SUPER MAJOR REHAUL:
I REALIZED THIS STORY DIDN'T FEEL RIGHT SEPARATED INTO DIFFERENT CHAPTERS,
SO I'M TRANSFORMING THIS INTO A ONE-SHOT. I FIND THAT IT READS AND FLOWS EASIER.
I HOPE THAT THOSE WHO HAVE REVIEWED AND ALERTED MY STORY LIKE IT BETTER
THIS WAY AS WELL. LOVE ALWAYS, ANGELS.
Because everyone knows that there was always something wrong with the Joker, but no one could've guessed that sweet Dr. Quinzel had been just as messed up. This is like a little theory of mine that makes perfect sense in my brain.
This story is rated M for snippets torture, blood, and other assorted gore.
A KILLER JOKE
A HARLEQUIN/JOKER FAN FICTION
BY ANGELWINGZ21
HUMBLE BEGINNINGS
.
A little nine-year-old girl kneeled in front of a tombstone, tracing the letters softly. Her eyes were bright but no tears had fallen.
An older boy, fourteen years old, stood behind the tombstone, one hand resting on it, the other, holding a cigarette.
"What now?" her voice, soft yet strong, broke through the silence.
He let out a rush of smoke from his nostrils as he threw the cigarette to the floor and stepped on it.
"Now…we get out of this…town."
The little girl looked up and bright, baby blues locked with cold, brown eyes.
Dr. Joan Leland's voice rose inside the majestic office. "Dr. Arkham, I really must protest. Harleen is only twenty-six, an intern! She doesn't—"
"Dr. Arkham," Harleen Quinzel's soft voice interrupted smoothly, "I know I lack the experience, and I understand that the patient may just be trying to mess with me, but I am the only person he's willing to even acknowledge. Now correct me if I'm wrong: my current situation is simply better than nothing."
Harleen took the seconds of uneasy silence that her words caused to wipe her glasses clean of all smudges, and put them back on her nose.
Dr. Arkham took a deep breath. "Dr. Leland, I understand your concerns, but Dr. Quinzel is also correct. As of tomorrow, patient number 4479, alias The Joker, will be under the care of one Dr. Harleen Quinzel. Good luck."
HIGH EXPECTATIONS
.
His uncle lived in Blüdhaven. They hitchhiked all the way to his front door step.
The man was round, balding and wearing nothing but stained underwear and a threadbare wife beater. Still, he welcomed them in.
"You wanna stay here, you gotta earn it, though," Uncle Ivan waved his fat arm towards the rickety table in the dining room.
It was stocked full of junk food, guns, and drugs.
"Are you guys serious?" Gordon's incredulous voice resounded from behind the two-way glass. "She's so young, he'll eat her alive!"
"I will be personally monitoring these sessions. The first sign I see that she can't handle him, I'm pulling her out. Until then," Dr. Joan sighed heavily, "she's the only chance we've got."
They both turned towards the glass, where a bound Joker was talking animatedly to young Dr. Quinzel, who was furiously scribbling on a notebook.
NO REGRETS
.
She was twelve, and pretty. Uncle Ivan noticed. Uncle Ivan touched her. It hurt.
She told the boy, now seventeen. He stared at her for a very long time, and she refused to look away.
The bed groaned as he got up, and the stairs creaked loudly as he made his way down. He crossed the foyer to reach the dining room.
He grabbed a .44 from the table, and loaded it.
She heard the gun blast.
Once, twice.
No flinching.
Progress. Dr. Quinzel was actually making progress with the Joker.
Dr. Leland really didn't need to watch over the young psychiatrist anymore. Her gut was telling her it was a bad idea. She ignored it.
There really were too many patients for her to keep ignoring them.
RAINY DAYS
.
Uncle Ivan worked for Tyler Smokes. Now they worked for Tyler Smokes. It was better, then. More money.
His thugs even helped in burying Uncle Ivan's body.
Tyler Smokes rechristened them The Blüdchildren.
Only Tyler laughed.
Harleen had once been bright and full of energy. Now, dark circles hung under dull eyes. She wasn't even smiling anymore.
And now, someone from the staff would always catch her muttering to herself.
No one said anything, though. She was The Joker's psychiatrist, after all. Of course she'd be stressed out.
It was expected.
JUST FINE
.
The young nineteen-year-old was quickly becoming one of Tyler's favorites.
"He's just so efficient, ya know?" Smokes would say to his second-in-command. "Wish my older employees worked as…passionately…as him."
And the fourteen-year-old girl that came attached was liked just as well.
"No one can sell like her, got everyone from toddlers to the elderly high as a kite!" Tyler laughed.
But the young man and the girl didn't think that was funny. As a matter of fact, they thought their lives were boring.
The blonde woman was muttering to herself again. Though it could be she was trying to decide between the cafeteria's chicken wrap and the Caesar salad, Dr. Leland believed it was actually something more serious.
With a heavy sigh, she moved over to the younger psychiatrist, placing one small, dark hand on a thin shoulder.
Harleen jumped nearly a foot into the air, the salad she had chosen falling from her hands and scattering messily all over the floor.
"Harleen?" Joan's voice was questioning, her face showing worry for her colleague.
"I'm fine, just didn't expect you there is all," Harleen said with a small smile. Joan's eyes zeroed in on the young woman's shaking hands.
STARTLED AWAKENINGS
.
It had been over a year since they had set fire on something. Watching the towering flames lick away at the dark sky was nearly therapeutic to them.
They didn't expect that there would be someone inside the empty house, though. Both teenagers watched in surprise as the homeless man burst out through a window, twisting and jumping, body being consumed by flames. His cries of pain echoed down the nearly abandoned street.
The young girl felt chills running down her spine. The young man giggled.
Dr. Leland flushed the toilet, and opened the stall's door to go clean her hands on the sinks. She stopped though, finding Dr. Quinzel in the bathroom, too.
She was staring at herself in the mirror. There was a sort of desperation in her reflection. Her blue eyes suddenly flickered, and they caught Dr. Leland's through the glass.
The elder psychiatrist leaned against the stalls and crossed her arms.
"Harleen, you've been working non-stop on this case. You deserve a break, you know. Take a couple days off, come with a fresh mind later on in the week."
The young woman's eyes suddenly hardened. "I'm fine."
SMASHING HOPES
.
Lester was a high school senior. Lester owed her money.
She and the young nineteen-year-old crashed into his parent's house to search for valuables. They found him and his mom working on some wooden furniture.
The mom begged so much to just let them go, they could have all the money they wanted. But where would the fun in that be?
