Updating will be for the next couple days, so expect chapters for all my stories ok?
I can aready tell that this fic is goin to be a long one.
Alicia paused as she dragged her new model around her home, snapping shots of him at random.
He really was a knock-out, and she told him so.
"Thank you very much Ms. Kneeley," he said politely as he walked around the balcony, eyes distant and fuzzy.
This was going way too well.
Like he wasn't an expert at this stuff, but he had to congratulate him self on this one. He turned back to her and smiled.
"So, you aren't going to ask me what I do?" he asked as he rose up from the veranda ground, leading her to an empty half of the deck where the view of the city was fantastic.
"Do you want me to?"
"I don't mind, but that's usually the 1st thing women ask men. What if I'm a bum?" he said, looking at her from the corner of his sugary brown eyes. She smiled at this, and shook her head.
"I know you aren't a bum." he looked her way, blond eyebrows knitting together.
"How's that? You gonna gimme a psych evaluation?" He said sarcastically, covering his suave demeanor seamlessly as she took his hands and held them up in the air.
Whoops...don't get too cocky
"No, you have to pay for one of those. You see you're hands? Those are a Worker's Hands." He paused, tilting his head.
"What constitutes a Worker's Hands?"
"They're rough, calloused. You can see the little knicks and wounds from doing whatever it is you do. Most of the men at this party have hands like mine. You have my father's hands."
"Really now?" he said, flexing his hand and turning it this way and that, genuine interesting perking his ears.
"Yeah. When I was small, my Dad would pick me up and I would complain about his hands. And one day he told me that I'd know a good man when I saw his hands."
Jack snorted.
Guess you're blinder than a bat with no eyeballs in a dark cave with no sonar....
He looked at her, looking at her wavy sunshine hair, down her hourglass frame, all the way down her long legs, to her small dainty feet. As his eyes started back up, her eyes met his.
He wasn't one for all the poetic shit, but he had to admit, Blondie was a very attractive woman.
And not just physically. As they spoke around her condo, she didn't conduct herself like a bimbo. She talked with a purpose, whatever that might be. She was a sharp tack, and she didn't care if you knew it.
He wondered how she'd put those brains to use when he was finished with her.
As 'Jack' pondered this, a flash of raised skin on her back caught his eye.
"Uh, not to be nosy. But, uh, what's that hon?" She smiled and turned so he could get a better look at his handiwork.
"I got to meet Gotham's Clown Prince." He smiled, liking the fear and another feeling (respect?) she had in her voice.
"Why don't you get, uh, surgery to have it removed, or made, uh, less noticeable?" he had been surprised to see it there, and he expected a reason for her still having it.
Because it sure as hell wasn't like she couldn't afford its removal.
"Because scars add to the beauty of things. They create discord in the midst of conformity, and it drives people insane to know it. A scar, no matter how small, shows that no one is perfect, no matter what they may think. Scars show that everything can be gone in a flash, and that vulnerability is...is...." she struggled to find words as a rough finger traced the curve of her scar.
"Finish your sentence," the Joker said plainly, wanting to pull that little dress off and make some scars that left prettier scars than the letter of his name on her back. Any girl who could read thoughts out of his head like that needed a treat. He thought of all her options, and it made him growl.
She turned to him suddenly, eyes wild and skin flustered, chest beginning to heave.
Oh my my myyyy....this is a pretty picture
Now, the Joker is NOT a hesitant man when it came to damsels in need of sexual assistance, but he wanted to remember this. Because when she found out he wasn't Mr. Napier, it would crack the cream marble of her mind.
Its obvious the Joker scared her, and it would drive her a little wild to know that she welcomed the man she feared most into her very soft and comfy bed.
Not that he'd been sleeping in her bed, of course.
So they sat like there, faces so close that if Blondie blinked, the Joker would get a eye full of her pretty lashes.
"How long have you been hiding out in my house Clown?" she asked, voice like black silk.
The Joker blinked at that, the gears in his brain screeching to a halt and bursting into flames.
Holy shit. She knew it was me the whole time. Well, cat's out the bag.
