Word had spread like the venomous panic-inducing toxin, courtesy of the LEAGUE OF SHADOWS that had nearly ensnared Gotham with the force of bio-terrorism.
The JOKER had been caught in a high-octane chase of mass murder, bazooka style – all ending with the Batman nearly tasting the gleam of his eccentric yet anarchic nemesis blade.
Detective Ilyria Kreeley slammed Gotham One Police Plaza's conjoining doors not caring who was standing in her way.
Her penetrating hazels, normally fierce and resolute now held an almost savage dissociation as she scanned the now bustling information desk manned by 3 burly evidence cops wearing superior smirks across their features that she had to fight the impulse to smack.
Almost scowling, Ilyria shivered at whom these cops unconsciously mimicked with uncanny accuracy.
Pushing past reporters, eager to record personal statements Ilyria made a sharp right shoving open a door that led to the 'tank' or more appropriately referred to 'the holding cell'.
Her shoulder length auburn locks flowed wildly out of her loosened ponytail, the kevlar vest tossed forgotten upon the heap of the hallway hamper revealing a royal blue fitted tank hidden underneath a pitch black sleeved cotton shirt (all buttons forgotten).
"We got that sick fuck! And you'll never guess who caught him – WHO..."
Yeah, WHO is right.
The call had came in at a very inconvenient time – a blinding moment of psychotic bliss and sadistic pleasure that came at the end of a crackling whip and to be consumed with the heat of battle.
Especially after what happened at the Mayor's speech...
After who The Joker shot and took away from her.
A seething wrath dilated wild and primal in her orbs as she reached the crux of her journey – the entrance to the tank area.
Not that he was hers anyway.
Game face on Kreeley. Ilyria practically growled the warning at herself.
The door groaned at her effort, turning all attention upon her arrival in a very unwanted way.
Stop looking at me you corrupt mother fuckers!!! Ilyria's furious gaze commanded
Still that didn't stop most of Gotham's male officers from sizing her up, instinctually undressing her with their eyes and then key the instinctual self-deprecation for "freak lust".
Crimes of Deviance within a cesspool city of corruption laved Ilyria like a rolling crimson flag, an ingrained trigger to assail and mark as her own.
Not out of a deranged fascination, but something more unconsciously rooted she needed to examine.
MINE. SO FUCK OFF. Greet them with a grin and send them packing.
Most didn't want the 'Freak' cases – unless they were high profile.
Of course that made them sound like an inflated ass in an international telecast. Trying to understand and explain men they fully didn't comprehend themselves.
Ilyria's personal favorite was the bumbling self-righteous prick Lieutenant Marvin Vincent's tendency to interchange the DSM-IV's psychopath with psychotic while the resident psychologist and her shook their heads and shared a united roll of the eyes.
Naturally, Ilyria's silent yet personal claim to FREAK Cases, detective's personal label, created easy coercion to seek 'professional' help.
They could talk about her all they wanted and despite the fact that she carried a badge and enforced 'the law' – she was an anomaly they didn't know how to deal with.
Some even dared to cop a feel and ended up with more than a busted jaw – too humiliated to decode nor divulge to an emergency room or a superior officer what she had done without implicating themselves.
All except Lieutenant Jim Gordon.
As soon as his warm blues fell upon her through the shield of his glasses, he broke into a irresistible grin and a somewhat humbled expression as though invoking her thoughts.
"Ilyria..." Jim breathed excitedly
"Back from the dead." Ilyria bit her lower lip as he continued to look her over with that damn dread brotherly concern.
Instantly, a tumultuous applause broke with boisterous thunder from the cell.
All eyes peeled from Gordon to drink in their anarchic terrorist with a tidal wave of societal discrimination and repulsion – whose palms slapped together through the cell bars as though secretly devouring the situation with an rapture none could understand.
Ilyria's penetrating gaze widened to slits wanting to punish (peripheral view landed on the Joker's penchant for blades), torture to insanity (oops! too late), taste (what the fuck?!) but more importantly know what it is that created a man that wanted to watch the world burn.
"Do you want to know why I use knives?"
The Joker had once accosted her at Bruce Wayne's fundraiser for Gotham's White Knight, Harvey Dent. All because she had stood up to him when the rest fell silent too afraid to challenge this 'deviation' of man. They knew little about her own obsession where punk begins and anarchy crosses the border to madness..
The Joker had arrived, chaos in the form of clown minions with automatic machine guns, striding in with a deranged flair that sent affluent party guests creeping into shadowy corners for safety.
"Good. EVEning. Ladies. And. GENTLE – MEN." The Joker greeted, his speech unique in its disorder to have a mind of its own "We. ARe tonight's – Entertainment."
Ilyria had been standing catty corner to her stalwart pushing 40 yet still damn sexy partner, Jim Gordon. Both were required to attend due to the suspected hits the Joker had ominously warned them of.
Protect and Serve. Blah. Blah. Blah.
Formal attire – still she decided she would feel a lot better in a sexy spaghetti strap black number (v-neck in the front and dare to bare her smooth ivory skin in the back). Something she would never even consider – only a glass of Bacardi summoned up her courage.
Jim had barely recognized her when he first set his kind blues upon her – looking quite fine in a classy black and white tux. She knew he hated to dress up as much as she despised shopping.
Male instinct had dared to drink in her smooth round peeks of breasts that teased most guests upon her entrance. Even Bruce Wayne had gone momentarily speechless.
She wasn't into rich men.
Jim's pock marked cheeks instantly blushed at his inability to sever his prolonged gaze from an area of his partner he had never been privy to.
"She's so damn beautiful Jim." His wife had mused teasingly "I'm just shocked she's not with someone. You don't think she's – well you know."
"She's not playing for the other team Caroline. Ilyria could have her pick of them." Jim said firmly
Mind out of the gutter Gordon!
Forcing a coy smile, Jim offered her a champagne glass and spied a rather fresh set of slashes upon her toned arms.
"What happened here?" Jim traced the cuts with his fore finger trying to retain a clear inspection.
Ilyria shut her lids trying to ignore how good and tender his touch felt on her skin – hoping to God, that it wouldn't make her wet.
She couldn't do this to Caroline! She wasn't going to Angelina Jolie her way into any relationship. Now that's a cunt worth taking out.
He's taken! He has a family!
"Have I missed the excitement or will I need a little something something to take the edge off?" Ilyria prompted changing subjects
That of course is when the Joker made his flare for the dramatic – bullets piercing parting of the crowd entrance.
