(A/N): Here we are, back with our Friday update! This one features a couple of familiar faces to those of you that read ITEYAK: Canucklehead Cowgirl, who wrote Wade Wilson and Logan (aka Wolverine, the victor of the previous Games), and abrokencastiel, who wrote Peter Parker (also of District Eight!)

Thanks to our authors who reviewed the D7 Reaping! We're trucking along nicely here, and we really do have an amazing cast to show off for you guys :D

Chapter Eleven - A Divine Comedy

Written by Canucklehead Cowgirl and abrokencastiel

Harleen Quinzel of District Eight

Written by Canucklehead Cowgirl

"One ought to hold on to one's heart; for if one lets it go, one soon loses control of the head too." ― Friedrich Nietzsche

Harleen spun slowly on her bar stool the morning of the Reaping, her hands gripping the sides of it as one toe propelled her motion. It had been a long, rough, transformative year for her, and though she'd tried to avoid it, she couldn't help but think about where she was last year just before the Reapings. She finished her orange juice and hopped down from the chair when she saw the time on the clock in her parents' kitchen. Time to put her face on. She sang to herself as she danced up the stairs to her room, only pausing to pick up the fluffy cat at the top of the stairs.

Just last year, she'd been one of Eight's best and brightest — a real shining star at the school in all the advanced classes, top of her class … back then, her only problem had been the fact that the boy she liked had no idea she even existed.

Harleen had followed him around between classes with her books clutched to her chest, just hoping for an opportunity to say hello, but those moments were few and far between, and she almost always lost her nerve when he'd look at her — only to break into a nervous grin and blush furiously before she turned and hid her face from him.

But then she'd lost her chance forever when he was drawn to compete in the Avenger Games, and for the entirety of last year's Games, Harleen was positively riveted to the screen. She'd told anyone nearby whenever Peter Parker was on-screen that he was going to win it. He was going to come back. "Petey has to win," she'd said time and time again, nodding to herself. "He's just too smart, an' sweet. And he's just gotta."

At first, Gwen Stacy had taken her enthusiasm as solidarity, and the two girls had even spent some time together watching as Peter was rescued from the spiders and joined up with his little team, but as time went on, Harleen distanced herself. She'd gotten what she'd wanted after all — access to the Stacy household, and once, she'd even gone along to meet Aunt May.

That was amazing. Just standing in the house. Peter's jacket still hung at the door, and his aunt treated them like they were family — right down to offering the girls cookies and cocoa while they visited and giving them both warm hugs on their way out the door. It was better than anything Harleen had gotten at home. But more important than all of the attention and warmth was the pictures. So many pictures. She couldn't help but take some home with her every time she visited.

She took them from the walls and photo albums — pictures of Peter. Pictures of Peter and Gwen … and a few with Osborn's son in the mix as well. Snapshots and portraits and self-portraits …. all of them starring Peter Parker.

By the end of the first week of the Games, she'd constructed a sort of shrine to him — with a baseball hat standing at the center as her most treasured item. But around it were all of the pictures. Pictures that she'd painstakingly cut Gwen's face out of and glued in her own so she could have sweet, sweet memories of her darling little spider — in a reality where she'd gotten up the nerve to say hello.

Every night, after the footage showed him safely asleep, she'd lay on her bed with a few candles lit near her Spidey's photos — her favorite snapshot of him at her bedside stand — messy hair and goofy smile. "You're gonna make it, Petey," she said forlornly. "You just gotta. And when you do …. you an' me... We're gonna paint the town, Webs."

Every day, she fell deeper and deeper into her delusion, and every day, she'd go out of her way to add something to her shrine, blissfully unaware of anything but her preferred version of reality.

But when Peter Parker died ….

She was simply struck dumb for a little while. He wasn't supposed to do that. She pushed by the girl watching with her and rushed from the room, tears in her eyes. She ran blindly, bashing into those that didn't get out of her way — until she stumbled and fell in an alley far from the television where Tanaleer Tivan was joyfully going back over Peter's death again — even if he was right, and he'd been incredibly brave sacrificing himself for the others … "Oh, Webs …. Why'd ya haveta do that?"

Harleen hadn't seen where she had gone, crying and hyperventilating, until finally, she'd tripped over a crack in the alley she'd blindly run down and fell, scraping her knees on the ground, though that really just added insult to injury.

She just sat there for a few moments, upset that she'd managed to hurt herself on top of everything else that had gone wrong. She cried herself out, and after she'd finally managed to catch her breath, she got to her feet and started to head home, her toes dragging on the ground as she winced with each step, still sniffling from time to time.