"A few weeks. Figured I'd be your, uh, Welcome Home gift when you got out of Gotham General." She never took her face from his, searching his eyes.
"How'd you-"
"Your face." for some reason, those two words made him angry, and he snatched her u by her hair and held her to him, so there would be no suspicion.
He was running a tight ship tonight, so no screw ups.
"What about it?" he growled quietly admiring how the small of her back caved in when she shivered.
"The shape and angles are the same, despite the fact you've cleaned up really well. Besides, do you really think I remember the face of the man that gave me this scar?" she whispered, eyebrows raised. They stayed that way for a while, until the Joker shoved her away giggling and she fell with a thud to the floor.
"I'm guessing that, uh, you figured it out not too long after, uh, I introduced myself. And I'm guessing you want something from, uh, me, otherwise you would've run away screaming. Right?" She nodded as she picked herself back up gracefully.
Which the Clown Prince had to applaud her for, because she did it in amazingly high heels.
"Photography's my thing. I want a photo shoot with you. Like not a shoot, but I want to take quality pictures and show them at the Gotham Underground exhibit."
"Any other requests Barbie? Because if I, uh, if I remember correctly, psychology is also a thing of yours."
"But its not what I want. Which is why if I don't get my photo op, I'm going to have you go through electro shock therapy and castration at the Asylum when I report you." he looked at her, smiling so wide he could feel his Trublend cracking.
"Are you , uh, are you threatening me Barbie? Do you realize what I'm capable of?"
"Yes. But I also know you want to break me. And the 1st step of doing so would be to win me over. You give me the opportunity to take my photos, I'll give you the opportunity to take my mind and twist it."
Hmmm, she's drives a hard bargain....
He drug his hands down his face, wiping off the cover up.
"You gotta deal Doll Face," he said, taking a shiny hand gun out and swiping Alicia right in the face with it. Picking up the stunned beauty and her camera, he threw her over his shoulder and gave the signal to his men he had stationed at the party in case shit went south,"Oh, and don't, uh, ever threaten me again. Or I'll cut your pretty little eyes out."
Next there was chaos in here house as he heard the fie of gunshots and screaming. He stepped out into the main area, and the crowd fell silent.
"Hello party people! I am the Joker, otherwise known as The Clown Prince of Crime, and I am in the business of anarchy! So tell me, how's the shindig?"
No response.
"Gee, don't all rush at once. Uh, anyway, I just wanted to say that ,uh, Alicia just got a very important photo shoot and I have been asked to escort her. K bye bye!" He said, firing loads off at random and shrieking with laughter as people fell to the ground around him.
As he threw the door open, he came face to face with a gun barrel.
"You put her down. And you do it now." Stalin was standing in his way, red hair and green eyes reminding him of a leprechaun.
"Sorry Red*, but you're just, uh, jealous I picked Barbie." and with that, he unceremoniously shot her in the shoulder, which effectively moved her out of his way and ran into the elevator.
He paused in the doorway, before calling back," And I want my raise!"**
Alicia was beating weakly on his back, moaning the word 'Ant' as he casually exited the elevator and shot the doorman, waiting on the empty streets as his "Getaway Wagon" burned rubber as it screeched to a stop in front of him.
He threw Barbie in the van, giving his men a look when they looked at her weak body hungrily.
"What's the girl for Boss?" One asked, and was shot in the foot as a result.
Not that he didn't ask a good question. But the Joker had been chilling in a posh attic that could easily pass for a living room for the past 3 weeks. He had caught all around Weapon-Mania. Besides, the foot would heal. Sure, it would hurt, but it would heal.
The rest of his men looked at him curiously, not at all bothered that they're coworker had just been shot by they're employer.
"How do you boys feel about a career in modeling?"
I like this chapter a bit. R & R please!
*The Joker has made jokes about Antonia being Russian before, so when he calls her Red, he isn't referring to her hair color. It's an allusion to the Red Scare.
**In I think Chapter 9, Antonia says whoever painted the smiley faces on the dog was getting a raise