Jim had instantly grabbed his side arm only to remember that security had collected his 38 up front.
The Joker was now slurping from a champagne glass, his dissonant at odds with the world tone returned fragmented as he engaged a truly repellant peroxide blonde thing.
"Where. Is. Gotham'.Knight." The Joker tapped the end of one of his favorite gleaming blades at her forehead "Har-vey. Dent. ..Or.I'm. ..Carved. Intentions."
Yeah -OKAY.
"Then I suggest you start with me instead." Ilyria's tone, clear and commanding magnetized the Joker's caked with war paint makeup face to her.
His disheveled, wild green waves, crowned the mocking cackle that appear to echo like shattered glass in his dark brown pools complimenting his voice.
"Well –hel-lo. Beautiful."
He pivoted, his smart custom purple two piece (dramatically offensive to the upper crust – Bruce Wayne included) hung open to reveal a lime green diamond cut vest over a powder blue button down shirt.
Something appear to twitch, glisten and burn in this strange man's orbs as he appeared to devour her with an intensity that would made any normal woman tremble.
"Ahhh. Aren't you a feast for the eyes – Detective." The tip of the Joker's tounge parted through the cherry bomb red malevolent near plaster grin, flicking with the basic primal instinct as he approached.
"Ilyria – What are you doing?" Jim whispered hoarsely from behind her as the Joker started to groom his untamable green waves with the blade as though it serviced as a personal grooming appliance.
As the Joker closed the distance between them, she was greeted with what most consider a rather ghastly discovery – scars corroded the corners of his smooth mouth into an everlasting hideous grin.
Hideous yes. And yet - Enthralling beyond compare.
Mesmerized at being this close to the anarchic terrorist that plagued their city enveloped her with an unwanted and unwarranted emotion.
Want.
With the speed of a wily fox, The Joker pulled her into a vise – like grip (he was unexpectedly strong for his lanky frame) and inhaled deeply. Fresh strawberries.
Want and heat sang throughout every vessel of pandemonium that contaminated his blood.
"And. You Are. Beautiful." The Joker murmured, his dissonant tone raspy
His blade tickled her striking cheekbones as though The Joker was caressing her smooth skin with his own palm.
"Want to know how I got my scars?"
///////
"Excellent work for a dead man (pauses for effect) Commishoner." Mayor Knox slapped an elated palm upon the speechless yet humbled Jim Gordon's shoulders at these words.
An embarrassed yet secretly pleased smile surfaced at Jim Gordon's mouth.
"We all worked as a team effort, sir."
Out of his peripheral view, Jim noticed something dangerous and wet burn daggers from his loyal ally and partner from across the room.
Her jaw clenched, parted slightly as though to speak (thought better of it) and turned on her heel – the resounding slam not lost on Jim Gordon.
He had purposefully left her out of it. For her own safety.
Jim's heart tugged at the thought of her not forgiving him and knew it would be nothing to the onslaught he would experience when he confronted his bereaved wife.
Something green and wild caught his attention inside the cell.
The Joker's deep piercing browns, glassy and slick, burned intense and prolonged upon the tank door. Not looking directly at the door but through the door.
Jim cringed at the dark thoughts the Joker was entertaining as he caught his fixated gaze and winked.
//////// Cell Duty Interrogation Room
The two - sided glass iris in upon the mocking clown smirking triumphantly with a sort of creepy knowing that made the newly appointed Commissioner apprehensive.
Gordon had grilled him for three hours, while the shackled Joker gorged his proclivity to provoke with a relish that he had never met before.
Soft light, calm Joker, Batman materialized unknown behind his mangled nemesis.
Ilyria gasped as the Batman throttled the stunned yet apparently pleased Joker to the hard monelum floor. Thrashing wildly the cackling war painted mad man with the Black Dahlia grin as though egging him on demanding more.
"There's not-ting jaw...can do to hurt me. (more mocking disconnected laughter as though the Batman were pining him down to tickle him instead of walloping him with a manic frenzy) With all. jaw strength. (cackles at being bludgeoned face first into the two-sided mirror, glass shattering)"
"FUCKER!! That's my job!!!!" Ilyria pounded furiously on the two - sided mirror.
A firm hand now clasped her ready to strike palm. The same hand that had considerately traced her own scars and sent all sorts of confusing emotions through her.
"Ilyria stop! He can get answers we can't." Jim Gordon insisted, his tone soothing
Her emerald pools narrowed to frenzied slits upon the partner she once trusted with her life. Jim felt his breath leave him.
Ilyria had never glowered at him (like she did the other perps or male detectives) like that.
"Get the hell away from me!" Ilyria pushed past Jim only to have him block her with his right arm and usher her into the vacant hallway outside.
"Talk to me." Jim's kind blues pleaded with her trying to soften the fury that now seared him whole.
"Oh, I don't think you want to hear what I have to say Gordon."
Ilyria glared
(Jim cringed at this – Ilyria had always referred to him by his Christian name, she left the last name for the other 'pricks')."
"I'm sorry I couldn't let you in on this. Only three people-"
"Like the Batman?" cold as ice "You trust some costumed vigilante than you do me?!"
"Its not like that. I wouldn't jeopardize your life."
"No this only tells me one thing – that I don't have your trust." Ilyria's tone trembled slightly at this and Jim felt an arctic wave crash over him "I thought I knew you. I didn't know you at all."
Jim suddenly grappled her, staring her down, his blue orbs wet and sad.
"You do know me. If things were different – in another life perhaps."
OH GOD! Kill me now!
Really just pull out my heart, saute in stir fry and serve it up to the Joker.
Jim stared at her with a humble knowing – he knew what she felt for him.
RIGHT THERE – THAT MOMENT WAS WHEN THE WORLD STOPPED AND SLOWED DOWN.
Ilyria actually felt something shatter indiscriminately inside her. She felt warped and dissociated from the world around her.
"ILYRIA?" Jim's amiable tone snapped her attention suddenly back on him.
"You should go home. See your wife. Your family. I'm going (pregnant pause) to stay." Ilyria said, storm crackled in her orbs as she sauntered silently away.
/////////
Her deadened gaze, wet and salty, fixed with considering RAPTURE.
An assortment of eight magnificent blades, varying degrees of silver menacing, gleamed breathtaking and luminous upon the foundation of Evidence desk.
Ignoring the drunkards and the Joker's minions settled into a lethargic repose in the tank, Ilyria sauntered forward indifferent to all.