She'd only gone a few blocks before she realized that she wasn't entirely sure where she was. She slowed her pace, looking for a familiar landmark, but …. Nothing looked familiar. The spray-painted-on tags of Ha ha ha ha! and crudely-drawn clown faces on the brick walls, dumpsters and sidewalks were not only odd — but completely foreign.

"Hey blondie, what are you doin' out so late … all alone?" a slurring voice asked from behind her. She startled and took a few quick steps backward as she turned to face him.

"Just waiting for a friend," Harleen replied with a falsely bright smile as she tried to hide the fact that she'd been crying. "Just running a little late, that's all. Oughta be here any second." She was backing away from them — she could see three of them in sharp contrast with the dimly glowing streetlights behind them now that they'd melted out of the shadows … but they were picking up their pace. She stumbled over some trash on the sidewalk as she turned away from them and barely got herself upright properly when the three men broke into a run after her.

The chase was short, and for as small as she was, it wasn't very hard for them to simply drag her — kicking and screaming — into the nearest dark alley with whispered threats on what was going to happen next to such a pretty little thing.

She was pressed up against the brick wall, crying and screaming for help, when she heard a growling that was most definitely not from one of her attackers — and moments later, she realized that a dog had begun to rip into the three men.

One of them had run when he'd seen the dog, but the one that had been tearing at Harleen's dress was the one the dog went for, latching on to his leg and viciously pulling at him until the little blonde had crumpled to the ground in shock, trembling, watching through her tears as the dog — and its master — chased off the three creeps.

She didn't catch all of what was said from the ringing in her ears, still crying and in shock from the ordeal of it all. But then the dog returned — not growling and snarling as it had been doing before but nudging her arm with its nose.

At first, she ignored it, and when she did, it growled her way until she just let out a little laugh and ran both hands over the dog's head, ignoring the growls as they intensified for a moment — though the dog stopped once she pet him a bit more and started to scratch a spot on his chest.

"Ace," the young man half shouted. "C'mere." The dog whined a bit and dropped its ears before it left Harleen, tail between his legs in favor of his master.

And when the tall, pale young man and his dog came back her way, she was stricken on seeing him. To her, in that moment, her savior looked like some kind of knight in shining purple armor. No one had ever helped her before. Not for anything small, let alone something so … chivalrous as protecting her honor like that.

"Thanks," she nearly breathed out, and for an instant, he turned her way, almost as if noticing her for the first time.

"Get lost," he barked out in a harsh tone. "You don't belong here, Toots."

She looked hurt, but only for an instant …

From that day forward, she made a point to find out all she could about the clown prince of crime, as he was known on that side of town. He had a gang — though they quickly found out that it wasn't a good idea to manhandle her — and she was vindicated when Mistah J made sure to punish them thoroughly even the first time they tried to throw her out.

That wasn't their call to make. And she was elated that her Puddin' was so protective of her.

It was the morning of Reaping Day. And for Harley, that meant it was a day to dress her best, and go find Mistah J so the two of them could go down with the big gathering of suckers and chumps to laugh at whatever unlucky mook got picked.

She checked her pigtails and touched up her lipstick with an exaggerated pop of her lips once she'd gotten the blood red color into place and grinned at her reflection. "Lookin' good, Harl," she said to herself with one eyebrow arched. She bit her bottom lip and tucked her lipstick into her front pocket and shimmied a bit — pleased with how her makeup had come out.

She checked her outfit one last time — diamond-patterned top and a tight black skirt that covered her red and black tights — before she bounced out of her room blowing a massive pink bubble.

Long gone was the shy little girl from a year ago that was afraid to say hello to her crush, and here to stay was a sassy, fearless young woman that seemed to have no limits.

And while most of the district had taken to trying to fall into Jessica Drew and Norman Osborn's good favor, Harley had simply gone about her business, causing trouble all over the district and cheerfully beating down anyone who tried to get in her way. No one was exempt, regardless of who they were, or what their reputation was.

When Flash Thompson tried to give her a hard time just the week before — well. Flash better hope he wasn't called to go to the Games, because Harley had put him in the hospital with his own baseball bat.

It was hard to say what exactly had started that altercation — at least, no one involved was willing to fess up, and Harley's approximation that 'the big jerk was askin' for it' didn't hold water with anyone, really.