One thing led to another, and then mom and son were tied down to chairs, and Lester was gagged and doused with cooking oil. 'Would it be as effective as gasoline?' the Blüdchildren wondered. His mom was forced to watch.
Half way through, though, her screaming got way too damn annoying. From the corner of her eye, the girl noticed the hammer they were using to fix up the furniture.
The mother kept wailing.
"Shut up."
Smash.
By the end of the week, Harleen let herself into Dr. Leland's office.
Her hair was a mess, and she ran a hand through it to try and fix it. Her wide, yet tired eyes found the elder doctor, and she gave a small sarcastic chuckle.
"You were right. I do need a couple days vacation." Dr. Quinzel let out a deep breath. "I already talked it over with the boss. I'll be back next Wednesday."
Joan smiled. "Good. Relax, rest. You'll see: everything will be a bit better when you come back."
"I hope so."
THE HAND THAT FEEDS
.
"Goddamn it!" Tyler Smokes slammed his hands on his desk, smoke billowing out of his nostrils. He towered over the young man and girl, anger fully directed towards them.
They didn't even flinch.
"I know you like fire. Hell, I like fire, too! But ya see, when you start setting it to my property, I starts not liking it! Know what I mean? That warehouse was a fixed asset of mine! And you went and somehow blew it up!"
He moved around his desk until his face was inches away from the now twenty-year-old. "You're lucky that place was empty, or I woulda set you on fire too!" Smokes' spittle flew all over the young man's face.
He then rounded on the fifteen-year-old girl. "Ya destroy any more of my property and I'll be extracting its worth in pounds of flesh! Ya hear me?" At the girl's swift nod, Tyler straightened up and fixed his suit. "Until then, that warehouse's coming outta your paychecks. Now get out!"
Once outside the apartment building, the young girl allowed herself to smile. Getting a reaction out of Tyler Smokes had been fun.
Harleen didn't come in on Wednesday. Actually, she wasn't seen until a week after Wednesday.
"Dr. Quinzel, I understand our jobs can be very stressful, and it is obviously necessary to take some time off every once in a while. But being gone an entire week without saying anything to your employers is not very professional," Dr. Arkham's fatherly voice resounded in his big office.
"I know, Dr. Arkham. I'm sorry, it really won't happen again," she answered in a rather nasal voice from her seat across the desk.
She wasn't looking him in the eye, but the older doctor could tell that the "vacation" hadn't done her much good. The blonde woman was paler and thinner than before, although the dark circles under her eyes had cleared up a bit.
"It's going to take your full strength to deal with The Joker. He was behaving at first, during your time off. But I guess he got tired of waiting for you to come back, because he started…acting out. We've had to keep him under sedation for the last two days."
At this, Harleen looked up at Dr. Arkham, and something indescribable flashed across her eyes.
"Really?"
DAREDEVILS
.
"I wanna play a game today," the girl whispered in the young man's ear as he was eating his sandwich. "Doctor."
The twenty-one-year-old boy smiled around a mouthful, moving his face just bare inches away from hers. "We'll need…a patient," he answered her after a second longer than needed.
It needs to be understood, that the only group with enough power to take on Smokes and his posse was Noah and his boys. While Smokes lorded over the drugs and weapons distribution, Noah had control of the gambling side of things and the whorehouses. As the biggest groups, though, there was an understanding of peace. They were allies.
An unholy shriek pierced the silence of late Uncle Ivan's house. Down in the basement, a sweat-and-blood covered, hunting knife wielding young man giggled over the still screaming Noah Jr. The girl had her arms around the bound man, shiny little switch blade digging itself into his shoulder.
"Oh come on, it was only an ear."
The tension in the air could only be cut by a very sharp axe. "You took him off his meds."
Dr. Leland's voice was sharp, and dangerous. Harleen ignored it, choosing to hum lightly as she organized her desk.
"Are you listening to me? That…man…took out another patient's intestines with a goddamn toothbrush! You can't-"
"Joan," Dr. Harleen interrupted, her voice sugary sweet and high-toned. "A human being is not meant to be drowned in a cocktail of drugs. They are meant to live healthy, conscious lives."
At the sight of her bright smile, Dr. Leland couldn't help but run a furious hand across her face. "You really aren't listening to me."
Harleen's smile lessened and her eyes took on a rather strange glint. "There is so much you don't know about J…."
"J?" Dr. Leland's voice was incredulous.
CRACKED MASKS
.
The fifteen-year-old girl placed her week's earnings on the desk of a smiling Smokes.
"Ah! My darling!" he chuckled around a fat cigar. "I love it when you come by on Fridays!"
"Do you, now?" she asked with a slightly raised eyebrow, her voice amused. Commotion coming from behind caused her to turn around, and Smokes craned his neck to the side to see around her.
It was Luca, Tyler Smokes right hand, and he did not look happy.
Luca walked hurriedly over to Smokes side and whispered something into his ear. Tyler's face went from very happy, to deadly, deadly serious.
The girl's other eyebrow joined the raised one.
"The body of Noah's kid was found at the bay…mutilated." The crime boss seemed to be talking to himself.
"Who could've done such a thing?" the girl hoped she sounded a little concerned.
"Her behavior is slowly but surely crossing the limits of professionalism, Dr. Arkham!" Dr. Leland paced furiously in front of Arkham's desk. "Quite frankly, I'm scared of the Joker's effect on her…well, her sanity!" She stopped, and whirled around over to her boss.
Dr. Arkham's hands were interlaced in front of his mouth, elbows resting on his desk.
"Sir, I believe he has been manipulating her all this time!" She resumed her pacing. "Harleen calls him J! Of all things…Dr. Arkham, say something!"
The man's expression was unreadable.
GROUND BREAKING DISCOVERIES
.
It was nearly four in the morning when the young man arrived to Uncle Ivan's house. She was already asleep. Never the less, he walked into her shabby room and without any ceremony, practically threw his body next to hers in the rather small bed.
The jostling woke her up immediately, and out of instinct, she lashed out a punch. He grasped her arm by the wrist, though, effectively stopping her. When she saw who it was next to her, she relaxed, even though he never loosened his hold.
He'd been working non-stop for the last weeks, running on very little sleep. His eyes were sunken in, surrounded by purple-colored skin, and his curly hair was unwashed and very greasy. Her free hand moved up to trace his chapped lips.
Even as dead-tired as he looked, his sudden kiss was forceful and bruising.
She liked it.
Dr. Leland peered through the window of Harleen Quinzel's office door.
"She's not in, Dr. Arkham." Behind her, she heard a jingle and found herself being gently moved aside.
Dr. Arkham had produced a rather impressive ring of keys from his coat pocket, and opened the locked office.
