Sky: I'M BACK! And ready to finish this thing! Sorry this took so long, I'll talk about it after the chapter.
Valentine: (Glancing around herself) Except I'm pretty sure your reviewers have left.
Sky: Oh. Well, that's awkward. BUT WHO CARES! Next chapter for ya'll! Yeah. We're gonna pound out the rest of this story. Cause' I'm done with NaNoWriMo! WHOO!
Joker: And people call me a freak. Sky does not own me, Batman, or any of the affiliated characters or trademarks. On the other hand, she does own Valentine (sorry, babe) and whatever wispy remnants of a plot she is so fervently clinging to.
Sky: ONWARDS! Oh…and ignore the…very cliché club name I used. WHOOT!
Chapter 21: Opening Night
After so many nights hopping from rooftop to rooftop, ducking in and out of shadows; after so many knife fights and bruises, this….seemed rather common place.
Dawn was beginning to break over the cities skyline, the pinky orange rays from the sun twisting and contorting as they met the pollution in the air, giving the city a unique tint, one not duplicable. It was an odd sight, the light breaking as it encountered the thin, but omnipresent, smog. Dawn was breaking and, yet, Bruce Wayne was only now returning to his penthouse, tired and worn from the long night. And it would be a while yet before he could sleep.
The man lurched tiredly inside, steps devoid of their usual lightness, their inherent grace, stripping off each section of his suit. He didn't bother to gather them up, or see where they might have fallen, allowing them to litter the suite's floor.
Later; he could attend to them latter.
His face contorted in pain as his hand came to the chest piece, feeling the serrated edges of a knife digging into his side. A present from one of the Joker's latest flunkies. Another sharp spasm of pain; the suit had managed to stop the brunt of the attack, but the blow had still broke skin; he could feel the tip of the razor, lodged in the armor, waiting for any excuse to knick him again.
He growled, forcing down the feeling, the urge, to whimper, plucking the weapon from his flesh. It hurt; some part of his mind informed him of that numbly. He ignored it. Pain was a luxury he seldom could afford, and the wound and its accompanying discomfort had to be shoved back, down, into the void of his subconscious. Satisfied, he stripped off the remainder of the suit before settling down into one of the suites armchairs.
Involuntarily, he felt his eyes starting to slide closed. The wounds on his side, the bruises; they all needed to be treated. He had to treat them….
Later; he could tend to them later…now he needed to sleep….
A sigh; the sound filled the near silent room, breaking his brief hold on sleep. He was vaguely aware of someone speaking to him, the warm, familiar voice cutting through the coldness of his memories. A welcome reprieve. "One of these days your going to get yourself killed, Master Wayne."
His eyes cracked open, taking in the figure of the man most prominent, most stable, in his life. "I can't afford to get myself killed, Alfred," he flashed the butler a bitter sweet half smile.
"Regardless, you should take better care of yourself, sir," the older man set the paper down on the end table, watching as Bruce quickly glanced over the thing. Another Joker crime, another rumor spread about his personal life, another death, another something.
There was always another something he had to tend to. He sighed and looked away, massaging his temples tiredly. The muscles in his back were knotting up, exhaustion beginning to creep in on his senses.
Alfred picked the paper back up, flipping through to the page he'd dog eared earlier, "I thought you might find this interesting."
He accepted the proffered item with a nod, glancing over the page with feigned interest, more to appease his old friend then anything else. There was a picture of a rather posh looking establishment, a caption below it highlighting its name and owner. The article itself was rather sketchy, seldom detailing much about either, offering more a description of the furniture then anything else. Bruce forced himself to smile, quoting the opening line of the piece, "Lilith Valentine's new night club, Joker's Wild, opens tonight. In these stressful times we could all use another place to blow off steam." He set the paper down, "Poetic." Hardly, and the name showed an extreme lack of tact. Gotham was being terrorized by that lunatic; the last thing they needed was a club named after him.
Alfred shifted to standing on his other foot, arms tucked behind his back, "I thought you might be interested in attending."
"We both know I have more important things…"
"Master Wayne," the butler tones was tired, weary of having to advise the younger man in such a way, "Those criminals will still be there for you to catch tomorrow evening. Their will always be more of them. There is only one of you though, sir. You need a night away from it all." Seeing this was not swaying the other, he changed tactics, "People are going to start asking questions if you continue to hide yourself away like this. It was Batman they drove away. Not Bruce Wayne."