What they did know was that Flash had been a bit forward with Miss Quinzel, and one moment it had seemed fine. She was giggling and joking and more or less leading him on with a broad smile, letting him lean in close — and the next, she'd taken his baseball bat from him and had viciously beat on him, breaking everything she could. She'd pounded on him as the crowd gathered — and continued to do so until Norman Osborn himself had managed to pull the bat from her hands when she'd drawn back to hit him again. She was out of breath and clearly slowing down by that point anyhow, so she just didn't let it bother her much as she spat at Flash and took a few steps away from him.

"What is the meaning of this?" Osborn asked, just as wide-eyed and upset as the rest of the gathered crowd.

But instead of a heated reply or an impassioned response, all he got from Harley was a simple shrug of her shoulder before she blew the loose strands of hair out of her face and turned his way. "The big lump was askin' for it. So I gave it to 'im." She had one hand on her cocked out hip and was examining the nails on her other hand before she suddenly stiffened, then took a couple of quick steps forward and kicked Flash in the ribs. "You made me break a nail, you chump!" she shouted at him before Osborn took her by the arms and pulled her back.

"Hey! Get your hands off me!" she shouted. "Let GO!" Though she stopped abruptly when she saw the look on Norman's face.

"Young lady," he said low. "You need to come to my office — right now — where we can discuss your actions further."

She pulled her arm out of his hand and gave him a clear once over with a frown. "Why? So you can kick me outta that stupid school? Go on. See if I care." She let her voice drop to that of nearly a whisper. "Just give me more time to be with my Puddin'."

She didn't know it, but Osborn had been … impressed with the way she'd been so unapologetic about the ordeal, and had it not been so close to the Reaping, she would have definitely been in trouble. But instead, he simply asked her name and sent her on her way.

"Thanks, Normy," she called out with a little wave. "Hey, I just gotta tell ya, I've seen lotsa crazy things — heard lotsa crazy voices — but that melon of yours is truly un-natural. I mean … it is grotesque!" She broke down into a near fit of giggles as she shrugged her shoulders up to her ears, arms widespread. "But I just can't look away!"

Osborn looked irritated as she blew a kiss his way but didn't comment as the bouncy blonde disappeared spinning on her toes, leaving Flash Thompson behind in a heap for the medics to try to piece back together.

Harl had met up with Mistah J and proudly walked with him grinning all the way to the check in, and though she didn't have the gaggle of guards around her like he did — the girls knew to give her some space even when she wasn't with him.

She had been humming to herself as the whole production started. "Do you believe we gotta listen to this crap every year?" she asked to a girl to her left that clearly looked as though she'd rather be anywhere but next to Harley as the blonde just giggled and seemed to answer herself. "It's ridiculous. Waste of resources." She was nodding to herself and turned to look at the girl, only now seeming to realize that she was standing there. "You wanna piece of gum?" she offered, though naturally, the girl shook her head and took another step away. "No? Fine. More for me."

When that broad Drew stepped up to the microphone, Harley began to shush everyone around her, both hands waving in a 'settle down' cue, and the girls just became more convinced of how cracked she was until Drew called for Mistah J. But instead of panicking as she'd done when Peter Parker's name was called, she cheered raucously and whistled with her finger and thumb pinched between her lips — joyfully celebrating his eventual win: "Go get 'em Mistah J!"

She grinned and bit her lip, twirling her hair with one hand when he gave her a little wink for her efforts. And then, very suddenly, as Harley was still celebrating and cheering with a broad grin, it came to be Osborn's turn …

"Harleen Quinzel," Osborn said — clearly and evenly — and Harley simply grinned that much wider as the squeal slipped from her lips and she bounced excitedly in place.

"Excuse me," she said shortly as she regained her poise, straightened up, and held her hands at shoulder level, her index finger and thumb together as she baby stepped around the other girls. "Excuse me — comin' through — hey. Move it or lose it, lady!" She bumped the last girl out of her way before she stopped in the aisle and straightened up her pigtails. She started up toward the steps, blinking rapidly and grinning broadly, though she only made it a few steps before she skipped the rest of the way up.

When she got on the stage, she excitedly made her way to Mistah J and tried to take his arm. But that only lasted an instant before she was pleasantly surprised when the clown prince of crime swept her into a kiss that had her head spinning. Harley's smile was gone — shocked at his display, though she sure wasn't complaining, less so as he pulled her tightly to his side. It took her a moment before she seemed to remember where she was and went right back to playing it up for the crowd, even posing for the cameras — with one arm draped around Mistah J's back, her other hand on her hip.

As the officials wrapped up the ceremony, Harley cheerfully waved and blew kisses from the stage before she was ushered out, giggling and baby stepping most of the way — until he all but spun her away from him.

