green never failed to remind him) of having an affinity with cutting things. And he could live with that. Sometimes, blood could even come into its own when it added some colour to a particularly dull room. But dynamite, now you were speaking his language. You could just be so creative with it.
He sat down at the edge of the railing and swung his feet between the bars. The door was right below him. The dynamite, all around him. And yes, some may say that it's irresponsible to sit and wait in your own trap fiddling idly with the detonator as you wait. But those 'some' people needed to live a little more freely.
The detonators tick and tick and tick and yet no police sirens wail. Trust the Gothem police force to drag their feet and leave him hanging like this. Leave him all sad and alone with nothing but his dynamite to keep him company. Tick, tock, tick, tock.
"Tick tock goes the clock, and what now shall we play?" he sings quietly. "Tick tock goes the clock, now summer's gone away,"
His voice really echoed around this warehouse. He untangled himself from the railing and took in the gentle ticking of the bombs. He rose his hands into the air and turned from the door as if he is attending a ball and in the process of doing the waltz.
"Tick tock goes the clock, all those years they fly," he cries like an opera singer at her opening performance.
"Joker,"
The gravelly voice carried well over the ticking. He spun gracefully towards the door to see a towering black figure looking up at him. The lights from the docks outside almost made him glow. How charming.
"Tick tock goes the clock, your love shall surely die,"
If ol' Batsey was impressed by his singing, he didn't seem inclined to show it. "Batsey, nice of you to finally show up," shouted down with a royal bow.
"It's over, Joker," he replied stoically.
God, he really could be such a stick in the mud sometimes. With the whole 'its over' or 'your going back to Arkham' or 'enough with the games'. Honestly, it sometimes made him feel as if batman didn't care about their little play sessions at all. Of course, that probably just meant he wasn't trying hard enough, because everyone knew that him and Batsey were meant to be.
"Oh don't be like that, I welcome you into my abode and this is the treatment I get? Batsey, I thought we were friends," he pouted.
The batman, overcome with the truth in his statements, seemed at a loss for words, and instead decided to start marching into the bowls of the warehouse. His cape fluttered around him like he was some sort of dark God. And that armour, shivers of excitement ran through him just looking at it. Maybe next time they meet he'll procure himself his own skin tight, shiny leather gear and saunter about in it. Now that would be sexy. He ran along the railing after the bat, his shoes clanking as he jumped giddly onward.
"You know, I'm, ah, flattered that you decided to give us some alone time. But the ol' boys in blue are really gonna be disappointed if they miss the big surprise,"
Again, he was met with that typical wall of silence he received whenever he tried to make advancements with the bat. Not that he minded, he did love a tease. The bat thundered towards the centre of the warehouse, then spun around to look at him with those big, beautiful eyes.
"Give her to me," he growled.
Did he really want the Joker to ruin all the fun by just giving her over? Now that's just rude.
"Nah ah ah Batsey," he cooed as he waggled his finger "Little Natalie didn't run away from home just so you could come barging in here and demand her back," he lectured with a sharp 'k' at the end of his sentence.
"You stole her!" he roared.
Jeez, he hadn't seen the good old Bat this wound up in a long time. At least he wasn't as bad as he was during the whole 'Rachel' fiasco. Batsey really needed to take some stress-relief classes, he was wound up tighter than the dynamite.
"I wouldn't blow things out of proportion," he managed to say before falling victim to a fit of uncontrollable giggles.
It wasn't his fault that the mayor of Gothem happened to be visiting the bank with his daughter when he arrived. That's what he called fate. If destiny wanted him to bring the little brat along for acride then how couldn't he? Funny how the minute he kidnaps some rich future-to-be-trophy-wife everyone and their mothers forgets about the bank. It's not like he killed what, a hundred people in there before he left?
"Give. Her. Back," he threatened slowly.
"You know Batsey, I don't mean to point out the flaws in your, ah, stunning intellect or anything, but you're really not in the position to be making any demands," he said as he gestured to the piles upon piles of dynamite all around them.
It was all he could do to draw his knife before the bat grappled unto the railing and flew upwards, kicking him squarely in the chin as he vaulted onto the pathway. He fell back several steps, thoroughly enjoying the stinging sensation thumping in his chin.
Batman elbowed him in the chest, and shoved him to the floor. Things really were getting spicy! The bat grabbed his shoulders and started to pick him up, but just as he did, Joker managed to stick his blade though the plates in Batso's armor. The bat grunted, and he took his chance to kick Batsey in the stomach. Forcing the dark knight to drop him.
