"You wanted me to come… To clean the filing cabinet."
Gordon scratched his head awkwardly. "Well, yes."
Ginger sighed. Couldn't they have found another person to clean the filing cabinet? Was it necessary to drag her to the Station just to clean a filing cabinet? "Okay."
"But you don't have to do all of it. Rebecca said she would help after her shift is over at three. Sorry, Ginger," he added, noting her skeptical expression, "but we're running low on people today."
Ginger agreed. Most people were either out patrolling, or they were keeping watch of the many corridors of prison cells. There were few left in the end to do the trivial chores such as organizing files and etc. It was why Gordon was so lucky to have her around. With slight resistance, but determination, Ginger set to work.
By the time three O'clock rolled by, Gingers fingers were paper-sliced and stiff as if she had Arthritis. It had given her abundant dismay when she discovered that each capacious drawer was crammed with papers and booklets, so much that not even dust grain could slip between anything. She muttered curses as a stack of papers tipped and dispelled themselves all over the floor. Groaning, she bent to collect them, her back aching from being stooped down for so long. She cast another anxious glance at the clock, reading twenty-five after three. Should she go find Rebecca? No. She didn't want to nag her. But she was late… No, Ginger countered herself, Rebecca would come when she was ready. Ginger sighed again, continuing with her work.
Ten minutes stumbled along, and still not a sign of anyone. She was a half hour late. Ginger paused, eyeing the walls in thought. Yes, she decided, she should probably go see what's up. Just to see, just to make sure if she was still planning on coming.
Ginger straightened from her chair, made her way out of the office. Rebecca should have been back by now, or at least checked in. Ginger entered the lobby, but found neither she or Gordon was there. She made her way to the first corridor of prison cells, sauntering down the hall. She found Anthony Elliot, one of the officers, standing straight as a ruler beside the opposite entrance of the hall. She paid no mind to the hoodlums, as usual, as she passed their cells, some of them snickering and eying her snidely.
"Hi, Ginger," he greeted her with a half-hearted smile.
"Hi, Anthony. Have you seen Rebecca around?"
He paused. "…No, I don't think so. Not in the last few hours, at least."
"Oh. Well, have you seen Gordon anywhere?"
"Gordon isn't here; he was called for some emergency. Told Gargone that he'd be back by four."
Ginger heaved a heavy sigh. "Alright. Thanks, Anthony." Gingerly strolling back up the hall, she found herself imagining the worst possible scenarios in which would keep Rebecca from returning. She knew she was overreaction by a heap, but she wasn't exactly what one would call calm. She was genuinely a nervous wreck over the smallest of things, like a pedestrian briefly coming in contact with a parked car and the alarm wailing like an upset baby.
As she plodded along the cold, metal path, she absently glanced to her side. It was met with a giant red grin. Ginger swallowed neurotically at the sight of him; the Joker was slouched on the rusty bench, sporting his obnoxious orange uniform, as he twiddled his thumbs. She'd never seen anyone actually twiddling their thumbs before, she realized. It was only an expression used in literature and such.
It was when an odd sensation washed over her did she realized that she'd been staring intently at his thumbs. It was the odd sensation of knowing you're being watched. Automatically, she rolled her gaze upwards and stared briefly into his eyes.
She suppressed a horrified gasp when she found him staring back. They were terrible; empty pits of demonic madness. Their presence on her sent shivers down her spine, and she forced her eyes away.
"Somethin' troubling you, toots?" The impending voice cracked the unsteady silence before she could take a second step.
Carefully, she glimpsed back at the maniac. "No," she said shortly, crossly, in hopes that her voice didn't crack.
His thumbs had stopped dancing, were now lying limp at his sides. He soberly got to his feet, drawing nearer to her, and unease crept inside her like a spider crawling up the wall. He was so close; he clutched the rusted bars of the cell, and she inched backward. She could feel the sadistic energy spawning from him, like some sort of electric current. The paint on his face was cracked and beginning to fade, and where the different colors converged was terribly smudged, triggering the visual effect of a melting, chinking skull.
"No? Then why, my dear, do you look so baffled? Looking for, not something, but someone?" He continued, tilting his white head to the side, his curious gaze so wide and intent it nearly brought Ginger to tears.
"I, uh… Was just looking. For someone."
"Mhm. I see. Perhaps I can help you." His voice was uncannily smooth and edgy. It was higher then she would have expected, almost a Jack Nicholson manner to it.
Ginger shook her head, "no, that's fine."
"Are ya positive? Because, I have seen puh-lenty of people walk by my cell in the last twenty-four hours—"
"Ginger!"
Ginger whirled at the exclamation. It was Gordon; she could vaguely make out his gleaming spectacles and fatherly mustache from his figure at the threshold of the corridor. She sighed inwardly at her relief. "Yeah?"
"There you are. I was looking for you. Yes, Rebecca ran into some trouble, if you were wondering," he said heedlessly, eyeing the Joker with great repulsion.
"Okay," she said, approaching him. "…Does that mean I have to finish cleaning the filing cabinet?" she asked, peering down pathetically at her sore, battered fingers.
Gordon chuckled, "no, I'll find someone else."
Well, there is the first encounter of Ginger and the Joker. I'm sorry if the Joker is a little bit OOC, but you know, I'll try my best. The next chapter out will be the Joker's POV.
So, I hope you liked it, and reviews and critical advice is always appreciated!