There was a silence between them, not tense, but considerate. It was the kind that often passed between them, Bruce taking pause to consider the opinion his friend had proffered, the other respecting his need to think it over, giving him time. After a little while, he nodded, smiling, "I think Gordon used to know Ms. Valentine. I'm sure he wouldn't mind going."
Alfred looked pleased, gathering up some of the stray pieces of the Bat Suit before turning to leave his employer, his friend, to garner some much needed rest.
G/O/T/H/A/M
Opening night.
Under normal circumstances, she supposed it would have been a nerve wracking escapade, one that would have left her a quivering, jumpy mess; as was, with the Joker and his troupe lurking just around the corner, waiting for all and any excuse to jump into action, she felt her nerves split and fire off, nearing on paranoia. Or a mental breakdown.
She downed the remnants of her drink, screwing her face up as the bitter liquid connected with her tongue, sliding down her throat with some reservation, plunking the empty glass down on the counter. Anything to staunch her fraying nerves. Guiltily, she poured herself another drink, replacing the bottle under the counter. Another sip, eyes darting shiftily from shadow to shadow, just waiting for her companion to come traipsing out of the darkness, a mock innocent smile on his face, his very presence enough to send her guests running in terror.
Terror. A scandal. That was all she needed her opening night.
"You doing okay there, Val?" She glanced up at the feel of a hand resting comfortingly on her shoulder. Half heartedly, the woman reached up to pat it, managing a tired smile. Jansen's tall form was standing beside her, surveying her state.
"As well as can be expected," she managed a smile for him, purposely keeping herself from seeing the hurt crossing his features. Ever since Liz's death he had become infinitely more protective of her. He could tell when she was so obviously lying to him. The corners of her lips turned up just a little bit more, a hint of bitterness echoed in their shape.
For all his attempts to protect her, sometimes she just…desperately needed some time on her own. Needed to get away from all her troubles, from the figures so prominent in her life, and just…sort things out, a time out or…something…
Whatever that something could be, it was not available to her. The previous week had been a hectic, chaos filled one, free from any sort of reprieve, even when she needed it most. The club had required next to all of her attention, managing the PR, managing certain aspects of the gang, managing her own relationships as tumultuous and self destructive as they had become…
No, she had had no time.
She frowned into her drink, sipping it again, ashamed to have sunk to this depth, drinking to cool her nerves instead of trying to deal with her problems.
Well…problem, if she was being entirely truthful. There was only one true problem in her life and from it, all of the others stemmed. And that problem had one title…
The Joker. It made her finish her drink in one gulp.
He hadn't made her week any easier, and she'd been an idiot to expect he might have been. The mercurial creature had flitted in and out of her schedule, occasionally making irrational demands of her, to accompany him on his latest heist idea, help him scheme something against the Batman, occasionally opting to tease her, make lewd jokes, question her irrational loyalty…
She was nearly certain the man was something of a force of nature. Whisking in and out of her life, wrecking anything unfortunate to cross his path, all in chaos' name. He was chaos, bound in a human form, its elegant, slender figure cutting a striking contrast against the havoc he left in his wake. That was, perhaps, his greatest, most intriguing, if not more dangerous, facet. It kept her tenuously loyal to him, no matter how destructive the union proved to be…
She hated herself for it. Hated that she couldn't muster up the courage to truly defy him.
She needed another drink. The former officer bent at the waist, searching under the counter for her beverage of choice, a cinnamon tinged whiskey. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Jansen shaking his head, distressed, before turning back to serving their guests. Her guests. That she couldn't bother attending to.
She hated herself sometimes. Even more when she actually poured the drink.
She returned the bottle to its place, raising her glass in mock salute to her friend, before glancing back to the party. It was going well, even without her attention, a refreshing change of pace. No one was screaming in pain, no one had been shot, no one had their faces carved up in hideous patterns set to mimic the Joker's own scars….they were just…dancing, drinking, being…normal.
It was unsettling. Valentine was willing to admit that. She also had to admit that she could become comfortable with this dull, static system of life.
It wasn't meant to be.
Almost as quickly as the thought had occurred to her, arms twined around her waist, holding her fast in place. Valentine grimaced, cringing, as warm breath traveled down her neck and back, the feeling uncomfortable as it slid down her spine with an unnerving closeness. She refused to struggle however, resisting her bodies inherent urge to fight against her captor, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing her flinch. The man, one of the few brazen enough to grab her so forwardly, chuckled into the wild mass of curls atop her head, forced into submission from their casually, sordidly straight nature just for the occasion, snickering to himself, voice coming out low and unabashedly amused, "Quite a party you got here, princess."