It was both their intentions to sit on the chairs in front of the desk and wait for the blonde doctor, but a vivid red color caught the eye of the dark-skinned doctor.
A dozen roses were placed in a glass vase, the flowers open in full bloom. There was a sinking feeling in her stomach. Nestled between the petals, she found a little white card.
The strange, strangling sound of the younger doctor startled Dr. Arkham and he twisted in his chair to look at her.
"Joan? Joan, what is it?" Dr. Leland looked up, a sort of incredulous expression in her face, before holding up the little card to read it out loud.
"Forever yours, J."
RED-HANDED
.
The threat of a gang war was looming in the air.
"Ten goddamn thousand dollars to anyone who can find me information about Noah Jr.'s murder," Smokes declared, smoke billowing out of his mouth and nostrils, his eyes as dark as coal.
Five days later, and no one had come forward. And then, on the sixth evening, the guards brought up an old fisherman reeking of rotting sea food.
"What?" Smokes asked around a cigar clenched between his teeth, once the guards had deposited the old man on a chair.
"I'm sorry!" Harleen Quinzel sobbed into Joan Leland's embrace.
Dr. Arkham sighed heavily, and pulled out a handkerchief from his back pocket. Harleen took it shakily.
She blew on the cloth quite loudly. "H-he was just being appreciative of-of the progress we were ma-a-a-king!" Once more, she wailed into Leland's arms.
GOOD COP/BAD COP
.
"I-I saws somethin'," the fisherman began.
"And?" Smoke stopped flowing out of Tyler.
"And, well, the Blüdch-children was in the bay a few nights before the body got found. They-they was throwin' somethin' in there…looked kinda body-like…it was big and long like a body. Coulda been anythin', 'cept, 'cept…"
The old man fumbled with a pocket for a moment, before producing a soggy leather wallet and giving it to the crime boss. When Smokes opened it, instant rage overcame him.
In the wallet, was Noah Jr.'s driver's license.
"Harleen," Joan began softly, "I think, your initial suspicions on patient 4479 were correct: he is just messing with you…"
"No, no, it can't be," the blonde doctor began with quick shakes of her head, then watery and desperate blue eyes locked with the brunette's. "Look, on our last session he said he was starting to feel ready to tell me his name—"
"Harleen, the man ripped out another human being's organs because 'he was bored'," this time, it was the fatherly Dr. Arkham that spoke up. A slightly softer bout of sobbing was Dr. Quinzel's response to his statement.
Dr. Arkham and Dr. Leland made eye contact for a few seconds, before Dr. Leland nodded. "Harleen…" At the call of her name, the young woman looked up at the elder one. "…You call him J, and he somehow sent you a dozen roses, but…" Here, she paused, and Dr. Quinzel frowned. "But, Dr. Arkham and I must know exactly what has been going on during your sessions with him."
DIVIDED WE FALL
.
His brown eyes refused to leave her blue ones. They had been staring at each other for what felt like hours.
It was her sixteenth birthday that night. No party or cake or gifts could compare to the simple joy she felt, sitting on that old couch, so close to the young man. The still silence around them was perfect.
And then, she frowned as she saw three of Smokes's men behind the young man. Just when she was about to ask them what the intruders were doing in their house, the young man moved to pounce towards her, a strangled "No!" escaping from his throat.
The three lackeys moved as one and dragged the young man backwards, at the same time that two pairs of arms locked around her and ripped her away from the couch.
She shrieked.
A friendship, Dr. Quinzel said. That was the only thing happening in their sessions. Her recorded interviews and notes supported her words. It was unsettling. Nevertheless, bordering unprofessional behavior was not unprofessional behavior. And yet, Dr. Leland still felt there was something more to the situation, something she and Dr. Arkham were not seeing, something that Dr. Quinzel was hiding.
Dr. Arkham felt the same way. As a result, apart from removing the blonde doctor from patient 4479's case, Dr. Arkham reassigned Dr. Leland to monitor her.
When Harleen was informed of this, her hands visibly closed into fists so tight, that her knuckles turned white, and her whole arms shook.
TRUE IDENTITIES
.
Smokes delivered a blow to her face that was so hard, she saw stars. After the spinning and the ringing stopped, she found herself on all fours on the floor. There was a dull thud of a boot impacting the young man's ribs. Then his body fell on top of hers, completely flattening her and taking her breath away.
Two pairs of arms separated them, and then bound their wrists behind their backs. They were forced to kneel in front of Smokes. A warm liquid trickled down the side of her face. The boy was wheezing.
The crime lord paced in front of them, his breath coming out in hard, angry pants.
"You dirty, betraying, unthankful little shits!" he bellowed.
"Harleen?" Joan Leland's voice sounded surprised.
"Hmm?" Dr. Quinzel answered distractedly, as she worked on the file of one of her cases.
"You've changed your look." the dark-skinned doctor stated.
Harleen smiled big. "Why, yes, I did!" Her voice was so perky.
The new Harleen had replaced her tight bun for setting her very curly platinum-blonde hair loose. Black eyeliner coated her eyelids, and her lips were colored a dark, rusty red.
FREE-FALLING
.
Through her wavering vision, the young woman saw Tyler Smokes walk over to the young man. He gripped his hair back, and spoke into his face.
"I'm letting Noah deal with you two." He let go of the twenty-one-year-old and moved to the sixteen-year-old. She suddenly found herself in a choke hold. "Psychotic bitch," he whispered harshly. He shoved her backwards.
Stretching back to his full height, Tyler Smokes tugged his vest and tie back in place, and then walked away, muttering insults under his breath and shaking his head.
During the next moments, all that could be heard was their uneven breathing.
The loud, braying laughter made Dr. Leland pause in the hallway and look out the window, down into the gardens.
It was a patient, and his psychiatrist, Dr. Quinzel, sitting side by side on a picnic table. There was joy in both their faces, as if they were friends, sharing a good time. They were talking animatedly, and Joan remembered that the patient with the happy, open face had been diagnosed with a rather chronic bout of manic depression illness.
Dr. Leland frowned.
HOWLING PEACE
.
Noah stared into the eyes of the young woman, and then the man, trying to figure out something. The cold glares of the once-favored Blüdchildren brought no answer.
"Why," he began in a rather strong timbre for a man his age, "would you do this to my youngest? He was just a boy."
From her right, the young man's wheezing laughter began, quickly taking over the silence. Smokes's men, still behind the young man, shoved him forwards, making him land harshly on the side of his face. The laughter reduced to barely controlled giggles.
The young woman turned her face back towards Noah, and he met her glance. A rather wicked grin slowly spread through her face.