She turned to see where her Puddin' was going without her — but between the Sentinels and her new mentor forcibly dragging her elsewhere, she really didn't have time to consider what was happening. She leaned far out, her pigtails dangling as she tried to see where he was going, but the Sentinel taking her to her send-off room just picked her up with a little squeak out of her while she was distracted and carried her bodily to where she was supposed to be.

Harley looked around the room as the door closed, her good cheer gone for a moment now that she was alone and away from anyone that might be watching. She wasn't scared — not of the Games anyhow. She took her time looking around the room in wide-eyed awe, a bit shrunken in on herself. She was confident that no one was coming to see her off, and no one surprised her in that right. Her parents probably had no idea and likely wouldn't until they got home from keeping up appearances with their work friends — but chances were, even then — it wouldn't make much of an impact to them. "Get it togethah, Harl," she chided herself.

She perched on the edge of the sprawling couch, her knees and ankles locked tightly to each other and her hands folded in her lap as she subconsciously made herself smaller, totally silent while she was alone in a strange place.

After a few minutes, she heard someone approaching and sprang to her feet suddenly to pull her lipstick out of her pocket and rush to the mirror on the far side of the room. She leaned toward the mirror, carefully reapplying her lipstick as the Sentinel entered. "What took ya so long?" she asked. "I been waitin' here all lonely." She took a few steps toward him and grinned widely. "You here ta take me away, mistah big bad Sentinel?"

The man's expression was nearly unreadable, save for the amused smirk on his lips. "Yeah, honey. Time to go." She narrowed her eyes at him for just a second before she all but darted past him into the hall to catch up to Joker — where his gang was being restrained from following him.

"Pu-ddin'," she said with a smile as she bounced up next to him, her hands clasped near her chin as she fell into step beside him.

The duo boarded the train, with more pandering to the crowd from Harley as they did so, but when Osborn met up with her to talk, pulling her away from Joker, she suddenly lost a bit of her flash and looked a little wide-eyed.

She peeked over her shoulder to where the Joker had disappeared before she leaned in closer to Osborn, a completely open expression on her face. "Is this because I beat up your golden boy?" she asked in an almost childlike tone that had Osborn completely off-guard.

"No," he replied with a little frown as he draped his arm across her shoulders and led her further from where her district partner had disappeared. "It's because I think you've got the qualities you need to win."

"Me?" she asked, both hands over her heart and wide-eyed — totally in disbelief of what he was saying, before she very suddenly just started to laugh, half holding his shoulder for support as she all but melted with the release. "Oh. You got it all wrong, Normy." She patted him on the chest before she just started nodding and making his tie crooked, her eyebrows raised high. "You should be helpin' Mistah J. He's gonna win this thing." She looked so sincere and honest about it that Osborn found himself taken off track. He pulled her hands off of his tie and fixed her with his most serious expression.

"No, he's not," Osborn insisted. "If District Eight is going to have a winner this year, it's going to be you. You've got it all, blondie. Brains, the know how to play a crowd, and a viciousness that I just haven't seen out of our district in years. You … you, Miss Quinzel, have the makings of a victor."

She stared at him for a moment before she broke out into laughter again and skipped over to a chair. "That's a good one, Normy," she laughed. "You keep that up. Oh man. If Mistah J could hear you now." She fell apart in a fit of giggles and draped herself sideways across the chair, her head dangling over one arm and her feet over the other.

Jack Hamill of District Eight

Written by abrokencastiel

"Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence– whether much that is glorious– whether all that is profound– does not spring from disease of thought– from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect."

― Edgar Allan Poe

The white greasepaint slid smoothly along the sickly-colored skin as it was applied across the forehead and down the prominent nose. Long fingers retrieved more from the pot and generously dabbed over the scars that littered the area around the mouth and across the cheeks. With careful attention, the paint was smoothed to hide the ridges as best as possible. Once every exposed inch of skin was covered along his head and neck, a layer of white powder prevented smudging. The final addition was red dye applied to the lips. It had taken years to perfect his look, but after much trial and error, he'd developed a way to keep his makeup from rubbing off during his many activities. The teenager slicked back his green-dyed hair with a wide smile at his reflection in the broken mirror

"Now there's the face of the Joker."

Jack cackled as he shrugged his ratty purple overcoat on over his dingy white shirt and slipped on black gloves. He opened the door to his room and slid down the banister to the main level with a loud "Ta-da!" His entrance caught the attention of the members of his gang, the aptly named Jokerz, who gave wolf-whistles and applause.

"Hello, boys!" he called gleefully to the cheer of his clowns. He spread his arms and basked in the praise.

