AN: Thanks for the reviews!
Generally, stays at Arkham weren't so bad. Roof over the head, a bed to sleep in—though it wasn't all that comfortable—and a variety of food, even everything did taste like vomit. And on Tuesdays there was Art Therapy, where he was allowed to draw anything he wanted in crayons or markers or even paint, if he hadn't been exhibiting Inappropriate Behavior, and no one could yell at him for the pictures he made, because it was self-expression. Sure, there were the nightly assaults from the guards, but those had stopped, remarkably, what with the new orderlies outside the door twenty-four seven thing. It hadn't hurt anyway, back when it did happen.
And Arkham was never short of staff and patients to play with until they broke.
This week, though, had crept past with all the speed of a zombie. A zombie whose legs had rotted off. Joker was bored. And he hated boredom. Almost as much as being made light of, or being ignored, or that all that stupid plastic packaging companies insisted on putting around their products, the kind that took three hours and several chainsaws to get off. Honestly. What idiot decided twist-tying—knotting—something to a plastic plate welded onto the box it came in was a good idea? If he ran the world, bubble wrap would be the only allowed type of packing.
Well, and cardboard boxes. Those were fun. And good for hiding weapons or bodies in, in a pinch.
He didn't have to be bored, he knew; he could make things very interesting if he tried. But with the increased security, it would take planning. It wasn't as easy as getting around the automatic lock and taking off down the hall anymore. Now that there were guards outside, they'd have to be either subdued or killed. And that wasn't difficult—entertaining, actually—but someone was sure to take note, so he'd only be able to do it once before security was tightened. That, or break out.
He really didn't want to break out just yet though. The idea had been to make a few more visits to Jonny's room, really shake him up, before he got to methods of vengeance. He supposed he could break out and sneak in again to bother him, but he was just settling back in. Besides, tomorrow was Italian night. The night with food that didn't entirely make him want to puke out his digestive tract. Just mostly. And the breadsticks were good.
He'd tried deactivating the door's security system last night, via a piece of metal pulled out of his mattress. The doctors seemed to think as long as they took away the bed frame, nothing else could be used as a weapon. To his surprise, the latest change in the system was actually competent. Not that he couldn't break through it if he tried, but it would take effort. He hadn't felt like expending effort that night, and upon awaking, he realized he'd misplaced the metal.
Where, he wasn't quite sure, but it was nowhere to be found. Neither was the hole he'd torn into the mattress to get it out. As if it had been sewn shut. Which made no sense; no doctor had confronted him about it, and last he checked, he didn't make needles and do home repair in his sleep. Either he'd hallucinated getting the spring in the first place—which couldn't be it, given that he was the very picture of sanity—or someone was in his room when he shouldn't have been.
He frowned, mulling it over. Bats had better not have been in here without saying hello. Especially when he didn't have his face on. That was just rude.
Definitely not Jonny. If that little coward had gotten out of his cell, he would have hightailed it out of town like the Energizer Bunny on crack. So…predictable. Jonny might have more vision than the average criminal, but his methods were about as interesting as watching blood dry. Except for maybe when he was torturing people, but he made that so scientific that it was almost boring too.
He wasn't sure exactly what he wanted to do with Jonny-boy when messing around with the little scarecrow got boring, but he'd make it interesting. An interesting revenge was more than Jonny deserved, certainly, he might have been fun to have around, and given nice—if inexperienced—head, but disrespecting Joker in front of Batsy was not on. Not at all. He'd better appreciate it, whatever the Joker decided to do. And there were so many options, each as fun as the last.
He could offer to blow Crane, return the favor as it were, with a razor hidden in his mouth. Jonny'd have to be tied down for that one. He could play doctor, and help treat his friend's hydrophobia with Chinese water torture. He could take a leaf out of Harvey's book, and flip a two-headed—unscarred—coin, telling Jonny he'd get beaten if it came up heads. They could finger paint, though using Jonny's blood wouldn't offer too wide a range of colors. And the fluid in his eyes would be clear, so there'd be no point in using that.
He wasn't sure he wanted to mess with Jonny's eyes anyway. They were gorgeous, and had been part of the reason Joker had started playing with him to begin with. That, and he was fun to mess with. Jonny's eyes were almost unnaturally blue; looking at them was like seeing blue for the first time, like being Dorothy Gale and stepping out of her house and into Technicolor. Definitely not in Kansas anymore. Alternately, they reminded him of a blue raspberry slushie, though lighter. A shade that one did most definitely not see often in nature. Jonny's eyes made him think of Saint Lucia.
But they might make paintings together. He liked Art Therapy, a lot, even when he wasn't allowed near the paints. Earlier this week a badly mangled, mostly broken pack of one hundred and twenty Crayolas had sufficed to make a very lovely picture he entitled 'Best Friends Forever.' It had depicted a scarecrow, wearing clothing with the pattern of the nine of spades being set aflame by a clown wearing a crown as a bat laughed in the background. He'd tried asking the therapist to deliver it to Jonny, but she'd said no. It was hanging on his wall now.