Valentine rolled her eyes, finally pulling against his grasp. The woman didn't want him touching her, not after what he had done to Liz. Whatever she may have desired however, she went nowhere, held forcefully in place by the unrelenting force employed on her limbs whenever she tried to squirm away. Despite the pain he was visibly causing her, her face screwing up as he ground gave another warning squeeze, he smiled down at her with a playfully.
The man was always willing to play.
Giving up on her desperate, last ditch attempt at escape, she spun into him instead, glaring up into his face instead. His smile only widened, lowering his head to brush lips against her cheek in a mock friendly greeting. It left a long crimson streak across the skin, tracing the high bone. She scowled, "Why are you here? You said you were going after your "Batsy." Batsy…somehow…she hated him almost as much. And those feelings were not wavering, not fleeting as her occasion dislike of the Joker was.
It disgusted her but…she hated how much attention the man received from her companion.
Said companion shrugged, pointedly ignoring her question. Glancing over her shoulder to the various guests, none of whom seemed to notice the predicament their hostess had gotten herself into. "You were thinking of me anyway. And wouldn't you prefer me to be close enough to safely monitor?"
She managed to wrap her fingers around her glass, sipping on the beverage, trying to alleviate the sudden anxiety playing havoc with her nerves, sighing loudly, "For all the good that will do me."
He smirked, brushing fingers distractingly up and down her spine. She glared, raising a brow in a mix of annoyance and curiosity. The man was, in his own annoying way, finding new ways to insult her, touching her now, when she was both defenseless, and extremely adverse to the notion. At her uncomfortable fidgeting, he slowed the motion, purposely making it more languid. Lecherous wretch. He frowned, halting the motion, noticing something he seemed annoyed by. Using one hand to grab her chin, he inclined her head from side to side, trying to cast some of the low light over her features. It succeeded, illuminating the heavy bags under her eyes. "Ya know…you aren't half so pretty when you're all…wrinkly…"
She rolled her eyes, "I'm the same age, idiot."
"You haven't been sleeping…" his lips turned up in a smug little grin, "or you've been dabbling in my makeup again."
"Very funny."
"Not fighting back today?"
"No, I'm trying to keep my voice down. All we need is for someone to turn around and recognize you." The image of some poor sap catching sight of the Joker then screaming bloody murder flirted with her awareness.
"If your guests weren't all so drunk I might consider that an actual reason."
"It is an actual reason."
He smiled, taking her drink from her limp hand, sipping it before making a face and squeaking out one word, "Li-ar." He shook his head, trying to fend off her beverage, "God woman, that's vile."
Despite all her previous gripes, the lack of sleep and stress weighing her down, her lips were involuntarily turned up in a smile. It was so easy, to slide back into the comfortable familiarity of their previous relationship, the teasing, taunting thing. "It's cinnamon!"
She snatched her drink back, turning to set it on the counter. It lacked the harshness of her previous movements however, more friendly, more joking. The woman paused however, catching a figure weaving through the crowd, his features familiar even in the low light and crowd. A moments focus dissolved any traces of doubt.
"Gordon!"
Joker frowned, glancing over her shoulder, ignoring the horror crossing her features; indeed, the Commissioner was striding towards them; he ducked his head lower, dragging the small woman back with him towards the lower light provided in the corner, "Well waddaya know, you're knight in shining armor's come to play."
She stuck her tongue out at him, "You aren't funny."
"You just don't get the subtleties of my humor…"
Valentine sent another fervent glance over her shoulder, fidgeting again, trying to stifle her desire to move, to run. Gordon was getting closer. Her tone came out as a low hiss, "Let me go. I can distract him while you go and hide."
He snickered, smacking his lips together in amusement, the sound disturbingly out of character with the loud music and laughing guests, " Me? You want the Ace of Knaves to run and hide from your itty bitty officer?"
"I want you to hide, not run. If Gordon's here, chances are your beloved Batsy is here too…." she paused, trying to come up with a convincing reason to get the man to hide. That hiding would keep their club in business, that it would keep them from going to jail, that it would save lives…
Yeah. None of the those reasons would work. They weren't self serving. They wouldn't help him and thus, weren't valid. "If Batman's here you can surprise him, capture him, whatever it is you plan to do with him. But…you have to hide. Or you'll blow your cover."
He sighed, like a child being told he couldn't open that Christmas present early, puffing out his lips in a pouty motion. With some reservation, he released his hold on her waist, "Spoilsport."
"Just being logical."
He threw a glance towards Gordon, batting his eyes in what she was supposed was a snide impersonation of herself, "Fine. Go distract him…or whatever it is you plan to do."
