Chapter 2

Author's Note: Ugh… He-Hey! I'm a horrible Fanfiction writer. How far apart are the first and second chapters?

Well, I'm now Jack Rabbit when it comes to writing, but I hope your patience pays off with this chapter. It's just a bit of Dialogue between characters.

I don't have a watch, which is really depressing. My perception of time is usually completely incorrect, so I have no idea how long I have been sitting on this pathetic excuse for a dog pillow in this pathetic excuse for a room.

Lately, my favorite hobby has been deciphering shapes out of the water stains in the ceiling. Not the most stimulating past time, but it helps me forget the disgusting smell rising up from the thin pillow beneath me.

After a long while of staring aimlessly about the disgusting room, I feel my hands and lower arms go numb. This is really not good. The plastic cord is extremely tight, and I really don't want the circulation to be cut off in my hands. I rather like my hands; they are useful and I would love to keep them.

And, to add to my discomfort, my nose began to itch.

Taking a deep breath, I shift from my butt back onto me knees. Glaring in determination at the wall in front of me, I try to wrench my hands over my behind. It takes a while for me to do this; a combination of short arms and a particularly large butt makes this first part a little difficult. With a low grunt, I manage to stretch my short arms over my ass, so they rest behind my knees. "Okay, hard part done with," I said, puffing from the exertion.

Slowly, I lifted my left foot and slid my bound wrists under it, moving them in front of it. "Yes! -Oh, Shit!-Umph!"

How did I know I was going to fall over?

Blowing my bangs out of my eyes, I wrench the other foot through my arms, so my hands were now bound in front of me. "There, now, at least I will be slightly comfortable."

I bring my hands in front of my face… and grimace.

My hands had begun to turn purple, but the purple was fading, and my wrists were quickly forming similarly colored bruises. I wiggled my thin digits, relieved that I could still feel them. I scratched my face furiously, and sighed.

I looked towards the only door in my room- I mean, the room; no way in hell would I claim a place like this- and I see moving shadows from the particularly wide gap between the door and the floor. The shadows in the dim light move in a slightly rhythmic pattern from one side to the other. There's no childish gate about it, more leisurely, slow; almost contemplative. I can assume two things about my guard-One: it's not the Joker; it's far too stable to be that freak-show reject. And two: whoever is guarding me has something weighing on his mind.

Well, I'm bored. Why don't we have a talk with Mr. Restless?

"He- gack!" I cough. Damn, my throat is dry. Clearing my throat, I try again, "Hey! Hey, you; the one pacing outside, there!" The shadow stops dead in the middle, shifting closer to the door. He's listening, but he doesn't answer. Oh, that won't do.

"Hey, I'm talking to you! The least you could do is answer!" Yea, I am deliberately pissing this person off, but I don't care. My rudeness works, and I am satisfied to hear the lock jingling and the hinges of the door creak. The puke bucket guy from before sticks is bald head in and barks, "What?"

Well, it wasn't a bark, more like a loud grunt. The guy's voice sounded like he had gravel in his throat.

I smile crookedly at him, and say, "Ugh, Hi."

He gives me a deadpan look, then makes to close the door. "Hey, wait!"

He sticks his head back in and looks agitated, "Look, kid, I'm not in the mood for playing games—"

"I know, I know. I just wanted to say… uh… Thanks." I smile again, and he quirks a non-existing eyebrow.

"What for?" he asks, stepping fully into the room. I realize then how huge this guy is.

"You know, for holding my hair earlier," I shrug my shoulders, "Any other thug wouldn't really care. But, you did. So, thanks."

He's a little thrown off by my gratitude, but he shakes it off. He stammers at first, but eventually returns, "Uh, you're welcome."

I nod, rubbing my lips together in that awkward way that I do. He stands in the doorway for a moment; another awkward silence.

He clears his throat, glances out in the hallway again, and then looks back at me. I quirk my head to the side and stare back. I widen my green eyes in an innocent, doe-like way. The corner of my mouth twitched in a half smirk.

His eyes narrow at me suspiciously. He leans against the door frame, crossing his tree trunk arms across his large chest, and finally said, with a heavy amount of resolution, "Something's wrong with you."

I coughed out a short laugh. "Why do you say that?" I asked. He didn't hesitate in his answer, "Because, you are too damn amused to be in your situation. You are aware that the deadliest criminal in all of Gotham has kidnapped you and is holding you hostage?"

I nodded, biting my lower lip. "Everyone has there way of coping with stressful situations. Finding the amusing side of the situation keeps me from losing my mind."

He quirked his hair-less brow once again, eyes still narrowed at me, "That's a strange way to relieve stress." He surveyed me a bit more, then added, "You don't even seem scared."

"Oh, don't fret," I assured him, waving my bound hands in a dismissive manner, "I am frightened. I mean, I don't really know if I'm going to survive this whole… whatever the Joker has planned for me. I hope I will, but I have no control over the outcome," I winced a little, and tightened my thighs together as I felt the growing pressure in my bladder. Man, I could use a bathroom break…

My eyes widened in realization, and the proverbial light bulb flicked back to life in my mind.

"You okay?" Mr. Restless asked, slightly concerned.

I blinked and quickly replied, " Oh, yea, yea I'm fine. It's just…"

He stepped in the room a bit more. "What is it?"

I have a plan, I thought deviously. A sheepish grin plastered itself on my face, and I said in a tiny squeak, "… I have to use the restroom."