The abandoned house the Jokerz had taken over at the outskirts of the district was well away from prying eyes. A few bare bulbs and broken windows illuminated the dilapidated interior and grimy walls decorated with clown faces and 'HA! HA! HA!' graffiti. There wasn't much furniture, but that didn't put a damper on the party. His clowns were more than content to camp on the floor as long as they got to be in their leader's presence. It really was home sweet home. A place for all the misfits of the district to live the way they pleased. At least, as long as they were useful.

"Has anyone had the chance to check on our guest? I would simply hate for him to go without breakfast."

"We left him for you, boss. Figured you'd want to be the first one to have a crack at 'im."

"How thoughtful." Jack strode over to the basement door and hollered into the darkness. "Oh Harry, are you awake?"

Nothing answered him from the depths.

The dark chuckle that escaped Jack's smiling lips caused the closest of the clowns to take a step back. "It looks like he needs a wake-up call." The tall teen clattered down the steps and pulled on the light string. The sudden, harsh light flooded the concrete room. "Wakey, wakey, Harry dear!"

The naked man huddled in the corner was motionless. Dried blood from the last visit Jack had paid stuck along his shoulder and down his back.

"Sleeping sound as a little babe, isn't he?" the gang leader asked the one goon who'd accompanied him.

"I'll give 'im a little shake." The clown went over and shoved their prisoner to the ground. The man's head cracked on the concrete floor, but the action didn't elicit a response.

"Oh, dear. Is he dead?" Jack stuck out his lower lip a bit in disappointment. "I expected at least a few more days of fun from the great Harry Pizer, leader of the Brotherhood gang," he mocked.

"Naw, not dead yet, boss. I can still feel some breath," the clown said from his position crouching next to the unconscious man.

"Hmm, let's get him some water then?"

"Water or water?"

Jack rolled his eyes and sighed. "We need him awake before we dunk him again. Otherwise it's pointless."

"Good thinking, boss."

"Honestly, sometimes I think I'm the only one with a brain around here," he mumbled to himself.

Robbed of his main entertainment, the Joker returned to the main floor and collapsed into his throne of a recliner. His guard dog, Ace, grumbled from its location behind the chair. "Someone tell me there's something to do today."

"Um, besides the Reaping?"

"What?" Jack frowned at the younger man who had spoken up.

The youth's eyes widened in fear at the undivided attention he was receiving. "W-well, today's, uh, today's the Reaping, boss. Sir." He averted his gaze and stood stock still.

"It's already been a year since that pipsqueak and wanna-be tough-girl kicked the bucket? My, my, how time flies when you're having fun." The young man nodded enthusiastically and offered a smile in response to Jack's cheshire grin. "I suppose that will provide me with a bit of a diversion. At least until our guest is back in working order." Now all he had to do was pass a few hours until it was time to watch the show unfold.

Long, black-gloved fingers impatiently shuffled a stack of old playing cards on the chair's tattered armrest. No doubt Harley would soon appear to accompany him to the Reaping, but for the moment, Jack was bored out of his mind. The clowns of his gang could barely entertain him for longer than a few minutes nowadays, and having to wait for the Reaping to start had put quite a damper on his mood.

"Hey, boss, when are we—" The lackey's words were cut short by the angry growl emitting from next to Jack's chair. The guy winced back to a safer distance. "I was just saying we need to get going pretty soon if we're going to make it to the Reaping on time." When Jack didn't spare a look at him, the goon cleared his throat again. "You know, boss, this is your last year."

"I'm well aware," the teen sighed. "One last hurrah for old Jack-a-boy." He stretched as he stood, his lanky six-foot-five-inch frame seeming to unfold from where he'd been slouched. His mutt of a dog stood with him, rattling the chain that tethered it to his chair. "Sit," he ordered with a kick to its ribs. The animal whined and slunk back to its spot.

"Mistah Jaaaaaaaaaaaaay!" The sing-song voice echoed around the house as the blonde girl entered. She skipped her way around the clutter of the room to Jack's side. "Are you ready for the big day?"

"You're late, Harley." Jack turned to a floor length mirror and considered his image, slipping the pack of cards into his breast pocket. "What have I told you about being tardy?" Something stuck in his teeth caught his attention, and he leaned forward to pick it out.

"Sorry Mista J. I just wanted to make sure I looked perfect for my Puddin'." She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Ain't we such a cute couple?"

The gang leader forcibly pushed her away. "You're wrinkling my coat."

"Oops! Sorry, Mistah J." She quickly helped to smooth out the shoulders.

"Fine, fine." Jack moved away from her hand and strode toward the exit. Behind him, he heard the girl messing around with the damned dog. "Harl!" He barked without even turning around.