She stuck her tongue out at him once more.
G/O/T/H/A/M
Commissioner James Gordon was not comfortable. There were to many people, all of them inebriated, the music was to loud for him to concentrate effectively, the area to dark for him to aim well.
He didn't like it. They should have been using back up, the club should have been evacuated or…something. The man sighed; there was nothing to do about it.
Mr. Wayne had advise him to frequent the club, knowing full well that it was in the Jokers to disrupt such high profile events. And, looking around, he was very certain that was true. He was here, hidden, just beyond his vision. Somewhere close.
He needed to find Valentine. Needed to warn her about the danger.
"Gordon!"
The woman he had been searching for was walking towards him, arms extended forward, wrapping around him in a friendly hug , a smile grazing her features. She looked genuinely pleased to see him, patting him on the back in greeting. Valentine held him out at arms length, grinning, "What brings you here? You hate clubs!"
"I'd like to say I'm here to wish you success." He shook his head, taking one of her arms and pulling her aside, towards the edge of the crowd, closest to the wall, "A reliable source has informed me that you might have an unwelcome guest here tonight." The woman appeared to be confused, one of her nervous ticks clicking in, her brow arching in inquisition. "We think the Joker might be here."
Valentines features took on a concerned quality, eyes darting to and fro as though searching for the man. The one who had taken her hostage, held a gun at her head, threatened her life…
Gordon gave her arm a comforting squeeze, trying to quell some of her anxiety, certain to keep his tone soft, soothing, "Don't worry, Valentine, we've caught the man before, and we will catch him again."
"I know you will," she smiled, still looking uneasy, despite his assurances. She switched topics, to a more familiar, light one, "So, how's Barbara?"
"She's…" He paused, seeing some movement near the counter. A figure slipping out of the shadows. It was a tall, lanky, form, the features overly sharp in the low light. There was no paint on its features, but…the marks around its mouth were more familiar then he was fond of. The Commissioner patted her arm once more, dismissing himself from the woman despite her protests, weaving his way through the crowd, towards the counter.
Whoever it was turned, catching sight him.
And ran.
Gordon gave chase, the crowd letting out small screams and gasps as he cut through the crowd. From behind him, he could hear Valentine yelling out to him, terror lacing her tone. Ignoring her warnings, he sprinted on faster, bursting out the still open door to the alley behind the club.
The Commissioner's breath was visible in the cool air, coming out in loud pants. He spun around in the alley, hand going to the pistol holstered on his belt. There was silence around him. There was only his own breathing coloring the area around him. The Joker was, apparently, gone.
He took a few steps forward, holding his gun at the ready now, glancing around again. There was no one there.
Something behind him cracked. Gordon spun around as quickly as he was capable of, only to have a fist connect squarely with his jaw, sending the frailer, older man sprawling. A grinning façade was hovering over his face, the painted man's face turned up in a sickening mixture of glee an annoyance. He held up a knife, teasingly brushing the deadly item against the officers cheek, barely nicking him.
He watched, prone, as the man positioned the dagger at his neck, the lunatic grinning all the way. His vision was becoming foggy, so dark, the trauma from the earlier blow taking effect, blood trickling down across his lip.
The terrorists eyes glistened cheerfully, a deadly glint with in their depths, tone coming out as a cold purr, "Goodnight, Co-missioner…"
Blackness descended over his vision, and the last thing the aging officer remembered seeing was a figure colliding with the Joker's, throwing the villain off balance and to the side. Then there was nothing.
Sky: Ok, so it wasn't the best chapter. Gotta get the hand of this again. But. Yeah. I am so gonna finish this story.
Joker: (eyeing Sky darkly) Yeah. She's lying to you.
Sky: AM NOT!
Val: She's lying. Don't trust her. She'll crush your dreams.
Sky: I am not lying! The next chapter is mostly done. So it should be out in a few days. Now, as to why this one took so long, here's the reason. I had two drafts of it. In the first, this ended with Valentine and the Joker kissing in an alley. And that just didn't work. Since that won't be happening again (writing to drafts, not the kissing ^_^), I should be able to pump out the chapters regularly. Oh and…uh, the thing about Bruce at the beginning, I'll explain it next chapter. It WOULD have made sense but…uh…had to cut this chapter for pacing issues. BUT HE'S IN IT THE NEXT CHAPTER!
Joker: Ugh. Stop. Talking. Readers, if you're still out there, do us a favor and review. Shut this chick up and she'll update for you.
Sky: WHOO! YEAH! Till next time, my friends!