"Your boy, he screamed like a little girl."
"Dr. Quinzel?" Dr. Leland called as she knocked on the blonde woman's office door. After receiving no reply, she slowly twisted the doorknob and opened the door. The office was empty.
'That's odd,' the dark-skinned colored doctor thought, 'she said she'd be here now…'
Joan quickly backed out and turned around, only to come face to face with a widely smiling Harleen. The elder doctor jumped nearly a foot into the air.
"Hello Dr. Leland!" she began rather eagerly, quickly pushing past Joan and plopping herself behind her desk. "I hope you didn't wait too long for me," she continued in the same excited tone, "I was just taking a little bathroom break, you know!"
"Right…. I just wanted to talk with you about your success rate with you patients."
"Yyyeeesssss?" Harleen stretched out the word, her voice taking a slight nasal tone to it around the middle, and ending with a rather snake-like hiss.
"They've all seemed to get so much better. They're behaving properly, sharing, participating in group activities. Many of them are even capable of carrying quite the normal conversation. I'm very impressed. That is why…"
Throughout Joan's words, Harleen had dug around her bag for a mirror and a lipstick. She reapplied the dark rusty color to her pouty mouth. Once done, she smacked her lips together, in an eerily familiar manner.
Joan found her voice trailing off.
LET THE GOOD TIMES ROLL
.
Noah's bodyguards dragged them both out into the suffocating heat of the night. The gravel on the ground raised angry red scratches on their bare skin.
The world had turned upside down, and all she could see was the handful of stars allowed on Blüdhaven's night sky. And then a face appeared. Dark. Angry. Noah's face, but younger.
"Benjamin," Noah's voice came from somewhere to the right. "Here are those who destroyed your brother. My heart can't withstand much more tonight. Deal with them." Then she heard him start walking away, probably towards a car.
Benjamin's eyes glowed; the sixteen-year-old's narrowed. Noah's eldest son was known throughout the city for the torture victims he left behind. "Anything…special?"
Noah's footsteps stopped, and for a few seconds there was silence, and then the young woman let out a breathy giggle.
"Tear us apart!" the young man began chanting, "It's what you want. I can see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice, smell it in your disgusting breath. Come on, come on, come on! Tear us apart! Tear u—" The young woman knew that someone had kicked him in the stomach, but for some reason, that only made her giggles turn into a full blown laughter. The pain it caused in her head and ribs only seemed to make it funnier.
Someone kicked her on the head. Everything went fuzzy after that.
"Cut off their tongues, rip out their eyes…" Noah's voice seemed so far away, and then there was only the white noise of silence, and then darkness took over.
"Where in the world is she?" Joan Leland was an angry woman. For the third time that week, Harleen Quinzel was nowhere to be found.
Half an hour ago, Dr. Leland had been crossing the gardens to reach the library, and discovered one of Dr. Quinzel's mental patients floundering all alone. He was obviously lost, and when she asked him where was the blonde doctor, all the poor shaking man said was that she'd told him to wait for her, that she would only be gone for a little while.
After dealing with the frazzled patient, Dr. Leland set out on the task of finding the missing Dr. Quinzel. Calling her through the intercom did nothing. Her car was still in the parking lot, she was not in the library, her office, or on the areas she was authorized. The nurses told her the bathrooms and medicine closets were devoid of blonde doctors.
Absolutely frustrated, Joan finally decided to return to her office before she blew a gasket. There was something strange going on with Dr. Quinzel. She had been behaving in such an exemplary manner for the last couple months, and now, she was becoming erratic again. Just yesterday, the dark-skinned doctor had caught the blonde giggling to herself while reading a book on bipolar manic depression.
HARSH REALITY
.
It hurt. More than it had with Uncle Ivan. And Benjamin's men just didn't stop.
The young woman didn't beg, or scream for help. She spat obscenities in the men's faces, and tried to kick, punch, claw and bite her way out of their tight hold. It wasn't working.
Just a couple feet to her right, the young man was tied to a chair, his head held in place in order to force him to watch what was happening.
"This the kind of sick thing you like, isn't it?" Benjamin asked, a disturbing grin on his face as he walked around the struggling young man. "This the kind of thing that just makes you die of laughter!" He stopped in the face of the twenty-one-year-old. "So why ain't you laughing? Hm? Come on, come on. Not even a little smile?"
The young man glared, dark eyes promising hell unlike any other. But he was still bound, and Benjamin was the one holding a knife. "I know you can smile for me. Come on. No? Do I have to do everything myself? Come on, buddy…" Benjamin's voice deepened into a growl as he took the young man in a chokehold. "…Let's put a smile on your face."
Just as Dr. Leland settled in heavily into her desk chair, a familiar humming voice crossed in front of her door. With renewed energy, Joan scrambled away towards the door and wrenched it open.
"Quinzel!" her voice came out startled, and slightly desperate. The blonde figure kept walking, and Joan followed her, angrily surprised at the younger doctor's behavior. When Joan reached her, she took hold of Harleen's elbow and swung her around.
"Oh! Dr. Leland! Hi! I didn't hear you, sorry, I'm just a little worried about this one patient I have, it's a very delicate matter and I'm just so focused on it…" Joan ignored the blonde doctor's rambling as she took in her white coat. A sense of utter dread filled her as she saw that red, black, and white stains dotted the cloth.
Harleen's voice trailed off as she watched Dr. Leland press her fingers to her breast, then pull away, the tips slightly stained. The dark-skinned doctors brought her fingers to her nose and took in the scent.
Grease paint.
GOING OUT WITH A BANG
.
Benjamin screamed just like Noah Jr. The sound caused everyone to freeze in place. And then it was a bloodbath.
Gunshots blasted through the room, heads and necks and chests of lackeys exploded, showering the walls, and floors, and the young girl, with blood.
Someone ripped her away from the floor by her hair, held her tight and put a gun to her head, and she could see who was killing Noah's men.
It was the young man. Hair sticking all over his face, eyes ablaze with psychotic energy, and his face split open, blood covering everything from the lower half of his face, all the way down to his stomach, and more was still pouring out.
Her mouth opened and a scream let loose from her at the same time a gun roared. The side of her head burned, and then there was pain.
"I love him! And he loves me! Me!"
Drs. Leland and Arkham could only stare aghast from a safe distance as Harleen hysterically declared her love over patient 4479.
The young psychiatrist was an unhealthy shade of red, and veins were sticking out of her neck and forehead. Her eyes were wide as saucers, tears spilling out black because of her heavy eye makeup. She pulled at her hair, slapped her chest and paced all around Dr. Arkham's office as she just kept spouting off about her romance with the Joker; how amazing he was, and how blind everyone was not to see it.