Lights from the road shone through the window, casting patterns on the wall over his door. He stared at the door, sucking on his scars as he shook his head in distaste. It couldn't hold him, not if he really wanted out, but the fact that he had to put energy into it pissed him off. Well, no matter. The room might have been soundproofed, but he still got information in other ways. Other ways being the young, inexperienced nurse from out of Gotham who brought his morning meds. The guards knew what they were doing, for once, but no one had bothered to think about the nurses. He assumed they'd sent someone new to the city to deal with him because she may not be as afraid. Whatever the reason, like most things, it worked to his advantage.
He knew who was behind the changes in security. Wayne Enterprises, as always, though this was the first time it had a noticeable effect. Well, maybe when he was finished dealing with Jonny he'd track down this Bruce Wayne. Maybe play some fun games with him and show him what happened to those who tried to contain him. Brucey's parents were dead, weren't they? They could have some fun at Mommy and Daddy's graves. Or not, the playboy idiot didn't seem worth too much effort. Joker hadn't even seen him at his last party, doubtless off cowering somewhere. Great host.
He looked away from the door. It annoyed him; if it could speak he imagined it would be stern and old and no fun at all. Not even a dry sense of humor. Joker turned his attention back to the lights on the wall. It was Lights Out now, not that he slept much during Lights Out. He thought some of the pills they had him on were meant to knock him out, but given that he rarely swallowed the stuff, the Sandman didn't pay him visits until he was good and ready. The Joker didn't like pills. They looked like candy, but as those public service announcements warned, they really weren't.
The headlights from the streets danced across the wall like sunlight on a rapidly-flowing river. It made him long for the docks, or just to be outside, but he didn't turn away from the sight. It was relaxing despite, or maybe because of, the associations. Like sunlight on a river, but it was dark. So possibly more like a candle on the water.
Humming, he found himself thinking of Obon, the Japanese festival of the dead. It lasted three days, and on the third, family members would float a lantern down the river, one that bore the names of their deceased loved ones. He wondered if he'd make a Jonny lantern and send it floating off to sea. He wondered if Jonny would appreciate it. Probably not, given his aversion to water. He wondered if he was going to kill Jonny at all.
On one hand, the scarecrow had pissed him off. Badly. Whatever happened, he was not getting off lightly. But killing him might be too easy. It could be more fun to see how much further over the edge he could push him. The kid was obviously fucked up, Joker still giggling in shocked amusement every time he thought of his friend insisting that Joker wasn't there, but he was still holding on. He was in the abyss, but he was holding on. Joker was tempted to break his hold, see what would happen when Jonny fell the rest of the way.
Or he could just stab him. He didn't make plans. He wasn't a schemer, he was just a dog about to catch a car. And he didn't know what he'd do once he had it, but he knew it would be fun. Lots of fun. After all, Obon didn't mourn the dead. It celebrated their lives. If he was going to kill Jonny, he might as well give him a hell of a sendoff. Too bad his friend was unlikely to see it from that point of view. Jonny would get caught up in the pain and all. Wimp.
From outside his cell there was shouting. It was supposed to be soundproof, and usually it was, but not when people were yelling. It wasn't as soundproof in the dark anyway. Hearing got better when one couldn't see as well. Maybe he'd blind Jonny and then have some fun with loud noises. He'd read once that hearing a song loudly enough for long enough would drive a normal person crazy, and it would be so entertaining to see what would happen to someone with a heightened sense of hearing. What song, though?
The shouting was still going on. He considered yelling something about needing his beauty sleep, or how this was disrupting his peaceful state of mind, but decided against it. Exhibiting Appropriate Behavior, making everyone feel relaxed around him was a key part of what little plan he had made. And anyway, this could be interesting. He stopped, cocked his head toward the door, listening.
Wait—had someone just said 'Scarecrow'? They had, they definitely had. And he was in a separate ward now, so they shouldn't be talking about him unless he'd died, or fallen horribly ill, or—did he just hear 'escaped'? He had better not have heard escaped, if he'd heard escaped, people would die, and it wouldn't be—there it was again. They had said escaped.
Well, this was not happy-making. Not one bit. Stupid little bitch. What the hell made Jonathan think he could leave before the Joker had had his fun? And breaking out would draw the Batman's attention again, which, now that he thought about it, was probably exactly what that whore intended. Stealing his attention, again, making it all about him. That little bastard. He'd show him what happened to people who crossed him.
That's it, Jonathan was dead. So dead he might as well lie down in a coffin right now. Only Joker highly doubted there would be enough of the Scarecrow left to fill a coffin, once he was through. Hope you're ready to play, Jonny. 'Cause I sure as hell am.
AN: Saint Lucia, also known as Saint Lucy, is the patron saint of light and blindness. She had her eyes gouged out.
Nine of spades: The worst card of all, supposedly, when using a regular card deck for tarot. Represents misery and defeat.
The game Joker thinks of playing, beating Jonathan if the two-headed coins comes up heads, is taken from the comics. Harvey Dent's father would play that game with him.
Shorter chapter, and also my first time writing from Joker's point of view, which I'm intensely nervous about. Jon's breakout was rather abrupt, the next chapter will detail his experiences over the week and how he got out.