Disclaimer - I own nothing.
Hidden amongst the black umbrellas that blocked the rising bullets of rainwater, the Joker calmly observed the people sitting around him, taking a sip of tea from out of the chipped cup, broken like the vessel of a plant, a top of the shiny, white, saucer, the call of the clatters of china rattling around in an endless rythm. And though his makeup began to peel into specks of flakes as thin droplets of water fell from his hair down to his face, the smile was still intact, like the stuck picture of a screaming face.
Everybody moved around like scurrying ants running from the foot coming down on them, umbrellas up, hoods no longer down, and scarves and gloves out, though the Joker seemed to be the only one having something to smile about. It remained stuck in place like the tiles stuck to walls by grout, though underneath the mask he held, was a sadistic, conniving, sense of feeling. There was no such entertainment as watching the people of Gotham move around as if in a mad panick of chaos. And all of it over rain? Nobody seemed to live anymore. Was it all done in a sense of order? Did everybody plan something? What a waste.
The rain pelted down further, covering the streets in a small river, and the Joker remained sat at the table, masked amongst the hoods of umbrellas, fingers drumming on the cup as elbows lent upon the table, not unlike the people who sat jordy and upstraight, moaning and groaning on about the dreadful weather they were having. Was that the talk people made today? Rain, and weather, and things like plans?
Planning...
Everybody seemed to plan. From the mother who new the following morning she would be taking her twins to school, driving back into town to grab a coffee, and then heading straight to work until three o clock hit. The kids were picked up then, the supermarket was a stop off on the way home, and dinner was prepared as she made sure her children did their homework. And it was plannned like that five days a week. What about Batman? He may have not planned things, for could have he planned what would happen when he came out in his costume? But there were rules...
The flicker of Batman was lost like drawing back fog when his eyes observed the people with a mixed sense of sick, sadistic, pleasured humour, and insanity, the red, dripping cherry lips, curving wider upwards.
''Let's put a smile on that face'' The Joker paused as he drank the rest of his tea, gulping it all back in one big swig. ''Those faces''
And they were all lined up in a row against the bricked wall, hands tied together, legs straight, and faces covered in black cloths.
Batman drew from out of the shadows like a bat lurking in the darkest place of a rotting cave then, ready to strike, but before lieutenant Gordan even removed the cloths upon their faces, he knew they were already dead. There was no doubt as to who it was. The mob had better things to do than give a display of the death of their victims. They didn't find it a game; it was nothing but control, power, and money. Unlike the Joker, they didn't pause, lay low, and have rules.
But the Joker...He had no plans, and he cared not for money, or power and control...Only...
Batman stopped in his tracks as he observed them, and it was there, carved upon their faces in almost red illuminating curves. Faces were painted up in white powder, and the unmistakable Joker's trademark was set in place in each set of faces.
The sadistic, sharp, cutting, grin.
''Don't worry. We'll catch him.''
Batman ignored his words and followed the letters imprinted on each of their foreheads.
From start to finish.
SMILE.