Dr. Leland had to stop from retching.
Dr. Arkham slowly took off the radio from his belt and called the head of security.
"I need you to come in and escort Dr. Harleen Quinzel off the asylum's premises. Now."
AFTERMATH
.
It's impossible for the young girl to remember how they arrived to the dirty motel room, or how she had gotten the crappy first-aid and sewing kits. She can't even remember when she had started sewing up the young man's flesh.
What she did remember was straddling him, slipping in the blood pouring everywhere, and babbling comforting nonsense into deaf ears. She had never babbled before.
Her own hands were bleeding, probably from the dozens of times she stabbed herself with the needle. There were a couple times when she pulled on the string a little too hard, and the hold he kept on her thigh tightened. She found herself begging forgiveness, promising to do better. She had never begged before.
She could feel his eyes on her, burning holes into her skin.
It was nearly sunrise when the head of the asylum had finally been able to sit back in his office chair and rest his eyes. What a mess.
Nearly an entire year absolutely wasted. So much money down the drain. A very promising young psychiatrist lost; her license sure to be permanently suspended before noon.
Dr. Arkham grimaced.
He was sure that The Joker, in his sad little padded cell, was cackling very loudly like the madman that he was.
Dr. Arkham cringed.
HIATUS
.
Somehow the young man pushed her off him, and dragged her into the bathroom's shower. The water was freezing cold, and shocked them both from the setting exhaustion. He started scrubbing her, dragging his nails down her arms and torso. The young girl understood his message and started tearing away at his clothes while he tried to do the same to her. She ended up helping him help her.
The water around them was tainted red, and it took forever before it turned clear again. When it did, the sixteen-year-old pulled the young man out of the shower, and tried to dry them both. The towel came out streaked with red as droplets of blood still poured from his cheeks.
She felt his right hand rest on her bruised hip, his left one moving up her torso and face, and poked the side of her head. It stung, and he pulled away to show the blood still coming out, thanks to a bullet graze. The hand on her hip tightened and the young girl flinched in pain, and then the bloodied hand grabbed hold of her neck.
Her own hands flew to his chest in surprise, nails scrambling for purchase, staining with reddish water.
They had gone through six doctors in eleven days. The last one stated that he would never work directly with people suffering from a mental illness ever again. He'd been working that part of the field for nearly fifteen years.
Just two days ago, The Joker had been put under heavy sedation once again. He had gouged out a nurse's eyes. At seeing Dr. Leland's sickened, outraged, and wholly disapproving face, the terrorist snorted.
"Well, what do ya ex-pect me to do here? All alone…" His heavily scarred face pouted, and then his face morphed to something Joan could only call sinister. "…with no, uh, blonde head doctors to come spend time with me?" Patient 4479 wheezed out a squeal before succumbing to his wild laughter.
SHATTERING GLASS
.
The motel room had already been occupied. But had it been the young girl or the young man who tied the couple up?
It didn't matter. Point was, the bound ones had clothes, and they were naked. That situation needed to change immediately. And once they did, the young woman bashed their heads in with a flower pot.
The twenty-one-year-old found the keys to the bound couple's car. Good. They needed to get the hell out of Blüdhaven.
It had been two weeks since "Dr. Quinzel left," as the nurses over at the station called it.
It seemed that time was now divided into the events occurring before the blonde ex-doctor's arrival at Arkham's, and the events occurring after her infamous departure. Everything that happened in between made the hospital's gossips practically vibrate with malicious glee.
The phone rang and rang endlessly. It didn't even go to voicemail. With a heavy sigh, Joan hung up. Once again, there was no answer from the disgraced woman.
Dr. Leland just hoped she wasn't doing anything stupid. Outside of her office, a giant's shadow engulfed the door in darkness.
GLORY DAZE
.
Time blurred together. They could have driven for hours, maybe days, before they switched to a pickup truck. The young girl couldn't remember how they ended up in a diner in the middle of nowhere, or how that much money ended up inside the young man's pockets.
And she knew that he didn't remember having crossed state lines. She also knew he had no recollection of his wounds becoming infected at some point, or having to stop in a tiny town for medical help.
It got pretty blurry for the both of them how they got to the doctor's office, and neither could recollect which of them was it that stabbed the old man in the neck with his scalpel.
The sixteen-year-old does remember warm days of skies impossibly blue, and nights so cold she thought she'd die. She also remembers the moment she laid eyes on the "Welcome to Gotham City" sign.
Years later, the young man could still describe with surprising clarity every little detail of the miserable marker.
The dark-skinned psychiatrist always thought that it was impossible to fly across the room just from a punch. How wrong she was.
She was pretty sure, though, that her jaw was cracked. A groan of absolute misery fell from her now bloody and swollen lips as her arm was gripped tightly and she was pulled roughly back on her feet. Dr. Leland's vision swam and she felt herself falling sideways. The large orderly's vice grip prevented that from successfully happening. And then he was dragging her back to her desk chair.
Joan landed roughly, the dark leather chair swiveling sideways. He swiveled it back in place. It took almost five minutes for all the spinning and whining noises to dull down enough to become aware of someone sitting across from her, on the very edge of her oak desk. A loud 'pop'-ping sound invaded her ears, making her jump at attention, and finding a rather strange creature perched there. One covered in black and red clothing.
FRANKENSTEIN'S MONSTER
.
It was when the young man started singing the words to a very old song that the girl stopped in her tracks. When had he started speaking again? She tried to think back on the days, and weeks before, and her mind came up with snippets of conversations, of laughter, and angry fights.
She rushed across the abandoned building, and knelt in front of the only TV in the place. It took forever to turn on, and even longer to get a signal for GCN. And when it did, she could only sit back on her heels as realization struck her.
It had been nearly seven months since Noah Jr. visited Uncle Ivan's basement.
The now twenty-two-year-old moved behind the young girl and lowered himself until his mouth rested against the shell of her ear. And then he was whispering.
"I think it's time to wake up," the "p" pops and, for some reason, they found that funny, because they both started giggling.
"Harleen," Joan announced in a strangled whisper, quickly followed by a raspy gasp, before letting out her breath in a quick whooshing sound.
"It's The Harlequin, now. Bitch."
The ex-doctor's long hair was tied into two braids that rested over her chest. Harleen's face was not grease-painted. Rather, she just wore on her eyes a heavy mixture of black eye shadow, liner and mascara. Her lips were that rusty, red color she had been wearing for months. Under a black trench coat, her torso was covered by a latex-like leotard, half black, half red. She wore short, black cargo pants, with a red tool belt that held one too many blades and guns and hammers for Leland's liking. Her combat boots were shiny, brand new, but on the toe of her right boot was a yellow smiley sticker.
