IMPORTANT: I want NO MORE FLAMES, so I'm gonna post this quick warning here. The Joker is VERY VERY VERY OOC. This is ON PURPOSE. I am combining past Jokers such as Jack Nicholson and the comic book character INTO Heath Ledger's Joker. NO. FLAMES.
Onyxx: Whoo! My first Dark Knight fic! I recently fell in love with LedgerJoker after watching the movie, and the character Annabel, also known as Anna (I seem to name my characters Anna a lot...) is sort of supposed to be me. Except my hair is black. And I'm not sixteen. Nor do I have five-inch goth boots.
Joker: Nor do you actually have the pleasure of living in a world where I exist.
Onyxx: Well, I used to live in a world with Heath Ledger.
Joker: Yeah, and then he DIED. In what Batman comic book did I ever die?
Onyxx: Shut up, you buttnugget. Anyway, I don't own Joker, though I wish I did... a lot... and a quick warning. I usually do a sort of commentary at the beginning and end of my chapters. Some people think it's funny (see my Gerard Butler series in which characters such as the Phantom of the Opera and Dracula come to life and give him hell). If you don't, then skip over it. Also, I may be thirteen, but I have a MAJOR language problem (fuck the fuckity-fucked shit that fucked the fucking world's fuckers and all the goddamn motherfuckers from Mars [I have no idea where in the hell that came from]) and I do use adult situations in here. So, don't like, don't read. And don't stalk my damn profile unless you intend to read my stories. So if you're not gonna read this one, read one of my others. Or I'll find you. And I'll put a smile on that face.
Joker: Uh, yeah. She might be crazier than I am.
Chapter One:
Annabel Lee Nicholson was not your average teenager. Standing at five-two without her trademark five-inch goth boots, she could pack a punch like no one else on the streets of Gotham. Having lived on the street for most of her life, fighting for it every day and stealing cardboard boxes for shelter, she'd grown up tough and strong, and knowing what was right and what was wrong. She'd grown up to be an honorable person, and now had her own apartment on the good side of town.
Shitty apartment it may be, it worked. It blocked the rain and cold, and was usually warm in the winter. Unless the heating fucked up. Then, it wasn't very warm.
She sighed, walking down the street in her worn-out boots, her bright, fire-engine-red hair making her stick out of a crowd... if her black trench coat, Tripp miniskirt, and goth boots didn't do their job. Normally, she didn't go out in public, but she'd been at a job interview, and she knew if she hadn't gone, she'd be unable to pay her rent and get kicked back into the streets.
Not a good way to go.
After being fired for arguing with her boss at the restaurant she worked, she desperately needed money. And she was not going into stripping or prostitution, forget that shit.
She sighed, looking up at the night sky, where the Batman symbol glowed against the clouds.
Batman. The epitome of awesome. For one thing, he wasn't like other superheroes she'd heard about. He didn't have superpowers, only brains and connections. He was a normal guy that decided to do something spontaneous.
One could say that Annabel had a sort of crush on him, but no one could guess her deepest, darkest secret... unless they walked into her apartment.
She walked up the stairs, whistling "This Is Halloween," and turned the key in the lock of her apartment. She wasn't one for singing—she had a sort of scratchy voice and was scared of what she'd sound like.
Plus, she just didn't like to sing. She wasn't a musician, except that she could play piano really well. No, she was an artist. She loved to draw and paint, and was even able to sell her artwork sometimes. Most of the time, however, her drawing related to one subject, and she'd hang it on her wall and stare at it for hours, wishing the man in the paintings would come alive and be with her.
No, it was not Batman. She might have a small crush on Batsy, but her heart would always belong to someone entirely different... someone dark, insane, frightening... attractive...
She walked in, looking down as her cat rubbed against her leg.
"Hey, there, Edgar," she said, picking the black furball up. "How's my baby doing?" She scratched his head, kicking her door shut, and walked to the part of the one-room apartment that held her bed. And her paintings.
She looked up at the eerie, smiling face of one of them, his smile surrounded by bright red, his eyes by dark black, a mop of green-ish hair surrounding his white face.
Yes, she was in love with the Joker. The evil, terrifying menace of Gotham.
