Hello, my loves and welcome to Honey & Sulpur's sequel. Think of this as the introduction. This story is alot darker than the previous one. This contains, sexuality, racial slurs, violence, degrodation, multilation, and above all the terrible things mankind refuses to acknowledge. Please do not read if you cannot take it. This is not a reflection on the views of me the writer or my lovely readers. Please do NOT message me about how much it offends you because frankly I couldn't care less. I have never censored myself and I never will.

Hope you enjoy.
With love,
Valentina LaFontaine.

A pale man sat in a cold metal chair which was bolted down to the floor. He didn't look at the two way glass mirror that was on both sides of the room. He stared straight forward. Detective Gordon watched from behind the mirror at the pale man. He didn't seem scared, happy, sad, angry or showed any emotion at all. He looked blank and cold almost dead, at least in the eyes. He was dressed from head to toe in black . His hair was straight and jet black with no shine of color. He wore a long sleeved black shirt, and black pants that looked faded from constant washing. His steel toe boots hid under his black pants. He calmly smoked a cigarette his eyes still solidly fixed on the foor.

"What did he do?" Gordon asked to his partner Gerald O'Connor who was staring at the man with pure hated written on his face. "He was caught robbing a bank, killing nine people and got left behind." O'Connor sighed. "Apprantly he works for the Clown Prince of Crime himself. He was wearing Mime clown make up but he washed it off."

Gordon nodded. "Is he saying anything?"

"Nope." O'Connor said scratching the back of his neck. "All he asked was for a pack of cigarettes." Gordon sighed and watched him for a few more seconds and finally worked up the courage to walk into the interrogation room. He walked into the room and haulted. Not from the creepy man sitting in front of him but from the bright lights beaming down on him. Once he did he walked forward and got a better look at the silent man. He was thin but not gnagly and his light hazel eyes stood out even more from the black charcoal under his eyes from the clown make up.

"Mime?" he asked.

The man looked up and stared into Gordon's eyes trying to read him, he nodded. Gordon felt a small chill com up his spine and linger. His gaze was so cold, and callous he could read his mental state from his pupils. His gaze wasn't one of a criminal but a man filled with a raoaring sadistic rage behind the calm demeanor. Gordon took a seat in front of him, and both men stared at each other. Mime was the first to make a move. His actions were so slow it made Gordon suspicious. He wrapped his thin fingers around the box of cigarettes and extended his arm slightly. Gordon shook his head. "No thanks, I quit." Mime nodded and placed the cigarette box back on the metal table.

"Do you know why you were arrested?" Gordon asked. Mime pondered and then finally answered with a slight nod. Though he said he knew Gordon opened the manilla folder and revealed it's contents. "You've been working with the Joker for some time now." He said, fingering through the crisp white papers. "For about six years now. It's odd. We've never seen the same people alive who've been associated with the Joker. Why have you Jester, and Mad Cap survived?"

Mime was silent for a bit then shrugged. Gordon rolled his eyes and placed a finger to his temple. "You're not much of a talker, are you?"

"No." Mime said finally. His voice was fairly deep and in strict monotone. "Hench the title Mime."

Gordon nodded and took out a note book pad and a blue pen. He clicked the top of the blue pen and placed it a milimeter away to the paper. "So tell me something about the Joker."

Mime finished his cigarette and smashed it into the metal table. He clasped his hands together. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything and anything you can tell me." Gordon said. Mime cracked his knuckles and his neck and tapped his chin with his pale fingers. "Hmm, where to begin?" he asked.

"Depends. What would you like to discuss?"

Gordon thought for a second. "How about you? Anything at all. Your family, beliefs, that piece of jewelry around your neck." He pointed to the pentagram and inverted cross around Mime's neck. He looked down and stroked it between his index finger and thumb. "It was given to me personally by the High Priest of the Church of Satan."

"Oh?" Gordon asked, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. "And why do you keep it?"

"The same reason why old ladies keep a cross around their neck. Not only to show their religious devotion but for some mystical protection." His cold eyes stayed on Gordon and with his every move they rested. His voice was icy and never drifted from it's monotone octave.

"So you think these.. symbols protect you?"

"Oh I don't think it. I know it." he corrected. "In many instances it saved my life. Not from the Joker but from your guns. Hell only knows where I would be without them by my side." He carrassed it again making Gordon squirm more.

