She sat doodling stars on her legs alone in the playground. She was an only child, therefore not here for a younger sibling, and a teenager, not there for herself. However, the playground was the close to her house and she didn't have a car yet.
Her blue and grey pocketbook lay on the table next to her and her faded red shoes flopped about carelessly, up and down with her legs creating a weird melody.
Samantha didn't know how much of an anomaly she was, sitting peacefully in Gotham. Her thoughts weren't focused on terror, the Joker, or getting laid, which were all very popular thoughts at the moment. No, her thoughts were focused on more futuristic things. College, jobs. Everything.
But her underlying thought was very common indeed. Getting the hell out of Gotham.
Most of her friends' parents had hauled themselves and their children out of the city as soon as they realized what a threat the Joker was. They imposed on relatives or used vacation funds for a hotel in a city far away until they got their feet in the job market. Whatever they could. In fact, Samantha had received the largest scare of her eighteen year life when she heard the ferries were rigged to blow. Her best friend and at least four of her other friends were on the civilian ferry, facing the hardest decision of their lives.
But now, weeks after the Joker's capture, no Samantha Jackson was content with making her pale white legs an inverted starscape.
As she finished off a star on her kneecap her blue and grey purse began singing. She glanced at it before sighing, sticking the pen behind her ear, and digging through the bag. She glanced at the phone before flipping it open. "Yeah, Mom. What? What?!" Samantha slammed the phone shut before grabbing her bag and sprinting off, away from the deserted playground.
The Joker was delirious with excitement. He hadn't realized how successful the day of one's escape from a mental facility could be. Not, however, that the day's only success was said escape. No, no, no. He'd done much more than escape.
Yes. Yes, for example, he hadn't merely escaped. He'd killed three orderlies, a fellow prisoner, and a doctor. Then he'd blown up a barn and set fire to some lovely cash crops. That was just the morning though. For lunch he killed some people at an overpriced grocery store and a mid-afternoon snack was killing some lawyers. He didn't know what dinner or desert would be, but just thinking of the possibilities-- oh., they just made him even more excited! He shook his head to try and clear his thoughts.
That's when he caught it. Oh no, not the terrified, is-he-mad? (yes!) looks his men sent each other (they could be such babies!). He knew they'd be gone soon enough anyway. It was the girl.
She was dashing down the sidewalk next to his spot at the park across from the lawyers' offices. He hadn't felt like leaving yet, preferring to stay until the police investigated the tip-off one of his men made about the Joker striking again. Of course, it was taking the police a while to get organized after the farm fires and grocery store killings. But there she was, nothing outstanding on any other day, perhaps, but today her dark brown hair was streaming after her in a tangled mess without even a band to hold the strands together and complacent. Her jeans were obviously not designed for long distance running, or even running at all, and her tight t-shirt was about as helpful.
He saw something fly out from somewhere on her head and skid to a stop next to his left foot. He looked down, startled. He hadn't realized he'd moved to the sidewalk. He picked up the pen and read the writing. "Jackson Tattoos-- For Remembering Forever." The other side listed a phone number. The Joker slid the pen into one of his suit's pockets and grinned.
The day the Samantha Jackson's father died was the day the Joker first saw her, sprinting through the streets with stars on her legs and chaos in her hair.