Hands encased in fingerless black leather gloves with tiny red hearts sewn over the knuckles cruelly grasped the dark doctor's chin; glittery, black nails digging into the flawless flesh. I squeal of pain escaped from her lips.
Just as the traitorous orderly grasped a handful of the doctor's hair and yanked, Joan decided that Harleen looked like a very pretty, but very psychotic clown.
ACCORDING TO PLAN
.
The nineteen-year-old girl smiled from her tightly-curled up position in the foot space of the armored truck's passenger side. She let out a shaky, satisfied breath as she crawled out and regained her bearings. After shaking her head one too many times to rid herself from that awful ringing, she looked to the side and realized the noise came from the now dead driver's head pressed against the car horn.
With another sigh, this one from mild annoyance, she pulled the body back against the seat, and began to crawl over the lap to get out. When she was about to open the door, the slab of metal swung away from her grasp and she nearly tumble forwards.
A man wearing a clown mask easily caught her and set her on her still shaky feet. A sound that can only be described as a giggle escaped the masked man, before helping the girl put her own clown mask back on her face; it had been knocked askew with the force of the crash.
Next to them a simple black van screeched to a halt, the side doors opening wide, and two clown-faced criminals ran from the crashed armored truck to the van and back, picking up and depositing moneybags. Once they were finished, the masked clown next to the girl took out a silenced gun and shot the two others in the head. When the driver of the van looked up in surprise, he shot him too. Without a second more to waste, the girl walked to the now dead clown driver and pulled him out the seat, quickly taking his place. Behind her, the last remaining clown man climbed into the van and slammed the doors closed as he whooped. The girl shifted gears and pressed on the gas pedal.
The world around Joan Leland flickered in and out of focus for the next few minutes. At some point, the pain of being dragged by her hair through the hallways gave her enough lucidity to see the slightly blurred shapes of some orderlies and nurses grabbing hold of guns, and shotguns, while others shouted and hissed in fear or outrage. Harleen was giggling.
Traitors, everywhere. And no one had known. No one, except Harleen.
The doctor wasn't stupid. Even in her dazed state she knew what was happening. The Joker was getting out tonight.
ERIS INCARNATE
.
Diamonds and gold shimmered and rolled all around the twenty-year-old girl as the humming twenty-five-year-old man stood next to her on the bed and moved over to the ceiling fan. Its light was on, but the blades were still. Out of the deep pockets of his brown trench coat, he produced a few stacks of money. A switch blade flicked open, and in a quicksilver blur, the money was free from its wrapping.
He placed the notes over each of the five blades, and then pulled on the fan's chain to set it at its lowest speed. As the blades began to circle, the young man made a show of trying to regain balance, before toppling over next to the girl. A few jewels bounced out of the bed, and the man chuckled at the clattering sound they made. The girl began to laugh as she watched the money dance and twirl in the air as they fell from their place on the fan.
Dr. Arkham knew something was wrong. And no, it wasn't the scared screeches of the nurses, or the distinct metallic sounds of weapons cocking that made him aware. And it certainly wasn't the fact that his office had been invaded, or that he had been yanked from his chair by his neck tie, and then forced out into the halls at shotgun point.
Because as stressful as the situation was, such a coordinated attack meant the escape of only one, at most two, of the high profile criminal patients.
No, what made the dread, and the stress, and his blood pressure rise to impossible levels was the young, once-doctor Harleen Quinzel in full twisted clown costume. And then again, it wasn't exactly the sight of her that did it. No. As her hysterical little self skipped down the hallways, the patients began hollering and laughing. And they chanted.
"Dr. Harley! Dr. Harley! Dr. Harley!" Over and over again. Like faithful followers who knew that a goddess was in their midst. That was what was wrong.
Then the alarm sounded, and all their doors opened.
MONSTERS IN THE CLOSET
.
The pained shriek tearing through the basement covered the sound of pulley chains clinking together as the girl threw her entire weight into raising the naked portly body of the middle-aged man a few feet off the ground. The brown-eyed young man rolled his neck, the bones popping loudly, before moving towards their newest victim. After securing the chain, the young woman joined her counterpart's side.
"Let's do an all-body Hellraiser," the girl suggested innocently.
"Unoriginal. But fun," the man answered with a shrug.
"No nails around, though. Or screws."
"Hmm."
The girl looked over to a table in the corner, where they had been playing poker earlier, waiting for their hostage to wake up.
"We could roll up the playing cards," she began, her bloodied switch blade popping to life, "and stuff 'em wherever we cut him."
Dr. Leland moaned pitifully next to Dr. Arkham as he watched Ms. Quinzel like a hawk. He was covered in sweat and producing more. His heart beat so loud he felt it in his eardrums as she made her way over to a door. The numbers '4479' were painted in a dark blue above it. Just as the rest of the patients in this particular level, the only way in out of a room was with an ID card.
Like the one the blonde woman had taken from the old doctor, and twirled around her pointer finger, before dramatically swiping it in front of a sensor. The machine beeped in approval, and the metal hissed open just an inch. She let the card drop to the floor as she grabbed the door handle with both hands, and gave a hard yank in order to open it fully.
Once done, she let go of the handle, and spread her arms wide in front of the entrance.
"Puddin'!"
A high pitched, squealing laughter was her response.
MAD WITH FEAR
.
The twenty-one-year-old screamed until no sound came out. Even then, she forced the air out of her chest in a pathetic imitation.
Her right fist connected harshly with the creature's—demon's—mouth, maggots and black, rotten things showering her all over. The creature screeched, and then roared. Its sharp, blade-like talons dug themselves into her shoulders, tearing them into pieces. She could feel the wounds burning, like red hot metal pressed against flesh.
She fell backwards, her arm jostling something round and coarse. Without a second thought, she grabbed it and hurled it towards the creature. It howled and retaliated by kicking her in the ribs with one of its hooves.
The pain barely registered as she sobbed in fear. She was alone. Alone with this monster, about to be eaten. But not if she ate it first.
It grabbed her by the wrist, and raised her high into the air. Just when it was about to hurl her, she dug her teeth into his arm. The maggots exploded from his flesh, and she could feel them squirming in her mouth, could taste the putrid, coagulated blood on her tongue.
The beast roared, and flung her against the floor again.
A group of nurses watched in open disgust from their hostage situation, as the once-loved ex-Dr. Quinzel clung to the Joker's arm. The blonde beauty chattered and giggled happily in the man's ear, earning a few pet names in return for her troubles.
