A/N: A short crack fic dedicated to the evil conspirator and despot in my life. Thanks for the inspiration.
"What did you say?"
The hostage cowered in his constraints. "N-nothing, Mister Joker, sir. I didn't mean to say anything, honest, I didn't."
The Joker rolled his eyes. If he knew the hostage was this much of a coward he would have killed him sooner. "Call me cuh-razy," he muttered, swaggering up to the bound, and soon to be gagged, man. "But... I don't believe you." He bent down and grabbed the hostage by the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. "Want to repeat it?"
The hostage shook his head violently while he struggled to get the Joker to release him. Although, if the Joker was being honest with himself, this runt wasn't trying very hard. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a ball gag. The hostage's eyes went wide with horror. This, the Joker thought, was going to get a reaction. "Never leave home without one," he muttered as he fixed the gag to his hostage's head. To his immense disappointment, the only resistance offered was a soft squeak of protest.
He let go of the hostage's shirt, letting him fall back to the floor in a heap, unable to right himself. The Joker rubbed his hands together, enjoying the sound the leather was making. The hostage was still staring at him, a look of perpetual terror fixed to his face. The Joker looked from the hostage, to his gloves, then back again. He had an idea.
Reaching into his jacket, the Joker's hands fumbled around the inner lining until he found the inner pocket. He pulled his second pair of gloves out with a smile, examining them carefully. From a distance they looked perfectly ordinary. It wasn't until you got close to them that you could see the miniature shards of glass and barbed wire sticking out of the leather. Ordinarily they were impractical to carry around, but not today.
The Joker approached his hostage again. "One. More. Chance. Want to tell me what you said?" Again, the hostage shook his head. The Joker grinned. He drew the pair of gloves back and swung them towards the hostage's face, the leather making a smacking sound that echoed around the room. The hostage squealed like a stuck pig, rivers of blood running down his face from where the glass and wire had cut him. It was so satisfying to watch him squirm.
"What was that?" The Joker asked, raising a hand to his ear. "You insist you said nothing?" He shook his head in mock disappointment while the hostage on the floor squealed and writhed in his constraints. The gloves came down again and again, turning the hostage's face into a messy chunk of blood and ripped flesh. The Joker slapped the remains of the hostage's face with the gloves one more time. "I don't take crap," he muttered to the corpse.
He dropped the gloves beside the body and turned to leave. His hand was on the doorhandle when he remembered what it was the hostage has said. "And," he said, turning back to face the room. "I like my purple suit."