Okay, so the writing style might annoy some of you, but I think it adds to the story. I did it on purpose. If you like it (or if you don't like it), let me know. Also, I tried to combine the characteristics and mannerisms of the Jokers from both the Animated Series and The Dark is more of a character profile for the Joker than an actual story, but I'm thinking about writing more about our leading lady here. Let me know if you think I should continue.
"What's wrong? This is what you, uh, wanted, right? So shoot him!"
but he's tied up and gagged, fuckin crying and pissing his pants; he's a fat, soggy old man that's pitiful and defenseless on the disgustingly dirty warehouse floor, sweating and snotting all over himself. i wanted a fight, i wanted to catch him and taunt him and see the fear and pain in his his eyes as i broke each and every one of his bones, slowly, and carved into his sallow, greasy skin with my dead brother's sharp hunting knife- but he's already broken and bleeding, already afraid of his imminent death. this isn't how i wanted it.
"No." i throw the clown's gun to the side and turn to look him in the eye. his smile, which had been so happy and excited, turned into a snarl, and his eyes turn cold and violent as he clenches his fists at his sides. i should feel frightened- i know that any other person would be- but all i am is annoyed and disappointed. he storms towards me, kicking the broken man in the back as he does, and wildly grabs my throat with one hand and a fistful of my long, auburn hair with the other. it's difficult to breathe, but not impossible. if i say the wrong thing, he won't hesitate to snap my neck in half, but still, i am unafraid.
"Why. Not?" he's gritting his teeth together and snarling at me, and his grip on my throat is tightening, but i make no attempt to stop him, do not cry or beg. i distantly think that it's rather depressing how little i care for my own life now, when only a month ago i had begged for it.
"It's-wrong," i manage to growl out.
"Wrong? WRONG!?" he slams my body against the warehouse wall. whatever air is left in my lungs is forced out in a gasp, and i wince and tear up from the pain of the impact- a nail, rusty no doubt, had impaled my left shoulder, not deep enough to hit anything important, but definitely deep enough to worry about tetanus. his eyes are wild, his tongue flicking out to lick his chapped, painted lips in agitation. "You said you wanted to kill him, DESTROY him for what he's done. You Asked me for help, told me you were, uh, serious about this. Did you lie to me? Because I. HATE! Liars."
his grip is tightening on my throat, bruising the skin and muscle underneath, but i manage to gasp out, " 'm not a liar."
"What did you say? Speak up!" he slams me against the wall again, impales me on the nail again, and now as the already dim lights seem to loose their strength i'm sure i have a concussion. but he loosens his grip on my neck so that i can explain myself, a miracle in itself.
"It's all wrong," i growl out once more. "I wanted to break him, wanted to slice him up and splinter his bones. Wanted to see him suffer and die slowly by my own hand. Shooting him is all wrong. Too easy, too quick, to kind. All wrong."
he's staring at me, looking me in the eye as if he's judging my soul, and i stare back unflinchingly into his dark black eyes. his face shifts from a snarl into a neutral blank mask, his eyes filled with contemplation. the warehouse is silent except for the old man's heavy breathing as he tries to get enough oxygen through his snotting nose instead of his mouth which is currently stuffed with a smelly sock and covered in duct tape.
and then his face splits into a wide, toothy smile, and while the violent gleam in his eyes remain, the harsh cold that had been there is replaced with an unbound joy that is almost just as scary. out of the almost-silence, his voice cuts through as sharp as one of his knives, first as a few chuckles, but it quickly grows into a bellowing laughter that echoes through the darkness like a raging storm. he releases his grip on my neck and hair, allowing me to collapse to the ground as he clutches his stomach and throws his head back as his whole body shakes.
"Oh-ho-ho. YOU," he gasps between fits of laughter, "YOU are something else! HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAAAAAAA!" he walks over to the tied up mob boss and slaps him on the back as if i had just told the funniest joke in the world. the old man looks frightened out of his wits, but it looks like he's trying to laugh along with the Joker as if it would do anything at all to save his hideous life. "Are you hearing this, Boss Man? Isn't she a piece of work? Hehehehe, A-HA HA HA HA HA HA!" and the fat man's nodding his head with enthusiasm, and it looks like he's trying to smile under the duct tape as he hums in agreement.
"I'm, uh, sorry about your little problem , then. I understand where you're comin from- not fun, no fun at all. But, uh, what about this?" he walks toward me, and offers me his leather gloved hand. i can't see any joykillers, and so i grab it and give it a squeeze as he pulls me up from where he let me fall. he's got a mischievous grin on now, and his eyes are excited, and he says, "You know, this boss man- he was the one who put out the order, but, uh, he wasn't the one that blew your brother away."
my grip on his hand tightens at the thought of my beautiful dead brother, rage filling me utterly and completely as the image of his bloody body flashes in my mind's eye. "You know who did it?"
"I'll give you one better," he says with a twisted grin and a giggle. "I, uh, know where he lives. I'll tell you where, if you let me come and watch, hehe. And you can kill this bozo while you're at it."
the old man gives muffled shouts and shakes his head frantically, but i hardly notice. the Joker's joy and excitement infects me and spreads through my body like a lovely disease, and i can't help but smile as i pick up the abandoned gun off the floor, aim it at the old man's forehead, and pull the trigger.