Author's Note: I've had this scene in my head now for four days. I couldn't focus on my other story until I forced this out. I really enjoy the dynamic between Joker/Batman, and thought I'd add another character who is like the Joker, but not. Like Batman, but not. I have no idea what I'm going to do with this. Whether this is going to be a Joker/OC or Batman/OC or neither. I would like to continue this as a story rather than a one-shot. At this point, I really don't know. It's up in the air. Let me know what you think.
She was going to take Gotham by storm. They wouldn't know what hit them. Twirling briefly in excitement, Verity lightly skimmed her slender hands along her arsenal laid out on the king-sized bed.
Lovingly, almost reverently, she picked up the Dior boutique outfit. A white t-shirt that read "We should all be feminists" and high-waisted black spandex shorts with a tulle skirt that flowed to her ankles over top. Quickly, she slipped them on, and danced to her full length oval mirror. She giggled at the feel of the skirt on her bare skin. It felt naughty wearing the sheer fabric.
As was her routine, she inspected her "look" with a critical eye. She did have a job to do after all. She had to be perfect. She grabbed the white Dior blazer and placed her arms inside. Twisting her body slightly, Verity inspected the Dior stamp on the back. Not too bold. But noticeable.
She wanted the brand seen.
Strolling back to the bed, she studied her options. She chose J'adior sunglasses that were white and black and placed them on her head like a bandanna. A Louise Vuitton handbag and a Chanel bracelet that matched the necklace that hung around her neck like a beacon.
To complete the ensemble, she stepped into plain, black ballet slippers.
Once again, she carefully inspected her reflection. Complexion. Flawless and rosy. Hair. Black curls glossy and bouncy. Satisfied, she kissed herself, leaving a red lip print on the glass.
Gazing into her violet eyes, her naturally husky voice whispered strongly, "Verity Thea, you know chaos made tea and cereal the same way. Milk first." Winking dramatically, she bowed. "It's show-time." And she laughed and laughed at her secret.
Two hours later, Verity was still laughing as she waltzed the streets of Gotham's sleazy parts of town. She wasn't in too deeply as Gotham's better establishments were mere blocks away. Not the best, but better. She was in far enough to be noticed.
Unbeknownst to her, there were two eyes watching her menacingly. She stuck out like a sore thumb. The elite knew better than to walk these streets, but every so often, the young ones were dumb enough to think their wealth gifted them immunity. Or drunk enough to lose their way.
Verity swayed, unable to walk in a straight line. She was an easy target as her off pitch voice washed away the sounds of the footsteps behind her. Her singing was atrocious, and everyone within a one block radius were doing their best to drown out the noise.
It helped that they were used to it.
Ducking in an alleyway, Verity ambled along slowly as her nails skimmed along the old brick building. She stopped and leaned against the dumpster to grab a smoke, clumsily fiddling in her purse, knocking the sunglasses out of the way to look for the lighter.
The cigarette was placed between her plump red lips when the voice angrily whipped her, "Hand over the bag."
Without looking up, she smiled around the cigarette.
"Oh my." Her voice was breathless in wonder. "Are you robbing me, sir?" Finally, she made eye contact with the blunt end of a gun. She frowned and inquired, "Can you at least let me light up?"
Perturbed that she wasn't showing the proper respect of fear, the thug ripped the designer bag out of her hands, resulting in her smoke bouncing on the dirty pavement. She sighed.
Annoyed that she wasn't screaming or blubbering over with cowardice, the thug shouted at her. "Now the jewelry! Hurry up!" He shoved the gun closer to her face, and she slowly raised her hands in the air.
Removing the bracelet from her wrist, she then held it up for his inspection. Innocently, she asked, "This Chanel piece here?"
His eyes lit up greedily as he snatched it from her hands. He eyed her up and down. "The rest of it." She hated the lust in his eyes. It would be removed.
She glanced down at the contaminated cigarette and calmly stated, "You really should have let me light that smoke. It changed your fate from bad to worse." His expression was dumbfounded. The brutes were always dim-witted. Rolling her eyes, she chided, "You should've learned the difference between designer brands and knock-offs. That's a $2 bracelet. That purse was $20 purchased from a black flea market. Tsk tsk. I've just wasted your time, haven't I?" Grasping the edges of her expensive looking necklace, she applied minimal pressure before the clasp snapped. Holding it on the tips of her fingers, she let it drop to the ground with a clatter.