Crouching with a wild intensity, Ilyria inspected each with a fondness that would make most uncomfortable, her deep pools enviously admiring the curve of each.
The way the light caught each tip – Ilyria drew in a sharp intake of breath.
There was a beauty found in blades. This she knew personally – intimately.
They were so honest. You could get the truth far more willingly with a blade – a gun was so impersonal. So quick.
The Joker had shared this warped insight, while he caressed the tip of a slender blade across her striking features with a heat she never saw coming.
He would never know that this was something she already understood – with perfect clarity.
She would always remember the first time she cut herself – right between her inner thighs.
Slicing so deep she felt light-headed. Yet, her body sung with a misplaced relief she couldn't fathom. Alive.
"YOU'RE REMEMBERING." the on-staff psychologist glimpsed in a hour session earlier that day.
Vivid hallucinations maybe – surely not a repressed memory.
"What the human mind is capable of is extraordinary. Its protecting you from the truth until you're ready. Are you ready?"
"Uh...Detective Kreeley?"
Stifling a groan for this very unwanted interruption, Ilyria took some solace in the uneasiness in a second year sergeant's 22 years old tone.
"You found me." was the borderline reply that was lost on the just out of the rookie zone's ears.
"Commissioner Gordon needs you in the interrogation room."
the nervous Sergeant stated eager to be relieved from his shift
Amusement flashed in those deep emerald pools, the effect of which gave her an almost maniacal appearance that left the young Sergeant unsettled.
"Huh. 'Kay." was the recede to 'normal' reply,
Ilyria granted him with an encouraging smile. Finally, the Sergeant fingered his standard crew cut swearing he needed to catch more zzzs when he knocked off.
Well, he APPEARED convinced.
"Tell me Sergeant – what was the Commishoner's instructions?"
Ilyria gripped the end of the evidence table, leaning comfortably in the side.
"He asked for someone he could trust to guard our anarchic clown. No one will go near him after the Batman wailed on him. Still this Joker kept on laughing. (as an afterthought) Wonder why that is..." The Sergeant mused
"A man who wants to watch the world burn cannot be contained or destroyed by those sworn to protect it."
Ilyria answered, as though this conclusion was universal knowledge
"There is a sort of freedom in not being bound to society and its laws."
The Sergeant stared in wonder if not confused by this theory as the pair of law upholders passed the Evidence desk.
Splayed twinkling and ready to be reclaimed by their constrained Master – all seven.
As Detective Kreeley climbed the stairwell leading into the main hall, she could distinctly feel the cold slender handle brushing up against her right hipbone.
At the Ready.
WANT.
///////////
A sliver of blinding ultra-violet protruded, bold and brazened, the edge of the heavy fortified door to Interrogation Room # 1 left slightly ajar.
The stale smell of blood and sweat wafted into the hallway – the rebuffed efforts of the dark knight crusader (brooding and frustrated).
Dr. Maddox, a seasoned forensic physician, slipped into the hallway appearing pasty and repugnant.
"Sicko won't let me look at him. (grinds his teeth)"
Drinking in her sunken eyes, her emerald pools maintaining a dilated and wild quality – the effect of which was only enhanced by her now sallow appearance.
Oddly enough, she never looked more entrancing.
"Detective – you okay? You don't look well."
Dr. Maddox asked out of habit but quickly refuted the query due to her partner's sudden 'resurrection'.
Poor kid – must have taken its toll.
"Huh?" Ilyria asked snapping to attention at the thought of being addressed as though he cared (Whatever) "Never. Better."
"Good luck with (searching for an appropriate label for his uncooperative patient) – our resident psychotic bank robber."
Dr. Maddox clamped her limp palms around a First Aid Kit
Ilyria grimaced slightly as his elbow accidentally grazed her left arm as he past in a huff down the hall.
Wild green waves matted around his war paint scarred features, rogue strands wildly jutted out caked in blood – his head tilted forward (not in defeat, but anticipation).
Back arched against the wall, sitting with a defiant chin – eyes narrowed mockingly upon the next predictable manipulation that strode across that threshold, fists balled.
His dark brown orbs, fragmented and glistening – very much the same gleam the edge of his blades (oh, how he did miss them) caught in the light – bore deeply into the next guard (how interesting) and flickered with a keen sort of understanding.
"De-tect-ive." in a rather you-can't-fool-me tone, his gaze penetrating drinking in the full results of what he glimpsed traces of, dark and borderline, back at the Bruce Wayne Fundraiser.
"You're eyes are - different."
The Joker caught on faster than the rest.
Her hazel pools were still deep and rich – an emerald haze of riveting proportions that fascinated him. Now that bore into him with a savage intensity, lingering purposefully on his scars.
She smiled at this – it wasn't one of ridicule or malicious intent – something else entirely (the very exposure of which he was not yet privy to).
Ilyria sauntered straight over to him (the very action advised against) and dropped the First Aid Kit just in front of his heels, her eyebrow arched – her emerald pools wild and shattered up close.
"Ohh...You've. Changed." The Joker marveled (in his normal disorder with continuous speech).
Crouching in front of him (oh, bad idea Detective), hazel pools seared into his like a laser (so damn pretty though).
"Rivet-ing. Beautiful." The Joker inhaled deeply, delirious drunk on her intoxicating scent. "And you still. Smell like. Strawberries."
Surprise danced so fleeting in those liquid pools of emerald fire, the Joker was near certain it was a trick of the ultra-violet until her orbs crackled with a feral ferocity.
How addictive this woman could be.
She towered above him, legs beautifully arched – the sides of her smooth chocolate boots clamped against his thighs.
The Joker must have caught sight of the slick silver handle of his blade crevice possessively against the smooth succulent arch of her hipbone.
Both of those penetrating orbs, glossy dark brown remnants contracted with an insatiable hunger.
"I thought you were going to start with CARVED INTENTIONS."
And then without another word, she pulled apart the bottoms of the buttoned black cotton (much like a curtain being open) shirt, her dark emerald pools flashing dangerously maniacal.
If what the Joker bore witness to, in any way surprised him – his scarred expression remained ambiguous, his dark brown gaze unreadable.
A legion of lacerations scarred an intricate web, some old scars, were freshly breached for they now oozed a rich crimson across her luscious ivory skin.
His eyes now glisten slick and wet as Ilyria removed the handle from the rim of her pants and wielded the butterfly blade as though it were an extension of her arm.
Sick of hiding them.