"Comin'!" She quickly joined him and latched onto his right arm, bouncing with every step she took.

A well-aimed kick knocked an older member of the gang out of his chair as the couple passed. "I want a good dinner made by the time I get back. I don't care what bucher you have to rob. And I'd like our guest to join us."

"Yes sir," the man promised.

The young man popped his collar at the door. "Show time, my boys."

As the Joker and the teenage members of his crew began their journey to the town square, Jack took pride in the downward gaze of those they passed. Even the few Sentinels that lined the streets averted their eyes. For years, the incompetent Roman Cavallo had been the Head Sentinel. All it took was a little something lining his pocket for him to turn a blind eye to the district happenings. Under Cavallo's reign, the Jokerz had flourished. Unfortunately, there had been a recent change in the hierarchy, and the new Head Sentinel, a woman named Renee Montoya, wasn't as understanding of the little arrangement. She was determined to whip the force back into shape and, if she had taken control a few years ago, she might have succeeded. But between the Sentinels that were already on Jack's payroll and the blackmail he had on the mayor, he doubted she would get very far.

This is going to be the year of the Joker. The thought made Jack just giddy. "You know, Pumpkin, you and I are gonna run this town someday."

The girl beamed up at him. "Oh, Puddin'! I love it when you talk like that."

Jack's eyeroll went unnoticed, but he patted her hand anyway as they moved through the streets. The crowd gave them a wide berth, and the long line of possible tributes parted to allow them priority access to the sign-in table.

"Name?" The woman asked without looking up. The Sentinels on either side of her were well-aware of who had just approached.

Jack's smile flipped to a frown of disappointment in an instant. "It seems I'm not even worthy of a glance. Isn't that a pity, Harl?"

"Sure is, Mistah J. Maybe we should remind her who ya are." Harley popped her gum loudly for emphasis.

The Sentinels tensed, their hands going to their weapons. The woman's head shot up with wide eyes.

Jack raised his hands to calm their nerves. "Now, I wouldn't try any of that, boys. You wouldn't want the Capitol to tune in and see a bloodbath. At least, not when there aren't more camera angles." He erupted into laughter that doubled him over. "Besides," he said as he regained his composure. "I don't want to cause any trouble. I'm sure she didn't mean any harm. Did you?"

"No, of course not," the woman squeaked. "My apologies. I just need to prick your finger." She hesitantly motioned to the device.

"Of course." Jack slowly removed one of his gloves, revealing the sickly, grey, scarred skin. He kept his grin and maintained eye contact with the flustered woman as he pricked his finger.

"You are officially checked in, Mr. . . ." She frowned and tapped on the machine's screen a few times. "I'm sorry, there's an issue. The system seems to have mixed up three different files. I'm getting Jack Napier, Jerome Valeska, and Joseph Kerr. Would you mind telling me which of those is correct?"

Jack slowly slipped his glove back on as he mused. "I'm not really feeling any of those today, toots. Let's go with Jack Hamill."

The woman hesitated, but decided against arguing. "Of course, Mr. Hamill. I'll have that fixed right away."

"I'd expect nothing less." Jack disentangled himself from Harley and headed for his age group at the back of the throng of children.

"I'll see ya after the Reapin', Mistah J!" Harley called. "Hey! Be gentle there, missy."

Her cries were drowned out as Jack moved toward the middle of his row. A couple rows ahead, he could see the bandaged head of the jock that had gotten on the wrong side of Harley. They'd apparently brought him over in a wheelchair. Didn't matter if you couldn't walk; they made sure you got to the Reaping on time. And once he's out of the hospital, I'll make sure to give him another reminder not to mess with my girl, Jack frowned to himself.

The other members of the Jokerz mingled into the assembly. The ones in Jack's year pushed and shoved their way to form a protective circle around him. The clown prince stood with an easy confidence that few could pull off. His height alone would have made him stand out, and with his unique look, he was unmissable. The fact that his gang members had started painting themselves like their leader only served to cement the hold he was taking over the district. Over the past few years, he'd managed to take out, or at least severely cripple, the other organizations. The past year had been especially fruitful, and there were very few who didn't know him on sight now. Another year, and he expected to be in complete control.

The crowd's noise diminished as the special Quarter Quell video was played. Fairly boring still, but at least the music was a tad more exciting. Our dear president really needs to work on his entertainment factor.

"Sentinels are actin' extra jumpy today, boss," one of the goons mumbled. "Like they're expectin' a real riot."

"Hmm," Jack mused.