How could she? Didn't she realize what this man was? What he did? What he looked like? Was she really that far gone?
Portia, a motherly nurse that had once been gossip buddies with the blonde woman shook her head in disbelief. A moment later, she took in a deep breath and filled herself with resolve. The portly woman squared her shoulders, and was about to call out to her once-friend, when Frank, one of the security guards, launched himself at the Joker.
Before the older man reached them though, the terrorist took a gun from the collection in Dr. Quinzel's tool belt and shot the man twice in the chest in one single move.
After the ringing of the shots and the screams of surprised horror had abated, Harleen giggled.
Yes, she really was that far gone.
WE MADE IT
.
At some point, hours, maybe days, later, whatever had been released into the already polluted air of thee Narrows dissipated enough for the young woman to realize she had been attacking the twenty-six-year old man. By the wide-eyed look on his face, it seemed that he realized the same thing.
They had staggered in the same place, their minds reeling from trying to understand. Then, they collapsed next to each other, not quite touching, and their backs against the brick wall.
Through the dark, heavy haze, she recognized the young man's torn and bloodied clothes, the deep gashes on his arms, and chest. A few of his nails were missing. By the sound of his breathing, it was obvious something wasn't right with his lungs.
With a pained groan, the man slid sideways, until his head landed on her lap. It hurt beyond anything she had ever felt, and when she gasped, her own lungs burned. But she tried to ignore it as she truly took in his mangled face. It was all black and blue, and his lower lip split all the way down to his chin.
He tightened his hold on her thighs. She clutched at his hair.
Drs. Leland and Arkham were unceremoniously shoved into the back of a van head first. The female doctor was in no condition to protect herself as her face kept swelling and blackening, and her consciousness was shaky at best.
The elder doctor gathered her as best as he could as the van kept filling with large men, some wearing clown masks, others still in orderly uniforms. The last ones in were what the old man's detached mind sarcastically proclaimed as Gotham's newest It Couple.
The Joker banged his fist against the van's side twice, and the tires squealed as they took off. Dr. Arkham's right temple got knocked into the van's metal wall, and through the ringing in his head, he heard Ms. Quinzel squeal out a delighted "Whee!"
In the distance, sirens had begun wailing.
MAGNETIZED
.
For weeks on end, nothing was as before. The wounds healed too slowly. They limped too much. The tremors wouldn't completely go away. The young man and woman couldn't look each other in the eye, but still sought each other's presence.
Their fingers dug into each other's flesh, not in anger or fear, but need. Often, they curled around each other on the bed, on the sofa, in a kitchen corner. And they wouldn't move from their place.
The pain and discomfort didn't matter. The fact that they were so weak that they shook even more didn't matter.
Days would turn to nights, then become days again, and they still didn't let go of each other.
Jim Gordon cursed loudly under the car's siren's shrieks. Gray buildings blurred past him as he and a swarm of police cars raced towards the city's outskirts, trying to reach Arkham Asylum before he was too late.
He told them, he told them she was too young! And now here he was, one year later, his heart rate speeding up and stress rising sky high once again.
Of course, the Joker would make a doctor fall for him. Of course, the Joker would have orderlies and nurses under his control all along. Of course, the Joker would choose Arkham and Leland as his hostages.
Of course, the Joker would put bombs on the parked cars lining the streets.
Gordon's own car rocked wildly with the force of an explosion. If he hadn't been going so fast, he would've been caught in it. Instead, it was another cop following him. While he was busy looking at the wreckage left behind through his rearview mirror, another car exploded about ten yards in front of him. The commissioner swerved to the left, trying to avoid the blast and crashed right into a lamp post. Through the dizzy haze, brought on by slamming his forehead against the steering wheel, Jim vaguely heard the roaring sound of the motors of a rather familiar Tumbler.
A PUSH AND A SHOVE
.
The young woman finished applying mascara to her dark, smoky eyes. Just as she grabbed her red lipstick, the young man appeared behind her, resting his large hands on her shoulders. They made eye-contact through the mirror's reflection.
"Going hunting," he stated. She smacked her made up lips. She would bring in a hardcore masochist tonight. See how much pain he or she could take before they realized they were in very real danger. The young man would like that.
"Everything's been distorted," he whispered this time, then left her side to slide down to the floor next to the vanity table. A pack of playing cards appeared on his hands. "No more control."
The young woman hunched over him, her perfectly manicured hand slapping the playing cards to the floor.
"I'll be your control," she whispered quickly as he set those flat, brown eyes on her from under his brow. "You can let loose," she tried to sound convincing as she searched the pile of cards for the perfect one. "You can even smile big, like the joker wild card." Said card found its way back to the man's hands.
Broken, blue eyes suddenly turned sharp, and challenging. "You must," she finished coldly.
The wind howled loudly around Dr. Arkham as a masked clown opened the van's roof hatch. Someone passed him what looked to be a submachine gun, and then they were raising him through the hatch. A second or two passed before the air was filled with the deafening sounds of rapid gun blasts.
Dr. Leland whimpered and held tighter to the older doctor. Harleen Quinzel's high pitched laughter could be heard mixing with the Joker's cackles. Arkham's eyes screwed shut as the distinct sound of squealing tires and screeching metal and dying sirens met his ears.
And then the blasts stopped and the shooter began squirming and hollering until he was let back inside the van. As soon as his head was inside, everyone could hear the dirty expletives being spewed from the man's mouth. The lackey ripped his mask off, and wide eyes looked over at the Joker's questioning brown ones.
"Company!" the man proclaimed, choking slightly on the word. "We've got company!"
The terrorist's eyebrows rose when he heard those words, but then a look of understanding came over him, and his smile appeared again and widened, until it looked like his scars would reopen.
"Gimme that sub."
SETESH REBORN
.
The blonde girl dubbed it "The Smiling Campaign." Everywhere she looked in their residence she could see two black circles and a wide red smile painted over something. Sometimes the smiles were small, tiny even. And then they were enormous, too big to take in from up close.
The young man was busying himself once more with doing what he liked. Mixing chemicals. Making bombs. Acquiring knives and firearms like baseball trading cards. There were blueprints all over the walls. Penned arrows and rambling commentaries and giant X's and circled objects.
But what made the young woman truly happy, though, was that he had finally found a target. After years and years of wandering and making do with whatever came his way, he finally found something unto which he could concentrate all his rampant, violent energy on.
Said target had received its own room. In there, news paper articles decorated the walls, along with the smiling faces, and the hundreds and hundreds of pictures. Pictures of a very stoic person, dressed in some comical black costume suit.