"Can't (slices deeply into her inner forearm) feel it anymore."
The tip of the Joker's rather long tongue, throbbed and flicked against the insides of his scarred mouth – finally, his tongue parted victoriously through his lips and curled beckoningly out to her.
One long satisfying lick from the Joker's pulsating long tongue, his dark shattered gaze penetrating hers (watching her watching him) as he savored the taste of her and her blood nearly sent her over the edge.
She had never been touched like that before. His tongue, his touch and his taste were electric.
"Um. Strawberries.." The tip of the Joker's tongue smoothed her blood, flicking against his scars.
RIGHT THERE – she came in her pants.
Her chest quaked, her breathing becoming shallow as Ilyria tried to quell and clamp her prelude to orgasm.
Narrowing his gaze, studying her with a pointed intensity as though searching for her thoughts – something instinctually hidden became conspicuous from her turbulent expression.
Snapping his right palm completely around her now gaping wound, the indentation of his thumb purposefully smearing the blood up and down stroking.
"Don't try to fight it. Part of jaw nature. (his deep orbs burned hers searing her to the core with a knowing she wasn't ready to want)"
Sling-shot himself up, his now surprisingly tall frame towered hers. Not releasing his sudden brute strength around the naked skin of her mid-arm, he whipped her around until his entire lanky yet virile frame encompassed her from behind.
"Jaw trying to fight. Who you REALLY are – DON'T." (The Joker's voice now husky, his breathing choppy and hot against the nape of her neck) "Jaw trying to be like them. And we both KNOW – you're not."
Hyperaware of the drumming of his heart, lashing like thunder into her back until they melded into one – all the time his crotch denying her of its presence.
Damn!
"You're a FAREEK Ilyria (drawing in a sharp intake of breath at the insertion of her name)" The Joker basked in this not with cruelty but with solidarity "Like me."
Retrieving the forgotten butterfly blade from a pile of shattered glass and dried blood, the Joker tapped a shard of glass against her smooth ivory throat.
"Now jaw. Just going to have to – Trust me." The Joker wrapped his arms, immobilizing hers – restricting any movement. "Do not. Plan on – Killing you."
Delicious warmth permeated through his diamond shaped blue shirt piercing his lime green vest assaulting all her senses.
Her nipples hardened, pointed dangerously through her cotton spaghetti strap gray lined top.
"FUCK!" Ilyria slipped out, her breath choppy as the Joker began to usher her forward towards the interrogation room door – torn between a storm of hated arousal at an inappropriate interval.
His piercing shattered gaze followed hers yonder, burning surprised at the delectable sight that greeted him.
"Let's a fix that." The tips of the Joker's surprisingly cold fingers, long, olive and smooth (wonder if the rest of him is like this) replaced each button with a crafty dexterity covering her.
His palms hovered above the rim of her waist, lingering as though he may stroke the area but retracted his grasp in precision over her shoulders.
3 Minutes Later...
Footsteps clicked hurried and ear pricking against the worn pavement of the mammoth Gotham City tank – the attention of which barely a cause for alarm amongst on duty senior and rookie cops chortling ecstatically over their headlining capture of the mangle face 'clown' who played them all like a violin.
Detective Dana Headen scribbled furiously over a risk assessment sheet while half-listening to the rant of her partner who was personally peeved he didn't capture the Joker.
"All it would have taken is to sync myself on the same level as that deranged sicko." Detective Connor Armagh fantasized
"Mmm. Hmm." Detective Headen, rounded the tank taking considerable note of the ailing Joker lackey, one heave away from collapsing on the floor
"We should probably call EMS." Detective Headen surmised to her now disgruntled partner, his chin clenched at being ignored.
"Fuck him. He's helped the Joker kill cops. Let him burn." Detective Armagh insisted venom in his voice.
Something electric green, glistening and distorted approached at a hurried but determined pace capturing her attention first.
A distressed scream erupted from Detective Headen as she drank in the paralyzing sight in front of her.
"I just want my phone call." The Joker requested pressing the shard deeper against smooth ivory, drawing blood (just a little) from the crevice of Ilyria's neck.
"Umm."
A sigh of pleasure or dizziness?
The Joker felt her slump slightly against his chest and shifted her barely there weight, life scars and delicious curves against his right shoulder – the intoxicating scent of strawberries assaulting his senses.
Simultaneously, both Detectives grappled their side arms and frantically trained the end of the nozzle at him.
Time was of the essence.
Extending his right palm, the Joker motioned in a frenzied gesticulation – his penetrating dark orbs, fragmented yet wired never lost their control.
Clicking his tounge three times, a sharp and distinct sound that finally registered within the adrenaline pumping detectives jolting them.
His makeup smeared slightly to the chagrin of Detective Headen who blanched with disgust and repulsion at the appearance of lacerated scars now openly fleshing out from his 'war paint'.
Revulsion was a look women maintained and men trembled with upon his mangled 'ugliness'.
Just as the Batman had earlier taunted him with extracting no provocation.
"You want the world to be as ugly as you are. You're ALONE."
Detective Armagh finally tossed his cell phone warily into the
waiting palm of the notorious scarred anarchist.
"Just be a moment..."The Joker promised
Ka-blew-e!
//////// The AFTERMATH...
A turbulent ripple shook the cement and lacerated the asphalt like a shock wave outside Gotham City's MCU and holding tank.
Which now began to resemble a decrepit war zone.
Billowy charcoal clouds hung heavy and near asbestos like in the thin air as flakes of ash and granulated brick powder began to ensnare the now lucid borderline detective.
Something wet and red spilled warm and vibrant down a graceful ivory arch of neck – hers, she realized when the blurry haze subsided and vision aligned.
With the force of a derailed train, unpredictable and cataclysmic, pinned the slightly disoriented borderline Ilyria against the cool metal door of an immobilized squad car.
Long dexterous fingers, beautiful and olive hued, soft and sensual on the outer palm extended the rough edge of the tips (nice) clamping abrasively into the oozing wound gaping out of her smooth right arm.
"LOOK AT ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" The Joker roared jolting her senses completely arousing her.
"Umm..." Ilyria's penetrating gaze burned into his dark brown orbs that laved her slick and wet "Can't stop."
Arching his chin, his dark coals flickered, as though dipping into her private thoughts (dark, bloodlust and full of self-loathing) – his gaze fixed as though he could glean the truth.
"Can't stop wanting." she rasped breathlessly, as flecks of grounded concrete waved past her face skewing her vision slightly.