Mayor Hayes stepped up to the microphone and tapped it lightly to get the crowd's attention. "Welcome, District Eight, to the twenty-fifth Reaping. I know that all of you are as excited as I am to get to the decisions. Without further ado, I will introduce Miss Betty Brant."

"Thank you, Mayor Hayes." The Capitolite practically pranced up to the microphone in her high heels. This year, she was sporting an obnoxiously yellow dress. "I am so excited to be with you all on this, the very first Quarter Quell!" She paused for the expected applause but was only greeted by a quiet smattering. "Before we begin, I just wanted to review the tenets laid out by our glorious president and the Gamemakers. Your distinguished victors, Norman Osborn and Jessica Drew, will have the privilege of choosing the best tributes this district has to offer, so no volunteering this year! I know it's disappointing, but we just can't allow it. I do believe we should go ladies first, yes? Miss Drew?" She clapped excitedly as the quiet victor took her place at the front of the stage.

"My tribute for this year is Jack Hamill," the brunette announced smoothly. Her eyes locked onto Jack's bright green ones instantly in the sea of boys. There was no hesitation in her voice.

The tense silence that pervaded the crowd was broken by the raucous laughter that escaped the tall teen.

"Don't worry, boss, we'll break ya out before they can take ya," the closest clown muttered.

"Don't be stupid." Jack shot a deadly look that made the goon pale under his chalky make-up. A whole group of Sentinels was beginning to approach Jack's spot, but the eighteen-year-old raised his hands in surrender. "No need, boys. I'm going without a fight." He stole a younger boy's tie as he passed and tied it in a loose bow around his neck. "If I'd known I was going to be on television, I would have dressed nicer," he explained to the closest Sentinel.

His long stride carried him quickly to the stage, where he elegantly jumped up beside the victor. He gave an exaggerated bow to the crowd with his signature wide-grin. Loud whistling and cheering from Harley earned her a wink of approval.

"I must say, Miss Drew, you've surprised us! No doubt everyone was expecting you to pick a girl. Already an exciting year." Betty pushed herself in front of Jessica to get to the microphone. The escort's make-up was almost as pale as Jack's. "Now for you, Mr. Osborn."

Jack and Jessica stepped to the side as the older man approached. Jessica kept her eyes glued to her tribute, like she expected him to pull some kind of stunt. Little did she know that she'd just made his day.

Osborn made it practically Christmas when he announced Harley as his partner. He couldn't help but chuckle to himself as his little vixen skipped up to the stage. They're even providing me with my right hand man. How glorious.

Harley tried to take hold of his arm, but he stopped her. Instead, he bent her backwards into a sweeping kiss. Loud wolf-whistles and cheers erupted from the Jokerz. Even some of the regular crowd applauded the show. Jack spun Harley back up and hugged her tightly to his side as Betty tried to calm the crowd and wrap up the ceremony.

As soon as they were ushered off stage, Jack dropped his hold on Harley and strode quickly for his room. The faster they got the required farewell time over with, the sooner they could be on their way to the real show.

Surprisingly, his door opened almost as soon as he closed it. One of his head goons entered in with a quick nod of submission. Jack gave a slight smirk and motioned for the man to follow him to the couch. The piece of furniture wasn't long enough to handle the full length of the Joker's sprawled out frame, and his legs hung off the far armrest. His clown knelt next to him and nervously removed his hat.

"Seriously, boss, you say the word, and I'll get the boys to come get ya. They'd give up on findin' ya pretty fast, and we could just get one of the younger kids to pose as you. No problem."

The look on Jack's face quickly made the man backtrack.

"I mean, not that anyone could replace you, boss. No way, no how. But those Capitol people don't know nothin'. They wouldn't be able to tell the difference."

Jack raised an eyebrow, considering the older man. "Of course. I understand what you're saying my dear. . . What's your name?"

"Uh, Bob, sir." The goon wrung his hat in his hands.

"Well, Bob, you—" Jack swung his legs to the ground and sat up. He pointed a finger at Bob as he leaned forward. "—You are my number one guy. You make sure to keep this place running while I'm gone. Keep 'em on their toes. Don't let 'em forget who's really in control." He patted Bob's head for emphasis. "If Mayor Hayes or Montoya gives you any trouble, just call up our buddy Marcus Wise on the force. He has all the connections and dirt to get any of you out of trouble."

"I won't let you down, boss." A hopeful smile spread across the goon's face.

The Joker's lips twitched. "You better not. Now go. No doubt the T's are already trying to make their move on our territory."

Bob started to leave but paused and turned back."What about our guest?"

