A/N: Neither Joker nor the Dark Knight/Batman Begins movie belong to me. They are property of their respective creators.
Prompt was, "Sloppy. The last thing he needed was a commotion."


As I grabbed the man by the front of his shirt, close enough to smell the sour stench of his own nervous and frightened sweat, I shoved a hand into my jacket pocket, and fumbled around until I felt the smooth handle of one of the many knives in my possession.

Grasping the blade tightly I brought my hand out of my pocket with a mad flourish and placed the sharpest side of the knife against the man's cheek, his beady and piggy eyes widened in terror and his futile attempts at escape quickened, his large body convulsing, while his limbs flailed wildly.

Fighting for dominance, and not wanting to relinquish my position over the man, I quickly pressed the blade into his cheek, grinning as I did so, and feeling a rush of adrenaline I felt my grin widen into the gruesome smile I was known for and leaned in further, whispering into the man's ear.

"Why so serious?"

Unexpectedly the man twitched violently, taken by surprise the cut I had intended to slice his face neatly into a Glasgow smile had failed, and instead a jagged cut was produced.

Furious at the foil of my trademark, I threw the bleeding man down onto the floor and jumped onto him, in a frenzy I stabbed him anywhere I could, and when he finally lay still I threw my knife across the room and kicked the corpse brutally, nearly apoplectic with rage, and I was about to spit on the dead man, when I noticed the frothy mixture of blood and spit dribbling down his chin.

Disgusted yet enthralled I recalled a faint memory of my father.

His gaze was dark and condescending, his mouth previously tightened into a firm line was now moving, forming words, but I couldn't recall them clearly enough.

Shrugging the oppressive memory from my mind, I turned swiftly on my heel and made for the door, but just as my hand was on the doorknob the incompleted memory returned fully back to my remembrance. Startled Istole a furtive glance over my shoulder and eyed the sprawling pool of blood staining the white tile of the small room, the almost artistic splashes of crimson on the walls, and better yet, the haphazard, rosy-hued droplets that stained my grimy clothing. I narrowed my eyes in observance of the bleeding corpse, the man's face contorted into a most severe expression of morbid realization, and felt a frown tugging at my lips as the words of my father echoed in my head.

"Cleanliness is next to godliness..."

I turned away from the mess of a scene behind me and felt my lips split into an intimidating grin, my yellowed and grimy teeth were revealed as I felt myself shaking with a hollow and hoarse laughter at my father's expense.

Gloved hands frantically clutched at a bony ribcage, pitchblende eyes were squeezed shut, greasy, red lips were split into a mocking smile.

Heaven isn't close in a place like this anyways.