Exercising all his self-control to regulate the now ragged breathing of his lanky chest, the Joker inhaled deeply only to be
assaulted with the intoxicating scent of fresh, ripe strawberries.
This alone invoked the sweet gleam of his switchblade at her collarbone – her nipples wailed like daggers through her gray cotton.
"Wanting – to look at you." Ilyria murmered
A whirl of hypnotizing silver, carefully delivered – delicious pain – she moaned. Alive at last.
The Joker was a lot better at this than her.
"Something...(his long throbbing tongue laved and flicked the warm salty grace of her collarbone suckling and savoring every ruby-strawberry drop – so decadent) you'll never have to ask."
Fisting her chin, he propelled her forward until they were a breath apart and gazed on her with a knowing – TAKE-A-GOOD-LONG-LOOK.
He knew better. He always did.
Sweat and blood smeared his war paint, plum-purple bludgeoned his forehead – his makeup crackled diluted in its potency fleshing out the eternally scarred smile.
Beautifully Scarred Man.
PURE-UNDILUTED-CONTENTMENT washed over Ilyria like a warm pounding rain and she sighed with pleasure.
"Want to TOUCH you." Ilyria commanded, her voice now hoarse
THIS wasn't a question or even a polite request – it was a DEMAND.
Shock smacked the Joker, striking at an emotion that he presumed dead since childhood. It was so alien to him he couldn't recall which emotion it belonged to.
Unconsciously, he smoothed his lips with the base of his long throbbing tongue.
This waiting was unbearable.
His dark coals roamed instinctually to the crotch of his pants.
Without waiting for an answer, Ilyria clasped the sides of his cheeks with her palms and sniggered at him for making her wait so damn long for an acknowledgment.
"You've tasted me." Ilyria mouthed as he fought for breath as she traced the origin slashes of the beginning of his scars with rapture so intense he would have sworn an air toxin was at work here. "I've waited 11 months to touch you."
Lingering doubt must have glistened considerably in those cackling coals.
Anger flared volatile and dangerous in those emerald pools, shattered and twisted beyond any redemption as though gleaning something he would never consider.
"If you don't want me then – Ahhhh...(the base of a Raging Hard – Hello Erection – burrowed his crotch against her inner thigh – Ilyria shivered pleasurably as her legs buckled against his)"
"Any man would have. To be Crazy. Not to want You." The Joker's tone deep timbre licked over every delectable inch of her – burning for his touch. "And I ain't crazy."
Her tongue vibrated, laving corner to corner his scars, tender and burning – flicking his mouth wanton and hot – taking extra time with the lacerated flesh.
Pressing her heated lips against his bruised mouth, Ilyria devoured every delicious scar and welt. Suddenly his lips took on a wild unhinged life of their own caressing harshly but hungrily, nuzzling until her lips parted granting him entrance.
"Want MORE." Ilyria
Throbbing tongues dual flicking – each seeking to consume the other whole. Naughty fingers dangled at the rim of his pants, tracing his smooth olive skin underneath.
His eyelids fluttered intensely at this - Ilyria glowed.
There was something so damn sexy about a scarred man about to come. Come For Her.
Still – it wasn't enough to sate her.
Without warning, she grabbed him, the tips of her ivory fingers tapped the violent purple material against his crotch – and this time she stared him down.
"I want you INSIDE me."
****************Why So Serious****************************
It was true.
The first glimpse of the Joker – her Joker – was a delectable grip of detachment she envied and devoured with insatiable curiosity.
First Bank of Gotham –the very cornerstone of Mafia vaults- Security cameras were privy inanimate voyeurists capturing the shattering frenzy of grenade guzzling patrons menaced by clowned masked very motivated minions each swaggering diluted to be privy to being the Joker's sole benefactor.
Gotham's oldest money establishment was a secure fortress re-engineered to cater to the paranoid whimsy of the mob king titans. Security camera secreted inside the turret leveled roof, nestled within every narrow staircase blind spot, crowning every access door of the lobby, main floor and the eyes of the vault.
You know the best dirty money can buy to protect the honey pot of the worst.
So Ilyria definitely had her pick of the record breaking for time heist right smack in Central Gotham.
"10 minutes for a clown and his circus arsenal to steal the Mob's retirement fund in the tightest security Gotham can afford."
Vin, a veteran detective mulled over in baffling disbelief
"They were already INSIDE five minutes before the silent alarm was tripped...." Evan (a much younger and calmer detective) said thoughtfully
"No one can just disappear with duffels full of dirty money and not catch some heat..." Vin flared, hands on holster
"10 Minutes!!" another detective declared shaking his hand
"Is that all it takes to rip off the mob in this city?"
a familiar female voice inquired haunting Security's door
Vin, Evan and two crime scene investigators cocked their heads to meet Detective Kreeley and Detective Jim Gordon (a stone's throw behind her) as they entered.
"How 'bout we line up to give this Joker the biggest pat on the back for pulling off what we couldn't?"
Evan swallowed a gaggle of giggles, quickly gauged his partner's now puce reaction at this rather dry assertion.
"And what's that Kreeley?" Vin retorted snidely
Each elegant ivory finger- tip appeared to now be perusing that morning's security cameras, paused, arched an eyebrow.
"What better way to wake up on a Tuesday morning to find the mob's money booted and Falconi Crime Syndicate lobbying for our assistance?"
No sooner had the words left her full petal lips, the squad guys weren't kidding – she was dauntingly beautiful – disarmingly so that this razor wit left Evan a taken back slightly.
Vin immediately pounced like a red bull only to be thwarted by the very sudden presence of Detective Jim Gordon, her very protective partner.
"She's only saying what we're all thinking." Det. Gordon calm yet intimidating so due to rank and his 16 years of service
This appeared to resonate with Vin, who appeared to be summoning all his self-restraint not to unload.
"Fine. Let her have the Freak case. I have a tower on my desk anyway."
Turning to Evan, he gestured for him to follow.
"C'mon let's get back to the MCU."
Catching the younger detective's suddenly very soft gaze upon Detective Kreeley, her auburn waves haloed beautifully against her ivory complexion granting it with a luminous glow, who was now conferencing with her senior partner in the corner.
"NOW EVAN!"
As soon as the partners left, Gordon cast a knowing gaze upon his naive partner. Ilyria was one of those women who didn't know she was beautiful and had she been aware it would have also been the kind of thing that didn't matter to her.