Ever since she'd been a witness of one of his crimes, she'd felt a deep attraction toward the clown. Which was weird, because she was terrified of clowns. However, this clown was different. Not the normal, eerie, perfect smile. A slightly unhinged, dark, cynical, "I-hate-the-world-and-all-its-faults" grin was plastered to his face. Something that made most people terrified of him made him seem less frightening to her. Something made him less of a monster than he was made out to be.
She sighed, petting Edgar. She was most definitely crazy. After all, who else in Gotham was in love with the Joker? Seriously?
It had gotten to the point where, if she was having an argument in her head, being indecisive, or whatever, she heard herself arguing with... the Joker. She saw his face everywhere she looked. Perhaps she was crazy. She didn't know, nor did she care.
Sighing, she sat down on the bed amid piles of notices, bills, drawings, and books. She picked up the latest Post-It note that had been stuck to her door, tears welling in her eyes.
"Bill due in 1 week. Sorry. - Scott"
Scott, her landlord, couldn't afford to give her any slack. He didn't give anyone else extra time to pay rent, and he didn't want a fuss. Even if she was less fortunate than most.
Annabel's father, Sam Nicholson, was a detective. They lived in a crappy apartment on the bad side of town, next to a man named Jack Napier and his pregnant wife, Jeannie. The two families were close, and Jack was like a second father to Anna. When they had all gone to the carnival and someone stole her teddy bear, Mr. Fuzzy, Jack had poured dollar after dollar into a game stand trying to win her a new one, until finally, the dull dart popped the balloon. It had been something Anna would never forget, and she still had the bear, which she'd named Jack.
Eight years had passed since her parents, Jack, and Jeannie had died. The apartment complex had caught fire, and Annabel was the only one that escaped. Her father got her out, then realized that Jeannie and Annabel's mother were still inside, and that Jack was nowhere to be found. He'd run back in, and the entire second floor had collapsed, killing him and everyone else still inside.
Being eight years old and with no known relatives, Annabel had nowhere to go. She hid in the streets and grew up in cardboard boxes until she finally was able to get a job and rent an apartment. Annabel had never been one for luxury, and she'd been given most of her stuff as a gift from her landlord.
Annabel looked around, trying to find something she could sell to help pay her rent. Sadly, the only thing worth anything was the necklace that had once belonged to her mother, and all her paintings were of the Joker. Who'd buy a painting of a creepy clown/bank robber/mass murderer?
She chewed her lip, then sighed. One week's paycheck probably wouldn't be enough anyway.
Maybe she could go to Bruce Wayne's doorstep and beg? God knew the man could spare it, filthy rich as he was.
Actually, that was a brilliant idea. Beg Gotham's wealthiest man for just enough to pay her rent. If she could convince him.
She sighed, flopping back onto her bed. "Yeah, great idea," she mumbled. "Go beg that snob for money. I'll be ruined forever."
She looked up at the painting of the Joker on her wall and sighed. "God. Maybe I could beg him for money. He stole from the mob, maybe..."
Yeah. Beg a psycho, mass-murdering clown for money for her rent. He'd laugh in her face.
She picked Edgar up and stroked him, sighing. "Maybe I could sell you. God knows someone would die for a pretty little thing like you."
As if he understood her, Edgar yowled his protest and scampered away.
"Aw, c'mon, Eddie!" she called, getting up. "I was only kidding! Come back, you mangy furball!"
The doorbell rang. She looked at the clock. Jesus, who could that be at nine p.m.?
She opened the door, and a man wearing a hat to cover his face shoved a pizza box at her. "Pizza," he said, opening the box.
Annabel had grabbed her pepper spray and held her breath when the lid came open. A gas poured out, and she stumbled back, not breathing it in, waving the gas away from her face. The man growled in frustration and snapped his fingers, and in strode a goon wearing a clown mask. Anna tripped over her boots and fell backwards onto her couch, whimpering in fear, her eyes stuck on that permanent, eerie grin.
Oh, God... Damn boots, I always trip at the wrong moments...
The goon lifted her up and hit her once in the head with a huge, meaty fist, and Annabel stumbled, seeing stars. He hit her again, and she pitched forward onto him, her vision going dark.
Please, God, let them not be psycho serial rapists... she thought, blacking out.
Onyxx: So, what do you think so far? Review! Kthxbai.