So. This is what happens when I'm in a car for about eight hours with nothing better to do. But the next part is finished! I had so much fun writing this, you have no idea. I hope everyone else enjoys it just as much! Only two parts left to go!
Hugs and hand grenades,
~King Noodle
"Are you there God? It's me… Joker."
Lying on his back, he stared up at the ceiling of his cell deep within the belly of Arkham Asylum. Not his normal cell - no, he hasn't been a good little boy long enough yet to be rewarded with such luxuries - but at least he was out of solitary. Thank you, God.
"I know it's been awhile since we had a good talk… Okay, maybe we've never talked before, but it's never too late to start, right? Right? Nevermind that, let's just get straight down to business," he said, standing up from the floor - yeah, they didn't give him a bed either - and began to pace his small cell. "We both know that I'm in a bit of a… pickle at the moment, and I was wondering if you'd, you know, help me out. I know I haven't exactly been the greatest person ever - oh, don't even give me that look, I know I'm a piece of shit."
Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes in frustration. "Alright, let's just stop beating around the bush already… Ooo, a beating, that sounds like so much fun right now… Sorry, the brain's hardwired for violence and cruelty towards other members of my species. And all others. I don't discriminate. Anyways, you know what I want, now you just need to tell me what you want and what I gotta do that will make you help a brother out, m'kay?"
Looking around the dark cell, the blinding theatrics and divine proclamation he was expecting never showed up. Oh, so the big man upstairs was giving him the silent treatment. Alright then, fine, two can play at that game. Plopping down on the middle of the floor, he crossed his arms with a huff, refusing to say another word. But that didn't last for very long.
After a few short beats, he groaned, throwing his hands up in the air and shouting at the ceiling, "So you're not going to tell me? You want this to be a guessing game, huh? Well, if you want me to guess, I can guess!"
Climbing off of the floor, again, he pointed a finger at the ceiling, "You know, you're not as high and mighty as you think you are, buddy. Sure, you might have some nice looking robes and streets paved with gold, but have you seen me? I've got glorious purple suits and streets that run red with blood. Can't beat that with all your heaven bullshit!"
The laughter overtook him, soon becoming uncontrollable. Who did this guy think he was? Acting all cool and shit because he has some big house up on a cloud. Whoop-de-fucking-do.
"Alright, alright, I'm sorry. I got a little carried away there, but you should expect that by now with me. But you want me to guess? I can do that," he said, mulling over what the big man could really want him to do, "You want me to do volunteer work, be an upstanding member of the community? Nah, it's a bit late for that. How about makes amends with Batman? No, Batsy's too much fun to give up. Want me to… No, I know what you want me to do."
The realization hit him like a train. Or like Bane punching him in the chest? He's never been hit by a train, but he has been beaten by Bane before and that hurt like Hell so maybe the realization was more like Bane punching-
Shaking his head, he got down on his knees and threw his arms wide, staring up at the ceiling and crying, "No, you can't possibly want me to do that! I'll be the laughing stock of the whole town, I'll be made fun of at every dinner party, bar get-together, or any social gathering for that matter! Please, don't make me do it!"
Then he scowled, wagging a finger again, "Oh no, that's exactly what you want to happen, I see how things are. You want me to be completely humiliated. You want me to be utterly embarrassed. Well, you don't know who you're dealing with because the Joker is not easily humiliated or embarrassed. You're talking to the guy who's exposed himself to everyone just for the mere fact that that image would be forever burned into their memories. Not that I'm an eye sore or anything. No, Harley would have something completely different to say on that matter."
He took another deep breath. "This is all about her, isn't it? I haven't treated her well enough over the years, oh no, not even close to good enough. And you want me to pay for it, don't you? Yeah, that's what you want. You want me to treat her like how she always should've been. She deserved much better than me, and you want me to make recompense because we both know that she would never leave me for someone else - no, it's too late for something like that."
Groaning, he hit himself on the forehand with an opened hand, muttering nonsense to himself. Of course this is what he had to do to make things right again. Everything always revolved around that little minx. That sorry, good for nothing, rotten little-
"No," he said outloud, hitting himself in the head again, "Positive thoughts, positive thoughts. Gotta think positive thoughts."
He began to pace his small cell, hands clasped behind his back. What exactly could he do to appease the Big Man when Harley was involved? Sure, fucking her was the first thing that came to mind. She was always pining for a roll around in the sheets. But he did that enough for her already - more than he'd like to. So what could he possibly do?
"Isn't there something else I can do?" he screamed, turning back up to the ceiling, throwing his fists up. "Just tell me what you want instead of making me suffer! But no, that's what you want! You want me to suffer to give me a taste of what I've dished to Harley all these years!"
Screaming again, he threw a fist against the closest wall, barely registering the pain that spiked up his arm. He continued taking out his frustration on the wall, quickly becoming slick as his blood splattered along the bricks.
Eventually wearing himself out, he stopped and stared down at his hands, breathing heavy. He had broken the skin over every single one of his knuckles, almost mesmerized as he watched his blood drip steadily onto the floor.
And then the coughing came back. He couldn't tell if he coughed anything up this time, already having painted himself with his own blood. This fit lasted longer and was more violent than any of his previous ones, leaving him gasping for breath as he fell to his knees, one hand on the wall to keep himself propped up.
"Alright, alright," he said, sucking in a large breath, "I got it, I'll fuck the girl. I'll treat her better, I promise. Just please make this shit stop."
Holding onto the wall as he stood up to keep himself steady, he walked over to the door of his cell. He guided his hand across the wall until he found the right tile, wedging his fingernail underneath to force it off, breaking his nail in the process. Yanking the tile off of the wall, he let it fall to the floor, pulling out the correct wires to short wire the power to the door.
Opening with a satisfying hiss, he popped his head out into the hallway to make sure no guards were lingering about. Probably all taking a smoke break out back and giggling at trashy porn, ha. He silently made his way through the dark, empty halls, only a trail of blood providing any evidence that he was out of his cell.
A few more turns and he was at his destination. She wasn't awake, her sleeping form curled up in a mess of blankets on the bed hanging from the wall. He made quick work of the wires, her door sliding open with ease.
Her head popped up due to the noise, a confused "Wha-?" coming from the mountain of blankets. But then she realized who was standing at the entrance of her cell, and she excitedly clambered out of her bed and wrapped her slim arms around his waist. "Oh, Mister J, I'm so happy to see you! I was wondering when you'd come! Wait, what's all this blood fr-"
"Shut up, Harls," he grunted, pushing her back up against the wall, his bloody hands already working on getting her Arkham issued jumpsuit off, "Daddy's been feeling lonely down in his cell, and needed some company."