"Y'know this guy –." Ilyria began thoughtfully as she made a stack of Gotham's First Bank security tapes in time order. "Is not you're run of the asylum psychotics."
"What are you talking about?" Gordon threw his hands into his pockets, his blue diamonds dancing engaged upon that hone into the zone sync his partner had with men like this.
He would soon come to know there was no one quite like the Joker.
"The blood spattered cut the deck calling cards, armed robbery, assault and now the ballsiest 'filthy and fury' swindle of the oldest criminals in Gotham."
Inserting a rather choice security video within the mouth of the player, fast-forwards and pauses watching intently the last few minutes of the caper.
"I'll give it to him – he's clever. Using the muscle, manipulate and delude and dispense – genius. But there is something a bit twisted – off color about this caliber of criminal."
Detective Jim Gordon replied analytically, his soft blues beaming down at her
Twisting the player dial, Detective Kreeley's brow furrowed inquisitively and turned up the volume for both to hear.
"Right Here!" Illyria said breathlessly
"What? What is it? Just one of the Joker's muscle taunting over some poor smuck about to implode like Nam."
Jim shrugged his shoulders
"No check this out Jim. Not one of the Joker's hired guns removed his mask – but this one takes the time out to unveil his face."
Illyria mused knowingly
The tall, lanky man adorned in a rather smart practically purple hued suit over his towering frame stood to full height.
Unfortunately, the angle was poor and it wasn't until this sole member advanced towards the yellow school kids' bus that was now occupying the front lobby that he purposefully stopped and stared into the depths of the camera.
His dark deep set orbs, two gleaming taunting distortions, singed like a hot poker branding the security tape with an imprint of mocking yet impish malevolence.
"Huh..."Gordon breathed "Well I'll be damned."
Illyria, on the other hand, was enthralled beyond measure.
Fast-Forward to Our Current Dynamite Pre-Dica-Ment
He had just heard.
Jim Gordon had only just slipped underneath the wonderful emerald green cotton of his wife's favorite autumn comforter, enjoying the soothing scent of vanilla and cinnamon.
Getting reacquainted with the familiar sounds of his wife washing her hair and his 7 year old son sleeping soundly and safely a stone's throw away from the master bedroom.
The look on her face when she saw who was on their doorstep!
The tumultuous storm of astonishment and grief - which gave birth to a torrential anger and hurt which quick melted to relief and joy as she embraced her very much alive husband.
"You bastard!" Her blue eyes raged and soothed to a placid "Damn you. Never do this again! Do you know what it was like to think I would never see you again?!!"
There was just cause for his wife's anger.
Waiting for her to re-emerge from their bathroom, Jim couldn't believe how nearly identical Catherine and Illyria's reactions were to his sudden 'resurrection'.
"In another life perhaps."
the words that seem to take on a life of their own escaped his lips.
TORMENT.
Something strange happened in that moment – her deep set hazel orbs, salty and red from suppressing a flood of tears, tweaked with a sort of dispossession.
In the months leading up to this momentous capture of this 'clown prince of crime' whom terrorized the innocence and the despicable of Gotham, Jim had started to notice fragments – of her disassembling.
He should have said something to their commander at the time – but he didn't trust their resident forensic psychiatrist, Dr. Crane to treat her. He didn't trust him with his partner.
Recalling that look in Illyria's eyes – a glimpse that told him she was staring into the end of herself and maybe a part of her was just a little bit in love with this.
As Jim was mulling over their last encounter, knowing he had to make things right his cell phone sprang to life on the adjacent nightstand.
A panic seized his chest as he took the very late call.
*************
He refused to believe it.
Drifting like a phantom specter through a debris wasteland of granulated brick, incinerated metal, shards of angry glass scattered with ash against the ripple of asphalt that punctured the asphalt of the front of Gotham's MCU.
Five ambulances lined the side entrance, administering immediate medical attention upon a mixture of police officers, holding cell prisoners and a duo of homicide detectives nursing their inflammations with a handy ice pack.
Detective Armagh spotted his brisk approach faster than his partner (Detective Headen – who appeared numb with shock from the traumatizing blast that rocked their unit).
Jim was surprised at this – Detective Armagh seized slightly – the apprehension and anxiety were clearly etched in his boyish features.
"Commissioner." Detective Armagh voice shook
His nerves and edginess were understandable – these were no normal circumstances.
Especially when Gotham's Joker was concerned.
"Detectives."
Detective Headen glanced up at this acknowledgement and nodded her head before blanking into space again.
"Evans called me in. How did this happen?" Jim asked thunderstruck
"The Joker." Detective Armagh's voice answered hollowly
"Detective I'm going to need a little more information than that" Jim heard himself say curtly "Gotham's MCU is starting to resemble a World War II war zone."
"He wanted to get caught. He wanted to be put in the MCU holding tank."
Detective Headen stated off handedly, her gaze averted to the floor
Jim knew he must have looked confused because Detective Armagh instantly piped in,
"One of the Joker's men had C4 sewn into his chest triggered to go off by a cell phone (pregnant pause, nervously eyeing Gordon for a reaction that was starting to fill him with dread) – Mine."
The guilt in his tone was so entrenched and unmistakable that his partner actually clasped a consoling palm on his clenched fists.
"Connor." Detective Headen said compassion filling her voice
Gordon could clearly see that the casualties genuinely ate away at the guy.
Detective Headen glanced up at Jim and a sudden dread filled her eyes as though she was recalling a terrible memory.
"And he's got your partner. (the color in Jim's rosy cheeks paled considerably at this) The last thing I remember before the bomb went off was the Joker pressing one of his blades to her chest. (thoughtful) I could have sworn that knife was one of his blades that was taken into evidence."
A terrifying thought too terrible to entertain crossed Jim's mind at this moment.
"You need to go home to your wife and your family. I'm going to stay."
Oh God...
"When I came to, they were both gone and according to Evans a squad car was missing." Detective Headen recalled chewing on her lower lip
Her partner, Detective Armagh's brown orbs widened nervously.
"I can only imagine what that deranged clown freak is doing to her now."
**************
Wayne Enterprises Skyscraper
77th Floor...Early Evening
A snarl of disgust flared at this apparently audacious demand, Italian Mob Syndicate, Falconi narrowed his saucers upon the mangled clown Gotham terrorist whose custom plum suit and chaos mantra offended him on every level.
Flames tickled the Joker's cut of the mob's money, the nozzle of this clown man's 45 trained at his heart – the fear of imminent death lost on the syndicate staring in utter horror as the flames consumed a mountain of dirty cold hard cash.