"I didn't know you were into the whole dominant submissive thing, Bat," he quipped between giggles.
That's all the taunting Batman needed before being right on top of him again. He forced Joker down the railing, all the way to the stairs. The bat moved to throw a punch, but self-centered as the bat was, he could never see how obvious and repetitive his combat patterns were. If only he'd let him come over to his bat-cave once or twice to teach him so proper maneuvers. His favorite was 'flail wildly until the other guy stops breathing'. Joker ducked and stabbed Batman again in the slit of the knee.
In response he received a swift kick in the face. The attack thrust him backwards, and before he knew it his vision was tumbling and turning in all directions just like his body as he fell down the stairs. The detonator flew from his hands and clanked unto the floor a few feet away. Oh oh, that's not good.
The Bat glided down to the floor and dashed for the detonator. A sudden rush of energy pushed past his pain, Batsey was not getting away with things that easily! He stumbled to his feet and rushed forward, kicking the detonator away just as Batman bent down to reach it. He clicked his hidden shoe-knife into position and did a stunning re-enactment of Bruce Lee's roundhouse kick. Well it was stunning until the Bat caught his foot mid air and threw him back unto the ground.
His back was killing him. He mumbled nothing legible as the pain slowed his ascent to bipedal stature once more. He looked over to see batman running for the detonator, again. If only Batsey could be as committed to their relationship as he was to getting that detonator. He always had to set up the dates.
He made another valiant rush after the bat and jumped to the floor, grasping hold of the detonator the same time the Bat did. He looked over to see Batsey's enraged eyes staring back at him. He managed a crooked smile before he was punched in the face. So much for sharing a noodle and kissing.
While many may detest or even find themselves revolted by the Joker's certain... masochistic tendencies, he would say that they actually work to ones advantage almost all the time. Especially when one finds themselves kicked in the face, yet is still able to hold unto a detonator despite the fact that their nose was crawling with glorious, tingly pain. He giggled like an excited child as Batman tried his hardest to rip the detonator from his hands.
The batman lifted the detonator, and thus the Joker too, into the air. He shook it violently, thrashing the Joker around like he were on one of those extreme rides in a theme park. As his ride drew him closer to Batman's face, he decided to take the opportunity to bounce heads. His forehead crashed against the Bat's black mask, the impact stunned batman, and he fell back. Dropping the detonator, again. Except this time the detonator fell into one of those long drains that stopped the rain leaking in from the roof from flooding the place, and started sailing away towards the exit.
Batman, having recovered from his stupor, ran after the detonator like a dog following his bone, shoving Joker out of he way as he did so. Joker sighed expressively as he watched the Bat disappear down the corner. He really was dedicated to that damn detonator wasn't he? What's the big deal? He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheeks as he followed the Bat.
The rain outside slapped against the ground with venom, the night sky was covered in a blanket of angry clouds. Beetle-black waves roared and crashed against the docks. Joker followed the overflowing drain right down to the sea. But unfortunately ol' Batsey was nowhere to be seen. He peaked over the edge, maybe the detonator sailed right into the sea? Would the Bat have followed it then?
"Give up, you've lost"
He turned around to see Batman standing at the foot of the pier, the detonator clutched in his hand, which he very politely held out for Joker to see. He smiled widely in respons; the Bat never did learn, did he?
"You know they say about making assumptions, right?" he giggled as he reached into his pocket.
Batman tensed visibly at the sight. Thunder crackled in the distance, the lights from the street flickered. His giggles grew manic has he pulled the real detonator out of his pocket. The comically large red button on its front flashed vibrantly through the darkness. Oh, he couldn't stop laughing! All that he could hear was the splashing of the rain and the high-pitched echoes of his own joy.
"L-l-litttle Natalie sure... sure is g-going to have a blast tonight!" he spluttered desperately during his laughing fit.
And he was off! Running back towards the warehouse in a valiant attempt to save the girl. He fell to his knees, barely able to control the shivering torrents of giggles racking his body. A flash of lightning struck, illuminating his face. The black face paint ran like tears down his cheeks, mixing with the white and red, distorting his mask. His bright red smile sunk to his chin like a frown as rain beat against his face. The wailing of sirens blared in the distance.
