We'll try bold for my A/N this time around. I would have finished this yesterday, but my roommate lent me her copy of Breaking Dawn, so I had to stay up all night reading that. grumble grumble
Anyways – continued thanks to kagedfox and lildropofsunshine for subscribing and reviewing. You should all strive to be more like them. At least let me know if my portrayal of Joker is way off.
Fans of Firefly might notice my not-so-suttle tribute.
And on with the show…. I own nothing that isn't mine
Despite what anyone else might have thought, the Joker remained completely ignorant the fun happening outside of Arkham until the next day. Since the incident with the plastic fork three weeks ago he hadn't been allowed outside of his cell except for his twice-a-week sessions with a psychologist, and there he was shackled and strapped down so well he could barely wiggle his toes. Even when his meals were brought to his cell, what appeared to be a small SWAT team assembled to watch his every move. Safe to say that he couldn't exactly watch the news or read the paper.
The Joker was therefore surprised when an actual SWAT team assembled outside his cell, lead by the police commissioner. It wasn't time for a meal, and his last session with his latest doctor had been yesterday.
Just the thought of his last 'therapy' session sent him into a fit of hysterics. Dr. Forest had been forced to end the session early due to a nervous breakdown caused by the Joker's recital of every semi-major vein in the human body and how long it would take a person to bleed to death if severed. All in all, the Joker was quite pleased with his track record; in his four weeks as a patient of Arkham, he'd gone through seven doctors, and the one that had attempted a second session was currently occupying her own padded cell.
The Joker wondered when he would finally get bored enough to break out.
Right – back to the SWAT team.
"Against the wall, clown," barked the asylum security guard that accompanied the police. The Joker didn't bother moving; he still was laughing too hard to breath properly. Gordon signaled for the security guard to open the cell regardless. A moment later the small cell was filled with officers, each with a gun pointed at the Joker.
He offered no resistance as his arms were forced into the straitjacket before he was lead down the hallways; he was curious as a kitten on crack why the commissioner was dragging him out of his cell. The little parade stopped once they reached one of the interview rooms. These rooms were stark and plain with usually only a table and two chairs as furnishings. This room also had a small TV.
Gordon stood by the TV while the Joker was being tied down to a chair that was bolted to the floor. When the officers were done they filed out, leaving them alone. For a moment they studied each other; Gordon's weary, stern frown opposed to the Joker's bored smile.
"Ya know, commissioner, other, uh, visitors usually bring gifts when they, uh, come to see the patients. You could have brought my, my, uh, my face," the Joker said, cracking a huge momentary grin than stretched the scars on his cheeks. The only thing the Joker had requested (and been denied) since he was admitted had been his face paint. Gordon's eyes glanced at the scars, which put a smirk on the Joker's lips.
The Joker knew what he looked like without the paint. He knew that even without it his lips were red and chapped from his habit of licking them and the circles around his eyes were dark purple from his lack of sleep. It almost gave the illusion that the painted face was hidden under a layer of flesh makeup. He was very aware that as frightening as his painted face was, his bare face was almost as frightening because, if nothing else, it proved that it was a man terrorizing Gotham.
Gordon, however, refused to be sidetracked. How bo-ring.
"Did you have anything to do with the murder of Ellen Kensel?" Gordon said stiffly. The Joker cocked an eyebrow in fake interest as his tongue darted along the corner of his mouth.
"You know," he said in reply, "Despite what you people think, I'm not the, uh, the root of chaos; I just play the game." Gordon didn't let himself believe the bored tone and expression; the Joker excelled at mind games and deception. Instead he pushed a button on the TV and let the recording of yesterday's newscast play.
"This just in; police responding to a threat on the Mayor Garcia's life uncovered a clue which lead to the discovery of police cruiser 4165 on the roof of the Rosenthorn building," The anchorman on the screen said with a concerned expression on his face. "The car exploded minutes after being discovered, taking the lives of several officers and injuring several more. We now take you live to the scene."
The Joker didn't exactly perk up, but as the picture of the news studio cut to an image of the roof of the building where the still smoking car sat his lips pulled into an almost pleased grin. Chaos always delighted him, even if he wasn't the one causing it. He felt Gordon watching him carefully as the screen cut back to the anchorman.
"Found in the car was the body of Ellen Kensel, assistant to Mayor Garcia, who had been kidnapped two days earlier."
The image or name of the victim didn't mean anything to the Joker, but he perked up at the mention of a disturbing video. Gordon stopped the tape just as the dark room with Ellen tied to the chair came into view. His mildly interested smile turned downwards into a slight frown.
"Now why do I get the feeling that you stopped it just when it was going to get, uh, exciting?" he said with mild disappointment. The fact that Gordon had stopped it made him all the more curious, but the commissioner pushed the TV cart away and sat down in the other chair.
"Again, did you have anything to do with Ellen's death?" Gordon asked. The Joker raised an eyebrow in an expression that indicated that was the dumbest question ever asked, glanced down at his securely fastened straitjacket, than looked back at Gordon.
"Does it look like I get out much?" he asked in a voice that mimicked his face.
--
As the guards lead him back to his cell, the Joker had something to entertain himself with. He had realized the significance of the cruiser's number the instant the anchorman mentioned it, of course. That was a clue too obvious to be meant for him; it had been left for Gordon and Batsy. Hell, he'd bet money Batsy had been the one to put the pieces together; Gordon wasn't that bright.
The human body could be drained of blood in 8.6 seconds given adequate vacuuming systems.
But Gordon did plan, and the Joker loved plans. He never had any of his own, of course, but there was nothing more entertaining than watching as someone's plan fall to pieces in front of them. And his mind was built for twisting plans; all he had to do was give it a second thought and he could see exactly what needed to be done to break hours of hard planning.
It takes less than a pound of force to cut human flesh.
But this he gave more than just a second though, and the more he examined what this mysterious murderer had done, the more the only posible outcome solidified in his mind; he would be out of Arkham by tonight. He hadn't given escaping much thought; he hadn't gotten bored enough yet (though he had gotten out of his cell to leave a present for one of his ex-doctors and steal some M&M's).
Coulrophobia - fear of clowns. Geliophobia - fear of laughter. Xyrophobia - fear of razors.
Oh if curiosity could kill. There were plenty of fun things to keep him entertained once he got out; there was a new poison he had dreamed up one afternoon he wanted to try; he wanted to play with Batsy some more; he was long overdue to blow something up. But oh did he want to meet this new player, this new agent of chaos. And he was sure that's what they were; like called to like, and this was not the work of a schemer.
The guards opened his cell and pushed him inside without undoing the straitjacket. The Joker licked his lips and giggled as he watched the door close, and then proceeded to dislocate his shoulder. A few minutes later the beige material fell to the floor in a heap as he pulled out a deck of cards and began shuffling them mindlessly. All he had to do now was wait.