Chapter Three
The Joker sat quietly on the floor of the make shift kitchen. He was angry and upset; but most of all, he was confused.
First of all, he was angry with Scarecrow. That dumb bastard should have had enough common sense to stop himself before Scarlet got hit. Then, he was upset because in her nightmare, he had tried to kill her. However, he was so confused by the emotion that coursed through his veins. Why did he care so much about the woman that had enslaved him? Why had he wanted to kill Scarecrow on the spot instead of cackle in laughter at the blank look on Scarlet's face? Why did he want to comfort the notorious Scarlet Rose?
He sighed and picked himself off of the floor. He trudged heavily, but quietly, up the stairs to his own private quarters. He silently shut his door behind him and started to get comfortable. As hard as he tried not to, his mind wandered to that sweet little Rosebud in the room next to his.
As he unhooked his watch, he wondered what time she liked to get into bed and wake up. As he unbuttoned his vest, he wondered if she counted each button like he did. As he loosened and took off his tie, he wondered if she'd ever had dreams of becoming a big corporate manager. As he slipped off his shoes, he wondered if she'd ever wanted to be somebody different.
The Joker walked over to his mirror and stared at the dark circles under his eyes. And they weren't from his makeup. Within the past week of living under the Scarlet Rose's order, he had to refrain from using his makeup.
Instead the dark circles were from the countless of hours he had stayed awake during the night, contemplating and plotting revenge on the girl that had taken away his dignity.
Suddenly there was a rap at the door.
"What?" he growled.
"Uhm… it's me, Joker," her voice rang out like the songs of love birds.
"Come in."
She stepped through the door; she too was only in her black pants and white button up shirt. Her mask was off and he could now clearly see her chocolate brown eyes.
"I, uh, just wanted to let you know that you don't have to work for me anymore. I would like it if you stayed, though," she whispered just barely enough for him to hear.
He stared at her. What was he supposed to say? Thank you? He didn't think so.
"I'll stay toots, because I want a piece of that bat myself." She smiled and walked out of his room, closing the door behind her.
He stared at the door for a moment; then reached into a drawer. He pulled out a tub of black paint; followed by tubs of red and white paint.
Once he was done painting his face, he stood back and looked at himself in the mirror.
Forget all that emotion crap. The Joker was back.