"Who?"

"The guy in the basement. You know, Harry. From the Brotherhood."

Jack's eyes narrowed in annoyance. "I don't care, just take care of him."

"Sure thing, boss, sure thing. Of course." Bob quickly backed out the door, knowing better than to ask any more questions.

The teen patted his breast pocket, assuring himself his cards were still in place. He reclined back on the couch and let his eyes slide shut, the picture of ease while he waited for the Sentinels to retrieve him.

The Jokerz cheering on their leader was like music to Jack's ears as they boarded the train. Osborn pulled Harley aside as soon as they entered, and Jack took the opportunity to explore on his own. He wandered through a few cars, ending in a sitting room-type area as the train began to pull away.

In his not-so-humble opinion, the interior decorating was lacking. They were always being told of the splendor and richness of the Capitol, and the train car left much to be desired if it was to represent the best there was to offer. Even the crystal vase sitting on a coffee table looked cheap. With a single finger, he tipped the the vase sideways and let it crash to the floor.

"We haven't even left the district and you've already destroyed something more valuable than your life." Jessica Drew stood in the entry to the train car.

"Quite the pep-talk. Sure you don't want to save it for training?" The teenager sat on a sofa and propped his feet on the coffee table.

The brunette crossed the floor and knocked Jack's feet back to the ground. "Don't act so pompous. You're not going to last long enough to cause any trouble."

"I'm beginning to get the feeling you don't like me, Spider-Gal." A hard glint took hold in the teen's lime-green eyes as he examined her up and down. "If you think you're intimidating me, you're going to be very disappointed."

"I could say the same to you." Jessica crossed her arms and glared down at him.

He rolled his eyes. "Did you just come in here to trade one-liners, or do you have some sort of wisdom to share?"

"I may have picked you, but don't expect advice. You won't be getting any help from me. Everything I do in front of the Capitol cameras is just for show. Once we're behind closed doors, I don't want to even see you. I needed to make this clear from the beginning."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "If this is the way you've treated your tributes in the past, it's no wonder they all died terribly gruesome deaths. I mean, your girl from last year didn't even make it past the first showing. Even the brat from Eleven survived the bloodbath, and she was blind," he jibed with an innocent smile.

Her eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched. "I'm not going to play your games. I'm not someone you can manipulate, like the brainwashed girl Osborn chose. I'm the one in charge. You're nothing but a brat kid. Be a good little boy, or I will take you down before you even get to the arena. Got it?"

For a moment, the pair stared at each other in tense silence. Neither wanted to be the first to break eye contact. The victor eventually turned to leave, her point made, but Jack shot to his feet before she could even take a step.

In one swift motion, he grabbed her arm and spun her back to face him. Her free hand instinctively went to punch him in the face, but he caught her fist in his palm. "Ah ah ah. Don't want to have your tribute showing up to the Capital already beaten up, do you? What would Thanos think?"

The tall teenager loomed over the older woman. His smile stayed plastered to his face despite the iciness of his tone. "Now, you listen to me, sweetheart. I know exactly what you're up to. You and Montoya probably planned this whole thing. You think that by getting me out of the picture, you'll stop what's happening. That you'll somehow save this district from me. What you don't realize is that I am destiny." Jessica tried to pull away, but the Joker's grip only tightened. "Can't you see? I'm doing more for this district than the Capitol ever did. They don't keep the higher-ups in check. They let them do whatever they want. I disrupt that order, introduce a little anarchy and, suddenly, the whole world seems a little more fair. So you can try to get me killed off in these little Games, but I'm going to win despite your best efforts. And when I do. . ." His words died off as he started snickering. He released his hold on Jessica's arm, and he moved his grip to her shoulders in support as his laughter grew. The raucous sound was amplified by the small room and seemed to come from all directions. Despite her hard expression, Jack was sure he could see doubt flickering in her dark green eyes.

His manic laughter stopped abruptly, and he leaned in toward his mentor with a wide grin. So close their noses were almost touching. "Well, I just can't wait."

A sudden jab to his gut made the air rush out of his lungs. He gave a slight oof as he double over from the swift punch Jessica had given him.

"Don't ever touch me again." She glared at him with her hand still in a fist. "The Capitol can't see all the bruises I can give you."

A perplexed frown crossed Jack's features as his mentor left. He rubbed his sore stomach and sat back down with a groan. "Stronger than she looks," he mumbled thoughtfully.

After a moment of consideration, the Joker gave a slight chuckle and let his head fall back on the top of the sofa. A small smile began to work its way across his red lips. "Oh, yes, this is going to be fun."