"All you care about is money. This city deserves (disordered tone deepened) a better class of criminal...And I'm going to give it to them. Tell your men they work for me now. (the nozzle of his gun tapping his own chest pointedly)"
The guinea accent thick and vile and above all repulsed. Nothing the Joker wasn't used to or detected every day of his life.
"You think they would work for a FA-REEK like YOU."
The Italian Mob Syndicate flared, practically spitting the words
His dark coals crackled like napalm to the A-bomb, agilely retrieving a slender crooked small blade from the plum violet sleeve of his custom suit.
This sudden aggressiveness actually startled the professional hit man, the glare of the blade as equally explosive in its master's rage.
"How 'bout I carve you up into little pieces and feed it to jaw pooches? (the thought tickled pleasurably at the Joker) Then we'll see how loyal a hungry dog REALLY is."
Eight hours had passed since the 'meet' with the Italian at the docks inside 3rd fleet vessel designated for Mob imports.
He knew Gordon's men would be scouring around all his old haunts trying to find a beat on him – not so fast com-is-ioner.
Tonight, he towered Bruce Wayne Enterprises' newest gargantuan skyscraper – residing temporarily in an offshoot unfinished penthouse eliminating use to the elevator after his arrival.
The lavishly furnished residence was a bit haughty-taughty for him but it serviced him well because it did provide him with a spectacular view of the harbor – especially for his social experiment that would unfold within the next three hours.
It wasn't the fact that Falconi had called him a FA-REEK - this label was thrown at him with contempt stares at the velocity of a speeding train daily.
"You're ca-razy." the Italian's eyes gleamed with harsh judgement, eyeballing his lacerated smile with such vileness he summoned a fleeting vision of his father.
He HATED his father.
This hateful thought continued to gnaw away at the Clown Prince of Crime that his modus operandi ANARCHY ABSOLUTE / Situationist Mantra / Death Infatuation were interpreted even by Gotham's filthiest criminals as MADNESS.
Forking an extreme left into the oddly cozy master bedroom, his dark coals roamed instantly to the glare of the elongated ceiling to floor mirror that instantly captured his eyebrow raising appearance.
"Ca-Razy – like your father."
At this searing reminder of his abysmal origins, his scars crackled into a mocking ghoulish grin corroding with an venom that was a disturbing onset that have left bystanders trembling in its wake.
Drinking in the fresh whelps and plum - jet that fisted his left eyelid and chin – the lacerations nearly devoured his war paint and his eternal scars fleshed out to their most repulsive.
Long elegant olive hued fingers, dexterous and smooth, the tips slightly rough clasped an terry cloth rich purple towel and sauntered towards a porcelain sink.
Twisting the knobs, The Joker waited until steam poured soothingly out of the spout before he allowed the towel to absorb completely.
Pressing the steaming towel to his forehead, the Joker massaged the residual graffiti war paint from his face. He was completely bare – his scarred flesh naked to the world.
Suddenly, the Joker sensed a presence near to him stir – his dark coals instantly stole to the only unoccupied portion of the mirror not employed of his character.
The intensity of her prolonged gaze burned him, her hazel orbs drank in his face (his deranged scars fleshed) her brow furrowed thoughtfully.
Cocking his head to face the very captivating now borderline Detective Kreeley seated comfortably at the end of the king sized plum comforter expansive bed – even in a state of psychosis she was beautiful.
Casting her a knowing stare, the Joker allowed his ghastly eternal smile to fester into her line of vision - knowing that eventually her gaze would avert to a more desirable space in the penthouse.
"Dis-gusting (narrows his dark brown coals to gauge her reaction for the slightest detection of aversion) – Aren't they De-tect-tive?"
Her gaze never faltered or wavered in its searing intensity. Determined footsteps clicked in a purposeful sprint until she stood a tempting breath away from him –the Joker felt his pulse race at her sudden closeness.
He enjoyed her boldness – savoring this at the tip of his throbbing tongue.
"Mesmorizing." Detective Kreeley breathed without hesitation, his dark brown coals burning at what he mentally glimpsed (laved is the more appropriate term) - real hunger in her rich emerald pools – hunger for him!
Want burned her to the core, her lips heated and tender recalling with blinding rapture at his touch (so damn electric) the way it allow to world and its pains to slip away into the void.
He was so damn beautiful to her and he wasn't aware.
Parting her warm full petal lips, Illyria caressed his upper lip nuzzling the slit skin softly that ungraciously deprived him of pleasures a virile young man like himself should have been enjoying.
A part of her took comfort in the fact that it was she that would be given this honor.
His lids fluttered with a fleeting intoxication, without warning his dark coals popped searing her whole and the Joker released a primitive roar.
"Delicious." the tip of her tongue laved her lips with a satisfaction Ilyria had never known before.
Something strange happened to the Joker that he couldn't rationalize – his heart began to thunder like a war drum against his chest.
What he didn't consciously realize, was that SHE stirred him.
He knew Illyria wasn't like the rest of them. She was a freak like him.
He had taken her hostage for over 14 hours and she didn't seemed phased in the slightest. She appeared to have missed him even!
Arching an eyebrow, The Joker narrowed his dark brown coals in an attempt to derive any falsehood.
"Be-care-ful Detective (his preamble marbled hopefully evoking a teasing quality) – some might say we're in love."
Her ears perked at his all too convincing coy approach and she knew at once (he was testing her).
"A very dangerous thing to dangle in front of a woman."
A warning tone bordering on dangerous
How manipulatively delectable she is. The torment that flashed in those riveting hazel orbs that this was one of his card tricks he had roused her with was unbearable – even to him.
A wave of sadness crackled in those cackling dark brown coals, seeping into his olive hued features his jaw clenching with unmistakable remorse and sorrow.
Look at me and tell me I'm lying...
Panic instantly enveloped Ilyria as she drank in the raw alien emotions of humility and shame under her scolding – her hazel orbs frenzied with instant regret and compassion all at once for him.
How could she do this to him?!! Reduce him to this?!!
Guilt and self-anger instantly softened Ilyria, a thousand thoughts terrorized her mind – she suddenly felt a corrosiveness gnaw away at the onset of what had warped her earlier.
A tidal wave of self-hatred and the compulsion for self-flagellation were clearly etched in her striking features – the trigger of a spiral he wouldn't allow or encourage.