"Are you a Christian?" Mime asked, Gordon.

"Yes I am."

"Why?"

"I was raised that way."

"Does your work ever effect that belief? I'm sure you've seen what people like me have done to this city. Does it make you question that maybe this is God's way of punishing this city like he punshied Sodom and Gomorrah? Or maybe you think that there is no God at all. Only the devil." Mime sneered at him. Gordon didn't respond only scribbled down notes.

"So that's what you think I think?"

"It was a simple question Detective. You could've answered yes or no."

"What I believe is none of your business." Gordon snapped back, reminding himself not to lose his composure. It's what Mime wanted after all.

"Oh really? I thought you Christians were so eager to save someone from the depths of their own vice that you must show how holy you are. Or are you feeling the holy spirit on Sunday?"

Gordon scribbled something down on his paper but Mime's eyes didn't move from him. "So what else do you believe Mime?"

"Why does it matter? You'll only use it against me in a court of law. I believe in what everyone else secretly believes but don't have the courage to say it."

"And that is?"

"How many children do you have?"

The question shocked Gordon for a second. He squinted and placed a finger to his temple. "What? I don't think that's important Mime."

"But you do have children?"

"I rather not answer."

Mime sneered at him again and nodded. "Okay. Lets say hypthetically you have children. For lack of a better example, three children. Two of the oldest ones were just fine. Healthy, smart, and beautiful. However lets just say the youngest is horribly deformed. I don't mean he has a lazy eye or a crooked nose. I mean he's more of a Quasimodo. So deformed that he's unbearable to look at. He could barely see and he could barely move because of that ugly hump on his back. What would you honestly do?"

"I would love it and take care of it."

"Let him see the light of day?"

"Yes."

"Even though he'd faced ridicule and the crueltly of man everyday?"

"Yes."

"Now that's absolute evil."

"How so?"

"You're giving him hope." Mime replied, folding one arm over the other. "That's cruel. You're making him believe that he can be normal like the rest of us. That he's healthy but when he gets out into the world he'll wonder why they make fun of him and treat him horribly and whose fault would it be for his woe but only you. If that were my son I would take him out to the woods and shoot him painless in the back of the head so he would never know real mental anguish. It's best after all. It keeps out the undesirables from infecting the strong." Mime finished, and took another drag from his cigarette.

"I believe all life is precious. No matter who or what it is. And even though you've done some horrible things I would never take away your life unless it was to defend a innocent one."

"Innocent?" Mime asked frowning. "Is that your justification? You would justify killing me for a 'innocent' life? How do you know that person was innocent? If something bad happens to them, then they must've done something to deserve God's wrath."

"Bad things happen to good people."

"And good people do bad things, correct?"

Gordon sighed and put his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "Yes."

"So if we all do bad things then no one is innocent."

"If you want to look at it that way, then yes.

"So why would you justify in killing me for a person who may or may not be innocent?"

"Lets move on." Gordon replied slowly losing patience. "So did the Joker alter your vision of the pure race of people? That anyone who is slightly deformed must be put to death for the good of society."

"No, absolutely not."

"Then what did?"

"I guess I always believed it. I think even you know it would be easier but because of your beliefs it clouds your judgement. You can't just look at one spot of color, Detective you have to look at the entire painting."

"What has the Joker taught you? Anything at all?"

"Exactly what I told you before hand. I don't live behind the common belief. I don't dress normal, I don't pretend to be anything I am not. I don't live behind a mask, I am that I am but more."

Gordon sighed and returned his pen to his notepad. "What's your real name Mime?"

"Roy Orbison."

"Seriously."

"Alright, alright. Johnny Cash."

"Look Mime if you-."

"Humbert Humbert." Blake said with a sick twisted grin on his face. Gordon stuffed his note pad and pen into his coat pocket turned around and walked out the door. He wasn't going crazy because of Mime but he needed to remain professional no matter how many buttons he pushed. He decided to run across the street and get a coffee then maybe come back. As he walked out he heard Mime's voice echo throughout the room.

"Awww leaving so soon? Come back when you want to chat some more."

It's really short I know. It's more of a teaser, more to come soon my loves. :) Keep reading.

Valentina LaFontaine.