IRIS
Prologue – Name
Scars are souvenirs you never lose, the past is never far.
And did you lose yourself way out there?
Did you get to be a star?
Don't make you sad to know that life is more than who you are?
Grew up way too fast and now there's nothing to believe.
Reruns all become our history.
A tired song keeps playing on a tired radio,
And I won't tell 'em your name.
– "Name" Goo Goo Dolls
February 15, 2013
"MISTAH J!" Harley Quinn calls out from the door to the lair. "TEMPE AND I ARE BACK FROM OUR SHOPPING SPREE!"
"AND WE BROUGHT YA BACK SOME'N SPECIAL!" Temperance "Tempe" Bettencourt, the nuisance she is, screams from behind her new best friend, hands full of shopping bags. The blonde-pigtailed duo bounced into the room, throwing the bags on the empty couch. The Joker, who up until that point had been lounging lazily on the Lay-Z-Boy to the right of said couch, sat up and stretched, sucking nosily on his scars.
"You girls have fun?" he asks with mock enthusiasm.
"Of course we did Puddin'."
"We even got nice dresses to wear to that party for Harvey..." Tempe's voice drifted off for a moment as if she heard something worrisome. Her deep violet painted lips, however, pulled up into a smile. "I love this song! My high school sweetheart serenaded me with this song. At prom too! It was such an embarrassment to both of us! We left after that, I missed my crowning and everything. But we danced to the sounds of crickets in my tree-house for the rest of the night."
"Awww! Ain't that sweet Mistah J? I wish you would do that for me."
"Can it, Harls! I'm tryin' ta listen."
I said maybe
You're gonna be the one that saves me?
And after all
You're my wonderwall
The sounds of the British band Oasis softly drifted from the beat up radio in the corner. The Joker was sure it was possessed. It never worked when you wanted and played at the most random of times, never sticking to one station for too long. No one bothered to unplug it. It added a sense of excitement to an otherwise dull lair. And that was saying something, seen as though it was the Joker's lair.
"You okay, Mistah J?" Tempe asks, giggling when she realized what she said rhymed.
But the Joker didn't hear her. He was to far into his own memories, trying to figure out why his own heart leapt at the sound of the song. For the life of him he couldn't think of a sane reason (he had to chuckle at that. Sane... HA!) as to why it bothered him so much. It was like a dull throbbing ache in the back of his mind. Something told him it was important to remember, but the memory was locked so very deep within the bowels of his memory palace.
Tempe waved her hands in front of his face, failing at snapping with both.
The Joker blinked back to Earth and frowned at the annoying woman. "You know I hate when you do that, dollface..."
That insignificant little endearment is what proved to be the catlytic key to the dungeon door that released an empowering remembrance of a woman who knew the truth behind his scars; who had scars of her own. A woman he once stayed up with for three - no, five - days to watch 90210 from begining to end. A woman who, within a milisecond, had claimed his – and he hated to admit this, even way back then – heart.
A/n: Alright. Be nice here guys. I'm new to this ficdom. And before we get too far, I do realize that the Joker will be really OOC for a while. He'll become more "Jokery" as the story progresses. I promise. And if he doesn't feel free to flame all you want. I actually prefer them over the praises. I know I'm not perfect, don't treat me as such.
Ciao, Lyra