Proof that I AM working on my Batman fic...or at least keeping my fellas in mind. I just need some patience in my current madness.
Rated: T for language and violence.
Disclaimer: Don't own DC or or make any money. I just love to f*ck with their characters...
I-C-U-C-ME
Unnaturally green eyes glare at themselves in the cracked, gilded mirror. Green. Too green. Have those eyes ever been anything else? Could they have once been hazel or brown? Could they have always been this surreal color? Had those eyes been born to a human? Or simply opened one day and decided to walk away? Why do those eyes hate so much of what they see? The nearly neon orbs glance away from themselves. They can never look for too long.
Instead they travel down to the ruby red, ghastly elongated and exaggerated smile. The green eyes know that smile has not always been there. It isn't there all of the time even now. To prove to the eyes that the smile can do it, the red lips curl downward, trying their damnest to touch the corners of that long, pale chin. The outcome is the same as it has always been. A writhing wave of long red lips, scarred flesh and paint, all stretching crookedly along a thin face.
The emerald eyes cast themselves away from the crooked line of ruby to rove around a dull pale canvas of healing bruises, swelling, and scars. That transparent, albino skin could shine in the night without a single moonbeam. It shrieks its presence and demands to be seen. It insists on not being ignored. It bares the coloring welts with an almost gleeful contempt. 'Look at me!' It screams. LOOK. AT. ME.
Squinting until nearly closed, the gaze travels further down to the long, nearly feminine neck sitting atop a lanky, stringy body. The hairless chest is just as outrageous and arrogant as the face. It laughs at the gaze, belying the strength and resilience of the muscle hidden beneath its compact form. New purple and old green welts form a more coherent muraling on this canvas. Stripes outline and shadow the nearly too prominent ribcage. One of the underlying supports under the ghostly skin is separated from itself and glances off crookedly in the wrong direction. Horrifying.
Bony hips disappear beneath purple pinstripe fabric that continues to the floor, and wraith-like arms enfold themselves around the ghastly figure they are connected to. The muscles in those long, seemingly never-ending appendages are more prominent near the shoulder and biceps, but still underrates the power behind the slight form.
This.
This is the form a monster takes. A ghost, a straw man, a spider, a mad dog, a snake. All of the things a child fears may lie in waiting under their bed or in their closet. The perfect vehicle for a creature that fears nothing and that can induce fear without trying; that induces fear without lifting a gaunt extremity or even turning eyes toward the intended victim.
Piercing green eyes flick back at themselves and turned away once again. Enough - the look says in disgust. Enough.
The Joker gingerly shrugs back on his purple shirt and hurriedly buttons it to his clavicle. Then adds his favorite vest to give himself the illusion of more substance. His injuries are clean and on the mend for the most part. The clown turns away from the sight of himself and pulls his revolver from his pants pocket. Without looking, he tossed his arm over his shoulder and fires until glass is heard to shatter behind his back.
He is temporarily deafened on that side and has to irritatedly turn his stiff neck to the henchman that huffs the announcement that Joker's arch-nemesis was just seen a block and a half away. A new, bright smile creeps onto long, jagged lips.
Maybe tonight the Batman will kill him.
The Clown Prince strides to a nearby desk and slams open the drawer beneath the tabletop, hurriedly stuffing slugs back into his still warm revolver. Can't come off as easy now, can he? Once all barrels are full, he turns again, facing the once again empty room. None of his henchmen stick around any longer than necessary. His appearance strikes fear into all.
Joker takes the fire escape from the office he is occupying and slides gracefully down the last rail wrung, landing lightly on his feet and strolling easily down the street. He doesn't even have to walk the full block and a half before the Dark Knight meets him in the middle of a deserted alley. The double murder of that elderly couple he had orchestrated earlier in the day must have reached certain batty ears.
"Joker," the dark figure before him growls, "Why?!"
Without another word or even time for anything but a quick giggle from him, Batman launches himself at the madman, tugging his collar into a gloved fist and lifting Joker slightly, forcing the villain onto the tips of his toes. Piercing blue eyes glare defiantly into his own mutated green one.
And don't look away.
Seconds tick by and the hard gaze never turns away from his own monstrous one. Not once.
A lazy smile forms on Joker's ruby lips, a smile that dances into the eyes without tugging too much on the chalky skin. The blue eyes of his opponent don't waver from his carefree gaze. He knows they won't, either.
He knows Gotham's Dark Knight doesn't look at him to perceive his unnatural eyes, lips, and skin. No. This other creature looks at him to see HIM. His reasons and thoughts. His ideas and perceptions. His core.
His...dare he think it? Soul.
"Darling," the clown whispers, "I did it for you."
Author Note: Sorry just a quick little snippet of Joker. I love his dysfunction.