He held the detonator to his face, watching the flashing red button intently. He needed to press it now, before Batsey ran into the building and got himself blown up. He took a deep breath, and hummed as he pressed his thumb against the button. And... push!
The warehouse exploded instantly. The roof burst into pieces, the walls shook, the ground trembled. His entire world went white for a split second as the light of the explosion claimed the sky. A blast-wave sent debris flying across the docks. Hot yellow flames fought fiercely against the rain.
Joker watched with a somewhat detached expression. He was tired after all that laughing. The wailing of sirens got louder, he could see red white and blue lights blinking in the distance.
He got up slowly; now that all the fun was over he's have to get himself out of here. Pity he couldn't stick around to see the Bat's face after failing to save the brat. But hey, ya give and ya take.
He jogged quickly down the docks, towards the back of the burning building. He was sure he saw a broken up junk car back around there somewhere when he scoped the place out. It didn't look completely trashed, just mostly. It'd probably get him away from here before it gave out, which was all he needed.
The sirens faded into the distance as he entered the junk yard. The flames burning in the distance lit everything up quite nicely, the soft glow of the fire made the place feel... almost romantic. He made a note to himself to mark this place down as somewhere to take a date.
The banged up car was still there, snuggled up beside a pile of bins. It was a dirty, mottled green, and the wing mirror on the drivers side was missing. Whelp, at least it had all four wheels. He sauntered over to the car and grabbed the door handle. He pulled, but it just groaned when he tried to open it.
He grunted angrily, and pulled harder, but the door remained adamantly shut. He put his foot against the door and pulled with all his might. Suddenly, the door swung open and sent Joker flying back. He landed on his ass a few feet away. With a disgruntled sigh, he got back unto his feet. How many times had he fallen over today now? He walked back to the car and was about to get inside.
"Batman?" a quiet little voice called from inside.
He blanched and jumped back. What the hell was that? Quick as lightning his head darted inside to find the source of the voice. Whatever it was, it wasn't in the front of the car. He looked to the back, and laid eyes on a little girl, no more than six, with dark brown eyes and matching hair. It seemed that she had just figured out who he was, because she screamed. The second she did he realized who she was, and he screamed. The mayors' daughter!
He hit his head against the roof of the car in surprise. He screamed a bit more and pulled his head out of the car. That little brat was supposed to be scattered in bits across the burning warehouse floor right now, what the hell was she doing here!? He rubbed his throbbing head. The back door to the car flew open and the little brat jumped out.
He jumped out of his skin as a wave of urgency slapped him across the face. She can't get away, she's supposed to be dead! He jerked his hands out to grab her. She was as light as a feather, but she thrashed like a rabid dog in his arms.
"Settle down, sunshine," he grumbled as he threw her back into the car.
She screamed so loud his ears felt like they were about the bleed. He locked the car door and slammed it shut, then jumped into the drivers seat.
A pair of hands wrapped around his neck from behind him, and squeezed. He gargled as he grabbed her tiny wrists, then pulled her off him.
"Feisty little one, ain't 'cha?" He mumbled as he rummaged quickly around the compartments of the car.
"Let me goooooo!" She roared as she banged her legs against his seat.
Thread? No that wont work. He turned to rummage in another compartment. It was full of dead flies and an empty bottle of coke. But right at the back, behind a rotten bluebottle, he spotted what he needed; Duck tape. With a relieved smile, he grabbed the duck tape and pulled off a long strip, cutting it with his teeth.
He climbed clumsily into the back, the screaming little brat pulled his hair as he sat over her. Out of sheer luck, he managed to grab hold of her face and wrap the tape around her mouth. She kept screaming through the tape, but at least it was quieter.
He pulled off another strip of paint. She kicked him in the stomach, and he winced. With a frustrated growl, he slammed her hands to her waist and wrapped her up in tape like a Christmas present. He then wrapped up her ankles too for good measure, and climbed back into the front.
He got busy hot-wiring the engine as she continued to kick the back of his seat. He couldn't understand why she was so upset, like, she could be dead right now. She should be grateful he didn't throw her into the sea the minute he saw her.
The engine spluttered to life. He grabbed the steering wheel and slammed his shoe against the throttle. The car burst out of the junkyard and into the street. Cop cars flew past him as he drove.
Natalie thrashed about like a demon straight from hell in the back of the car. He should kill her, he really really should kill her. But he could use her, she was the mayors daughter after all.