"Breathe." The Joker soothed, he alone was able to move her with a solace she had never deemed herself worthy of. His fingertips stroked the tension knotted in her forehead with a tenderness she instantly warmed to. "Ba-reathe."
I'M SORRY. Her hazel pools told him, wet with sincerity at the mere thought that hurting him somehow (the Joker admit that it did sting a bit) killed her. The Joker had carved up others for less – she should have been gutted by now.
Inhaling deeply, The Joker couldn't bring himself to harm her.
In fact the thought of her experiencing any sort of pain, consumed him with a killer wrath. She was in his system now. Anyone who dare lay a finger on her....
Ilyria glowed at how damn adorable he looked in this moment – wish like hell she had a free pass to his private thoughts.
Turning her cheek into his beautifully smooth olive palm, her full petal lips softly massaged – lovingly even until she was certain he could sense her desire.
"You're not alone in that."
Ilyria confirmed, her tone growing raspy at the glazed very attentive look burning her with his dark brown coals.
He felt the impressions of her ivory fingertips struggling with his plum custom pants and his breathing instantly went ragged.
The Last Time there wasn't enough time...
Something wrong must have caught The Joker's gaze for he stole a prolonged gaze at the damn mirror angrily drinking in his ghastly scars.
His eyelids fluttered with torment and conflict and rage.
Want her.
"We can't." The Joker managed weakly, his tone giving him away
Without warning, Ilyria clasped both sides of his face, his gaze now completely beckoned down at her. The Joker sensed the indentations of her fingertips tracing his scars with a delicate grace.
"I WANT you – that means all of who you are." Ilyria rasped huskily, leaning in to whisper in his lobe. "Your scars turn me on – you turn me on. Just thinking about you today (his lanky frame inched delightfully with arousal into hers, she released a delicious shudder) got me hot."
What a delicious sight she must have been.
She felt all of him pulsate – the intensity of his breathing went absolutely ragged as Ilyria distinctly felt his lanky inverted frame arch intently into hers.
His piercing dark brown coals watched with glisten anticipation -a part of him still waiting for the moment when she would recoil in disappointment.
Perfectly in tune with her Joker, Ilyria instantly picked up the slightest distortion flickering in those transfixing dark coals of his that told her he was seriously engaging the thought that once she saw all of him she would change her mind.
He still had a ways to go to learn about her.
Extending her right hand, The Joker instantly felt her splay her palm inside the front of his blue cotton button shirt – her smooth ivory relaxing against his throbbing heart.
She appeared transfixed in the moment.
MINE she wanted to say.
Her hazel pools danced excitedly up at him – casting him a soothing grin until any residual apprehension vanished from the Joker's face.
The pulsing member of his tongue parted out the smooth side of his mouth and flicked instinctively.
God, she loved that tongue of his.
Her hands continued to explore him, roaming freely past his heart tenderly caressing an inflammation that the Joker had no doubt ignored or had built a psychological immunity to.
"You're sore here." Ilyria murmured,
"Hmmm?" The Joker half-intoxicated on her attentiveness
Her large pools dancing with unmistakable concern and suddenly those pretty orbs of hers danced with an glowering venom at who inflicted this upon him and the Joker just drowned in it.
"FUCKER!" Ilyria roared the venom equally as vicious as The Joker's own at his most dangerous.
Palming the sides of her face until her incensed gaze immediately locked with the intensity of his dark penetrating orbs, his expression invoking a calming effect on her.
"Ilyria...mmm." The Joker laved her name as though he was on top of her, her hazel pools sang with arousal. "The Batman...(thoughtfully, the timber of his voice deepened – umm) has issues."
Arching an eyebrow, Ilyria broke into peels of genuine amusement – the effect of which radiated a breathtaking vitality quelling her wrath. His sides shook with laughter joining in with her.
Clasping the inside of his left forearm, her fingertips warm and seductive on his cold olive hued skin.
Ilyria pressed her heated lips exactly on his slightly carved upper lip, lingering long enough until she felt him respond hungrily as he had earlier.
Peeling herself away from him, Ilyria sauntered over to the bathroom door all the time feeling his smoldering gaze locked on her never abandoning her of its presence.
Turning to face him, Ilyria shimmied out of her charcoal hoodie sweater to reveal an alluring gray spaghetti strap top situated breathtakingly above her toned waist fleshing out her old scars that had only just started their process of healing.
His attentive dark coals glimpsed the slightest hint of –was that a dark purple- laced bra underneath? – Extending her fore and middle finger she motioned for him to follow her.
The Joker charged – bracing her roughly against the plum walls.
Arching her right leg, Ilyria pressed her warm pulsing core against the crotch of his smart purple custom made pants.
Three quick primal flicks of that oh so delectable tongue moving with a will of its own.
The tips of his long dexterous fingertips easily unzipped her low- rise jeans – all the time those dark coals savoring the lust that burned in those hazel pools.
She writhed against him. The Joker granted her with a reproving look and Ilyria used every ounce of will power to restrain herself.
BE patient.
Those dark cackling coals probed hers
You'll see.
And with that he laid her out on the king- sized bed, his tongue at the ready....
3 Hours Later
A pair of piercing dark coals fixed intensely upon the breathtaking svelte figure slumber a breath away from him.
Her lush petal lips had just curled into an impish grin and the Joker felt a giddiness envelope him (hoping that dream came with thoughts of him).
A vibrant glow of undiluted contentment radiated off of Ilyria as the Joker nuzzled her left nipple with his mouth – a small moan instantly escaped her lips.
HE had satisfied her...
Ilyria was the only woman who had ever taken all of him into her mouth and watched his every expression with such attentiveness.
He entered her – the base of her ivory frame banging against the plum wall. With each powerful thrust, Ilyria writhe pleasurably against him releasing a howl of ecstasy.
Her nipples perfectly pearled pressed against his lanky frame as he drove deeper into her tight wet hot sheath.
The expression on her face as he tongue flicked against that vibrating clit only minutes earlier – so damn beau-tiful.
IF ONLY THE BATMAN HAD STAYED HOME FOR ONE FRIGGIN' NIGHT!!!!!
It was nearly 17 minutes to midnight!
Immediately, the Joker arose, his nude lanky inverted frame ambling forward collecting a sexual ecstasy so intense trail of his respective custom suit shaded in deepest plum.
He had nearly lost track of time.
Not wishing to wake her – fun-ny, didn't know where this alien emotion of concern arose from – certainly not from anything he had ever known.