Chapter 3- Property Of

"Soames Forsyte could best be described as a man of property"

And then I woke up, from the best sleep I'd had in a long time. The blueness faded from behind my eyes, like footsteps echoing into silence. I feel better than I've felt in the longest time.

The truth- well, as close as you're going to get- is that I was wrong from the start. The first child of diffident people who were unable to care for me, then felt the nagging desire to repeat the mistake until one day my father lost it. Poisoned everyone in the house, and the only reason I escaped was that I'd been hiding.

So I'm more acquainted with poison than anyone at Arkham might imagine, including my new bosses. I know it's not quite done to interrupt the story like this, but I feel it's necessary- you need to understand that I trained as a psychiatrist because I'm already broken. If there's hope for the very worst, there's hope for me too.

Or at least, I hope so.

But for the longest time now I've felt as if I am fighting a losing battle- the whispers are louder, and despite an improperly obtained ambien prescription, I haven't been able to sleep. And then I saw him. The smell of him rolls around in the back of my mind like salted chocolate, and I have to get out of my shitty, claustrophobic apartment.I shower as quickly as possible, water scalding, and pull on the nearest singlet top I can find, covering over my back covered all over, as it is, in ink.

The nearest thing to clubwear I own is a purple leather mini skirt, and as tacky as it is, on it goes. You can see the beginning of my scar line, but I don't give a fuck. Smudged eyeliner and a red lip later, and on a whim, a heart below my eye, I brush out my hair and grab my cigarettes and gun it to The White Ribbon. It's a rather Tongue in Cheek joke- one of Gotham's most infamous Madam's would tie white ribbons around the wrists of first timers at her club, warning the house regulars not to wield the whips too hard on them. Like the rest, I've heard The Joker used to be a regular, a long time ago. Who knows? The rumors might even be true. I'd like to think I'm coming because I want to know more, but really I'd like to find someone with some kind of happy pills then dance until they close.

The mood is loud and frenetic, and it takes several minutes for me to get a barman's attention- goddamit I just want a drink. I'm usually quite patient, but not tonight. I slug the dry martini in three swallows and make it onto the floor- they're playing Autoerotique's Asphyxiation. I dance that through to the end, but it's not enough. I want to feel frenetic, like the jolt of electricity earlier in the day- you know, touch is such a powerful thing. And when you don't have that many people in your life- well have you ever counted the days since someone touched you? Let alone the number since someone touched you other than your hands.

I stumble my way off the floor, looking for a source. Of course, it isn't the wisest idea, but in my current mood I couldn't care less. I light a cigarette, and look around. The mood is only getting hotter, and it seems like everyone is moving harder, mood only heats as the song switches to Daft Punk, - a harder remix. The VIP booth is currently closed. A white ribbon is pulled across the entry, and sitting, working on a laptop is Johnny Frost- the Joker's right hand man. I'm feeling cheeky.

I ignore the ribbon and lift a leg high over it, cartwheeling onto the high backed booth wall and sitting on it. Johnny lifts a brow and asks what he can help me with? He's obviously entertained which is probably the only reason I don't have a glock cocked in my cheek. Of course a quick glance shows he's running his accounts, so any distraction is probably welcome. "Johnny, I have a bit of a problem. I'd really like to dance up there, but I'd like to laugh a little more first. Can you help me with that?" Johnny, who seems to be charmed, grins and waves a hand at someone.

What would you like to dance to?, he asks, as a dirty martini and something white that I don't even look at are delivered. I swallow them back and say "Joker's Choice", and dump a 50 on the table. I grin at him and move back onto the floor, where Die Antwoord's Cookie Thumper is finishing up. I'm heading for one of the platforms. Johnny Frost raises a glass to me, and then signals to the DJ. The beginning chords of Paradise Circus- but a hard mix- I think Zed's Dead.

Doesn't matter, but the choice makes me grin. And then I let the feelings take over, and start to dance. The drugs throb through my system, harder and faster. The crowd pumps up even more. A fight starts at the edge of the crowd, and I'm dimly aware that the speakers are getting louder, and sweat is running down my hair. It rolls into Angel, and suddenly people in the crowd are grinding, kissing, and the pace is overly hot. Then Stripped by Shiny Toy Guns. I dance until I can't anymore, ending with my shirt rolled up, which I wouldn't usually do. In the center of my back is the old ink, and then a large burn scar. The property of is still clear and black, as no lazer would ever take it off, and the scar is threaded and thick. I don't care. I'm dripping with sweat, and momentarily satisfied.

I hop towards the edge, surprised to see Johnny Frost, holding a spare white shirt and a drink. I pull the clean cotton over my head, and slug the drink. And grin- it's lemon water in a martini glass. He also offers up an Advil.

"You're welcome anytime, Dollface. Sold more booze on a Tuesday than all the rest put together. So whatever you did, you're welcome to again."

I start laughing and kiss him on the cheek. Then I thread my way out, it's time to sleep. I'm going to go home and get 4 hours in, before it's time to work. I'm glad he doesn't ask me my name.

In a cell in Arkham, a Guard knocks on The Joker's Cell door.

Like any insomniac, I'm up.

"What can I do for you Brad?"Brad doesn't even reply- rude little shit- just pushes a tablet through the cell box. You have an hour, he grunts.

I make my way painfully, up. They really went for it earlier. Half my face is darkly bruised, and I'm fairly certain I cracked a rib. Worth it for a little bit of entertainment. Should be as easy as a cat playing with a mouse, and I love a little entertainment. The tiny little thing almost came all over my hands. It really was too easy. I scroll through through the accounting, pleased to see positive numbers. Johnny has paid everyone on time, and there's still plenty in the tank. Good. There was some mess in Midway, but it was easily cleaned up. He's done exactly ask I asked- I wanted to see it before they try and drug me up to my eyeballs. Johnny's dumped a note on the desktop.

Boss-

Go into the videos folder. We had an interesting guest tonight.

I'd hire her if I could, she got them whipped into a frenzy.

Look at tonight's numbers.

Johnny

PS: She asked that the song be "Jokers Choice".

I slip the earbuds into my ears and tap the videos icon. There's only one thing- about an hour long, and I certainly don't have time for all of it. The vid finally loads.

"Oh well, the devil makes us sin, but we like it when we're spinning in his grip." I'm confused as to what I'm supposed to be looking at until the camera refocuses. I watch, transfixed. It's like the air around her shimmers with want. Or at least you'd think so, the way the dancers are reacting. I watch the chaotic frenzy, the way people are closer, drinking heavily. I watch her. And it's magnetizing. I've never seen a woman that palely insignificant turn around and sweat chaos into a crowd like that. I scroll through, towards the end, into stripped. People in the crowd are an inch away from fucking on the dancefloor.

She's shiny with sweat, and she finally rolls her top up. Across her back is a huge dark swirl of copperplate lettering, that reads "Property Of", and beneath it, an enormous white web of scarring.

Oh, it really is too good. Perhaps not insignificant at all. Johnny comes into focus, and she drinks something and pulls on one of my shirts. I can't help but laugh, because I'd like to fuck her, too. And I wasn't even there.

I tap the email icon, and email Johnny.

"Find out who she is. Everything."

The message Icon pings back seconds later.

"Already on it, Boss."

I'm not anywhere near done. The whisper in my ear says I should stick my brand there. What a Logo that would make! And then the whispering is laughing, laughing that will last all night long.

Come to daddy, little girl. I'm waiting.

AN: Songs-

Massive Attack, Paradise Circus

Asphyxiation, Autoerotique

Massive Attack, Angel

Rev 22:20

Stripped, Shiny Toy Guns