While he slowly processed her words, she grabbed the pressure points of his wrist and twisted the gun down as she used the momentum to hop and kick off from the dumpster behind her. She flipped over his shoulder to execute the final move with just the slightest swipe of her free hand, metal glinting briefly against the lone light above their heads.
She landed with her back inches from his, knife in hand. The thug was silent. They always were in the end. Just as his knees hit the pavement, she twirled around to grab the fake purse before the thick puddle of blood pouring from his gaping throat could reach it.
"Yuck, that was close," she grimaced. She glanced at him dispassionately as he made soft gurgling sounds. "Oh good grief, just fall over and die already." Using her slippered foot, she pushed on his back until he fell in a sprawl on his face with a sickening splat.
And this was why she insisted on black shoes, she mused in distaste as she felt the warm droplets hit her ankles.
The blood seeped quickly under the dumpster. One less creep on the streets.
Suddenly, a voice growled from the other end of the alley in a forced, chipper gaiety. "Do I have to do everything around here? I hired you to do one thing. One thing. Wait by the car. How hard is that?" The voice was getting closer and closer in the darkened alley.
Verity turned just as the dark figure walked under the light, somehow managing to douse the light with his presence. She was used to thugs and criminals and simply did not react to him.
He, on the other hand, stopped in surprise as he took in the scene. Licking his lips, he glanced from the dead body on the ground to her silent figure. His appearance didn't surprise her, but his reaction did.
He laughed. He was laughing so hard he was bent over, slapping his knees. "Oh, uh, this is, this is just so…unexpected." Just as suddenly as he started, he stopped laughing and stared at her with raw menace. She arched her brow in response. "Now why did you have to go and kill my driver? I was using him." He held his hands out, palm up, as he licked his lips again before slapping his hands against his thighs. He studied her just as closely as she was studying him. Their reasons were polar opposites.
Shrugging her shoulders, she silently cleaned and holstered the knife back on her hip, where it was effectively hidden from view. The man noted the knife with interest. "He tried to rob me. Nothing personal."
His stare unnerved her, as if he were lifting all the veils of her life, piece by piece, uncovering all of what made Verity herself. "So, what's a beautiful gal like you doing in this part of Gotham? Getting robbed is the norm." His m sound ended with a smack of his lips.
She smiled down at the dead thug. "I already found what I was looking for." She giggled to herself and decided to bite with her own question. Looking him up and down, pointedly studying the face paint, she inquired, "Why are you dressed like a clown? You look like It's spawn."
His eyes were seemingly cold and lifeless as he stared at her. "You have no idea who I am, do you?" Everyone knew who he was. He was the Joker, feared by all. Good and bad. Yet this little slip of a girl looked him dead in the eye with no fear.
Just as he stared at everyone around him. No fear. He had just left the mob meeting. Slammed a man's head into a pencil to entertain them. Although he had been the only one amused. No one had a sense of humor anymore.
He was also armed to the teeth with bombs and various grenades.
And she didn't know who he was.
As if to rub that fact in, she shrugged dismissively. "I'm not from around here." Her fist tightened on the strap of her purse. "Now I'm going to go home and enjoy a quiet evening." Her eyes dared him to argue with her.
Circling her like a vulture intent on its prey, he clucked his tongue. "See, we have a little issue. You, uh, killed my driver. You owe me." He licked his lips again. Her eyes curiously watched the movement.
Her husky laugh hit him like tiny little toothpicks. He stopped in front of her, much closer than before, as he imagined shoving a grenade down her throat. He had the perfect size too.
But…he had to admit, she was interesting. He needed to see fear in her eyes first. Otherwise, what was the fun?
Her eyes were narrowed on him. "I'm not going to be your bus boy." She stepped forward until she was nearly nose to nose with him. Or she would have been if she had reached further than the top of his shoulder. The Jokers eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline as he realized that she was trying to intimidate him. "No one tells me what to do," she growled at him. That sound was deliciously aggravating.
She tapped his chest lightly. He didn't look down until she tapped again. Harder. Impatiently.
In her small hand rested a grenade, her thumbnail pulling against the clip. He grinned at it.
So unexpected. So delightfully refreshing.
He laughed as he opened the lapels of his jacket and scrutinized her as she serenely glanced over the multiple explosives inches from his chest.
Nearly holding his breath, he waited for her reaction. She didn't disappoint.
She laughed, a rich husky sound. Eyes twinkling, she offered, "Looks like we're at an impasse." She saluted him.
"So it seems." He closed his purple jacket.
Fearlessly, she spun around and strode confidently out of the alley. As if she thought they were done.
They were far from done.