The Batman.
As soon as the submachine gun touched the Joker's hands, the terrorist turned around and without warning, kicked the van's back doors open. Blinding, white light immediately engulfed the Joker, ironically outlining his body so he looked like some pagan deity appearing from the beyond.
Dr. Arkham clutched Dr. Leland closer to him as everyone rushed away from the opened doors, and right into their corner, it seemed. Through the thick throng of bodies he saw Quinzel still struggling to stay by the clown prince of crime's side. Then, the rapid gun blast began again. The asylum director didn't know which was louder: the raucous noise coming from the gun, or the whooping, squealing laughter coming out the Joker's mouth.
The van took a sharp corner, and the mass of bodies taking cover swung to the other side of the vehicle. Arkham, along with Leland, landed sprawled over three people. Groaning from the exertion, the older man tried to sit up, succeeding to a certain degree. And that's when the man saw what had caused the bright light. The Batmobile, as had been dubbed by GCN. And it was incredibly close. Too close. And getting closer.
Next thing the doctor knew, the van twisted to the left, and the Batmobile crashed into it.
SERVANTS AT THE ALTAR
.
The young man was giggling again. Snickering. Chortling. Cackling, and hollering, and squealing in that funny way of his.
There was a gleam in his eye. A gleam that the woman knew all too well.
It made her smile wide.
He made his way to her on the other side of the basement, after removing his knife from the face of a woman he had brought home the night before. Even from a distant she could see the victim's new macabre smile.
"Chaos," he said, hissing out the double "s" as he slathered her left clavicle with the bloody knife. The young woman's heart rate sped up. They hadn't used that word in twelve years. Blue and brown locked into a staring contest.
"Anarchy's best friend and lover," she finally answered, her whispered words officially flaring a nearly forgotten memory back to life.
The vigilante stumbled away from his upturned vehicle, his vision swimming, but definitely catching sight of the Joker's asylum-issued uniform a few yards away from him. They had both survived, it seemed. It also seemed he wasn't the only one staggering in place.
But Batman was not about to let a bout of dizziness get in the way of catching the madman. Two steps in, though, a blur of red and black stumbled from behind the Joker, and a flash of quicksilver whistled through the air.
A sharp pain erupted from his neck the next moment, causing him to fall to his knees. He clutched at the place, only to feel the hilt of a knife. Surprised, black eyes jumped back to the Joker, only to watch as the costumed young psychiatrist, Miss Quinzel stumbled back into the man. The terrorist caught her by the shoulders, and then shoved her behind him.
With a backhanded smile towards the dark knight, the clown turned around, grabbed hold of Quinzel's elbow, and made a run for another van that had arrived.
A KILLER PUNCHLINE
.
Through the large warehouse window, the twenty-two-year-old woman watched as a recently acquired "employee" spray-painted a giant red 'S' on the side of a truck's container. The new word, Slaughter, brought a smile to her face. She giggled when the "artist" stuck his tongue out and spray painted it, too. The crazies were always a hoot.
A blur of periwinkle blue on the corner of her eye startled her, and the sound of a hand slapping against glass echoed around her. She refused to turn around and see the twenty-seven-year-old man's face. She already recognized his scarred hand, his jagged nails.
"I wanna play a game," he began in a low tone, his warm breath rustling the little curls resting around her ear.
"What kind?" she asked, her gaze having zeroed on the squared curve of his thumb's joint. The man giggled.
"Doctor!" he answered enthusiastically, then lowered his hand, leaving behind a picture stuck on the glass. It was of a red brick building, with mirror-like windows. A slab of cement standing amongst cheerful red flowers proclaimed it to be Arkham Asylum. "And I'll be your willing patient…" he continued in a playful growl, then snickered, "…eventually."
The Batman's blood shone grotesquely over his black armor. Commissioner Gordon caught him just before he fell on his side.
There was a lot of wheezing, and gurgling, before the vigilante tried to talk. "Quin—, Quinze—!"
This time, he didn't have to make a conscious effort of altering his voice.
"She's gone, Batman," Gordon told him as calmly as he could. "She's made her choice and now she's gone."
.
.
.
finis?
Ha hA HA ha Ha Oh eEh Eh AhA AH HA oH eeH Ha aHa...
...And the Joker thought his jokes were bad.
They're hilarious.
ALRIGHTY! Now for some explanations to clarify any questions that you guys might have:
~I got the patient number from youtube's TheJokerBlogs (Amazing videos, by the way. Can't believe such a cute, baby faced person could pull off such a wonderful Joker. His curls needed to be messier, though. Ah well, can't really have it all.) If TheJokerBlogs got the patient number from somewhere else, I really don't know.
~Blüdhaven is a fictional DC Universe city close to Gotham. It serves as the backdrop for the Nightwing (Nightwing being Dick Grayson, the original Robin) series. It's often stated that Blüdhaven has a worse crime rate than Gotham, and that the law's pretty much the organized crime syndicates, which are protected by the corrupted police.
~If you don't get their professions when they were with Tyler Smokes: The boy was a "jack of all trades" and the girl was a drug dealer.
~Uncle Ivan, Noah, Tyler Smokes, Noah Jr., Benjamin, and Luca, and smelly old fisherman person, are my OC's.
~The orderly that sends Joan Leland flying across her office was supposed to be named Brian in the story.
~The house with the burning homeless man, and Tyler's warehouse are separate properties.
~Eris is the Greek goddess of chaos.
~Yes, that was Fear Night, what they experienced in Mad With Fear and survived in We Made It...
~I wanted the girl to do in A Push And A Shove is what all women do at some point in a relationship: take over the reins while the partner's down until he can get back in the saddle.
~I'm placing Arkham Asylum on the outskirts of Gotham, as per the official map's location.
~Setesh is the Egyptian god of chaos.
~For those of you who can't imagine Batman getting stabbed in the neck: the knife hits him right over where the collar of his torso armor-thing ends, and his cowl begins.
~Backhanded smile: the smile Joker gives the bank manager in the movie after telling him he believes whatever doesn't kill you simply makes you stranger.
~My theory: A very different Joker needs a very different Harley. I mean, can you imagine a cartoon Harley with a real-life monster? Besides the only way a Nolan-verse Joker would stay interested in someone, especially romantically, is if he saw her as an equal.
I hoped you liked this!
If you want, you can make a game of the story and read all the italicized parts first, and then all the regular font parts to get an ordered timeline. Or you can read it the other way around (all the regular font parts first), and create your own "Vantage Point" experience. (Good movie, Vantage Point.)
Please, do review. I would LOVE to hear your thoughts.